Oh! I am drest in my bridal vest,The feast is on the board!And whither fleeth my father’s guest?Whither Elfrida’s lord?[Pg 105]I look to the east, and I look to the west,The evening moon is toward;But I see not yet my father’s guest,I see not Elfrida’s lord!Why am I dight in my kirtle of white,My silken snood withal?For not to-night that craven knightWill cross my father’s hall.She hath torn outright her kirtle of white,Her silken snood withal;And not to-night that craven knightWill cross her father’s hall!
Oh! I am drest in my bridal vest,The feast is on the board!And whither fleeth my father’s guest?Whither Elfrida’s lord?[Pg 105]I look to the east, and I look to the west,The evening moon is toward;But I see not yet my father’s guest,I see not Elfrida’s lord!Why am I dight in my kirtle of white,My silken snood withal?For not to-night that craven knightWill cross my father’s hall.She hath torn outright her kirtle of white,Her silken snood withal;And not to-night that craven knightWill cross her father’s hall!
Oh! I am drest in my bridal vest,The feast is on the board!And whither fleeth my father’s guest?Whither Elfrida’s lord?[Pg 105]
I look to the east, and I look to the west,The evening moon is toward;But I see not yet my father’s guest,I see not Elfrida’s lord!
Why am I dight in my kirtle of white,My silken snood withal?For not to-night that craven knightWill cross my father’s hall.
She hath torn outright her kirtle of white,Her silken snood withal;And not to-night that craven knightWill cross her father’s hall!
“I will go on to Kennet Hold,” said Reginald. There was something in the look of the page, more than in the words he uttered, which had so deeply inspired his master with that strongest of all incentives, the dread of ridicule, that his determination was now inflexible. Well was it said by the learned monk, Bedo Camerarius, “the resolution of a strong mind giveth way to argument, but the obstinacy of a weak one never!” Naylis was of the same opinion: he held another conference with his master in whispers; the result of which was that Reginald exchanged his loose robe for the rich suit of armour which was borne after him by his attendants.
They were preparing to separate upon their respective journeys, when they discovered the first fruits of Reginald’s hesitation in the departure of their purposed hostage. No orders had been given for his forcible detention; and he had accordingly taken advantage of the consultation which had engaged the attention of the party to effect his retreat. “The hawk without a collar hath but brief thraldom,” said Robin. “Thou art right, knave,” said Naylis; “had thy counsel been earlier, yon slave should have made experiment of the weight of a Norman gyve. But it matters not. Though the Saxon have the temper of his own Zernbock, and the Furies to boot, he dare not—surely he dare not! Well I wot our master would work so deep a requital that the heads of twenty such miscreants should appear cheap ransom!”
“Fare thee well, good Naylis,” said Reginald; “bid my[Pg 106]father be of good cheer, and do honour to his son’s bridal! Ha! ha! Thou hast still thy misdoubtings and thine apprehensions—I know thy mind!” “Would thou didst know thine own but half as well!” muttered the old man, as he turned slowly round, followed by the Norman attendants. The steeds, as if rejoicing to be again in motion, arched their proud necks, and flung back their thick manes in the wind: the clattering of their hoofs arose, and sank, and died into silence.
Reginald and the knave, Robin, journeyed some miles without converse. The latter seemed to be thinking of nothing but his new doublet, and the former seemed to be thinking of nothing at all. After a considerable pause, the Knight began the conversation. “I am doubting, Robin——”
“It is a wise man that solveth his own doubts!” returned his attendant.
“I am doubting, Robin,” continued Reginald, “whether thou or I be the greater fool!”
“A gibe! a gibe!” cried the jester; “thy reasons, most convincing disputant? thy proofs, most inventive master? thine arguments, most incontrovertible Knight? Marry, an thou make me the greater fool, it will ill become the servant to be greater than his master.”
“Imprimis, thou art a fool by thy name, which is Witless!”
“I will have license to make reply,” said the jester; “thou art a fool to call a wise man by a fool’s name.”
“Secondly,” resumed Reginald, “thou art a fool by thy face!”
“Who is to choose,” said his antagonist, “between the folly that is seen on the face and the folly which is spoken from the tongue?”
“Thirdly, thou art foolish in thy designs.”
“By Saint Swithin,” cried the respondent, “thou hast the better of me there, for designs formest thou none.”
“Fourthly, thou art a fool by thine occupation!”
“There thou hast spoken well,” said the page; “I am serving-man to Sir Reginald d’Arennes.”
“Finally, Robin,” said Reginald, relapsing into taciturnity, “thou knowest that thou art a fool positive![Pg 107]”
“Thou hast the better of me again, Reginald,” said the complaisant lackey, “for thou art greatly a fool, and surpassingly a fool—but never a positive one.”
Reginald did not hear the import of his follower’s reply; or at least made no answer to it. They proceeded for some minutes in silence, at a brisk pace, when Reginald suddenly stopped, and exclaimed, “We have wandered from our track!”
“Not a whit, not a whit,” replied his companion, “do not I know the turnings and the windings of the way? Is it not the fourth time that I have journeyed with thee on this path? Firstly, when thou didst do penance at the Abbey of Brixhelm; secondly, when thou didst pillage the fat friar of Torney Low; thirdly, when thou wert, at thine own pleasure, a suitor to the miller’s daughter of Nesselray; fourthly, when thou art, at thy father’s pleasure, a suitor to the thane’s daughter of Kennet Hold. Truly the fool’s counsel is nought; but I hold the pillage more profitable than the penance, and the miller a cheaper bargain than the thane. Trust me, if there be in the hall of the Saxon another giant such as he that escaped from us even now, there will be stronger trust in the speed of black Launcelot than in the plating of thy Milan corselet.”
“He was, indeed.” said Reginald, “firm of sinew and large of bone; he was, withal, free in his deportment, and ruled that sorrel courser full knightly; and, as thou sayest, Robin, he bore in his hand a battle-axe, against which ribs of steel were but weak protection.”
They had now proceeded far on their journey, and were winding round a thick forest; the extremities of which were skirted by brushwood to a very considerable extent. Reginald continued to discuss the personal appearance of the herald of his father-in-law in a manner which showed he was by no means deficient in natural observation. “He had the tone of one not unused to command, and an eye right noble and piercing; nevertheless, he is but a Saxon; and ill betide the day when Reginald d’Arennes shall fear to cope with twenty Saxons.”
“Especially,” said Robin, with an expression of countenance more than usually arch, “when Reginald d’Arennes hath by his side so true an esquire. Well thou knowest I am a shrewd knave, and a wily![Pg 108]”
At this moment a shrill whistle rung in their ears, and five or six stout yeomen rushed from the thicket, seized Launcelot’s rein, and dragged his rider from the saddle ere he could raise his war-cry, or draw his sword from its sheath. Robin was treated with no more ceremony than his master, and both were hurried through the coppice. Reginald seemed lost in astonishment; he made no resistance, and uttered no word. Robin was not so quiet in his sufferings; his alarm broke out in various unconnected exclamations: “Saints be merciful to me! The limbs of a Roland or an Oliver could not stand this harrying! And the fair tunic that was given me but yester-even is rent like a withered leaf! Truly, my masters, these bushes are over-sharp for a delicate frame. Well I wot my sides are torn as it were with the barbed points of twenty arrows; and Sir Reginald heeds no more the brambles than if they were damosels’ arms! See now! Some are born to a corselet of steel, and some to a tunic of cloth! Saint Christopher befriend me! I confessed myself but yesterday! Bethink ye, my masters, why compass ye the death of an innocent man! The bough hath reft me of my cap! Hold, for the love of mercy! I am a poor knave and a witless!”
To such lamentations no answer was returned, save an occasional peal of laughter. Knight and knave were borne rapidly onward, through paths which not only seemed impervious to the tread, but were hardly penetrable to the sight. At length, a sudden winding in their track brought them into a large open space, which appeared to have been cleared out in the middle of the forest. Here an extraordinary scene burst upon them, which not a little heightened the astonishment of the young lord, and even checked for a space the wailings of his attendant.
In a spacious area, surrounded by lofty trees, which seemed admirably calculated for the concealment of parties met for the prosecution of illicit designs, various groups of men were widely scattered. They appeared to be principally composed of the lower sort of peasantry, who, having no dependence on any one but those to whom they had been born subject, were liable to be called, at a moment’s warning, to engage in the quarrels of their feudal lord.[Pg 109]And such seemed to be the purpose which had collected together the force I am endeavouring to describe. Some few were clad in the complete defensive armour of that period, and might be supposed to be those retainers who were more immediately attached to the person of their chief. There were others who were prepared for less regular warfare by the boar-spear or the Norman cross-bow; and others, again, who made little military display beyond the knife which was stuck in their girdle or the rude mace that lay beside them.
A short distance apart from these groups two figures were engaged in conversation, one of whom appeared to be the leader of the party. He was a tall, powerful man, apparently little more than thirty years of age; he seemed to have been inured to toil and danger; and his manner, at once graceful and dignified, gave the idea of one who had been bred up alternately in the camp and the court from his earliest years. His countenance was handsome, but nevertheless unpleasing; for its features indicated a knowledge of the world which partook strongly of dissimulation, and a valour which would not scruple to exert itself in a bad cause. His dress was a mailed shirt, unadorned by any extraneous decoration; but the richly wrought hilt of the dagger which he wore by his side proved that he was a person of no ordinary rank. His attendant was an esquire, who appeared to receive with much deference the communications of his superior.
Reginald and his attendant were immediately conducted into the presence of this chieftain. He had been conversing with his companion in a manner and tone of much hauteur; but when, upon turning round, he beheld the heroes of my story, every appearance of this kind immediately vanished; his brow was in a moment perfectly calm, and his look wore all the pliability and condescension which an able diplomatist knows so well how to assume.
“Sir Knight,” he began, “I am, it is true, a stranger to thee, but I have confidence that those features, and that bearing, bespeak one of the house of d’Arennes.” Reginald bowed, in token of acquiescence; and his new acquaintance (who, by-the-by, had received pretty certain intelligence beforehand of the rank of the person he was addressing)[Pg 110]proceeded: “The disturbed state of our realm, Sir Knight, must be my excuse for a measure which courtesy would else have shrunk from. It must also excuse the interrogation which it constrains me to put. With what purpose hast thou journeyed hither?”
Reginald seemed not sufficiently recovered from his surprise to make reply. Robin answered for him, “Marry, with the purpose of journeying back again.”
“Thou wouldest do well to keep thy counsel, friend,” said the querist; “thy flippant tongue might elsewhere procure thee a cap and bells; but here, trust me, it will exalt thee to little else than the bough that waves over my head. I would pray of thee,” he continued to Reginald, “brief answer and speedy.”
Reginald seemed somewhat roused from his torpidity by the overweening tone in which he was addressed: “Hither I came,” he said, “with the purpose of a bridal, and in bridal garment; mantle and cap have I already exchanged for hauberk and helm; and, by thy goodwill, wedding and wassail will briefly be transmuted to quarrel and fray.”
“Art thou so warm for a fray?” said the stranger. “It is the better; thou hast gentle blood within thee, although thy first address did belie it wofully. What if I were to lead thee to a fray, where an estate shall be had for the buckling on of thy harness, and an earldom shall be the requital of every blow? How sayest thou, Reginald d’Arennes? Is not prince’s favour more worth the winning than lady’s love? and is not the possession that is the guerdon of service in field more honourable than the dower that is sued for on bended knee?”
Reginald seemed again frozen into inanimation. Alike ignorant of the person who spoke to him, and of the purport of what he spoke, he had recourse to his never-failing response, “I doubt.” Robin again stepped forward with his ballad admonition, which I shall again endeavour to modernize, “albeit unused to the rhyming mood.”
’Tis merry, ’tis merry, in fair greenwood,When birds are blithely singing;’Tis merry, ’tis merry, in foughten field,When blows are bravely ringing.[Pg 111]“On to the fight!” saith King Arthure,“Accurst be he that flies!Riches and fame to him that lives!And bliss to him that dies!Why lingerest thou, Childe Celadon?”Out spoke that cunning knave,“The brightest gift thy crown can give,What boots it in the grave!”
’Tis merry, ’tis merry, in fair greenwood,When birds are blithely singing;’Tis merry, ’tis merry, in foughten field,When blows are bravely ringing.[Pg 111]“On to the fight!” saith King Arthure,“Accurst be he that flies!Riches and fame to him that lives!And bliss to him that dies!Why lingerest thou, Childe Celadon?”Out spoke that cunning knave,“The brightest gift thy crown can give,What boots it in the grave!”
’Tis merry, ’tis merry, in fair greenwood,When birds are blithely singing;’Tis merry, ’tis merry, in foughten field,When blows are bravely ringing.[Pg 111]
“On to the fight!” saith King Arthure,“Accurst be he that flies!Riches and fame to him that lives!And bliss to him that dies!
Why lingerest thou, Childe Celadon?”Out spoke that cunning knave,“The brightest gift thy crown can give,What boots it in the grave!”
The very prudent and natural suggestion of “Childe Celadon” seemed to have a marvellous effect upon Reginald, and would probably have influenced his reply, had not the attention of his interrogator been called off by another circumstance. To this we must also attribute the safety of the songster’s neck, which, had not this seasonable interruption taken place, would have been ill worth a minute’s purchase.
A messenger had suddenly arrived, and been conducted into the presence of their unknown captor. He appeared to have come from a long distance; and the disordered state of his dress, together with the fatigue which was apparent on his pale countenance, sufficiently proved that he had not spared whip or spur on the journey. He delivered to the chief the letters of which he was the bearer, and retired in silence. The chief broke open the packet; anxiety was strongly marked on his countenance; yet his features changed not, as he read his advices: it was difficult to form a conjecture whether he was rejoiced or displeased by their contents. He called to him his esquire. They held a brief conference apart.
“Cold news, Eustace! The Flemings have been beaten! The slaves fled as the first weapon leaped from its sheath. De Lucy’s powers are drawn together, and Bohun hath Leicester prisoner.”
“Then it were well to seek shelter while the tempest is yet coming on. It will blow a fierce wind ere long!”
“Let it blow,” said the chief, drawing himself up to the full height of his figure; “there are those that shall weather the gale. What, Eustace! Thinkest thou that in caves, or in castles, or in fastnesses, there is safety for those whom Henry calls traitors? Our refuge is in battle-field, our trust[Pg 112]in ready sword. I have advanced my foot in this quarrel, and yon oak is not fixed more firmly.”
“I am ready to serve thee in good and in ill: I am ready to live and to die with thee; but it were sheer madness, with thy single force, to——”
The chief interrupted him by unfolding his letters and pointing to several names which were mentioned in them, speaking hastily as he went on. “Archetil is up in arms—Ferrars is with us—Roger de Moubray hath good bowmen—Hamo de Mascie will not flinch—Hugh Bigod will not be idle in a rising—Clare and Gloucester may be won; and, let but Williams hear the news of our arming, the North shall see a hundred thousand Scottish spears ere a hundred men are afoot against us. It is no time for dallying: and this place, though for forty-eight hours it hath concealed our ill-assorted levy, is no safe abode for men engaged in this warfare. We must endeavour to join my brother at the setting of to-morrow’s sun.” Eustace bowed, and was preparing to withdraw, but was recalled. A few sentences were exchanged, in which the name of Reginald was frequently mentioned, and he was then summoned before his captor.
“Reginald d’Arennes,” said the Knight, in a low tone of voice, “thou seest before thee Richard de Mallory. For himself he hath little claim to expect that his name should have been breathed in thine ear, but thou wilt know him better as the brother of the renowned Archetil de Mallory, who with many brave companions, which at a more fitting time shall be enumerated to thee, is now in arms against usurpation and tyranny. What sayest thou? Wilt thou continue to disgrace, by thine inactivity, the name of thine ancestor? or wilt thou join thy name to the list of these valiant nobles, buckle thy fortune to thy sword, and win an earldom by my side?”
Now Reginald was by no means deficient in natural penetration, although he had not the firmness of character which was requisite to act upon its suggestions; he saw, therefore, that the attempt of these “valiant nobles,” like the many other conspiracies by which the reign of Henry II. was perpetually threatened, would probably have for its conclusion confiscation and death. He was not very ready to[Pg 113]embark in an undertaking of this nature, until he had conferred with the Baron upon its expediency, and had calculated the chances for and against success. Upon the present occasion, therefore, he succeeded with much difficulty in pleading his approaching bridal as an excuse for declining the offer of his new acquaintance.
Richard de Mallory, however, appeared by no means satisfied with the apology; the less so, when upon inquiry he heard that the lady whose unseen charms detained the young lord from the field was of Saxon descent. That the scion of so illustrious a stock should intermarry with that contemned race was an idea which startled the prejudices of the proud Norman; insomuch that he evidently entertained serious doubts of the truth of the narration. “Elfrida of Kennet Hold!” he muttered to himself; “named not the Saxon whom our spies brought hither this morning the name of Kennet Hold?”
“He did,” replied Eustace.
“Lead him hither,” said De Mallory; and instantly, from one of the avenues which led into the forest, some armed men brought forth a captive Saxon, in whom Reginald immediately recognized the messenger who had escaped from his baffled followers in the morning. The Saxon also bestowed a glance of recognition upon his fellow-captive. “Saxon,” said De Mallory scornfully, “what saidst thou was thy name? for in truth the appellations of thy race dwell not long in Norman remembrance.”
“I am called,” said the prisoner, looking on Reginald as he spoke, “Lothaire, the first-born of Leofwyn of Kennet Hold. Thy name, Richard de Mallory, is not unknown to me: thou art one of those who have raised up the subjects against the king, and the sons against the father. But the work needed not thine agency. It shall be long ere a Norman shall know peace on the throne of Harold; long ere the gods of the Saxons shall cease to revenge upon the head of his descendants the usurpation of the first William.”
“I asked not for thy forebodings; nor knew I that I had a prophet in my camp. One more question shall I ask thee. Shall Reginald d’Arennes wed thy father’s daughter?[Pg 114]”
Lothaire seemed much embarrassed by the question: he hesitated for some time; until at last, smiling, as if he had found the means of releasing himself from some difficulty, he looked at Reginald with an unintelligible expression of countenance, and replied, “He rideth with that purpose.”
“It is enough,” exclaimed the chief. “The Norman knight that can stoop to wed with the daughter of a Saxon franklin is no fellow in arms for Richard de Mallory. Let them wend on their way together. Where is the fool? It were a pity to deny him such fit company.”
And with this sarcasm the three captives were suffered to depart, being first obliged to swear a binding oath not to divulge what they had seen and heard in their confinement. Reginald suffered himself to be reconducted to the place where he had been seized, without betraying any unusual emotion either of joy or resentment; but Lothaire cast back upon the Norman leader frequent glances expressive of the most determined hate, and a disposition to make a speedy and an ample return for his discourteous hospitality. Their horses were brought to them, and they again set forward upon their errand with no injury but what was occasioned by the long delay they had experienced. It was near sunset, and there seemed little possibility of their reaching Kennet Hold before nightfall. They pushed on, however, at a brisk pace. It may be doubted whether Reginald was altogether pleased with the new companion he had met with in the person of Lothaire, who accompanied him unasked, and threw upon him at whiles a look which spoke anything rather than brotherly love. Robin kept a respectful distance, for he seemed to have for the Saxon youth no stronger predilection than his master.
Meantime the mind of the rebel chief was little disturbed by the disastrous intelligence which he had received. The leader, upon whom his party had placed the greatest reliance, was taken; and the easy defeat of the Flemings had taught him a lesson which every one that embarks in a great undertaking should learn betimes—that it is a perilous thing to put trust in foreign auxiliaries. Yet so accustomed was he to this irregular mode of warfare, and so inured to all the vicissitudes to which the fickle temper of[Pg 115]Dame Fortune might subject him, that his mind was at this moment perfectly calm, and hardly rested a thought upon the perilous situation in which he found himself placed. He seated himself at the rude banquet, which his followers were now preparing, with perfect indifference, although the possibility of his enjoying another tranquil meal was at least a matter of doubt. After some time spent in noisy revelling—for when their assistance was required in an affair of so much danger, the chief thought it no scorn to join in the merriment and court the goodwill of his vassals—Richard began to reflect upon his interview with his two captives; and, with a contemptuous smile, he asked who was the Saxon divinity to whom they must attribute the loss of so able a coadjutor in the person of Reginald d’Arennes.
A dozen sturdy voices were lifted up at once, in commendation of the Lady Elfrida. Her tall and commanding stature—her long flaxen hair—her dignified countenance—her cheeks, whose bright complexion invited the flattery which they blushed to hear—and her light blue eye, whose glance beamed so mildly on the meek, and met so proudly the gazes of the proud—were alternately the themes of admiration. At last the chieftain, impatient of these rapturous effusions, which he began to think were endless, poured out his last cup “To the health of the Rose of Kennet Hold,” and deserted the board. He busied himself for a time in giving the necessary orders for their departure early in the ensuing morning; and then, calling Eustace aside, exclaimed: “We will ourselves look upon this Saxon beauty: by our Lady, if she deserve but one half of the praises of these boors, she may haply be the companion of our onward march.” And with these words, attended by his esquire, De Mallory strode from the enclosure.
While this scene was going on, Reginald and his companion had made considerable progress on their journey, and were within a few miles of its termination; yet not a word had been exchanged between them. They looked from time to time towards each other, apparently with a mutual feeling of dislike, if not of apprehension. At last Lothaire led the way to conversation, in a tone[Pg 116]which betrayed a strong disposition to offer an insult, although the disposition appeared to be checked or subdued for a time by the counter-agency of some equally powerful motive.
“Sir Reginald,” said he, “knowest thou the qualities which are required in him who would sue for the hand of my sister Elfrida?”
“I have doubts touching this matter,” replied Reginald.
“Methinks,” rejoined his companion, “it were worth the while to instruct thyself further, ere thou settest foot on my father’s threshold; for, of a truth, Elfrida hath a right Saxon spirit and a right Saxon speech: she hath proud eyes, that smile on whom they list and frown on whom they will; and proud thoughts, that respect not so much the glittering of the corselet as the valour of the knight that wears it.”
This was somewhat like a thunderclap to poor Reginald. He had anticipated no difficulties of this nature: the timidity of his nature would have shrunk back with horror from the mention of a protracted courtship. In short, he had expected a path strewn with roses, and he found it beset with briars; he came to wed an obedient and passive bride, and he began to suspect she was little better than an intractable virago. After having spent some moments in reflections of this nature, he gave utterance to his secret musings in a brief soliloquy:
“I am doubting whether or no I shall proceed.”
He was answered by a loud laugh from his intended brother-in-law, who proceeded forthwith to dispel the apprehensions which he had himself excited.
“Cheer thee, noble Knight; be not afraid for a woman. Thou hast, princely Reginald, many valorous and knightly qualities, the least of which might win a richer bride than the daughter of Leofwyn and the sister of Lothaire. Surely thou dost obtain honour at those splendid jousts, from which thou knowest our Saxon habits do utterly revolt; and, doubtless, thou hast skill in foreign music, which thou knowest our Saxon ears do utterly detest; and thou art also skilled in that foreign language which thou knowest a Saxon doth so loath, that he would have his tongue torn from his throat rather than give utterance to its accents.[Pg 117]”
“Brother,” said Reginald, who began to perceive the necessity of conciliating Lothaire, “I have meddled but little with courts, and, in my ignorance of these accomplishments, I am a perfect Saxon. But I prithee tell me, in love and fellowship, by what means or endeavours it is possible for me to win the goodwill of thy sister.”
“I will show thee,” said Lothaire. “First, thou must learn to speak, not tardily through thy teeth, as is thy present method, but boldly, openly, and fearlessly, as one man should do to another.”
“Whether this be possible, I doubt,” observed Reginald.
“Secondly,” said his instructor, “at my father’s board thou must not be too ready to relinquish the goblet.”
“I will do thee reason—I will do thee reason, Sir Lothaire,” returned Reginald. “Marry, I shall need but little instruction upon that head.” And he strained his eye as he spoke in the direction of Kennet Hold, as if he would measure the space which lay between his lip and the flagon.
“Thirdly,” resumed Lothaire, “thou must hate a Norman as thou wouldest hate the foul fiend.”
“I do,” cried Reginald; “I do hate a Norman: the Norman we parted from e’en now, Richard de Mallory. A blight upon him! He hath bound me, scoffed at me, worried my body and my mind, until I can scarcely keep my saddle on my journey or recollect whither the journey tendeth. A murrain on the proud knight! Doth he fancy that I care aught whether the father or the son hath the better? whether the Henry I serve be called the second or the third?”
“If I may risk prophecy,” muttered the Saxon, “thou wilt never see the third Henry wearing his father’s crown. We have worn the yoke of your tyrants long enough; and it is time that the throne of Alfred should be again filled by one of his descendants. Despised and oppressed as we are, there are still true Saxons enow to drive ye headlong from the land ye have spoiled.”
The two young men continued to ride as far apart as courtesy and their roads would permit, and the line of conversation into which they had fallen did not seem likely[Pg 118]to promote kinder feelings between them. Reginald’s national prejudices began to rise high within him, and to overpower the want of energy which was his failing. “Sir Lothaire,” he replied doggedly, “methinks thou hast forgotten Hastings.”
“Sir Knight,” said his companion, in a melancholy voice, “it is not possible for thee or for me to forget Hastings. Thine ancestor did obtain there power, and title, and riches; mine did win nothing but honour and his grave. The chance may be ours in another field. If valour and desert in arms had had their meed the bastard of Normandy had never set foot upon the corpse of Harold.”
“Thou errest, thou errest, good brother,” said Reginald unthinkingly; “the single arm of King William was sufficient to beat down Harold and his brothers to boot. Thine ancestor himself, Sir Lothaire, was light in the balance when weighed with the least of our Norman chivalry!”
“Norman liar!” exclaimed Lothaire, and immediately giving his horse the spur, and causing him to make a demivolte, which brought him close to his companion’s side, he raised his ponderous arm, and dealt with his mailed hand so terrible a blow between the corselet and headpiece of his future brother-in-law, that Launcelot reeled upon his haunches, and his rider fell to the ground without sense or motion. Lothaire gazed for a moment upon the fallen Knight; and then, after beckoning to Robin to come up, put his horse into a hand gallop, and continued his route.
Robin, when the formidable Saxon was out of sight, ventured to approach the scene of the fracas. Piteous was the sight which presented itself. Launcelot was standing beneath a neighbouring tree, still trembling with the shock he had received. Reginald lay motionless in the dust: his bright armour was soiled with earth and blood, which gushed out plentifully from his mouth and nostrils. Robin took off his helmet, and endeavoured, by throwing water over his features, to restore animation. After having spent a long time in the vain endeavour, he looked upon his fallen patron with an expression of utter despair, and muttered to himself, “My master is certainly dead; and there will be no wedding, nor revel, nor wassailing.” He continued for[Pg 119]some minutes in deep contemplation, and then exclaimed, “An my project hold good, I will be revenged on the Saxon churl.” And with these words he began to disarm his master.
While these incidents were taking place among those personages to whom our attention has been hitherto confined, the state of the inhabitants of Kennet Hold was such as calls for our notice. The MS., indeed, from which I draw this narrative, goes through all the minute particulars of Reginald’s journey, until it sets him down at the gate of his father-in-law; but, to avoid greater prolixity than is necessary, I will reserve this explanation for mydénouement, and for the present leaving my hero on his bed of earth, I will introduce my reader, without further delay, to the hall at Kennet Hold.
Everything seemed to be in a state of unusual confusion at the residence of the Saxon. This was, no doubt, partly to be attributed to the extraordinary preparations made by the cooks, and to the wish of the domestics to appear in the sprucest attire before the eyes of the Norman guest. But there was something more than this in the bustle which pervaded Kennet Hold. There seemed to be in every countenance, from the swineherd to the thane, the consciousness of some concealment, some unspeakable secret lingering on the lips, and awaiting a fit opportunity for disclosure. Many of the menials were staring at each other in silence, although they had abundant occupation before them; and many were looking inordinately busy, although it was their chance to have nothing to do. The expression of their faces was various. In some you could perceive little more than a repressed desire to laugh; but on the features of the higher sort of vassals you might read pride, contempt, resentment, together with a visible exultation, which plainly told that all these vindictive feelings were on the eve of gratification.
Leofwyn himself was seated on the chair of his hall, beneath a scarlet canopy, in all the rude state which his Saxon prejudices permitted. He was of short stature, with a round good-humoured face, which spoke, as plainly as face could speak, that its owner was willing to be upon friendly terms with the rest of the world, if the rest of the[Pg 120]world would give him leave. In fact, Leofwyn was of a disposition to prefer the beginning of a banquet to the conclusion of a broil; and if he had been at liberty to consult his own inclination, there would have been much wine, and but very little blood, poured out annually by the retainers of Kennet Hold. Many causes, however, conspired to make these pacific qualities of no effect. In the first place, the chief had an hereditary feud to support against the invaders of the land; and, although he himself saw nothing in these foreigners which should deserve his malediction, he deemed it his duty to hate them most religiously, because his father had done so before him; secondly, his son Lothaire was of a terribly violent temper, and was always seeking an opportunity for embroiling his father with some Norman landholder; and thirdly, this opportunity was frequently afforded by the predatory attacks of the surrounding nobles.
In the retaliation which Leofwyn exercised for these outrages he frequently put in practice some cunning and jocose device, which accorded ill with the professions of hate and enmity which he was perpetually making. For instance, it appears that when the vassals of Sir Robert de Vallice had made considerable depredations upon the Saxon’s swine, he carried off the only son of the offender, and, after confining him in company with the porkers for a night and a day, sent him back to Sir Robert, with a message that “he had sent him his swineherd also.” Such freaks as these had among his dependents secured to him the reputation of having a right sharp wit: among his powerful neighbours he was considered little better than a madman, in consequence of which, amidst the oppressions to which his race was daily subject, he had been allowed to pass his days in despised security.
Upon the present occasion it seemed that he had some unusually clever design in view. He was perpetually giving some instructions to the domestics, in a tone of voice mysteriously low, and again relapsing into deep and silent meditation. In short, in the anxiety which he evinced for the approaching nuptials, he showed all the assiduity and precaution of a modern match maker. Reginald did not come at the appointed time; the old man began to grow[Pg 121]impatient; he asked for his son. “Lothaire,” replied one of the attendants, “bore forth thy message in the morning, being desirous of looking on the Norman guest. He hath not yet returned.” “It is the better,” said Leofwyn to himself. “His hastiness might defeat what my prudence hath devised. Nevertheless, I cannot but marvel at his stay. Is the bride apparelled?” “She is: the maidens have been busied about her head-gear since noonday. Marry they have no light task; for the hair they decorate hath been but little used to the operation.” “Peace!” said Leofwyn.
Hours passed away in rapid succession, evening came gradually on; and still there were no traces or tidings of Reginald d’Arennes. The Saxon’s choler began to rise in earnest. “Surely,” he muttered inwardly, “surely, that hot-brained fellow Lothaire hath not overturned the structure my counsel hath been so long a-building; mischief light upon him if he hath dared to make or to meddle! The forward boy is ever at bullying and drawing of swords. Boys’ play, boys’ play; but it were a brave thing to put this slight upon the Norman. Marry, hang him if he hath despoiled my daughter of her husband.”
Suddenly his soliloquy was interrupted by the blast of horn announcing the arrival of strangers. Leofwyn leaped from his seat in an ecstasy; but immediately resumed it, with a studied look of gravity, that restrained the inclination of merriment which was predominant among his dependents. Every one, therefore, was silent, as the folding-doors were slowly unclosed, and the major-domo introduced to the presence of his lord—Sir Reginald d’Arennes.
He was greeted by his future father-in-law with cold and distant courtesy, which he returned in a manner of still greater reserve. “Sir Knight,” said Leofwyn, “it is my will that thy nuptials be solemnized ere thou sittest down to the banquet. My son Lothaire is choleric (his guest gave an involuntary motion of assent); and if he should return before the wedding, I know not whether thy head might not lie in the castle-moat sooner than on the bridal pillow.” The bridegroom shuddered.
“Is the Lady Elfrida attired?” continued Leofwyn, in a tone of mock gravity, which was exceedingly ludicrous.[Pg 122]The attendants caught the infection, and many unrepressed jests circulated among them, as they departed to bear their lord’s summons to his daughter.
Presently Elfrida made her appearance. The bridegroom started as she entered the hall: perhaps the exterior qualifications of the Saxon beauty might not altogether correspond with the exaggerated reports which his ears had greedily drunk. Her figure might be called elegant, but was certainly too short to deserve the appellation of dignified; her face might be deemed pretty, but the pertness which was its prevalent characteristic disqualified it for the epithet of beautiful. Instead of the soft yellow hair which her adorer had expected, he beheld a profusion of dark brown ringlets; and in lieu of the languishing blue eye, which he deemed would have dissolved him into rapture, he met the glance of a sparkling black one, in which there lurked a very strong inclination to laugh in his face. To his disappointment, however, if he felt any, Reginald gave no vent; he seemed to have a great reluctance to unclose, in the presence of Saxons, either his visor or his lips. Both parties betrayed a wish to have the ceremony performed as speedily as possible; and the nuptials of Sir Reginald d’Arennes with Elfrida, the daughter of Leofwyn of Kennet Hold, were accordingly celebrated in the chapel which was attached to the residence of the Saxon. The Lady Elfrida was splendidly attired; but, in other respects, the nuptial rites were graced with little pomp save the attendance of a large body of Leofwyn’s retainers, who, bearing in their hands each a flaming torch, cast an air of rude magnificence over the scene.
A sumptuous banquet awaited them upon their return to the hall. The merriment of the vassals was loud and unremitting. The bridegroom, however, did not seem to enjoy the situation in which he found himself placed. He fidgeted upon his seat, and turned his eyes alternately to the ceiling and to the wall, as if he suspected that more than half the joviality of the party was at his expense. His embarrassment was increased by the malicious endeavours of his bride, who rallied him upon his gravity and look of despondency, in a style to which he had evidently no spirits to reply.[Pg 123]
It must be confessed that the young man’s suspicions were not altogether without foundation. The occupants of the lower part of the board, who, of course, were the most obstreperous in their mirth, were, from time to time, indulging themselves in very acute criticisms upon the figure and features of their master’s son-in-law. These did not altogether answer their expectations. Much as they contemned the Normans, they had pictured to themselves, in the person of Reginald d’Arennes, a countenance noble even to sternness, and a bearing at once courteous and martial. They knew he was a Norman, but they also knew he was a handsome and a friendly Norman; in consequence of which they had made up their minds to hate him, and, at the same time, to find nothing in him worthy of hate. They were much surprised, therefore, when they found the young Knight so perfectly different from the image report had drawn. His face seemed perfectly void of all expression of majesty or valour. At present its predominant expression was embarrassment, mingled with a strong tincture of fear; but there was a slight curve upon the lips, and a sly twinkle under the eye, which betrayed a strong disposition to cunning and risibility. His figure appeared slender and diminutive, and a gorgeous steel harness hung dangling about it, as if the bark of the forest oak had been stripped off to give an appearance of strength to the willow. This was all very strange: the attendants looked, and laughed, and wondered; and Leofwyn showed no disposition to check their humour. Indeed he seemed to participate cordially in their malicious propensities.
“Sir Knight,” said he, “methinks there is in thy demeanour a greater degree of bashfulness than thy noble presence and thy lofty lineage do warrant.”
“It is a feeling,” replied the guest, “which I have inherited from my mother Bridget—I mean, from my mother the Lady Marie,” he added, turning very pale.
“Ha, ha!” exclaimed his entertainer; “now, by my verity, I dreamed not thy father had been so gay in his young days. What! play the Lady Marie false! Come, come, it was ill done, ill done; she was a lady of most excellent carriage; it was ill done. But be not cast down.[Pg 124]The sin was not thine. Pledge me, noble Reginald. Thou standest in need of refreshment; for, in truth, thy look is weariness itself, and thou art as silent as the oaken board on which thou leanest. Come, come, the pigment is worth the tasting.”
Reginald blushed, and seemed doubting whether it were not well to make a precipitate retreat. The Lady Elfrida turned away her head, and let down her veil, with a gesture of affected horror at the indelicate sallies of her father. Nothing daunted, the old man continued his pertinacious system of annoyance, while the domestics applauded, by ill-repressed acclamations, the surprising jocularity of their lord.
“Thou art sparing of thy food, Sir Knight; but doubtless thou art used to other diet than this: the board of a Saxon thane hath but little to tempt the palate of the son of a Norman noble.”
“Thou wrongest thine own hospitality, noble thane,” replied the other, collecting his spirits, and making an effort to be polite. “Womanly indeed should I be, if I were not used to harder fare than this! My father, the forester—that is, I mean, my father, the baron.” And again Reginald looked confused, and paused, and was silent.
“Cheer thee, noble Reginald,” said his host; “thou art wearied with thy journey, and thy wits wander.” “Perchance,” said the fair Elfrida, “Sir Reginald hath lost them on the way!” The menials echoed applause, and Reginald looked yet more foolish than before. “Thou dost belie thy character strangely,” continued the old man; “fame hath told us that in the whole shire there is not a jollier boon companion nor a truer lover of the cup.” “It is true that Sir Reginald d’Arennes hath had that reputation,” replied the Norman, “and his best friends have judged that he would do well to put it away.” “By the holy Confessor,” cried Leofwyn, “not upon his wedding-day! Out upon the idea! What, ho! Osric, fill up for Sir Reginald. Pledge me, gallant Knight. The health of thy bride—of Elfrida!”
“I will do thee reason,” said Reginald, raising the cup to his lips; but, at the mention of the name of Elfrida, some of the vassals burst into such a clamorous fit of laughter that he set it down in astonishment.[Pg 125]
Leofwyn remarked his surprise, and endeavoured to dispel it. “Thou seest, good son, that there is a kind of pageant toward, at which these boors are marvellously pleased; but be not the less inclined to join in our banquet. We wait but for the arrival of my son Lothaire, and all disguise shall be stripped off.” “Disguise!” cried the guest, dropping the cup, and starting from his seat, “a murrain on the tell-tale! How didst thou learn——” “Nay, my son,” said the Saxon, as if endeavouring to retract an unguarded expression, “we are all somewhat disguised—in liquor.”
Reginald resumed his seat, and, in a short time, began to drink most valorously, as if striving to drown in the rich pigment some unpleasant suspicions. By degrees, his head, which was evidently weaker than the one fame had attributed to Reginald d’Arennes, began to be overpowered by the frequent potations which were forced upon him by his host; and while Leofwyn and his retainers, and even the modest Elfrida, were immensely amused by his awkward situation, the hapless bridegroom showed the effects of Saxon hospitality in rhapsodical and unintelligable exclamations.
“Of a truth, good thane, thy drink is marvellous good! marvellous good is thy drink! Better have not I tasted since we rifled old Ambrose, the hermit of Torney Low! Very rich was the old rogue: he had store of gold and of silver, and an admirable cellar withal. Right merry we were and jovial; and, for the hoary man, we made him sit by the board, and chaunt a merry stave. That did I; for truly my fellow thief had some quirks of conscience. Health to the old man! May his bags and his cellar be replenished before next Whitsuntide! What care I for abbot and friar, mitre and cowl! I roam through glade and greenwood, over hill, and rock, and stream, free as the hawk, free as the passing wind. Marry, I had forgot how I have linked myself to a wife! Kiss me, fair Elfrida! I love thee very much, Elfrida; but thou knowest, when war calleth us away, we soldiers leave ye like a whistle. How dost thou, old father-in-law, how dost thou? Of a verity, thy face is as black as a November cloud, and that spear by thy side is wondrous sharp: it is well I have a Milan[Pg 126]corselet. Mark ye my Milan corselet, father and bride? The zecchins that were paid for it! It hath not borne blow yet. Certainly I like not blows; but the lace of my helmet is snapped in twain. Thy son, most noble Leofwyn, could explain unto thee the manner of it. Surely it was a mighty blow, and a perilous, given with a strong arm and a right goodwill. Launcelot shook like an aspen leaf. Howbeit, noble Saxon, thy drink is marvellous good; it maketh a man valorous, and doth as it were put to flight the whimsies, and the visions, and the phantasies of the brain. Fill up, valiant Leofwyn! Plague on them that flinch! Mine harness is much soiled for a wedding garment, but I shall wear a new doublet to-morrow. A blight upon the brambles in the coppice! How now, good father-in-law, why dost thou not speak? Thy face is as round as the bowl, and as silent as the roasted crab that is floating within it. Fill up! Off with care! Shall I not be merry, when steel, and nobility, and a wife are put upon my shoulders?”
“My lord groweth complimentary,” said Elfrida, hardly able to speak for laughter. “I do feel afraid that the air of Kennet Hold, and the drink it affords, have somewhat unsettled his brains!”
“Beautiful Elfrida,” said the bridegroom, “true it is that the brains of Sir Reginald had a terrible knock this day, and thy brother knows whence it came; but we will forget these quarrelsome topics, and give up the evening to merriment. My brains are as firm as thine own. Marry, the wine is marvellous good!” He was sinking gradually into intoxication.
“I marvel wherefore Lothaire delayeth his coming,” said Leofwyn.
“Truly,” replied Elfrida, “it were well to conclude the farce without him. I am weary of this mummery.”
“Mar-vel-lous good!” repeated the Norman, and closed his eyes.
“Girl,” said Leofwyn, “thou speakest foolishly; until my son’s return we will keep up the disguise.”
“Disguise!” cried Reginald, recovering some little sense of what was going forward. “Who talked of disguise? Was it thou, most rustic Leofwyn, or thou, most black-browed[Pg 127]Elfrida? Who talked of disguise? I care not. If I am not——”
A loud and piercing shriek interrupted the speaker. You might have thought all the maidens of the shire had conspired to deafen the ears of the Saxon proprietor. A door was suddenly flung open, and a warder, with terror and consternation pictured on every limb and feature, rushed up to the daïs, and bending his head as if to receive the chastisement which his negligence would call down, exclaimed, “The Lady Elfrida hath been taken away from the castle!”
It were difficult to describe minutely the astonishment which pervaded the hall. Vassals and menials of every degree snatched their arms and fled from the apartment.
Nothing was heard but inquiries, and weeping, and imprecations. Nothing was known but that the lady had been within the last few minutes carried off by a strange knight mounted on a swift bay horse, and attended by one follower. It was supposed that he must have entered and departed by swimming the moat, which, as it was now midnight, was an attempt by no means impracticable. He had been seen by a peasant who was returning from an adjacent forest; his lovely prize was thrown across a led palfrey, and appeared to be in a swoon.
All was confusion. The retainers of Leofwyn ran to and fro in all directions but the right one. Armour resounded with a dismal clang, as it was hastily thrown over the shoulders of the domestics; torches were flinging their red glare in every direction; the voices of the pursuers were repeated by frequent echoes, as they shouted and called to one another through the darkness. In the meantime the chief personages in the hall were in a situation partaking strongly of the ludicrous. The black-eyed damsel, who had figured throughout the banquet as the daughter of Leofwyn, had cried out, as the warder had delivered his news, “My dear mistress, my poor mistress!” and fainted upon her throne. The bridegroom had been in some measure roused from his intoxication, but was still unable to collect his ideas, so as to form any idea of the origin or meaning of the tumult. Leofwyn appeared to be in a state of mental stupefaction. In spite of the foibles of the old man’s character, he was doatingly fond of his daughter;[Pg 128]and the news of her loss, coming in the midst of revelry, seemed to have withered him like a thunder-bolt. He sat still, looking on the confusion with a vacant gaze, and inquiring from time to time, “Is my daughter well? How fares it with the Lady Elfrida? Does she not come to her old father?” These three personages, therefore, remained quietly upon their seats, while every one around them was in commotion; like the bronzed images in modern halls, that hold their candelabras so calmly, while the guests are all in the bustle of departure.
Things remained in this disagreeable position for some minutes, when the blowing of a horn, and a loud talking and shouting without, announced that something had taken place. Presently, accompanied by a crowd of peasants half accoutred for the pursuit, Lothaire entered the hall. Leofwyn raised his head, and being in some measure recalled to his recollection by the sight of his son, repeated his inquiry, “Is my daughter well?”
“She is well!” said Lothaire, “and I am well! No thanks to my new friend, the doughty Sir Richard de Mallory, from whom, to say truth, mine headpiece hath received a most mischievous contusion. Thanks to thee, good steel,” he continued, taking off his helmet, and surveying the deep indenture which appeared on its summit; “had not thy temper been true, thy master’s head had lain on the couch from which no man lifteth himself up.” He was interrupted by a thousand interrogatories, a great proportion of which proceeded from Leofwyn, who had by this time recovered from the effects of his sudden shock, and began to feel great curiosity to know the particulars of the story.
“I know but little of the matter,” said Lothaire; “ye see I have been overthrown in no light fashion”—(they perceived for the first time that his apparel bore marks of a recent fall)—“and in truth had it not been for the intervention of my good friend in the ragged doublet, I had hardly lived to tell ye the tale.”
“Of whom dost thou speak?” said Leofwyn.
“That is more than I can tell,” replied the young Saxon. “Not many paces hence did I encounter the valorous Sir Richard, who is now, peace be with him, no longer a man[Pg 129]of this world. I had a heavy stroke, as ye may witness; nevertheless, it was my horse’s fault, or I had not been so foiled. I believe another minute would have caught the last breath of Lothaire, but for the help of the aforesaid knight of the ragged doublet. By the sword of Harold! he overthrew that proud Norman as if he were wrestling with a child. I saw not his features, but by his apparel he seemed to be the esquire of thine hopeful son-in-law, Reginald d’Arennes. But ye will see him presently.”
Lothaire was supported from the hall, and put under the care of the leech; for his wound, although he made so light of it in his story, wore a dangerous appearance.
As he retired, another loud acclamation announced the arrival of Elfrida’s deliverer. A tall, well-made figure advanced towards the daïs, clad, as Lothaire had intimated, in a short ragged doublet, with a small cap which was quite insufficient to confine the long dark tresses that floated luxuriantly down his neck. His arm supported the real Elfrida, whose personal charms amply deserved the encomium which had been lavished upon them in the forest. Animation seemed hardly restored to that beautiful form. Her eyes were half closed and her cheek very pale.
“Providence be thanked,” cried Leofwyn, “that my child is restored to me!”
Now it has been already hinted that Elfrida was possessed of a disposition somewhat untractable; in fact, loth as I am to speak aught ill of the fair sex, I must confess that the Lady Elfrida partook, in no trifling degree, both of the fantastic whims of her father Leofwyn and the violent obstinacy of her brother Lothaire. The reader, therefore, will not be surprised when he hears that the Saxon beauty, bowing respectfully to her father, thus addressed him:
“Not to thee, my father, not to thee is thy daughter restored; in good and in evil, in life and in death, she shall abide with her preserver—with him who hath delivered her from the grasp of the spoiler.”
“Thou art mad, my child!” said the old man in astonishment; “the knight that sued for thee thou didst contemn and reject, and wilt thou now wed with his serving-man?[Pg 130]”
Elfrida appeared to recollect the circumstances which had preceded her capture, the suitor who had solicited her hand, and the deceit which she had conspired to put upon him: she looked up to the daïs, and beheld Bertha, her waiting-woman, seated by the side of the Norman guest; she glanced round and met the eye of her preserver turned upon her with an expression of the deepest adoration. She looked no further, but immediately, addressing her father, said:
“Why should it not be so, my father? To-day thou hast married thine handmaid to the Knight; to-morrow thou shalt marry thy daughter to the Knave.”
Her unknown deliverer at these words began to stare about him; he gazed upon his dress, upon his attendants, upon Elfrida; and then, with all the embarrassment of a performer who comes forward to play in a pageant without the smallest acquaintance with his part, observed: “This morning was I a knight, mounted on a goodly steed, and clad in goodly apparel; but whether I am now Norman or Saxon, knight or knave, by my grandfather’s sword—I doubt.”
Leofwyn stared; his large eyes were dilated into a truly comic expression of astonishment. “Who art thou?” he cried at last to the bridegroom; “art thou Reginald d’Arennes, or must we hang thee for a rogue?”
“Peace, good father-in-law,” said the sham Reginald, shaking off his drunkenness, and leering around him with an arch look of self-satisfaction; “I am not Reginald d’Arennes, but yet as good a man! I am Robin, the son of Egwulph; truly a cunning knave, and a wily.”
“I do begin to perceive,” said the waiting-woman, Bertha, looking on the sham Reginald with a disappointed air, “that our plot hath altogether failed.”
“Mine hath fared no better!” said the knave, returning a glance of equal disappointment upon the mock Elfrida. “In this I have been but a silly knave, and a witless!”
Dost thou comprehend, gentle reader, the circumstances which led to these mistakes? or is it necessary for me to inform thee that the knave Robin proceeded to Kennet Hold in Reginald’s apparel, with the purpose of revenging, by his wedding with the heiress, the death of his master,[Pg 131]which he fancied had been occasioned by the heir; that at Kennet Hold the said knave met with the counterplot which had been prepared by the jocose Saxon, and became the husband of the maid instead of the mistress; that Reginald, recovering from his swoon after the departure of his attendant, advanced towards Kennet Hold, and encountered, in his way, his new acquaintance, Richard de Mallory, from whom he had the good fortune to rescue the life of Lothaire and the honour of Elfrida?
There is yet one point unexplained. The reader must be aware that a considerable interval took place between the memorable blow given by Lothaire and his rencontre with De Mallory. Upon this point the MS. makes mention of Winifred, a certain arch-damsel, who—— but Decorum puts her forefinger on her mouth—I have done.
Rather than desert a long established custom, I proceed to state that the personages of my tale lived and loved to a green old age. Robin died before it was thoroughly decided whether he was more properly termed “the Wily” or “the Witless.” Reginald, it appears, never got rid of his old trick of hesitation, for it is upon record that, when he told the story of his adventures to Cœur de Lion, at the siege of Acre, and was asked by the humorous monarch whether the knight or the knave were the more fortunate bridegroom, he scratched his chin for a few minutes, played with his sword for a few more, and replied slowly, “I have doubts as touching this matter.”