"What though the field be lost?All is not lost."Paradise Lost.
"What though the field be lost?All is not lost."
Paradise Lost.
Oswald the Saxon, and Beowulf the Saxon Dane, passed out into the night, and continued their course beyond the gates of the city, which were so broken down that they served no longer the purpose for which they were erected. The walls also for considerable distances were thrown down, and in a state of disrepair. The insurrectionary forces had determined to push forward in the king's absence, but in the meantime they were halting, waiting for Malcolm of Scotland, and for further counsel. They were encamped some miles away on the banks of the river running between York and the head of the estuary of the Humber, where the Danish war-vessels were anchored. The Danes held the head of the estuary, throwing out their forces Yorkward, but encamped sufficiently near to cover their vessels, in the event of an attack upon them. Waltheof, the leader and commander-in-chief of the Saxon forces, occupied a central position, having under his command the bulk of the rebels; whilst Oswald, Beowulf, and others, occupied the right wing, which to a certain extent covered the city. On the news of William's landing, the bridges were thrown down, but in many places the river was fordable, during dry weather, both for man and horse. But to effect this in the face of sturdy enemies was a most formidable task, and the Saxons were sufficiently numerous to guard the river effectually wherever it was fordable.
Early in the morning, after the breaking up of the council of war, the scouts brought in the intelligence that William had arrived within six miles, and ere nightfall the pennants of the Normans were flying within sight of the Saxon forces.
Very little of that night was spent by Oswald in rest. Twice he patrolled the whole length of the river under his command, visiting and cheering every outpost. But judge how great was his consternation, and that of his forces also, when, with the dawning of the morning, the fraction of the Saxons commanded by him were made painfully aware of the fact that the Normans had passed the river, unopposed, in the night; and worse than that, there began to be ominous rumours that this had arisen through the treachery of Waltheof—that he, having been bribed by the Conqueror, had left the remnant to their fate. In these straits time was precious, for the Normans were advancing up the river, doubling up the Saxon outposts, and throwing them back on the main body. Hastily a council of war was called, and not a few, in face of the danger and the hopelessness of their cause in the midst of such treachery, were for dispersing without a blow; but Oswald, addressing them, said,—
"I fear it is too true that there is treachery in our ranks; but as yet we know not its extent. If Waltheof has succumbed to William's bribes, there are still the Danes, who will be able to harass the rear of our enemy. Hourly, also, we are expecting Malcolm of Scotland and the Atheling, so that we need not despair. Let us make a bold stand; the battle is by no means lost if the Danes stand firm. Now, with our handful of men it is utterly impossible to meet the Normans in the open country; for they will double our left flank easily and surround us. But on the fringe of yonder dense wood, with our line extended under cover of the thicket, and where the enemy's horse will be absolutely useless—where also our men will be quite in their element and be able to ply their long bows with deadly effect, and their spears or swords at close quarters—we shall surely avoid, in any case, the wholesale slaughter of our men; and we shall administer a severe check to William's march."
The force of this sage advice was seen at once by the leaders, and the forces accordingly retired to the wood in their rear, and took up their fighting attitude just within its shelter. The Saxons, who were brave individually, were still undisciplined and incapable of acting together with precision in the open; but they were wonderfully heartened by this movement, which gave them shelter from the onslaughts of the enemy's horse—a mode of warfare which has at all times had a demoralising effect upon untrained soldiers. So, having their right flank resting on the river, and in consequence shielded from any flank movement there, they threw out their left considerably, so as to prevent, if possible, any over-lapping by the Normans. They were the better able to do this, seeing that the enemy's horse were totally unable to charge through their attenuated lines; the jungle being an effectual barrier to this. Oswald arranged his men in two fighting lines. The foremost ranks, with spear and sword, were to resist the advance of the Normans. The second were bowmen, who were to cover the front ranks by letting fly their arrows in the faces of the foe; a most ingenious and effective expedient. To Beowulf he entrusted the command of the left wing, with instructions to in no case permit the Normans to outflank them, but, if necessary, to double in the left flank also, until it rested on the river.
Scarcely had Oswald time to make this careful disposition of his men ere the vanguard of the Normans were upon them. But a shower of arrows from the Saxons at close quarters thoroughly disconcerted them. So fiercely were they met, and by a force whose numbers they had no means of gauging, that they deemed it prudent to retire beyond bowshot until the remainder of the forces advanced to their support. Then came a more determined assault on the Saxons' position. But, from behind trees and shrubs, the concealed defenders drave their short spears through each assailant, or clave them with their short Saxon swords or battle-axes. Oswald and others, who were clad in armour, boldly fronted them in every gap, making great havoc in the ranks of the men-at-arms, or singling out the Norman leaders and engaging them.
In the midst of the fray, one noteworthy incident occurred. Oswald, to his amazement, saw the burly Norman, Vigneau, who had come with professions of help, now fighting fiercely against them. Immediately his blood was fired, and pressing steadily towards him, eventually they met face to face.
"Ah, treacherous villain!" said Oswald. "This is your friendship for our cause, is it? I have a particular message for tricksters and sneaking traitors like you."
"Come on, varlet of a Saxon, and don't stand prating like some gowky wench, and I'll quickly give thee thy quietus," said Vigneau savagely.
Instantly there ensued a most desperate encounter between these two powerful combatants. Each of them, however, wore a suit of armour, and carried a shield, and each one was most skilful in the use of his weapons, so that, desperate and determined as they both were, no conclusive blow resulted. But whilst the duel progressed, the general body of the Normans made steady progress, in spite of the valour of the Saxons, and speedily Oswald was quite surrounded, though totally oblivious of the fact. One stalwart Saxon, however, who had fought by Oswald's side—by name Wulfhere—saw the imminent danger in which his leader was placed, and he rushed to his rescue, quickly cleaving his way through; and seizing Oswald, he exclaimed,—
"Master, you will be cut off if you don't keep in fighting line with us!"
This fierce reminder awoke Oswald to the peril of his position, and he said to his antagonist, "Another time, villain, will come, when I hope we may effectually finish this quarrel."
"Sooner and better, churl; but for the present your better plan is to run away," retorted Vigneau.
In the meantime, although the Saxons had extended their lines to the utmost limits which the sparsity of their men would permit, the Normans surged round and completely overlapped them. So Beowulf was compelled to initiate the movement ordered by Oswald, and the left wing was gradually doubled back until it also converged on the river; and thus the line of battle was in the form of a semicircle. The Saxons fought with desperation, disputing every inch of the ground, and strewing the ground, yard by yard, with the Norman slain. The masterly skill with which their ground had been chosen and their defence planned, gave them great advantage, and enabled them to maintain the unequal contest for nearly an hour. But ultimately the quivers of the archers were emptied of every shaft, and the battle could no longer be maintained with advantage, but would probably end in complete massacre. So Oswald selected a spot where the river was fordable; then, he and a hundred stalwart Saxons stood shoulder to shoulder, keeping the enemy at bay whilst the rank and file crossed the stream. Then, gradually narrowing their own circle until every one had taken the river, the last half-dozen, with their faces to the foe, fought their way across.
When they had reached the opposite side, the order was given for dispersal, and the gallant band melted away, and severally, or in bands, sought their distant homes. Thus ended in total failure, through cowardice and treachery, what at one time seemed, in its very marked success, a conspiracy that would ultimately wrest the kingdom from the usurper.
"Cowards die many times before their deathThe valiant never taste of death but once."Shakespeare.
"Cowards die many times before their deathThe valiant never taste of death but once."
Shakespeare.
"The Saxon cause is lost, Wulfhere, by base-hearted cowardice and treachery," said Oswald, turning to the stalwart "freeman" already introduced to the reader. "Look to the rear, though I think the Normans have had such a taste of our quality that there will be no pursuit for the present; but henceforth we may look to it, for there will be—unless I greatly misjudge the Norman king—a bitter revenge exacted from us, and untempered in the least degree by mercy. We have our broadswords left to us, and we have proved this day that they have a keen edge and bite as sharp as ever. We have a few bowmen, also, who can shoot straight; but for our shelter I fear me we shall have but the dense forest, and the rugged hills of our native Craven for our defence. But they are a defence familiar to us, and no battering-ram or assault of besiegers will avail our foe. Let them drive the wolf to bay if they dare, and they shall find he has sharp teeth. Well, to me, Wulfhere, a life of valorous freedom is better than servile slavery and degraded serfdom."
"I join you there, my lord. A ceorl born, a ceorl for ever. That is my charter. I will maintain it to the death," said Wulfhere.
The conclusions of Oswald, with regard to the revenge which the Normans would exact, proved only too true. Like a conflagration, the sanguinary, mercenary host spread themselves over the northern part of the kingdom, and desolation and death spread their ghastly wings over the land. William's aim evidently was to decimate the population, and thus make any further revolt utterly impossible.
I forbear, however, to enter into the details of the wholesale slaughter which followed after the Saxons were put to the rout at York, in mercy to the reader.
So, at the word of command, the followers of Oswald moved away from the fatal field, with celerity, but in perfect order. The close of the second day brought them home again. Bitterly sad our hearts were at the tidings they brought us, and at sight of the thinned ranks of stout and hardy yeomen who went out from us on this last desperate venture. The Earl addressed the following words to them, as we stood together in the monastery grounds: "My trusty followers, my faithful friends,—We have probably not more than forty-eight hours before we shall be face to face again with the hated Norman foe—on our own lands, and at the thresholds of our own homes. Do not let us, because of this short respite, close our eyes to what will inevitably follow. Neither age nor sex will be spared, though we should crawl at their feet, and grovel in the dust. The only thing these Normans will respect is the broadsword, as it flashes at their breast, or the arrow, glancing unerringly through the branches of the trees in the forest fastnesses. I advise you to take to the hills; the caves will form in some respects a shelter for your wives and little ones. Carry your cattle along with you to the hills and mountain gorges. Your corn, your cooking utensils—in short, everything of value and of service—take along with you. There are men here from every corner of our domain. Tell your neighbours, and make haste; even the minutes are precious. I shall contrive, if I live, to protect you for the present, and until my castle is taken you will be absolutely safe."
As the men moved slowly away to their homes in the distant hamlets, bearers of the sorrowful news, the Earl turned to Wulfhere.
"Well, Wulfhere, my resolve is taken. I shall not cower before, or servilely beg for freedom at the hands of the proudest Norman of them all. Further, I shall not fly over sea, and sell my sword to a foreign potentate. Yonder, in the distance, I can descry the turrets of my castle. I was born there, and I shall defend it to the last; and when driven from it, it will still be a joy to sit on the hillsides and gaze upon the old home. There are likewise these followers of mine, who have followed me everywhere and blindly done my bidding. It were dastardly conduct to give them over now to sanguinary massacre. When, as a boy, with falcon on my arm and hound at my heel, I hied me o'er these lands, my faithful yeomen welcomed me everywhere, and their good wives brought out their daintiest morsel and their sweetest mead. We shall stand or fall together. Who knows? The Saxon star may some day be in the ascendant again, and we may push the Normans from our shores. What sayest thou, Wulfhere?"
"Your purpose, my lord, if I understand you aright, is to defend the castle so long as you can, and then try to hold the Normans at bay by means of the shelter which the woods and the hills afford."
"That is my present purpose. I can scarcely hope to hold the castle, except for a little while, but I may thus materially check the desolating march of the Normans. But ultimately I look to the woods and the hills for permanent safety. We are more fortunate than our countrymen in other parts of the kingdom. If we look to the north we see the stately Hanging-brow mountain, lifting itself to the sky and girdled with the clouds, and those dense woods, which, like a vast army clambering up its sides, will fight for us in our onslaught, and shield us in our flight. The waters also shed on its brow by the clouds which nestle well-nigh perpetually on its shoulders, and go leaping down its sides with the fierceness of a cataract, have ploughed into the mountain's seamy sides gorges impassable to untrained feet. Look, to the east a few miles we have the scarcely less remarkable Weirdburn hills. To the south, Baldby heights. Think also of the dense woods which everywhere abound in this Craven of ours. Then, like myself, you will see that in no other part of the land has Nature so combined to shelter the friendless and protect the oppressed. Further, we are quite two hundred and fifty miles from London. Though the Normans will come very surely to despoil the land, William will speedily draw off his forces, and we shall have but to cope with the Norman who usurps my lands and castle, holding it probably with a slender garrison. For the present we are unequal to the task of contending in open warfare with our foe. We will contend with him with the most effective weapons we possess; and these are cunning and evasion. There shall be no solid front presented to him at which he can aim an effective blow. But when the Normans have overrun the land, and the bulk of them gone hence, then we will present a bolder front, and assert our right to share the land, and cultivate the soil."
"What do you purpose in this dire emergency, reverend Father?" said he, turning to me. "Have you any purpose of defending the Abbey?"
"No, my lord," said I; "we are the disciples of the Prince of Peace, and we must follow His example. And indeed, carnal weapons would not protect us if we were minded to use them, and this sacred edifice would suffer irreparably by our resistance. Perhaps these untamed and bloody men may have some regard for the sanctity of these walls. We will throw open our gates to receive them. Those of our servants and followers who prefer to trust to the woods and the hills, as you advise, are free to do so. Those who prefer to stay—together with any unhappy fugitives who have fled hither for shelter—will join the monks in prayers and supplications, in the sanctuary. Perhaps God will give us favour in the eyes of our enemies."
"Give us your blessing, Father," said Oswald, falling on his knees and meekly uncovering his head, all his followers humbly following his example.
"Adieu, my son," said I, laying my hand upon his head. "May the God of our fathers nerve thy arm for the protection of thy humbler fellows, and give thee wisdom and discretion in this terrible day of thy country's visitation!"
With tearful eyes I watched the receding form of this noble Saxon. No carnal offspring could be dearer to an earthly parent than he to me. I had watched over him from infancy, educated him, travelled with him in many foreign lands; and I hoped he would be a great leader in statesmanship, in learning, and in all the arts of peace. Now, alas! I fear circumstance will make him a man of war, and a stern leader of bloody and desperate men.
"All is lost save honour."
"All is lost save honour."
Early on the morrow, strange rumours and stories, which made the blood curdle, were brought to the monastery by refugees from far and near. Both gentle and simple fled hither, being buoyed up by the widespread, but in this case delusive notion, that sanctuary walls would be sacredly respected. Amongst the number was the lovely daughter of the worthy Thane Beowulf, who, along with his son, had been slain in resisting the advance of the Normans. My heart sank within me as I looked upon her great beauty, realising with painful vividness how helpless and impotent I was to protect her—well knowing that lust and rapine, let loose, would not be awed or restrained even by the sanctity of the Church.
I had commanded the monks, with all refugees, to repair to the chapel for prayer, whilst I at the first summons repaired to the gate with some of the housecarles and lay brothers, and commanded the gates to be thrown open, when in poured a motley crowd of soldiers and men-at-arms, evidently bent on plunder, and totally uncontrolled by any sort of discipline. The crowd surged by me and carried me along, deriding my entreaties to be heard. One leader, in complete armour, and whom I afterwards ascertained to be Baron Vigneau, I appealed to in vain. He rudely pushed me aside with an oath, bidding me say my prayers to the devil, for he would soon have me and my monkish crew.
One party made a dash for the northern extremity of the enclosure, where were the outbuildings, in which our cattle, sheep and goats, and numerous attendants were housed. These servants, however, made their exit, with all speed, from the northern gate, as they saw the Normans enter at the south. One, Badger as he was called by his companions, who was keeper of the hounds and hawks—a mighty hunter, who kept our larder well stocked with venison, and fish, and game of every kind—held his ground. A sly rogue was Badger—so called from his propensity for hunting these animals and clothing himself in their skins. For hunting, hawking, and fishing, he was a prodigy. He was well-nigh fleet as a hare, and could swim like an otter; and had wherewithal so sly a humour, and such shrewdness, that he was a great favourite with me, and I had taken pains to add such instruction as I thought would be serviceable to him. The reader will pardon me this digression. But this Badger was such an active agent in the subsequent troublous times, and served the Saxon cause so well, both by his matchless cunning and his rare valour, that I have taken the trouble to introduce the reader to him at such great length. A most grotesque figure he presented on this fateful morning, clothed as he was from head to foot in skins.
"Hilloa!" roared one trooper to another, as they set eyes upon him. "What the deuce kind of an animal is this?"
"The foul fiend, or one of his imps, by Moses!" rejoined the other.
"Who are you, Satan?" said the first one, riding up to him and giving him a hearty thwack across the shoulders with the flat of his sword; at which Badger set up a most hypocritical howl. "Stash that, will you, you lump of hog's-flesh, or I'll make pork of you in a twinkling! Where are your cronies? Have you buried them, you old grave-digger?"
"Oh, hang him, Jaques!" chimed in the other impatiently. "Don't bother with the slobbering clown! But I've a notion it is a dry shop in this quarter; you had better get back again to the jolly friars, if you would have venison pasties and old ale. But I'm going to have a look round, and see if they have left a hack or two better than mine. They haven't left a worse, I'm blowed! I don't believe he is a horse. He's only a shadow and a half; the wind was just going to carry him off when I took him: so I committed no robbery when I stole him. I vow it's only my weight which keeps him in this world at all. Gee up, old marrow-bones! Your old backbone will do to shave the monks with. I wonder I'm not split up the middle by this. I verily believe my trunk is shorter by a good six inches than my legs, and I've only been perched on your old razor-rig these three days. Heigh-up! Jaques," continued he, suddenly wheeling round, "if you find a tap of good old ale before I get back, hold on to it till I come! I'm as thirsty as a sponge that hasn't had a soaking for twenty years. I could suck up half a hogshead easily. My soul is oozing away through the pores in my body, and all for lack of moisture."
Meanwhile, the monks, together with numerous refugees, chiefly women, were gathered in the church, vainly trusting to the sanctity of the place for protection. I had no faith in this, however, and had taken the precaution to have our most valuable and costly treasures of silver and gold and books conveyed to the sacristy, a barrel-vaulted apartment near the south transept, led down to by a flight of stone steps, which were cunningly covered over by the flagging of the floor. This had been designed expressly for the hiding of our valuables when a raid was anticipated by the Scots or Danes.
Many of the Normans, I noticed, made at once for the church. No doubt they fancied the richest booty would there be found. They rudely burst open the doors, and I pressed in with them. At once the fierce and undisciplined soldiery commenced to break and plunder everything. I advanced towards the leader, Vigneau, and prostrated myself before him to beg for mercy for the refugees. Alas! He furiously spurned me with his heavy boot, and cried to his men, "Ho, men! here are a lot of scurvy monks! Kill the rats in their hole!" Prompt to obey, the soldiers let fly a volley of arrows amongst the helpless throng huddled about the altar steps, and wounded many of them. Unhappily, Vigneau at that moment espied the lovely Ethel crouching amongst them. "Stay, men!" he shouted. "By Jupiter, here's the loveliest Saxon wench my eyes have seen. You may take the gold and silver baubles and melt them into zechins. Here's my share of the plunder!" Immediately he seized Ethel and dragged her from the steps of the high altar. "Nay, nay, wench," said he, "never be so shy! Thou wert intended for better company than simpering monks and friars. Damnation!" he roared, suddenly releasing her, staggering back a pace or two and staring aghast at her; for she had sprung at him and driven with all her force at his chest a small dagger she held in her hand. The dagger rattled upon his mailed chest, but left him scathless. Still she stood confronting him, like a panther at bay.
"By Jove!" he roared, as soon as he had recovered from his astonishment. "Here's mettle anyhow! I little thought there was so much spirit behind that pretty face. All the better however, for milk and water is no good even in a wench. Here goes for another embrace, my bantam!" So saying, he seized her with his mailed hands, and wrested the dagger from her, pitching it across the church. Then he literally tucked her under his arm, all the while roaring with laughter at her frantic but ineffectual efforts to release herself, and away he marched down the aisle of the church. I seized his arm, and was imploring him to have pity, when he called to a rough-looking soldier. "Here, fellow, run this shaveling priest through with thy sword, quick!" I gave myself up for a dead man, for I felt that I could not let him carry off Ethel, when suddenly there was a hush of voices, and looking round I beheld a Norman lady, of majestic port and bearing, pressing forward towards us, whilst close behind her there followed a score of armed men. I perceived at once that she was a lady of rank by her rich apparel and jewelled head-dress. She was also of surpassing loveliness and commanding figure. As she beheld the brutal Norman, I saw the fire flash in her rich dark eyes, as with quick step she marched boldly up to him and accosted him in words almost of fire. "I think this is another evidence, Baron, of your base and unchivalrous regard for the distressed of my sex, by the brutal way in which you are treating this helpless Saxon lady! You afford me ample opportunities of testing your gallantry, and better opportunities, too, than listening to your false and honeyed words, which you are pleased to pour into my ears."
"These are but Saxon varlets, Alice; and Saxon varlets, whether male or female, are not fitting objects of chivalry to a Norman knight."
"Chivalry is for the oppressed and weak of any nation. So be pleased to release this lady, and cease harrying these holy and unresisting men."
"Take care what you are at, madame!" savagely hissed the Baron, between his teeth, "or your meddlesome interference with business which does not concern you will be at your peril. Mark that,ma grande dame!"
"Let go the arm of this lady, I say, and leave this sanctuary at once, or I shall report your conduct to the Count forthwith."
"Tell the Count, madame, if he dare, to look in the wolf's mouth and count his teeth, and he'll not do it twice, you may mark that!"
He let go of Ethel, however, and, muttering savagely many fierce oaths, he strode out of the church, followed very reluctantly by his men.
"Jules Reynard," said the lady, addressing the leader of her men, "do your best to protect this holy place, and the lives of these monks." Jules Reynard acquiesced by a low obeisance. "Lady," she said, addressing Ethel, "I grieve very much at the rude treatment and mishandling you have been subjected to at the hands of these savage men. If you like to accept my protection, I think I can protect you from further annoyance and insult."
"I thank you, madame," said Ethel, "but this cannot be. Your people have burnt my home, basely slaughtered my father and my brother, and I prefer, whether living or dying, to company with my own people."
The Norman lady heaved a deep sigh. "Alas! I daresay it is but too true, and I can well understand your feelings; but I will strive to be a sister to you, if you will come with me."
"Say no more, lady; this cannot be."
"Well, then, we must part. But, mark me—though it is hard to say it of one's people—look for no compassion at the hands of my people, and beware especially of him from whom you have just escaped, for 'his tender mercies are cruel.'"
"I look for no compassion at the hands of the Normans, nor will I seek it or suffer it. The hands that are red with my kinsmen's blood, cannot be grasped in amity by me. There is a deep and bloody barrier betwixt me and thee, which a lifetime cannot erase," said Ethel bitterly.
"Alas! alas! Nevertheless, adieu, lady; we may meet again. If I can befriend you in any way, how gladly will I do it, to the very utmost of my power!" With that she hastily left the chapel—as I learnt afterwards, to try and stay as much as possible the fierce bloodshed and rapine of the soldiery. But it is needless to say her efforts were to little purpose, for though she managed to have them cleared out of the sanctuary, ere long they were back again, and, like greedy hawks, they pounced upon everything, no matter how sacred the purpose to which articles of value were devoted. They carried off the silver table of the high altar, the silver cups, dalmatics, censers of silver; in fact, everything ornamented with silver or gold. Speedily the whole of our possessions were at their mercy, excepting the things I had secreted as aforesaid. To complete this sad day's work, when nothing more of value could be had, they turned their attention to our cellarer's store of wines and ale, and the rest of the day, and the night also, was spent in drunkenness and carousing. The whole of the night was spent by the monks in prayer and fasting, whilst for the most part our refugees were glad to escape to the woods, being thankful if only they could do so with their lives. A sad day's work this for the sanctuary which had taken generations to bring it to its high state of usefulness and piety!
"And thus I clothe my naked villainyWith old odd ends, stol'n out of holy writ,And seem a saint, when most I play the devil."Shakespeare.
"And thus I clothe my naked villainyWith old odd ends, stol'n out of holy writ,And seem a saint, when most I play the devil."
Shakespeare.
My readers, I am sure, will pardon me for passing over the bitter sufferings and humiliation I and the members of our Order had to endure, and the still more harrowing cruelties and bloodshed heaped upon the common people, who, despite the Earl's advice, still clung to their homes and their patches of land.
We therefore proceed to follow the fortunes of certain characters who are the central figures in our history. In reality the history of our time was made by the important actors, the common people playing a very ignoble part, and being little better than chattels and instruments of the leaders' wills.
The Normans overran the adjacent country like a flood let loose, leaving desolation behind them. Indeed, if the Saxons had not fled before, and secreted themselves, their wives, their children, and their cattle, there would have been nothing but annihilation and utter extermination. The main body of the Normans swarmed forwards like locusts as soon as they had devastated one part. But the castle of the youthful Ealdorman Oswald could not be taken without siege operations. Its splendid situation and rich lands attracted the cupidity of the De Montfort already mentioned, and he sat down before it with the determination to take possession of it and the splendid domain belonging thereto.
Carefully De Montfort reconnoitred the castle from all points, and though it had no pretension to invulnerability, yet it was plain to him that some days must elapse before he would be sufficiently prepared to venture an assault upon it.
In the meantime, however, he despatched heralds to summon Oswald to surrender. The Saxon paced the walls, clad in complete armour, and in person directed the labours of the housecarles who laboured at strengthening and repairing the fortifications; whilst a score or so of his choicest bowmen, with well-stocked quivers, were set apart for the defence of those who toiled.
The heralds, three in number, rode up to the walls, and, after blowing a blast from their bugles, they accosted Oswald thus:—
"What ho, there, Saxon!"
To which Oswald responded,—
"What ho, there! What message have ye from your master?—I perceive ye are messengers."
"Our master, the valiant Count de Montfort, of great renown and valour, giveth thee summons to deliver up to him, within the space of twenty-four hours, without let or hindrance, this castle, with the appurtenances thereof."
"What conditions doth your master tender if we yield to his wishes, and without resistance obey his summons?"
"De Montfort hath given us this message: 'Yield thee forthwith without conditions, and trust to our clemency.' Defiance of our summons is torture and death."
"Tell your master that we have too many illustrations of his clemency, and that of Norman tyrants generally, to put any trust or reliance in his word. If he would fain have possession of this castle, tell him he must first take it, for we put no faith in his professions of clemency; and that we defy him and his myrmidons to wrest this castle from us."
These were brave words, and intended to inspire his own followers; but no one knew better than he where victory must inevitably rest. Many times had he told over the number of the Norman tents pitched little more than a bowshot away. With sinking heart he had noted the masses of archers and men-at-arms who swarmed around the camp by day. In the stillness of night he had crept within earshot of wary sentinels in company of Wulfhere the freeman, in the hope that some chance, or some overweening confidence on the part of the enemy, might afford the opportunity for some desperate deed of valour. But de Montfort was far too wise and experienced a soldier to permit negligence or over-confidence to prevail. The pickets at all points were thickly posted and kept on the alert by patrols.
The tents of the Count de Montfort and his daughter, Lady Alice de Montfort, were pitched on a knoll in the centre of the encampment, which was sufficiently elevated to overlook every other tent and beyond them on every side. The tents of the maids and personal attendants were situated to the rear, and were intercommunicable by a covered way. The entrance to Lady Alice's tent was hung with richly embroidered curtains, whilst costly figured velvet carpets from the looms of Rouen were spread over the soft carpet of nature. As already stated, Lady Alice had been affianced to Baron Vigneau by her father, for the most ignoble reason of policy and personal ambition, Alice's wishes or preferences not being consulted in the least. But a union more abhorrent to her feelings could not possibly be imagined.
Indeed, to one much less refined and gentle than Alice, this union would have been most distasteful. Vigneau was at once drunken, licentious, and boorish, his habits being such as befitted the company of the besotted and brutal troopers whom he led, rather than that of one of the gentlest ladies of Normandy. True, he had won for himself a large measure of fame on the battle-field, and in the lists at tournaments. He had undoubtedly a large measure of reckless valour, and enormous physical strength; but he was utterly destitute of that chivalry and knightly courtesy which was reckoned only second to personal prowess. His chief recommendation in De Montfort's eyes was that he commanded a "free company" of mercenaries as reckless and blood-thirsty as himself. De Montfort cherished a lofty ambition: he aspired to, and in fact held, an exalted position in the estimation of William; and this he well knew was due in great part to the number of lances in his retinue, and the men-at-arms who followed his standard.
Need we say that Alice scorned this hateful yoke; for the warm current of romance which ran in her southern blood demanded a nobler and courtlier knight than Vigneau as the object of her love. Through a vista in the noble line of beeches and oaks which studded the park she had a full view of the castle and its defenders, and she shuddered as she contemplated the impending carnage and bloodshed which hovered over the camp and the castle alike. Thus, often as she sat in her tent did she watch the mailed Saxon chief, as he paced his walls and directed the housecarles as they laboured at the fortifications—far too often, indeed, for her peace of mind; for the contrast between Oswald's mien and Vigneau's was most glaring. Then the fact that Oswald was fighting against fearful odds, and for dear life, awoke the keenest interest in him, whilst the stories current in the camp of his prowess threw around him a glamour most piquant.
Often Alice would turn to her favourite maid and confidante, Jeannette, for confirmation of her thoughts.
"Methinks he is a comely knight, this Saxon, and valiant withal. Jeannette, how sayest thou? is it not so?"
"He is a comely knight, my lady, and brave too, the fighting men say."
"Didst thou notice, when he removed his visor to answer the Count's summons, his handsome visage? 'Twas, I thought, so like the statue of Mars in the old home in Normandy. The same curly locks; the same inflexible cast of features, as though ready to front a host. Didst thou notice this, Jeannette?"
"I marked it much, my lady."
"Yet, didst thou notice, there was a nobility about the open brow which bespeaks a magnanimity which wondrously beseemeth brave men?"
"I noticed all this, my lady."
"Ah me, Jeannette, I read those old romances in my father's hall, and listened to the stories of Christian knights and warriors told me by the good sisters of St. Justin's, until I came to think that all knights and soldierly men must be brave to avenge the oppressed, and magnanimous to the fallen and the weak, scorning to wreak vengeance upon helpless men and women. I thought all brave men must be at least chivalrous to my sex. I thought all brave men must be virtuous, too; for how could they be brave to conquer their enemies, and yet be the slaves of their own over-grown lusts like this Baron Vigneau?"
"These are evil times, lady. I much fear me that nothing good thrives now; and the Baron may not be much worse than others, though I go in daily fear of him. His gloating eyes are ever upon me, and once he caught me in his arms. But let him beware! I carry that in my bosom will teach him a lesson he will not need to learn over again!" and she displayed the flashing blade of a small stiletto.
"Listen, Jeannette! I saw the Baron lay hold upon a young and beautiful lady, who had found shelter with the monks down at the abbey. I heard his lascivious, gloating words, and I looked into his greedy eyes, and his steely gaze made me shudder as though it were the gaze of a serpent. I hate him, but I fear him beyond expression!"
"Hush, lady! Perhaps you will think better of him when these horrid times have passed."
"Never, Jeannette! My heart's revolt is complete. Let death come, and welcome, but never wedlock with him. He is but a huge mountain of evil-smelling carrion. I shall hie me to Normandy, and there in my books I'll find a worthy knight, all brave and pure, and I'll wed him in imagination. But I will never share my young life with a knight besotted and cruel as Vigneau."
"Hush, lady. He comes to your tent. Shall I retire?"
"No, no! Stay by me, Jeannette. I shall feign sickness; let me lean my head upon you."
Baron Vigneau unceremoniously brushed aside the curtains and stalked into the tent. His gait was unsteady, and his eyes bloodshot; unmistakable evidences of a recent debauch.
"What, Alice, how is this?" said he, taking her hand in his. But it involuntarily shrank from his grasp. "What! aren't we friends yet? I did but drag the fair Saxon from among those monkish scoundrels to save her life."
"You seemed loth to part with her, Baron."
"Well, well, we'll take a goose till we can get our swan. But no great harm would have been done. They're jolly fellows, those monks, and know what's what, I warrant. The wench wouldn't have suffered, exchanging sniffling priests for a valiant knight."
Alice shuddered, and made haste to change the subject.
"What says the Saxon knight to your latest summons?"
"'Saxon whelp,' is much more like it, I trow. Well, he struts himself upon his trumpery battlements like a valiant scarecrow. I would he were a true knight and worthy of my prowess, I would challenge him to single combat, and you should see how he would fare when matched with Norman valour. But let him boast himself a day or two until we get our gear ready; then, if he does not get a short shrift in themêlée, we'll have a little sport with him and make him dance to the music these Saxons like least best."
"Have you offered him honourable terms?"
"Honourable terms to a dog of a Saxon! He'll get the same terms as other Saxons, a sudden exit at the sword's point, or a slower process but a rougher passage. I am hoping we shall see sport yet."
Alice shuddered, for she knew too well that instruments of torture were meant; and she well knew that the Baron would not only use them, but would derive positive pleasure in watching the agonies of his victim.
"I don't care about such practices; they are hideous and barbarous. What good it can do to massacre and torture helpless men and women I can't tell; indeed, I cannot help despising those who indulge in such detestable things."
"You have been trained in too gentle a school to relish these rough times, Alice. We must exterminate these Saxon pests, especially the leaders, and those who have spirit in them. The churls may serve some useful purpose, when we have knocked their freemen manners out of them. But they will need to be well knocked about, and ground into shape."
"When will it all end? And if this castle is taken is it to be our resting-place? I am aweary of being dragged at the heels of a soldiery thirsting like wild beasts for blood and plunder."
"Ha, ha! Softly, softly, my sweet one! This is to be the end of it for us. Then comes love and downy pillows—eh, my queen, is it not so?" said he, endeavouring to chuck her under the chin.
Alice hastily fled, followed by her maid; for, sickening as was Vigneau's general conversation, his amorous advances begat in her an overpowering disgust.
A horrible scowl spread itself over Vigneau's base countenance, and he stood as though petrified with rage. Then his tongue gave vent to this pent-up storm, and, with a volley of oaths and threatenings, he strode out of the tent, demoniacal hatred of his betrothed raging in his heart.
"And my imaginations are as foulAs Vulcan's stithy."Shakespeare.
"And my imaginations are as foulAs Vulcan's stithy."
Shakespeare.
The same day, a little before nightfall, Baron Vigneau strode across the greensward to the spot where his own followers were bivouacking beneath some huge beech trees. "Pierre," said he, calling to a stalwart and villainous-looking soldier, who was engaged in a noisy chaffering with some comrades, "I have a dainty bit of work for you, Pierre. Just such a commission as you love next best to swilling old Saxon ale."
"What is it your lordship has in the wind now? It has some connection with wine or wenches, I stake my rosary on it."
"Thou had better throw thy rosary into the first ditch thou comes across; for if thou tell thy beads in proportion to thy sins, thou can find no time for anything else; and if thou do penance for half thy sins, and be d—d for the other half, why, marry, thou might as well be d—d for the whole. But I warrantthatthe end of thee in any case, villain; so there's an end on't. But I want none of thy scurvy impudence, mark me! I want thy ears, and the best discretion thou hast. I have a delicate mission for thee to perform—a mission well suited to thy tender and susceptible disposition."
"Many thanks for your lordship's highly valued appreciation. But truly, when I quit my sins I'll have to quit your service; for how a saint will manage the devil's business I cannot tell. Indifferently well, I fancy."
"Silence, sirrah, or I'll crop thy ears! Listen to me! Down at the monastery there is a Saxon wench—a gem of the first water. None of your bare-legged slotch-puddles, with a figure as shapely as an ill-made wine-butt. She is a genuine offshoot of the Saxon nobility, I am told. I want thee to do a little delicate negotiation for me, such as thou art justly famous for. If thou do it well, thou shalt rise even higher in my esteem."
"Ah, I see; a delicate mission truly!"
"Stop the wagging of thy tongue, knave, and take heed to what I say. This is not the daughter of a villainous churl, bred and reared on a midden, take note. So I will have this business done accordingly."
"Ah, I comprehend it all. This is potter's ware, that must not be soiled in transit. All damage and defacement must be reserved for your respectable self."
"Just so! Don't poke thy villainous phiz—which reminds me of a keg of wine gone sour—beneath her hood for kisses on thy own account. I'll have none of it! Just do thine errand as a Christian should, and——"
"Christian, forsooth, I think you said just now, Baron?"
"Eh? Stop thy chatter, dog, when I am speaking! Thy tongue will cut thy throat some day, villain, if thou sharpen it a little more, now mark that! Thou art getting much too ready with thy scurvy impudence. Just attend to me and shut thy mouth. I have these further instructions for thee. This business, understand, must be done in the dark, and thy tongue must not wag of it—or any of thy comrades' either, mark me. Her ladyship, over yonder," said he, jerking his thumb over his left shoulder in the direction of Alice's tent, "tosses her head a little too much for my stomach already, and she has worked herself up into a devil of a fume, just because I took a fancy to this same wench a little time ago. So let there be no hullaballoo over it, mind that. I know what I'm about," said he, with a brutal chuckle. "When your game's afield you must tread softly, that's my point, but when it's bagged—ha, ha! you may skin it anyhow you please. So, so! wait awhile; my turn will come by-and-by, and when I get the bit within her teeth—well, never mind that just now. There's no need to tell all one's mind to a scurvy trooper," he muttered, under his breath. "There, now thou knows thy business; but don't bring her to the camp, and don't get drunk and bungle the whole thing."
Pierre was both a ready and a capable tool of the Baron's, and indispensable to him in the life of brutality and villainy which he led. So promptly he set about selecting some half a dozen of his comrades to assist him in carrying out his master's behests. As the shadows of evening began to gather about the camp, they mounted their horses and stole away from the encampment at a brisk trot, reaching the monastery just as the evening twilight had deepened into the sombre gloom of night. "Let us dismount here," said Pierre, "and leave our horses outside the grounds; for the less row there is in this business the better it will suit the Baron. I suppose as usual it will be a screeching affair, and if we do not be careful we shall have the whole brood of pious gentry at our heels in a trice." So, hastily dismounting and leaving their horses in charge of one of their number, they strode up to the entrance gates, which they found in charge of two of the Norman soldiery, by whom they were promptly admitted.
"I say, Jaques," said Pierre, addressing one of the guard, "can you tell us whereabouts this Saxon wench called Ethel may be found?"
"You will find her in the monks' quarters sure enough," said Jaques; "but I would advise you to get one of the kitchen scullions to lead the way for you; that will be your best plan."
So, stealthily wheeling round the main building, they entered the refectory kitchen, where they found several of the meaner lay brothers occupied in the menial tasks of that department, whilst a number of half-starved and ragged mendicants sat round the spacious hall, drinking the small ale and munching the bacon and bread with which they had been provided. With abject consternation and fear they beheld the advent of these troopers; but Pierre immediately laid hold of one of them.
"Varlet," said he, "where is the Saxon wench Ethel to be found?"
The Saxon, clown as he was, took in the situation at once, and tried, by affecting even greater silliness than his clownish looks betokened, to evade the question. Pierre whipped out his sword and, grasping him by the throat, said,—
"None of thy lying, churl! Lead the way. I'll follow; and if thou mislead me I'll run my sword through thy body in a twinkling. Stop here, two of you men, and see these skulking villains do not make a hubbub. Let the others follow me. Now march, hound!" said he, giving the Saxon a vicious prod with the point of his sword. The Saxon led the way with much greater alacrity of body than of mind, but it did the business effectively, for they quickly reached Ethel's room.
"Now for it!" said Pierre. "Diplomacy will ruffle this pretty bird's feathers the least, so I'll oil my tongue for the occasion. But have you the cloak ready, men?"
"Aye, aye! all's ready!"
Pierre knocked at the door, and without further ceremony entered. But no sooner did Ethel set eyes on his unsavoury visage than she knew that mischief was meant, and she started to her feet and slid her hand into her bosom.
Pierre doffed his helmet, and assuming a bland and hypocritical tone, said that "he had been commissioned by the Norman lady who had showed her a kindness the other day, to bid the Saxon lady come to her in the Norman camp, where she would be protected and cared for with every regard to her noble extraction and gentle blood."
But Ethel was not deceived. There is a subtle force in the tones of sincerity which the most accomplished liar can never successfully simulate. We are far oftener convinced by this indefinable something in a man's eye, and in his tones, than by the words he utters. When we have flung away this quality of candour and truthfulness, liar and knave will ring out in our utterances, though we use the utmost art of a magician to hide it. Ethel saw through this ruse, though she dare not show it. So she manœuvred to gain time.
"If you will kindly wait until morning, I shall have a little time to prepare. Some of the servants will find you comfortable quarters for the night. If you call me early I shall be ready."
"I dare not disobey my lady's orders, who has sent horses and an escort. I will wait a few minutes for you. But my lady requested me to ask you to come right away, for her ladyship's ample wardrobe would be at your service."
"I will acquaint the Abbot first, as I am afraid he will be much distressed if I depart without his knowledge. I shall be but a few minutes."
"I am sorry I cannot allow this. My orders are very explicit, and I must obey. If I have to use force to execute them, I shall be sorry; but I must ask you to accompany us forthwith," said Pierre, dropping into his usual menacing and rasping tone of voice, and advancing towards Ethel.
"Yes, villain, I am not deceived by you, nor by any of your villainous crew!" said Ethel, drawing from her bosom a brightly shining blade and springing at him like a wild cat. Instantly half a dozen strong hands were laid upon her, the dagger was wrested from her, and a soldier's cloak muffled thickly over her face to stifle her screams. Then Pierre gathered her up in his strong arms and bore her, struggling, along the passage, and over the greensward, and through the entrance gates.
Immediately the Normans' backs were turned the news spread, I being apprised at once of the outrage which had been done. As I stumbled along in the darkness I met with Badger, who, with a stout cudgel in his hand, and bow-and-arrows slung over his shoulders, was rushing eagerly to the fray.
"Ah, is that your Grace?" said he. "Where are those Norman carrion? Have they cleared the ground?"
"I am afraid they have got clear away. Is not that the clatter of their horses' hoofs I hear beyond the walls?"
"It is, without a doubt. I'll track them as easily as a hound tracks a deer."
"Go after them, Badger, and see what becomes of the maiden. I will away to the Norman camp. If I can get speech of the fair Norman perhaps these men may be made to disgorge their prey. But, Badger, be not too ready with those carnal weapons, for it will greatly exasperate them; and remember they that take the sword shall perish with the sword."
"The application must be for the Normans, Father, for I take but my bow and my quiver, and just a splinter of timber. But if I tickle not their flanks with a shaft or two before the night is out, why then the witches of Addergyll may take me for a dolt and a coward."
So saying, he glided off like an arrow; but I saw in the darkness that he went not by the way of the entrance, but to an oaken tree which grew near the wall, and, hastily climbing it, he slid along a branch which overran the wall, and from thence I heard him drop to the ground without.
"Drunk? and speak parrot? and squabble? swear? and discourse fustian with one's own shadow?"—Shakespeare.
"Drunk? and speak parrot? and squabble? swear? and discourse fustian with one's own shadow?"—Shakespeare.
In the meantime, the darkness had gathered quickly and deepened into night. This was greatly intensified along the forest path by the lofty and overhanging branches of the trees. The road also had its twists and turns innumerable, here to avoid a massive tree, and there to avoid a huge boulder; and it was little better than a cattle path at any time, and totally impassable, even to the rude Saxon carts, except at broad daylight. In these circumstances Pierre and party moved with extreme difficulty, having frequently to stop to make sure of the road, their oaths and execrations in the meantime resounding through the wood. But Badger, who was as familiar with the forest as the deer which roamed in it, sped swiftly and noiselessly after them, catching up with them quickly. "Ah, ah!" said he, as he caught sight of the black and moving mass in front of him; "one good Saxon is equal to the half-dozen of you here, my hearties! Some of you will have a cold bed in the damp grass to-night for your pains, or else my shafts will go mightily astray!" Then, sticking his thorn cudgel in his belt, he took his bow from his back and adjusted an arrow, and then he crept stealthily near to them. Raising his bow, he drew the arrow to its head; then he withdrew it. "My fingers," said he, "are in a hurry to make a cur of a Norman the less in the world. But where is the use in bagging one of their carrion carcasses and losing the game? To kill a Norman is a luxury; but I must rescue Ethel. Let me see whether my purpose cannot be served best by joining my wits to my weapons. There are three couples—two abreast; and Ethel is in charge of the centre one to the right. I can send a shaft in the nape of the last one's neck. That isonecertain. Then there will be a stampede probably: I may get another one. Shall I get the villain who has charge of Ethel? Can't make sure; and if I do, Ethel will come to the ground with him, and perhaps be badly bruised. Well, some risk will have to be taken, for I am but one." So saying, he stole nearer to them. Suddenly, ahead of the party, there was a wide opening in the tops of the trees directly in the line of vision, the outlines of the figures in front showing boldly against the starlit sky. "Now is my time," said Badger, planting his foot firmly, and drawing back the string until it touched his shoulder—when suddenly a hurried footfall in the path behind him arrested his attention, and he darted into the thicket, keeping his arrow in position. When the runner drew near, Badger sprang forward and faced the new-comer, with his shaft still in position. "Who's this?" said he. "Speak, or I'll let fly my shaft!"
"Steady, Badger," said the stranger. "Don't shoot a friend."
"Well timed, Bretwul, I have just been wishing for a Saxon or two! What has brought you?"
"The very purpose that brought you here. I heard of that Norman's attempt to carry off my young mistress, and I knew the wolf, having scented prey like that, would never drop the trail until he ran it down. I watched the abbey night by night, in the hope of frustrating his purpose; but the villain has got clear off with her."
"Not quite so fast, comrade. If you had been a minute or two later, my shafts would have overtaken one or more of them. But it is better as it is, for two of us will make a better fight of it than one. But enough of this; they are not two hundred yards ahead of us. There are six horsemen, and the second horseman at the right side has charge of Ethel. Now, how are we to effect a rescue?"
So the pair debated the matter as they followed on the heels of the party.
"Well, Bretwul," said Badger, "as I was telling you, I was just going to try a rough-and-ready method when your footsteps arrested me. I knew it to be a risky venture, but I little expected any help in the business. Now I am inclined to think a more favourable opportunity will turn up by-and-by."
"Well, I am inclined to think so myself, Badger. There is the risk that the game would carry the shaft, unless it were hit very squarely; and the odds are the other way in the darkness. Any failure would make it bad for the young mistress, it is certain."
"That we must prevent, if possible. But now, what are the chances? These Normans have no strong place near in which they can shut her. I can promise you they'll not dare to carry her to the camp; there is a lady there who rescued her before, and was desperate savage with the brute who offered her violence then. But they will find a place elsewhere; probably leave her for the night in charge of half their number."
"There's reason in it, Badger. Anyway, it is better to wait awhile, and see if some better chance is forthcoming."
So the pair continued to dog the steps of their adversaries, until, emerging from the wood, they struck across an open glade, or clearing, in the forest, formerly cultivated by a Saxon yeoman. Soon they reached the fringe of the forest again, where, embowered within its shelter, was the house of this Saxon; but it was deserted and plundered of everything. Here they dismounted, Pierre lifting Ethel down and carrying her into the house. The cloak was removed, and, lighting a torch, its flickering blaze made visible a two-roomed dwelling, rude and damp in its tenantless condition. The inner room was doorless, and the outer door was thrown back and dilapidated. The floors were of earth trodden hard. There was a rude attempt at a fireplace in the first room; it was built entirely of rough, unhewn stone, whilst its huge, gaping chimney was such, that a man would have had no difficulty in ascending it. Into the inner room Pierre led, or dragged, Ethel; then he fetched a rough stone from the fireplace for her to sit upon.
"Now, fair one," said he, "this is rather a cold place to call home, but we'll soon make it a bit more comfortable. I can see no further advantage in lying in this matter—and I keep a conscience, and don't make a practice of lying for nothing—so I may as well tell you at once that my master admires that pretty face of yours. It is a weakness he has. The more fool he; for it spoils his chances of higher game. Well, that's a riddle you need not puzzle out. But my master is a knight renowned for valour, and for some other things not recommended by the worthy Order of Cistercians, or indeed any strict Orders of the pious gentry. That, of course, is neither here nor there. But my master, when he hears of your distress, is bound, I believe, by his oath, to succour you; and he is well able to do so. It is the highest wisdom on your part to be friends with him. But heigho! no more of that! A fig for doing another man's wooing; 'tis worse than carving for another's eating!"
Happily, much of this jargon was perfectly unintelligible to Ethel.
"Here, men," said he, turning to his comrades in the other room. "One of you must mount guard inside the house, and another outside. We will to camp, and return soon with both eatables and drinkables; so make the best of a bad bargain for a little while. Come, men, let us cut the tail off this business as quickly as we can." So saying, they mounted their horses, and, leading the disengaged ones, their forms were speedily lost in the darkness.
"My fingers itch most dreadfully to try the effect of a shaft upon the carcass of the big lubberly villain who leads the party," said Badger, raising his bow with the arrow directed towards the hazy forms disappearing in the night.
"Stay, Badger!" said Bretwul, laying his hand on him. "The game's in the net; don't rend it."
"Aye, aye. The fool acts on the thought as it is made, but the wise man when it is weighed. But as surely as the gallows nods when the rogue goes by, so his time will come!"
"Well, Badger, what is to be the next move? We must get to business whilst our chance lasts."
"Right, Bretwul. Well, we shall have to work round from the rear of the house, and we shall thus get close on them if we move stealthily. I doubt not but we can brain the one outside before he knows where he is; then, two to one is more than the other will be prepared for."
So saying, the pair stole to the rear of the house, and crept round by the gable, until Badger peered round the corner at the fellow on duty outside. Fortunately, he had his back to them, and was talking through the open door to his comrade within.
"Are you ready, Bretwul?" said Badger, in a whisper to his companion, who followed closely at his heels.
Bretwul made no reply, but brandished his Saxon broadsword aloft in token of his readiness. Then, with the agility of a panther, Badger sprang round the corner of the hovel, and, delivering a powerful blow with his cudgel upon the back of the Norman's head, he felled him in insensibility to the ground, whilst another spring quick as lightning landed him within grappling distance of the other Norman. He also, it is needless to say, was quite unprepared for any attack, and had barely time to spring to his feet and raise his arm to ward off Badger's first stroke, which sent him staggering against the wall; and Bretwul being in close attendance at that instant, with a sweep of his sword effectually cut short all further resistance. Then, returning to the door where the other soldier was lying prostrate, he quickly finished the work of revenge.
Meanwhile, Ethel from within witnessed the scuffling going on, but without comprehending in the least the import of it; she improved the opportunity for flight which the struggle afforded her, by bounding through the open door, and fled like a Will-o'-the-wisp across the open glade in a frantic effort to gain the shelter of the forest, whilst her rescuers followed full chase in her wake. Very quickly, however, Badger's nimble feet caught up to her; when, to her infinite relief, she discovered that they were faithful friends, who had risked much to free her from the custody of the brutal Norman troopers.
Whilst this was transpiring, Pierre and the remainder of his troop stumbled along through the darkness of the forest, all unconscious that their footsteps had been dogged, and their evil purposes frustrated, just when they thought they had been crowned with perfect success.
"This has been neatly done, men," said Pierre. "Now, I wonder what the Baron will do for us in the shape of reward!"
"Well, I guess none of our pouches will burst with gold pieces, Pierre. I expected better pay or more plunder when I took service, I promise you; but his scurvy humours are even worse than his pay. Why don't you take the lead? The whole company is ready for a new master."
"Hold hard a bit. There are others who are getting as tired of his humours as yourself; and if you hear the clash of steel between us you need not be very much surprised, for my temper is none of the smoothest, and he may play the bully some day until nothing will settle it but cold steel."
When they reached the camp, Pierre alone carried the news to his master. No sooner, however, had he put his head within the tent than he gave a grunt of infinite disgust as he set eyes upon the Baron; for he was far gone in his cups.
"Hilloa, Pierre! What now, you scowling villain! What has brought you?" he bawled, with drunken incoherency; but, drunk as he was, he had noticed Pierre's disgust.
"We have executed your order, Baron," Pierre replied.
"Executed my order? Who? What have they done?"
"The commission you gave me about the Saxon lady down at the monastery."
"The wench that all the pother's about?"
"Yes, the same."
"Ah, I remember. Have you got her, Pierre?"
"Yes, as snug as anybody could wish. Not a whisper has got abroad."
"Bravo, Pierre! You are a gentleman. Pierre, do you hear? You are a gentleman, or a thief, I don't care which," giving a drunken chuckle. "Drink, Pierre," said he, handing him a flagon of wine with a trembling hand.
Pierre took the goblet and drained it to the last drop.
Vigneau took it again, and looked into it for a moment with maudlin pensiveness, as though he could scarcely realise that it was really the bottom he gazed at. But the quarrelsome humour in him was never so rampant as when he was in his cups.
"There's a pint of good Rhenish gone, Pierre. Gone, too, into a stomach that must be about rotted out with Saxon ale by this time."
"Well, we'll bring them round with soothing draughts of Rhenish, master."
"Eh, dog? Not with mine, Pierre. With swill if you like, Pierre! Swill will do for a hog like you, Pierre! Eh! Do you hear me? Swill will do for you!" said the Baron, becoming quarrelsome with drunken excitement.
Fortunately, Pierre was sober, or matters would speedily have become serious. Checking the rising choler, he said,—
"What is to be done with this Saxon—Ethel, as she is called?"
"What do you know about Ethel, eh? Have you got her, scurvy villain? I say, have you got her? Answer me that."
"I told you we had, not a minute since."
"Eh? Then speak civilly, varlet! Do you know who I am? D—— me, I allow thy tongue too much licence. I'll not have such impudence from a scurvy trooper as I've taken lately. I'll teach you I'm a gentleman. Now mark me, Pierre. Keep a civil distance. I'll not have it," and he began fumbling for the hilt of his sword.
"Pshaw!" said Pierre, assuming both a look and a tone of disgust.
"Eh, churl, what now?" roared Vigneau, in a towering rage, with great effort staggering to his feet, and after prolonged exertion getting out his sword, and lunging furiously at Pierre. But the act was too much for him. Lurching head foremost, the sword's point came ignominiously to the ground with his weight upon it, to prevent his falling flat. The result was, his great weight forced it a foot into the ground, from which his utmost efforts failed to extricate it, Pierre, meanwhile, vanishing from the tent with a horse-laugh. Vigneau dropped into his seat and stared vacantly at the point where Pierre had vanished, then at the sword standing upright in the ground. But his efforts to recall what it was all about were a total failure. Slowly his bleared eyes closed, and soon after he slid from his seat to the ground, to sleep off the effects of the night's debauch.
"The Baron is drunk and quarrelsome as usual to-night," said Pierre to his comrades, as he issued from the tent. "Nothing can be done with him till morning, and if he be not in a pleasanter humour in the morning, and come down handsome for us, you will have to be led by another, I trow. Well, we'll finish the business we have begun. Let us take victuals and a few other things down yonder. It will be a little more like a habitation, and not so like a sty."