Chapter26: After The Battle.We trust our readers are anxious to learn the fate of Martin, whom, much against our will, we left in such grievous durance at Walderne Castle.Drogo had only left a score of men behind him to defend the castle in case of any sudden assault; which, however, he did not expect. Before leaving he had called one of these aside, a fellow whose name was Marboeuf.“Marboeuf,” he said, “I know thou hast the two elements which, between ourselves, ensure the greatest happiness in this world—a good digestion and a hard heart.”“You compliment me, master.”“Nay, I know thy worth, and hence I leave all things in thy hands: my honour and my vengeance.”“Thy vengeance?”“Yes. If I live I shall expect to find all as I left it when I return hither. If I die, and thou receivest sure news of my death, slay me the three prisoners.”“What! The friar and all!”“Is his blood redder than any other man’s? It seems to me thou art afraid of the Pope’s gray regiment.”“Nay, I like not to slay priests and friars. It brings a man ill luck if he meddle with those.”“Then I must appoint Thibault. He may have an easier conscience, but I had thought that bloodshed, if nothing else, had bound us together.”“Nay, it shall not be said that I forsook my lord in his need. If thou fallest in the coming battle, I will sacrifice the three to thy ghost.”“So shall I rest in peace, like the warriors of old time, over whose tomb they slew many victims and cut many throats. I believe in no creed, but the old one of our ancestors suits me best, and I hope I shall find my way to Valhalla, if Valhalla there be.”When the last stragglers of the royal army had been swallowed up in the recesses of the forest, Marboeuf began to ponder over his engagement. But presently up came the janitor of the dungeons.“Hast thou the key of the friar’s dungeon?”“Nay. The young lord has not left it with me.”The men looked at each other.“He locked it himself, this morning, and put the key into his gypsire.”“And he has gone off with it. Doubtless he will send it back directly he finds it there.”“I doubt it.”“Shall we send after him?”“No!” said Marboeuf.“He is a friar. We must not let him starve.”“Humph! It will not be our fault. I tell thee thou dost not yet know our lord, and too much zeal may only damage you in his goodwill.”The gaoler retreated, and went slowly down to the dungeons. He walked along the passage moodily. At length he heard a voice breaking the silence:Yea, though I walkthrough the valley of the shadow of death,I will fear no evil: for thou art with me;Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.The man felt moved. It seemed to him as if he were near a being of another mould, and old memories of years long past were awakened in his mind—how once such a friar had found him wounded almost to death in the battlefield, and had saved the body, like the good Samaritan, and striven to save his soul. How he had vowed amendment and forgotten it, or he had not been found herding with such black sheep as Drogo and his band. And earlier thoughts, how when his mother had fallen sick of the plague, another friar had tended her dying moments, when every other earthly friend had failed her for fear of infection.“He shall not perish if I can help it, and it may be put to my account in purgatory.”“Father,” he cried.“My brother,” was the reply, “what hast thou to ask?”“What food hast thou?”“Yet half a loaf, and a cruse nearly filled with water.”“It is all thou mayst get till my lord return. He has taken the keys. Use it sparingly.”For a moment there was silence, then a calm voice replied:“He who fed Elijah by the ministry of the ravens will not fail me.”“But if Sir Drogo be absent many days thou mayst starve.”“Though he slay me, yet will I put my trust in him.”“I do believe he will be saved, by a miracle if needs be,” muttered the man. “The saints will never let him starve, he is one of them.”The second day passed, and Martin’s bread and cruse yet held out. But his gaoler was very uneasy, and wandered about the dark passages like a restless spirit. Neither could he help breathing his despair to Martin, as hours passed away and no messenger returned from Drogo with the key.But the answer from the captive was always full of hope.“Be of good cheer, for there has been with me an angel of God, who has assured me that the tyranny will soon be overpast. Meanwhile I feel not the pangs of hunger.”The fourth day from the departure of the royal army arrived. No one had as yet brought back the key. It was a day of awful suspense, for although no sound of artillery announced the awful strife, yet it was generally known that a battle was imminent, and was probably going on at that moment. They sent two messengers out at dawn of day, and one returned at eventide, breathless and sore from long running.He had been on that group of downs which lies eastward of Lewes, of which Mount Caburn is the highest point, and from which Walderne Castle was visible. There they had raised a beacon fire, and he had left his comrade to fire it in case the king lost the battle. But ere he departed he had seen, as he thought, the royal array in hopeless confusion.The afternoon brought another messenger, who confirmed the evil tidings, but was in hope that the prince, yet undefeated and then rampaging on the hill amongst the baggage, might retrieve the fortune of the day. When sunset drew nigh many of the garrison of Walderne betook themselves to the elevation on which the church is placed, whence they could see the Castle of Lewes through an opening, and watched, fearing to see the bale fire blaze, which should bid them all flee for their lives, unless they were prepared to defend the castle, to be a refuge in case their lord might survive and come to find shelter amongst them.On this point there were diverse opinions. A waggon had gone out in the early morning to collect forage and provisions by way of blackmail—at this moment it was seen approaching the gateway below.The sun had set, and the shades of evening were falling fast. All at once a single voice cried, “Look! the fire!” and the speaker pointed with his finger.The eyes of all present followed his gesture, and they saw a bright spot of light arise on the summit of the downs, distant some twelve miles.“It is the signal. All is lost! The rebels have won, and we must fly for our lives.”“They may be merciful.”“Nay, we have too black a name in the Andredsweald. We should have to answer for every peasant we have hanged or hen roost we have robbed.”“That would never do. By ’r lady, what injustice! Would they be so bad as that?”“We will not wait to see.”All at once loud outcries arose from the castle below. They looked aghast, for it was the sound of fierce strife and dread dismay. What could it be?They started to run to the help of their comrades, when a thousand cries, a wild war whoop, burst from the arches of the forest and in the dim twilight they saw numberless forms gliding over the short space which separated the castle from the wood.“The merrie men!”“The outlaws!”“The wild men of the woods!”The discomfited troopers paused—turned tail—fled— leaving their comrades to their fate, whatever it might be.Let us see.The waggon aforesaid had approached the gateway in the most innocent manner. It creaked over the drawbridge. It was already beneath the portcullis, when the driver cut the traces and thrust a long pole amidst the spokes of the wheel. At the same instant a score of men leapt out, who had been concealed beneath the loose hay.All was alarm and confusion. The few defenders of the castle were overpowered and slain, for the gross treachery practised upon the “merrie men” a few days earlier had hardened their hearts and rendered them deaf to the call for pity or mercy. The few women who were in the castle fled shrieking to their hiding places. The men died fighting.“To the dungeons! Show us the way to the dungeons, and we give you your life,” cried their leader—Kynewulf—to an individual whose bunch of keys attached to his girdle showed his office.“The friar is safe below, unhurt. I will take you to him. But I have no key.”“Where is it, then?”“Sir Drogo has taken it with him.”“We will have it open.“Friar Martin, art thou within?”“Safe and uninjured. Is it thou, Kynewulf? Then I charge thee that thou do no hurt to any here. They have not injured me.”“Not injured thee, to place thee here! Well, we will soon have thee out. We have promised Grimbeard to bring thee to him, or forfeit our lives. He is dying.”“Dying! And I not there! What has chanced?”“He was hit by one of those arrows the treacherous Drogo shot from the wall while the flag of truce was yet flying, when we first came to demand thee. But we must work to relieve thee.”And toil they did, but all in vain. They had no tools to force that iron door.Meanwhile a sound of scuffling drew other members of the band to a chamber in the tower, where the good knight Ralph de Monceux was confined, and as they approached they heard a heavy fall and found Marboeuf lying dead on the floor, his skull cleft asunder, whilst over him stood Ralph, axe in hand.The “merrie men” knew their bold captive.“Ah! How is this? What ox hast thou felled?”“Only a butcher who came in to slay me, but I avoided the blow, flew suddenly at his wrist and mastered the weapon, when I gave him what at Oxford we calledquid pro quo, as we strewed the shambles withboves boreales.”They did not understand his Latin, but they knew Marboeuf, who, as the reader will comprehend, seeing all was lost, had striven to perform his vow, and happily had begun first with this dexterous young knight. Hence they found the poor mayor of Hamelsham safe and sound, only a little less afraid of the “merrie men” than of Drogo; for often had they rifled the castle and robbed the hen roosts of his town.But all their efforts failed to open Martin’s door, and they were at their wits’ end what to do. They heard a rumour that the battle was lost, so they set men to watch, and prepared an ambush in his own castle yard for Drogo, in case he should survive the fight and come to hide, with especial instructions to take him alive, as they intended to hang him from his own tower.Meanwhile, through the dewy night, amidst the thousand odours of the woods, rode Hubert and his fifty horsemen. They stayed not for brake, and they slacked not for ford. All the loving heart of Hubert went before him to the rescue of the friend of his boyish days; suffering, he doubted not, cruel wrong and unmerited imprisonment in a noisome dungeon. And ere the midnight hour he arrived amidst the familiar scenes, and saw at length the towers rise before him in the faint light of a new moon.The sound of his horses must have been heard, but no challenge of warder awaited them. When the party arrived they found the drawbridge down, the gates open. What could it mean?“It may be treachery. Look to your arms ere you ride in,” cried Hubert.They entered the court through the gateway in the Barbican tower. Instantly the gates slammed behind them, the portcullis fell, and, as by magic, the windows and courtyard were crowded with men in green jerkins with bended bows.“What means this outrage,” cried Hubert aloud, “upon the heir of Walderne as he enters his own castle?”“That you are in the power of the merrie men of the greenwood. If you be Drogo of Walderne, surrender, and spare bloodshed: all who have never harmed us to go free.”“Then are we all free. My men are from Kenilworth, and can never have harmed you in word or deed. As for Drogo, he fell by my hand this day in fair combat.”“Who art thou, then?”“Hubert, son of Roger of Walderne, and I seek my brother Martin—Friar Martin—whom you all must know.”Instantly every hostile demonstration ceased. The doors were thrown open, and the men who, a moment before, were about to fly at each other’s throats, mingled freely as friends.“Martin is below,” they said. “Have you smiths who can force a door?”“Lead me to him. HERE IS THE KEY.”Down the steps they flew, almost tumbling over each other in their eagerness. The key was applied, the rusty bolt flew back, and Hubert was clasped in Martin’s arms.For a long while the spectators of this joyful meeting waited in the courtyard of the castle, which was thronged by men who had only been restrained by a merciful Providence from bending their deadly weapons against each other. Now their thoughts were thoughts of peace, yet they hardly understood why and wherefore.But after a while there was a commotion in the great hall, and soon Martin stood on the summit of the steps, worn and pale, leaning on the stout shoulders of Hubert. Their eyes were both swimming in tears—but tears of joy. Cheers and acclamations rent the air, and it was a long while ere silence was restored for the voice of the late prisoner to be heard.“Men and brethren, I thank you for your great love to me, and for the desire wherewith ye have desired my freedom, and jeopardised your own precious lives in its cause. And now, if I am welcome”—(loud cheers)—“so must be my dear brother Hubert, Lord of Walderne by the will of the Lady Sybil, a true knight, a warrior of the Cross, and a friend of the poor.” (Loud cheers again). “Many of you will remember the night when he parted from you, when Sir Nicholas, who is gone, introduced him to you as his undoubted heir, and many have grieved over him, and said, ‘Full forty fathom deep he lies.’ But here he is in flesh and blood!” (Renewed cheers).“And now, O men of the greenwood, whom I love so dearly, let me, a child of the greenwood, speak yet a few words about myself. For I am not only the last represent alive of the old English house of Michelham, but also a son of the house of Walderne; Mabel, my mother, being the sister, as many know, of the Lady Sybil. Ah, well. I seek a more continuing city than either Walderne or Michelham, and I want no earthly dignities. Wherever God gives me souls to tend is my home; and He has given it me, O men of the Andredsweald, amongst my countrymen and my kindred, and to Hubert I leave the castle right gladly. Now let there be peace, and let men turn their swords into ploughshares and their spears into pruning hooks, and hasten the glorious day when the kingdoms of this world shall become the kingdoms of God and His Christ.”“We will. God bless Sir Hubert of Walderne.”“God bless brother Martin.”Drogo was forgotten, as though he had never lived, forgiven and forgotten. And the multitude dispersed, each man to his own home or haunt in the forest, leaving Sir Hubert in possession of the castle of his ancestors, and Martin his guest.Martin’s first wish after his release was, as our readers will imagine, to visit his mother, and assure her of his safety in person. Kynewulf was in waiting to escort him. He had caused a litter to be constructed of the branches of trees, knowing that the severe strain Martin had undergone must have rendered him too weak for so long a journey; and the “merrie men” were only too eager to relieve each other in bearing so precious a burden.“You will find our chieftain very far from well,” said Kynewulf, as he walked by Martin’s side. “He was wounded by one of the arrows from the castle when we came to demand your liberation of Drogo, and the wound has taken a bad turn.”“How does my poor mother bear it?”“Like a true wife and good Englishwoman.”No more was said. Martin lapsed into deep thought until the retreat of the outlaws was attained. There, on a couch strewn with skins and soft herbage, lay the redoubtable Grimbeard; and by his side, nursing him tenderly, Mabel of Walderne. But for this she had been with Martin’s rescuers at the castle, but she could not leave her dying lord, who clung fondly to her now, and would take food from no other hand.The wound he had received had been thought slight, and neglected. Hence it had become serious, and since Kynewulf departed mortification had set in.The mother rose and embraced her “sweet son.”“Thank God!” she said, and led him to his stepfather’s side.Grimbeard raised himself with difficulty, and looked Martin in the face.“Martin is here,” he said. “Let my dying eyes gaze upon him again.“Martin, I have longed for thee. Tell me more about Him thou lovest so deeply.”“My father, He is waiting to receive and to bless thee. Cast thyself wholly on the Incarnate Love which embraced thee on the Tree. Say, for His sake, canst thou forgive all, even these Normans thou hast so hated?”“Dost thou forgive the wretch who shut thee up, my gentle boy, in that dungeon?”“Yes, verily, and pray to God to pardon him, too.”“Then I may pardon my foes, although my life has been spent in fighting against them for England’s freedom. But I see we must submit, as thou hast often said, to God’s will; and if the past may be forgiven, my merrie men will be well content to make peace, and to turn their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; especially now Drogo has met his just doom, as they tell me, and thy friend is about to rule at Walderne. Thou must be the mediator between them and him.“But oh! my son, it has been hard to submit to all this. All those I loved when young carried on the fight, and my own father bequeathed it to me as a sacred heritage. We hoped to see England governed by Englishmen, and the alien cast out; and now I give it up. The problem is too hard for me. God will make it clear.”“My father,” said Martin, “I, too, am the descendant of a long line of warriors, who have never before me submitted to the foreign yoke. But I see that the two peoples are becoming one: that the sons of the Norman learn our English tongue, and that the day is at hand when they will be proud of the name ‘Englishmen.’ Norman and Saxon all alike, one people, even as in heaven there is no distinction of race, but all are alike before the throne.”“And now, my son, art thou not a priest yet? I would fain make confession of my sins.”“God will accept the will for the deed. He is not limited to earthly means; and if thou truly repent of thy sins for the love of the Crucified, and believest in Him, all will be well.”For Martin feared that there would be no time to fetch a priest, or he would not have questioned the universal precept of the church of his day; while his own faith led him to see clearly that God’s mercy was not limited by the accidental omission of the outward ordinance.“I sent for Sir Richard {36}, the parish priest of Walderne, ere we left the castle, and he is doubtless on his way with the Viaticum,” said Kynewulf.And while they yet spake the priest arrived, and the dying man received with simple faith the last sacraments of the Church. After this his people gathered round him.“Tell them,” he said, in stammering tones, for the speech was failing, “what I have said. With thy friend in the castle, and thou in the greenwood, there will be peace.”Martin turned to the silent outlaws who stood by, and repeated his words. They listened in silence. The prospect was not new to them, for Martin’s long labours had not been in vain; but while Drogo was at Walderne, and the royal party triumphant, it seemed useless to hope for its realisation. Now things had changed, and there was hope that the breach would be healed.“His last prayer was for peace,” said Grimbeard. “Should not mine be the same? Oh, God, save my country, grant it the blessing of peace, and forgive a poor erring man, who sees, too late, that he has been fighting against Thy dispensation, for he can now say ‘Thy will be done.’”These were his last words, and although we have related them as if spoken connectedly, they were really only uttered in broken gasps. The end came; the widow turned aside from the bed after closing the eyes.“Martin,” she said, “thou alone art left to me.”And she fell on his neck and wept.From the grave to the gay, from a death to a wedding, such is life. The same bell which tolls dolorously at a burial clangs in company with its fellows at a marriage on the next day. So the world goes on.The scene was the priory of Saint Pancras at Lewes, where so lately the feeble old king had held his court. Now with his brave son he had gone into honourable captivity, for it was little better, and the followers of Earl Simon filled the place.Before the high altar stood a youthful pair; Hubert of Walderne, now to be known as Radulphus, or Ralph; and Alicia de Grey, who had been sheltered from ill and Drogo as one of the handmaidens of the Countess Eleanor, in keeping for her true love.The good prior, Foville, performed the ceremony and celebrated the massPro sponso et sponsa. The father, the happy and glad father, stood by, now fully delivered from his ghostly tormentor, his fondest wish on earth achieved. Earl Simon gave the bride away, while Martin stood by, so happy.It was over, and the aisle was strewn with the gay flowers of early summer, as our Hubert and his bride left the sacred pile. But one adieu to the father, who would not leave his monastery even then, but who fell upon Hubert’s neck and wept while he cried, “My son, my dear son, God bless thee;” and the bridal train rode off to the castle above, where the marriage feast was spread.Then Earl Simon to his onerous duties, and the happy pair to keep their honeymoon at Walderne.Oh, the joy of that leafy month of June, in the wild woods, all loosed from care. Hubert seemed to have found true happiness, if it could be found on earth. And Martin, he too was happy, in his work of love and reconciliation.It was an oasis in life’s pilgrimage, when man might well fancy he had found an Eden upon earth again. And there we would fain leave our two friends and cousins.
We trust our readers are anxious to learn the fate of Martin, whom, much against our will, we left in such grievous durance at Walderne Castle.
Drogo had only left a score of men behind him to defend the castle in case of any sudden assault; which, however, he did not expect. Before leaving he had called one of these aside, a fellow whose name was Marboeuf.
“Marboeuf,” he said, “I know thou hast the two elements which, between ourselves, ensure the greatest happiness in this world—a good digestion and a hard heart.”
“You compliment me, master.”
“Nay, I know thy worth, and hence I leave all things in thy hands: my honour and my vengeance.”
“Thy vengeance?”
“Yes. If I live I shall expect to find all as I left it when I return hither. If I die, and thou receivest sure news of my death, slay me the three prisoners.”
“What! The friar and all!”
“Is his blood redder than any other man’s? It seems to me thou art afraid of the Pope’s gray regiment.”
“Nay, I like not to slay priests and friars. It brings a man ill luck if he meddle with those.”
“Then I must appoint Thibault. He may have an easier conscience, but I had thought that bloodshed, if nothing else, had bound us together.”
“Nay, it shall not be said that I forsook my lord in his need. If thou fallest in the coming battle, I will sacrifice the three to thy ghost.”
“So shall I rest in peace, like the warriors of old time, over whose tomb they slew many victims and cut many throats. I believe in no creed, but the old one of our ancestors suits me best, and I hope I shall find my way to Valhalla, if Valhalla there be.”
When the last stragglers of the royal army had been swallowed up in the recesses of the forest, Marboeuf began to ponder over his engagement. But presently up came the janitor of the dungeons.
“Hast thou the key of the friar’s dungeon?”
“Nay. The young lord has not left it with me.”
The men looked at each other.
“He locked it himself, this morning, and put the key into his gypsire.”
“And he has gone off with it. Doubtless he will send it back directly he finds it there.”
“I doubt it.”
“Shall we send after him?”
“No!” said Marboeuf.
“He is a friar. We must not let him starve.”
“Humph! It will not be our fault. I tell thee thou dost not yet know our lord, and too much zeal may only damage you in his goodwill.”
The gaoler retreated, and went slowly down to the dungeons. He walked along the passage moodily. At length he heard a voice breaking the silence:
Yea, though I walkthrough the valley of the shadow of death,I will fear no evil: for thou art with me;Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
The man felt moved. It seemed to him as if he were near a being of another mould, and old memories of years long past were awakened in his mind—how once such a friar had found him wounded almost to death in the battlefield, and had saved the body, like the good Samaritan, and striven to save his soul. How he had vowed amendment and forgotten it, or he had not been found herding with such black sheep as Drogo and his band. And earlier thoughts, how when his mother had fallen sick of the plague, another friar had tended her dying moments, when every other earthly friend had failed her for fear of infection.
“He shall not perish if I can help it, and it may be put to my account in purgatory.”
“Father,” he cried.
“My brother,” was the reply, “what hast thou to ask?”
“What food hast thou?”
“Yet half a loaf, and a cruse nearly filled with water.”
“It is all thou mayst get till my lord return. He has taken the keys. Use it sparingly.”
For a moment there was silence, then a calm voice replied:
“He who fed Elijah by the ministry of the ravens will not fail me.”
“But if Sir Drogo be absent many days thou mayst starve.”
“Though he slay me, yet will I put my trust in him.”
“I do believe he will be saved, by a miracle if needs be,” muttered the man. “The saints will never let him starve, he is one of them.”
The second day passed, and Martin’s bread and cruse yet held out. But his gaoler was very uneasy, and wandered about the dark passages like a restless spirit. Neither could he help breathing his despair to Martin, as hours passed away and no messenger returned from Drogo with the key.
But the answer from the captive was always full of hope.
“Be of good cheer, for there has been with me an angel of God, who has assured me that the tyranny will soon be overpast. Meanwhile I feel not the pangs of hunger.”
The fourth day from the departure of the royal army arrived. No one had as yet brought back the key. It was a day of awful suspense, for although no sound of artillery announced the awful strife, yet it was generally known that a battle was imminent, and was probably going on at that moment. They sent two messengers out at dawn of day, and one returned at eventide, breathless and sore from long running.
He had been on that group of downs which lies eastward of Lewes, of which Mount Caburn is the highest point, and from which Walderne Castle was visible. There they had raised a beacon fire, and he had left his comrade to fire it in case the king lost the battle. But ere he departed he had seen, as he thought, the royal array in hopeless confusion.
The afternoon brought another messenger, who confirmed the evil tidings, but was in hope that the prince, yet undefeated and then rampaging on the hill amongst the baggage, might retrieve the fortune of the day. When sunset drew nigh many of the garrison of Walderne betook themselves to the elevation on which the church is placed, whence they could see the Castle of Lewes through an opening, and watched, fearing to see the bale fire blaze, which should bid them all flee for their lives, unless they were prepared to defend the castle, to be a refuge in case their lord might survive and come to find shelter amongst them.
On this point there were diverse opinions. A waggon had gone out in the early morning to collect forage and provisions by way of blackmail—at this moment it was seen approaching the gateway below.
The sun had set, and the shades of evening were falling fast. All at once a single voice cried, “Look! the fire!” and the speaker pointed with his finger.
The eyes of all present followed his gesture, and they saw a bright spot of light arise on the summit of the downs, distant some twelve miles.
“It is the signal. All is lost! The rebels have won, and we must fly for our lives.”
“They may be merciful.”
“Nay, we have too black a name in the Andredsweald. We should have to answer for every peasant we have hanged or hen roost we have robbed.”
“That would never do. By ’r lady, what injustice! Would they be so bad as that?”
“We will not wait to see.”
All at once loud outcries arose from the castle below. They looked aghast, for it was the sound of fierce strife and dread dismay. What could it be?
They started to run to the help of their comrades, when a thousand cries, a wild war whoop, burst from the arches of the forest and in the dim twilight they saw numberless forms gliding over the short space which separated the castle from the wood.
“The merrie men!”
“The outlaws!”
“The wild men of the woods!”
The discomfited troopers paused—turned tail—fled— leaving their comrades to their fate, whatever it might be.
Let us see.
The waggon aforesaid had approached the gateway in the most innocent manner. It creaked over the drawbridge. It was already beneath the portcullis, when the driver cut the traces and thrust a long pole amidst the spokes of the wheel. At the same instant a score of men leapt out, who had been concealed beneath the loose hay.
All was alarm and confusion. The few defenders of the castle were overpowered and slain, for the gross treachery practised upon the “merrie men” a few days earlier had hardened their hearts and rendered them deaf to the call for pity or mercy. The few women who were in the castle fled shrieking to their hiding places. The men died fighting.
“To the dungeons! Show us the way to the dungeons, and we give you your life,” cried their leader—Kynewulf—to an individual whose bunch of keys attached to his girdle showed his office.
“The friar is safe below, unhurt. I will take you to him. But I have no key.”
“Where is it, then?”
“Sir Drogo has taken it with him.”
“We will have it open.
“Friar Martin, art thou within?”
“Safe and uninjured. Is it thou, Kynewulf? Then I charge thee that thou do no hurt to any here. They have not injured me.”
“Not injured thee, to place thee here! Well, we will soon have thee out. We have promised Grimbeard to bring thee to him, or forfeit our lives. He is dying.”
“Dying! And I not there! What has chanced?”
“He was hit by one of those arrows the treacherous Drogo shot from the wall while the flag of truce was yet flying, when we first came to demand thee. But we must work to relieve thee.”
And toil they did, but all in vain. They had no tools to force that iron door.
Meanwhile a sound of scuffling drew other members of the band to a chamber in the tower, where the good knight Ralph de Monceux was confined, and as they approached they heard a heavy fall and found Marboeuf lying dead on the floor, his skull cleft asunder, whilst over him stood Ralph, axe in hand.
The “merrie men” knew their bold captive.
“Ah! How is this? What ox hast thou felled?”
“Only a butcher who came in to slay me, but I avoided the blow, flew suddenly at his wrist and mastered the weapon, when I gave him what at Oxford we calledquid pro quo, as we strewed the shambles withboves boreales.”
They did not understand his Latin, but they knew Marboeuf, who, as the reader will comprehend, seeing all was lost, had striven to perform his vow, and happily had begun first with this dexterous young knight. Hence they found the poor mayor of Hamelsham safe and sound, only a little less afraid of the “merrie men” than of Drogo; for often had they rifled the castle and robbed the hen roosts of his town.
But all their efforts failed to open Martin’s door, and they were at their wits’ end what to do. They heard a rumour that the battle was lost, so they set men to watch, and prepared an ambush in his own castle yard for Drogo, in case he should survive the fight and come to hide, with especial instructions to take him alive, as they intended to hang him from his own tower.
Meanwhile, through the dewy night, amidst the thousand odours of the woods, rode Hubert and his fifty horsemen. They stayed not for brake, and they slacked not for ford. All the loving heart of Hubert went before him to the rescue of the friend of his boyish days; suffering, he doubted not, cruel wrong and unmerited imprisonment in a noisome dungeon. And ere the midnight hour he arrived amidst the familiar scenes, and saw at length the towers rise before him in the faint light of a new moon.
The sound of his horses must have been heard, but no challenge of warder awaited them. When the party arrived they found the drawbridge down, the gates open. What could it mean?
“It may be treachery. Look to your arms ere you ride in,” cried Hubert.
They entered the court through the gateway in the Barbican tower. Instantly the gates slammed behind them, the portcullis fell, and, as by magic, the windows and courtyard were crowded with men in green jerkins with bended bows.
“What means this outrage,” cried Hubert aloud, “upon the heir of Walderne as he enters his own castle?”
“That you are in the power of the merrie men of the greenwood. If you be Drogo of Walderne, surrender, and spare bloodshed: all who have never harmed us to go free.”
“Then are we all free. My men are from Kenilworth, and can never have harmed you in word or deed. As for Drogo, he fell by my hand this day in fair combat.”
“Who art thou, then?”
“Hubert, son of Roger of Walderne, and I seek my brother Martin—Friar Martin—whom you all must know.”
Instantly every hostile demonstration ceased. The doors were thrown open, and the men who, a moment before, were about to fly at each other’s throats, mingled freely as friends.
“Martin is below,” they said. “Have you smiths who can force a door?”
“Lead me to him. HERE IS THE KEY.”
Down the steps they flew, almost tumbling over each other in their eagerness. The key was applied, the rusty bolt flew back, and Hubert was clasped in Martin’s arms.
For a long while the spectators of this joyful meeting waited in the courtyard of the castle, which was thronged by men who had only been restrained by a merciful Providence from bending their deadly weapons against each other. Now their thoughts were thoughts of peace, yet they hardly understood why and wherefore.
But after a while there was a commotion in the great hall, and soon Martin stood on the summit of the steps, worn and pale, leaning on the stout shoulders of Hubert. Their eyes were both swimming in tears—but tears of joy. Cheers and acclamations rent the air, and it was a long while ere silence was restored for the voice of the late prisoner to be heard.
“Men and brethren, I thank you for your great love to me, and for the desire wherewith ye have desired my freedom, and jeopardised your own precious lives in its cause. And now, if I am welcome”—(loud cheers)—“so must be my dear brother Hubert, Lord of Walderne by the will of the Lady Sybil, a true knight, a warrior of the Cross, and a friend of the poor.” (Loud cheers again). “Many of you will remember the night when he parted from you, when Sir Nicholas, who is gone, introduced him to you as his undoubted heir, and many have grieved over him, and said, ‘Full forty fathom deep he lies.’ But here he is in flesh and blood!” (Renewed cheers).
“And now, O men of the greenwood, whom I love so dearly, let me, a child of the greenwood, speak yet a few words about myself. For I am not only the last represent alive of the old English house of Michelham, but also a son of the house of Walderne; Mabel, my mother, being the sister, as many know, of the Lady Sybil. Ah, well. I seek a more continuing city than either Walderne or Michelham, and I want no earthly dignities. Wherever God gives me souls to tend is my home; and He has given it me, O men of the Andredsweald, amongst my countrymen and my kindred, and to Hubert I leave the castle right gladly. Now let there be peace, and let men turn their swords into ploughshares and their spears into pruning hooks, and hasten the glorious day when the kingdoms of this world shall become the kingdoms of God and His Christ.”
“We will. God bless Sir Hubert of Walderne.”
“God bless brother Martin.”
Drogo was forgotten, as though he had never lived, forgiven and forgotten. And the multitude dispersed, each man to his own home or haunt in the forest, leaving Sir Hubert in possession of the castle of his ancestors, and Martin his guest.
Martin’s first wish after his release was, as our readers will imagine, to visit his mother, and assure her of his safety in person. Kynewulf was in waiting to escort him. He had caused a litter to be constructed of the branches of trees, knowing that the severe strain Martin had undergone must have rendered him too weak for so long a journey; and the “merrie men” were only too eager to relieve each other in bearing so precious a burden.
“You will find our chieftain very far from well,” said Kynewulf, as he walked by Martin’s side. “He was wounded by one of the arrows from the castle when we came to demand your liberation of Drogo, and the wound has taken a bad turn.”
“How does my poor mother bear it?”
“Like a true wife and good Englishwoman.”
No more was said. Martin lapsed into deep thought until the retreat of the outlaws was attained. There, on a couch strewn with skins and soft herbage, lay the redoubtable Grimbeard; and by his side, nursing him tenderly, Mabel of Walderne. But for this she had been with Martin’s rescuers at the castle, but she could not leave her dying lord, who clung fondly to her now, and would take food from no other hand.
The wound he had received had been thought slight, and neglected. Hence it had become serious, and since Kynewulf departed mortification had set in.
The mother rose and embraced her “sweet son.”
“Thank God!” she said, and led him to his stepfather’s side.
Grimbeard raised himself with difficulty, and looked Martin in the face.
“Martin is here,” he said. “Let my dying eyes gaze upon him again.
“Martin, I have longed for thee. Tell me more about Him thou lovest so deeply.”
“My father, He is waiting to receive and to bless thee. Cast thyself wholly on the Incarnate Love which embraced thee on the Tree. Say, for His sake, canst thou forgive all, even these Normans thou hast so hated?”
“Dost thou forgive the wretch who shut thee up, my gentle boy, in that dungeon?”
“Yes, verily, and pray to God to pardon him, too.”
“Then I may pardon my foes, although my life has been spent in fighting against them for England’s freedom. But I see we must submit, as thou hast often said, to God’s will; and if the past may be forgiven, my merrie men will be well content to make peace, and to turn their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; especially now Drogo has met his just doom, as they tell me, and thy friend is about to rule at Walderne. Thou must be the mediator between them and him.
“But oh! my son, it has been hard to submit to all this. All those I loved when young carried on the fight, and my own father bequeathed it to me as a sacred heritage. We hoped to see England governed by Englishmen, and the alien cast out; and now I give it up. The problem is too hard for me. God will make it clear.”
“My father,” said Martin, “I, too, am the descendant of a long line of warriors, who have never before me submitted to the foreign yoke. But I see that the two peoples are becoming one: that the sons of the Norman learn our English tongue, and that the day is at hand when they will be proud of the name ‘Englishmen.’ Norman and Saxon all alike, one people, even as in heaven there is no distinction of race, but all are alike before the throne.”
“And now, my son, art thou not a priest yet? I would fain make confession of my sins.”
“God will accept the will for the deed. He is not limited to earthly means; and if thou truly repent of thy sins for the love of the Crucified, and believest in Him, all will be well.”
For Martin feared that there would be no time to fetch a priest, or he would not have questioned the universal precept of the church of his day; while his own faith led him to see clearly that God’s mercy was not limited by the accidental omission of the outward ordinance.
“I sent for Sir Richard {36}, the parish priest of Walderne, ere we left the castle, and he is doubtless on his way with the Viaticum,” said Kynewulf.
And while they yet spake the priest arrived, and the dying man received with simple faith the last sacraments of the Church. After this his people gathered round him.
“Tell them,” he said, in stammering tones, for the speech was failing, “what I have said. With thy friend in the castle, and thou in the greenwood, there will be peace.”
Martin turned to the silent outlaws who stood by, and repeated his words. They listened in silence. The prospect was not new to them, for Martin’s long labours had not been in vain; but while Drogo was at Walderne, and the royal party triumphant, it seemed useless to hope for its realisation. Now things had changed, and there was hope that the breach would be healed.
“His last prayer was for peace,” said Grimbeard. “Should not mine be the same? Oh, God, save my country, grant it the blessing of peace, and forgive a poor erring man, who sees, too late, that he has been fighting against Thy dispensation, for he can now say ‘Thy will be done.’”
These were his last words, and although we have related them as if spoken connectedly, they were really only uttered in broken gasps. The end came; the widow turned aside from the bed after closing the eyes.
“Martin,” she said, “thou alone art left to me.”
And she fell on his neck and wept.
From the grave to the gay, from a death to a wedding, such is life. The same bell which tolls dolorously at a burial clangs in company with its fellows at a marriage on the next day. So the world goes on.
The scene was the priory of Saint Pancras at Lewes, where so lately the feeble old king had held his court. Now with his brave son he had gone into honourable captivity, for it was little better, and the followers of Earl Simon filled the place.
Before the high altar stood a youthful pair; Hubert of Walderne, now to be known as Radulphus, or Ralph; and Alicia de Grey, who had been sheltered from ill and Drogo as one of the handmaidens of the Countess Eleanor, in keeping for her true love.
The good prior, Foville, performed the ceremony and celebrated the massPro sponso et sponsa. The father, the happy and glad father, stood by, now fully delivered from his ghostly tormentor, his fondest wish on earth achieved. Earl Simon gave the bride away, while Martin stood by, so happy.
It was over, and the aisle was strewn with the gay flowers of early summer, as our Hubert and his bride left the sacred pile. But one adieu to the father, who would not leave his monastery even then, but who fell upon Hubert’s neck and wept while he cried, “My son, my dear son, God bless thee;” and the bridal train rode off to the castle above, where the marriage feast was spread.
Then Earl Simon to his onerous duties, and the happy pair to keep their honeymoon at Walderne.
Oh, the joy of that leafy month of June, in the wild woods, all loosed from care. Hubert seemed to have found true happiness, if it could be found on earth. And Martin, he too was happy, in his work of love and reconciliation.
It was an oasis in life’s pilgrimage, when man might well fancy he had found an Eden upon earth again. And there we would fain leave our two friends and cousins.