the duke’s only recreation was an occasional visit to the tower balcony, where—under the eye of his guard—he enjoyed walking, as well as the bracing winter air. a high parapet prevented him from looking down where the seine flowed by and vessels were passing up and down the river, but he could hear the voices and songs of the sailors as he paced backward and forward. he endeavored to maintain a dignified bearing when in the presence of the witnesses of his misfortune, but his pale cheeks showed traces of the bitter tears he had shed in his solitude.

one morning he went to the balcony as usual with hubert de burgh, captain of the guard. the wind blew violently about the old tower, and as arthur went out on the balcony to listen to the stir of the world below, hubert, who was in a surly mood, sheltered himself near the entrance.

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as arthur listened to the songs of the sailors on the river below, why was it that his face suddenly lit up with joy and that his eyes flashed with delight? fortunately hubert could not see his face, as arthur was standing with his back to him.

what was the melody to which he listened so eagerly? surely it was blondel’s song,[20] which the faithful minstrel once sung under the walls of the prison where richard the lion-hearted was confined, and which arthur had often sung with alan, little dreaming that he too would be a prisoner one day. if his ear did not deceive him it was alan’s voice, only it was weaker and more tremulous than usual. and yet no other could sing the song like that. he longed to sing it in reply, but his guard, wondering why he stopped his walk so long, approached. the singer ceased as arthur wiped his heated brow. suddenly his handkerchief flew into the air. arthur pretended to be catching it, but it fluttered high above the balcony and then sank downwards like a white dove.

“you have lost your handkerchief,” said the guard, “for it will either fall into the water or catch upon the walls.”

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“it was very precious to me,” replied arthur; “my mother embroidered it.” thereupon he left the balcony. the handkerchief fell into the water and was picked up by a young sailor boy, who came there on a stone vessel the day before. it was this boy who had sung blondel’s song. he took the wet handkerchief and looked at it with beaming eyes. then he uttered a cry, not like that of a sailor, but like that with which the hunter calls his falcon.

on the following morning two weary female pilgrims arrived at the eastern gate of rouen. when questioned by the guard, they showed letters to the abbess of the marien convent, and were directed to the place. after kneeling in prayer for some time at the altar of the cathedral near by, they arose and went to the convent. as the elder pilgrim desired to present the letters in person, they were shown into the reception-room, where the abbess awaited them behind a latticed door. approaching it the pilgrim said, “admit us, reverend mother.”

“do you not know that only the king and the princesses have that privilege?” replied the abbess. thereupon the two unveiled.

“i am constance of brittany,” said the elder.

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“and i am marie of france,” added the other in a low voice.

the abbess bowed in great surprise and admitted the pair. “what seek you, gracious princesses?” said she.

“we have vowed to tarry here in prayer until the holy mother of god answers our petition,” was the reply.

“and supposing the holy one refuses?”

“then we shall pray for a poor soul until our latest breath.”

“it is your right to command,” said the abbess, conducting them to the interior of the cloister.

in that very hour an aged jew came to the south gate of the city with a ragbag on his shoulder and a staff in his hand. he exhibited his passports to the gate-keepers, and although they gave him permission to leave paris and go to rouen on business, he was stopped and insulted upon every sort of pretext. he bore the raillery of the rough soldiers patiently and mutely, only protesting now and then, “my papers permit me to enter the city and seek lodgings with my friends.”

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“but why are you in such a hurry, jew?” said the captain. “perhaps you have business with the king of england, who is coming to-night?”

the jew shot a swift glance at the speaker and meekly replied, “a poor craftsman can have nothing to do with so fine a gentleman.”

“who can tell?” provokingly answered the captain. “when princes are preparing to cross the seas there are fine bargains to be made with their followers.”

“then let me enter and find out if i can make any of them.”

“the jew snaps at such a chance like a fish at the bait,” said the captain with a sneer. “now hurry, son of israel.”

the jew promptly availed himself of the opportunity, folded his papers, and passed through the partly open gate. a soldier of the watch hurried him on his way with a thrust of his lance shaft, and the spare figure soon disappeared among the crooked old streets. the jew, who was abraham, had at last accomplished his purpose. in the secret hiding-place of one of his own faith he could have interviews with all kinds of people, who passed in and out all day. samples of wares were strewn about the tables; but these people, who were mostly knights or seamen, did not come to purchase. among them was alan, who late one evening found himself alone with abraham.

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“you know all now. i may not be able to help you further,” said abraham. “but this is my plan: when king john comes into port, bringing the duke with him, a second boat will follow, carrying the servants and baggage. the captain and crew have been won over. god knows at what price,” he added with a groan. “they will keep you until the harbor is reached. then the king and his retinue, including duke arthur, will embark upon a large sea vessel, for the king will not allow him to be out of his sight until he safely lands him in england. the confusion of the night embarkation will allow you to approach unobserved, and you must improve the opportunity to separate the duke from the others and get him to your boat. have him concealed there, and leave as quickly as possible. it is the last faint possibility of escape, for no power can save him or get him out of the tower, now that john has control.”

“and where will the sailors in the little boat take us?” said alan.

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“they know all the coves and inlets of the coast—they often conceal themselves in them from the pirates,” said abraham.

“god grant that we succeed! arthur knows that i am near, and he will be in readiness for instant flight. this is the surety of it,” said alan, pressing arthur’s handkerchief to his lips.

“farewell, brave youth,” said abraham. “do what your heart prompts. a truer one never beat under the sun. i shall leave rouen early to-morrow morning and return to paris that suspicion may not fall upon me and my people should your undertaking be discovered.”

they parted, and alan returned to the vessel. his route led him past the ancient tower, which was not so quiet and dark as usual. torches illuminated the gate and battlements, and lights shone in the windows; for king john had arrived, and the din of his soldiery could be heard even through the thick walls.