Chapter10: Foul And Fair.The rivalry between Drogo and Hubert became the more intense that both lads were bound to suppress it; and after the return of the latter from Sussex, it found vent in many acts of hostility and spite on the part of the former, who was the older and bigger boy. Yet he could not bully Hubert to any extent. The indomitable pluck and courage of the youngster prevented it. He would not take a blow or an insult without the most desperate resistance in the former case, and the most sarcastic retorts in the latter, and he had both a prompt hand and a cutting tongue. So Drogo had to swallow his hatred as best he could, but it led to many black dark thoughts, and to a determination to rid himself of his rival should the opportunity ever be afforded, by fair means or foul.“I mean yet to be Lord of Walderne,” he said to himself again and again.And first of all he longed to get Hubert expelled from Kenilworth, and to deprive him of the favour and protection of the earl; and one day the devil, who often aids and abets those who seek his help, threw a chance in his way.The earl had found it necessary to put a check upon the constant slaughter of the deer in his large domains, which bade fair to depopulate the forests. Therefore he had especially forbidden the pages to shoot a stag or fawn, under any pretext, and as his orders had been once or twice transgressed, he had caused it to be intimated that the next offence, on the part of a page, would be punished by expulsion: a very light penalty, when on many domains, notably in the royal parks, it was death to a peasant or any common person to kill the red deer.All the young candidates for knighthood at Kenilworth had their arrows marked, for an arrow was too expensive a thing to be wasted, and therefore the young archers regained their shafts when they had done their work at the target. Such marks were useful also in preventing disputes.One day, out in the woods, letting fly these shafts at lesser game, such as they were permitted to kill, Hubert lost one of his arrows. A few days afterwards the chief forester came up to the castle to see the earl, who had just returned after a prolonged absence, and his communication caused no little stir.The next day, after chapel, the earl ordered all the pages, some twenty-five in number, to assemble in their common room, where they received such lessons in the “humanities” from the chaplain as their lord compelled them to accept, often against their taste and inclination, for they thought nothing worth learning save fighting and hunting.When they had assembled, the earl, attended by the chaplain, appeared. They all stood in humble respect, and he looked with a keen eye down their ranks, as they were ranged about twelve on each side of the hall. A handsome, athletic set they were, dressed in what we should call the Montfort livery—a garb which set off their natural good looks abundantly—the dark features of Drogo; the light eyes and flaxen hair of the son of a Provencal maiden, our Hubert; were fair types of the varieties of appearance to be met amongst the groups.The earl’s features were clouded.“You are all aware, my boys, of the order that no one below knightly rank should shoot deer in my forests?”“We are,” said one and all.“Does any page profess ignorance of the rule?”No reply.“Then I have another question to put, and first of all, let me beg most earnestly to press upon the guilty one the necessity of truth and honour, which, although it may not justify me in remitting the penalty, may yet retain him my friendship. A deer has been slain in the woods, and by one of you. Let the guilty boy avow his fault.”No one stirred.The earl looked troubled.“This grieves me deeply,” he said, “far more than the mere offence. It becomes a matter of honour—he who stirs not, declares himself innocent, called by lawful authority to avow the truth as he now is.”Once or twice the earl looked sadly at Hubert, but the face of the fair boy was unclouded. If he had looked on the other side, he might have seen anxiety, if not apprehension, on one face.“Enter then, sir forester.”The forester entered.“You found a deer shot by an arrow in the West Woods?”“I did.”“And you found the arrow?”“Yes.”“Was it marked?”“It was.”The earl held an arrow up.“Who owns the crest of a boar’s head?”Hubert started.“I do, my lord—but—but,” and he changed colour.Do not let the reader wonder at this. Innocence suddenly arraigned is oft as confused as guilt.“But, my lord, I never shot the deer.”“Thine arrow is a strong presumptive proof against thee.”“I cannot tell, my lord, who can have used one of my arrows for such a purpose—I did not.”Here spoke up another page, a Percy of the Northumbrian breed of warriors.“My lord, I was out the other day with Hubert in the woods, and he lost an arrow which he shot at a hare. We often lose our arrows in the woods.”“Does any other page know aught of the matter? Speak to clear the innocent or convict the guilty. As you look forward to knighthood, I adjure you all on your honour.”Then Drogo, who thought that things were going too well for Hubert, spoke.“My lord, is it a duty to tell all we know, even if it is against a companion?”“It is under such circumstances, when the innocent may be suspected.”“Then, my lord, I saw Hubert shoot that deer, as I was in the West Woods.”“Saw him! Did he see you?”“It is a lie, my lord,” cried Hubert indignantly. “I cast the lie in his teeth, and challenge him to prove his words by combat in the lists, when I will thrust the slander down his perjured throat.”The earl had his own doubts as to this new piece of evidence, for he was aware of Drogo’s feelings towards Hubert, and therefore he welcomed the indignant denial of the younger boy. Still, he could not permit mortal combat at their age. They were not entitled to claim it while below the rank of knighthood.“You are too young for the appeal to battle.”“My lord,” whispered one of his knights, “a similar case occurred at Warkworth Castle when I was there: a page gave another the direct lie as this one has done, and the earl permitted them to run a course with blunted lances and fight it out; adjudging the dismounted page to be in the wrong, as indeed he afterwards proved to be.”“Let it be so,” said Earl Simon, who had a devout belief in the ordeal, as manifesting the judgment of the Unerring One. “We allow the appeal, and it shall be decided this afternoon in the tilt yard.”Blunted lances! Not very dangerous, our readers may think at first thought. But the shock and the violent fall from the horse was really the more dangerous part of the tournament. The point of the lance seldom penetrated the armour of proof in which combatants were encased.The pages separated in great excitement. Most of them held with Hubert—for Drogo’s arrogant manners had not gained him many friends. Much advice was given to the younger boy how to “go in and win,” and the poor lad was eager for the fight whereby his honour was to be vindicated, as though victory and reputation were quite secured, as indeed in his belief they were.The ordeal! it seems full of superstition to us, unaccustomed to believe in, or to realise, God’s direct dealing with the world. But men then thought that God must show the innocence of the accused who thus appealed to Him, whether by battle or by the earlier forms of ordeal {18}.But was not the casting of lots in the Old Testament akin to the idea, and are there not passages in the Levitical books prescribing similar usages with the object of detecting innocence or guilt?At all events, the ordeal was allowed to be decisive, and if it were a capital charge, the headsman was at hand to behead the convicted offender—convicted by the test to which he had appealed.A peculiarly solemn order and ritual was observed in such appeals, when the fight was to the death. The combatants confessed, and received, what to one was probably his last Communion; and thus avowing in the most solemn way their innocence before God and man, they came to the lists. In cases where one of the party must of necessity be perjured, the sin of thus profaning the Sacraments of the Church was supposed to ensure his downfall the more certainly, for would not God the rather be moved to avenge Himself?But in the case of these pages, both under the degree of knighthood, such solemn sanction was not invoked, yet the affair was sufficiently impressive. The tilt yard was a wide and level sward, bordered on one side by the moat, surrounded by a low hedge, within which was erected a covered pavilion, not much unlike the stands on race courses in general design, only glittering with cloth of gold or silver, with flags and pennons fair.In the foremost rank of seats sat the earl and his countess, with other guests of rank then residing in the castle, behind were other privileged members of the household, and around the course were grouped such of the retainers and garrison of the castle as the piquant passage of arms between two boys had enticed from their ordinary posts or duties. But perhaps it was only the same general appetite for excitement which gathers the whole mass of boys in our public schools (or did gather in rougher days), to witness a “mill.”But one essential ceremonial was not omitted. The two combatants being admitted to the lists, each stood in turn before the earl, seated in the pavilion, and thus cried:“Here stands Drogo of Harengod, who maintains that he saw Hubert (of Nowhere) shoot the earl’s deer, and will maintain the same on the body of the said Hubert,soi-disantof Walderne.”These additions to Hubert’s name were insults, and made the earl frown, while it spoke volumes as to the true cause of the animosity. Then Hubert stood up and spoke.“Here stands Hubert of Walderne, who avows that Drogo of Harengod lies, and will maintain his own innocence on the body of the said Drogo, so help him God.”Then both knelt, and the chaplain prayed that God, who alone knew the hearts and the hidden actions of men, would reveal the truth, by the events of the struggle.Then each of the combatants went to his own end of the lists, where a horse and headless lance were awaiting him, under the care of two friends—fratres consociati. Percy, and Alois from Blois, were the friends of Hubert. The chronicler has forgotten who befriended or seconded Drogo, and hopes he found it hard to find any one to do so.The earl rose up in the pavilion, and bade the herald sound the charge. The two combatants galloped against each other at full speed, and met with a dull heavy shock. Drogo’s lance had, whether providentially or otherwise, just grazed the helmet of his opponent and glanced off. Hubert’s came so full on the crest of his enemy that he went down, horse and all.Had this been a mortal combat, Hubert would at once have been expected to dismount, and with his sword to compel a confession from his fallen foe, on the pain of instant death in the case of refusal. But this combat was limited to the tourney—and a loud acclaim hailed Hubert as Victor.Drogo was stunned by his fall, and borne by the earl’s command to his chamber.“God hath spoken, and vindicated the innocent,” said the earl.“Rise, my son,” he added to Hubert, who knelt before him. “We believe in thy truth, and will abide by the event of the ordeal; but as thou art saved from expulsion, it is fitting that Drogo should pay the penalty he strove to inflict upon another.”Hubert was not generous enough to pray for the pardon of his foe (as in any book about good boys he would have done). He felt too deeply injured by the lie.But his innocence was not left to the simple test of the trial by combat, in which case many modern unbelievers might feel inward doubts. That night the forester sought the earl again, and brought with him a verdurer or under keeper. This man had seen the whole affair, had seen Drogo pick up Hubert’s arrow after the latter was gone, and stand as if musing over it, when a deer came that way, and Drogo let fly the shaft at once. Then he discovered the spectator, and bribed him with all the money he had about him to keep silence, which the fellow did, until he heard of the trial by combat and the accusation of the innocent, whereupon his conscience gave him no rest until he had owned his fault, and bringing the bribe to his chief, the forester, had made full reparation.There was another gathering of the pages in the great hall on the following day. The earl and chaplain were there, the chief forester and his subordinate. Drogo, still suffering from his fall, and by no means improved in appearance, was brought before them.“Drogo de Harengod,” said the earl, “I should have doubted of God’s justice, had the ordeal to which thou didst appeal gone otherwise. But since yesterday the right has been made yet more clear. Dost thou know yon verdurer?”Drogo looked at the man.“My lord,” he said. “I accept the decision of the combat. Let me go from Kenilworth.”“What, without reparation?”“I have my punishment to bear in expulsion from this place”—(“if punishment it be,” he muttered)—“as for mysoi-disantcousin, it will be an evil day for him when he crosses my path elsewhere.”The earl stood astonished at his audacity.“Thou perjured wretch!” he said. “Thou perverter by bribes! thou liar and false accuser! GO, amidst the contempt and scorn of all who know thee.”And, amidst the hisses of his late companions, Drogo left Kenilworth for ever—expelled.
The rivalry between Drogo and Hubert became the more intense that both lads were bound to suppress it; and after the return of the latter from Sussex, it found vent in many acts of hostility and spite on the part of the former, who was the older and bigger boy. Yet he could not bully Hubert to any extent. The indomitable pluck and courage of the youngster prevented it. He would not take a blow or an insult without the most desperate resistance in the former case, and the most sarcastic retorts in the latter, and he had both a prompt hand and a cutting tongue. So Drogo had to swallow his hatred as best he could, but it led to many black dark thoughts, and to a determination to rid himself of his rival should the opportunity ever be afforded, by fair means or foul.
“I mean yet to be Lord of Walderne,” he said to himself again and again.
And first of all he longed to get Hubert expelled from Kenilworth, and to deprive him of the favour and protection of the earl; and one day the devil, who often aids and abets those who seek his help, threw a chance in his way.
The earl had found it necessary to put a check upon the constant slaughter of the deer in his large domains, which bade fair to depopulate the forests. Therefore he had especially forbidden the pages to shoot a stag or fawn, under any pretext, and as his orders had been once or twice transgressed, he had caused it to be intimated that the next offence, on the part of a page, would be punished by expulsion: a very light penalty, when on many domains, notably in the royal parks, it was death to a peasant or any common person to kill the red deer.
All the young candidates for knighthood at Kenilworth had their arrows marked, for an arrow was too expensive a thing to be wasted, and therefore the young archers regained their shafts when they had done their work at the target. Such marks were useful also in preventing disputes.
One day, out in the woods, letting fly these shafts at lesser game, such as they were permitted to kill, Hubert lost one of his arrows. A few days afterwards the chief forester came up to the castle to see the earl, who had just returned after a prolonged absence, and his communication caused no little stir.
The next day, after chapel, the earl ordered all the pages, some twenty-five in number, to assemble in their common room, where they received such lessons in the “humanities” from the chaplain as their lord compelled them to accept, often against their taste and inclination, for they thought nothing worth learning save fighting and hunting.
When they had assembled, the earl, attended by the chaplain, appeared. They all stood in humble respect, and he looked with a keen eye down their ranks, as they were ranged about twelve on each side of the hall. A handsome, athletic set they were, dressed in what we should call the Montfort livery—a garb which set off their natural good looks abundantly—the dark features of Drogo; the light eyes and flaxen hair of the son of a Provencal maiden, our Hubert; were fair types of the varieties of appearance to be met amongst the groups.
The earl’s features were clouded.
“You are all aware, my boys, of the order that no one below knightly rank should shoot deer in my forests?”
“We are,” said one and all.
“Does any page profess ignorance of the rule?”
No reply.
“Then I have another question to put, and first of all, let me beg most earnestly to press upon the guilty one the necessity of truth and honour, which, although it may not justify me in remitting the penalty, may yet retain him my friendship. A deer has been slain in the woods, and by one of you. Let the guilty boy avow his fault.”
No one stirred.
The earl looked troubled.
“This grieves me deeply,” he said, “far more than the mere offence. It becomes a matter of honour—he who stirs not, declares himself innocent, called by lawful authority to avow the truth as he now is.”
Once or twice the earl looked sadly at Hubert, but the face of the fair boy was unclouded. If he had looked on the other side, he might have seen anxiety, if not apprehension, on one face.
“Enter then, sir forester.”
The forester entered.
“You found a deer shot by an arrow in the West Woods?”
“I did.”
“And you found the arrow?”
“Yes.”
“Was it marked?”
“It was.”
The earl held an arrow up.
“Who owns the crest of a boar’s head?”
Hubert started.
“I do, my lord—but—but,” and he changed colour.
Do not let the reader wonder at this. Innocence suddenly arraigned is oft as confused as guilt.
“But, my lord, I never shot the deer.”
“Thine arrow is a strong presumptive proof against thee.”
“I cannot tell, my lord, who can have used one of my arrows for such a purpose—I did not.”
Here spoke up another page, a Percy of the Northumbrian breed of warriors.
“My lord, I was out the other day with Hubert in the woods, and he lost an arrow which he shot at a hare. We often lose our arrows in the woods.”
“Does any other page know aught of the matter? Speak to clear the innocent or convict the guilty. As you look forward to knighthood, I adjure you all on your honour.”
Then Drogo, who thought that things were going too well for Hubert, spoke.
“My lord, is it a duty to tell all we know, even if it is against a companion?”
“It is under such circumstances, when the innocent may be suspected.”
“Then, my lord, I saw Hubert shoot that deer, as I was in the West Woods.”
“Saw him! Did he see you?”
“It is a lie, my lord,” cried Hubert indignantly. “I cast the lie in his teeth, and challenge him to prove his words by combat in the lists, when I will thrust the slander down his perjured throat.”
The earl had his own doubts as to this new piece of evidence, for he was aware of Drogo’s feelings towards Hubert, and therefore he welcomed the indignant denial of the younger boy. Still, he could not permit mortal combat at their age. They were not entitled to claim it while below the rank of knighthood.
“You are too young for the appeal to battle.”
“My lord,” whispered one of his knights, “a similar case occurred at Warkworth Castle when I was there: a page gave another the direct lie as this one has done, and the earl permitted them to run a course with blunted lances and fight it out; adjudging the dismounted page to be in the wrong, as indeed he afterwards proved to be.”
“Let it be so,” said Earl Simon, who had a devout belief in the ordeal, as manifesting the judgment of the Unerring One. “We allow the appeal, and it shall be decided this afternoon in the tilt yard.”
Blunted lances! Not very dangerous, our readers may think at first thought. But the shock and the violent fall from the horse was really the more dangerous part of the tournament. The point of the lance seldom penetrated the armour of proof in which combatants were encased.
The pages separated in great excitement. Most of them held with Hubert—for Drogo’s arrogant manners had not gained him many friends. Much advice was given to the younger boy how to “go in and win,” and the poor lad was eager for the fight whereby his honour was to be vindicated, as though victory and reputation were quite secured, as indeed in his belief they were.
The ordeal! it seems full of superstition to us, unaccustomed to believe in, or to realise, God’s direct dealing with the world. But men then thought that God must show the innocence of the accused who thus appealed to Him, whether by battle or by the earlier forms of ordeal {18}.
But was not the casting of lots in the Old Testament akin to the idea, and are there not passages in the Levitical books prescribing similar usages with the object of detecting innocence or guilt?
At all events, the ordeal was allowed to be decisive, and if it were a capital charge, the headsman was at hand to behead the convicted offender—convicted by the test to which he had appealed.
A peculiarly solemn order and ritual was observed in such appeals, when the fight was to the death. The combatants confessed, and received, what to one was probably his last Communion; and thus avowing in the most solemn way their innocence before God and man, they came to the lists. In cases where one of the party must of necessity be perjured, the sin of thus profaning the Sacraments of the Church was supposed to ensure his downfall the more certainly, for would not God the rather be moved to avenge Himself?
But in the case of these pages, both under the degree of knighthood, such solemn sanction was not invoked, yet the affair was sufficiently impressive. The tilt yard was a wide and level sward, bordered on one side by the moat, surrounded by a low hedge, within which was erected a covered pavilion, not much unlike the stands on race courses in general design, only glittering with cloth of gold or silver, with flags and pennons fair.
In the foremost rank of seats sat the earl and his countess, with other guests of rank then residing in the castle, behind were other privileged members of the household, and around the course were grouped such of the retainers and garrison of the castle as the piquant passage of arms between two boys had enticed from their ordinary posts or duties. But perhaps it was only the same general appetite for excitement which gathers the whole mass of boys in our public schools (or did gather in rougher days), to witness a “mill.”
But one essential ceremonial was not omitted. The two combatants being admitted to the lists, each stood in turn before the earl, seated in the pavilion, and thus cried:
“Here stands Drogo of Harengod, who maintains that he saw Hubert (of Nowhere) shoot the earl’s deer, and will maintain the same on the body of the said Hubert,soi-disantof Walderne.”
These additions to Hubert’s name were insults, and made the earl frown, while it spoke volumes as to the true cause of the animosity. Then Hubert stood up and spoke.
“Here stands Hubert of Walderne, who avows that Drogo of Harengod lies, and will maintain his own innocence on the body of the said Drogo, so help him God.”
Then both knelt, and the chaplain prayed that God, who alone knew the hearts and the hidden actions of men, would reveal the truth, by the events of the struggle.
Then each of the combatants went to his own end of the lists, where a horse and headless lance were awaiting him, under the care of two friends—fratres consociati. Percy, and Alois from Blois, were the friends of Hubert. The chronicler has forgotten who befriended or seconded Drogo, and hopes he found it hard to find any one to do so.
The earl rose up in the pavilion, and bade the herald sound the charge. The two combatants galloped against each other at full speed, and met with a dull heavy shock. Drogo’s lance had, whether providentially or otherwise, just grazed the helmet of his opponent and glanced off. Hubert’s came so full on the crest of his enemy that he went down, horse and all.
Had this been a mortal combat, Hubert would at once have been expected to dismount, and with his sword to compel a confession from his fallen foe, on the pain of instant death in the case of refusal. But this combat was limited to the tourney—and a loud acclaim hailed Hubert as Victor.
Drogo was stunned by his fall, and borne by the earl’s command to his chamber.
“God hath spoken, and vindicated the innocent,” said the earl.
“Rise, my son,” he added to Hubert, who knelt before him. “We believe in thy truth, and will abide by the event of the ordeal; but as thou art saved from expulsion, it is fitting that Drogo should pay the penalty he strove to inflict upon another.”
Hubert was not generous enough to pray for the pardon of his foe (as in any book about good boys he would have done). He felt too deeply injured by the lie.
But his innocence was not left to the simple test of the trial by combat, in which case many modern unbelievers might feel inward doubts. That night the forester sought the earl again, and brought with him a verdurer or under keeper. This man had seen the whole affair, had seen Drogo pick up Hubert’s arrow after the latter was gone, and stand as if musing over it, when a deer came that way, and Drogo let fly the shaft at once. Then he discovered the spectator, and bribed him with all the money he had about him to keep silence, which the fellow did, until he heard of the trial by combat and the accusation of the innocent, whereupon his conscience gave him no rest until he had owned his fault, and bringing the bribe to his chief, the forester, had made full reparation.
There was another gathering of the pages in the great hall on the following day. The earl and chaplain were there, the chief forester and his subordinate. Drogo, still suffering from his fall, and by no means improved in appearance, was brought before them.
“Drogo de Harengod,” said the earl, “I should have doubted of God’s justice, had the ordeal to which thou didst appeal gone otherwise. But since yesterday the right has been made yet more clear. Dost thou know yon verdurer?”
Drogo looked at the man.
“My lord,” he said. “I accept the decision of the combat. Let me go from Kenilworth.”
“What, without reparation?”
“I have my punishment to bear in expulsion from this place”—(“if punishment it be,” he muttered)—“as for mysoi-disantcousin, it will be an evil day for him when he crosses my path elsewhere.”
The earl stood astonished at his audacity.
“Thou perjured wretch!” he said. “Thou perverter by bribes! thou liar and false accuser! GO, amidst the contempt and scorn of all who know thee.”
And, amidst the hisses of his late companions, Drogo left Kenilworth for ever—expelled.