"Oh, yes; you will be just such a burden as the wild flowers, as little tending and as fragrant and beautiful as they."
Ethel blushed scarlet, and made haste to change the subject. "Do you think, my lord, this Norman Count is bent on exterminating all Saxons who do not yield them vassals to him?"
"Nay, Ethel girl, why this formality? I used to be Master Oswald; I pray you let the honest Saxon name suffice. I cannot tell what De Montfort intends, but I fear he will let nothing slip that he can by any means grasp; but I have determined I will know the best or the worst of his intentions. I shall open negotiations with him, and ascertain, if possible, if he purposes we shall dwell in peace and as freemen."
"But you will not venture so far as to put yourself in his power? I pray you, trust them not, for they are insatiable in their cruelty," said Ethel anxiously.
"No fear, Ethel, of my putting myself in his power. Having once tasted the horrors of captivity I shall not risk its repetition rashly; but I have a plan, and I shall speak with him face to face. I may tell you, despite the many reasons we have for undying hatred and no compromise, I have a deep-rooted conviction that for the present, at all events, a truce on reasonable and honourable terms will be immeasurably best for the Saxon cause."
"The land is undoubtedly prostrate, and time is urgently needed ere it can rally once more," said Ethel.
"Then crouch no more on suppliant knee,But scorn with scorn outbrave;A Briton even in love should beA subject, not a slave."Wordsworth.
"Then crouch no more on suppliant knee,But scorn with scorn outbrave;A Briton even in love should beA subject, not a slave."
Wordsworth.
Count de Montfort and his daughter Alice were seated together one evening in what was known as the crimson parlour, a comfortable and somewhat elegant room for the period. It was wainscoted in dark oak, with carpets and hangings of richly-figured crimson cloth from the looms of Avignon. They were enjoying a temporary respite from the incessant bustle and turmoil which had been their daily accompaniment since the day they first occupied the Saxon chieftain's patrimony. Even here, their quiet was unpleasantly disturbed by the roystering merriment of their followers in the distant kitchen, who stoutly maintained their freedom to carouse and drink pretty much as they listed. I take the liberty here to introduce the reader to a more intimate acquaintance with the Count and his beautiful and accomplished daughter. The Count was considerably past middle life, probably not less than fifty-five. His sunburnt countenance, and the stern lines about his mouth and forehead, told eloquently the tale of a soldier's life. For the habits of a rough and unscrupulous life had lent a grim and unfeeling hardness to a visage which had strong evidence of force and character depicted in it. There was also palpable evidence of a spirit ill at ease and clouded with doubt, which made him irritable sometimes to a degree positively cruel to friend or foe. His once jet-black locks were silvering rapidly; but his tall form had lost none of its erectness, and his haughty and imperious demeanour proclaimed him a man used to ruling arbitrarily, and little accustomed to brooking opposition, or the frustrating of his purposes. His daughter, Lady Alice de Montfort, was extremely like him in general appearance. Tall and elegant in carriage, her profuse raven tresses were gathered in silken bands, and from thence fell over her shoulders well-nigh to her girdle. Her face was pale; her features regular, as though chiselled. A pair of lustrous dark eyes glowed from between darker lashes, proclaiming her southern extraction. She was indeed a model of queenly beauty. Like many of her countrywomen of exalted station, her youth had been spent in the seclusion of the convent, where alone an education worthy of the name could be obtained. This secluded life—despite her fiery extraction—had toned down her disposition; whilst the culture and refinement had made her a typical example of the romance and troubadour spirit of song, which we Saxons knew to be developed in the maidens of sunny France. For her, the rough life of the Norman occupation, with its scenes of blood and cruelty, was a daily horror.
"Alice," began the Count, "I told you some time ago that I had affianced you to Baron Vigneau. He has followed my fortunes, and lent the prowess of himself and his mercenaries in furthering my interests, in return for which he was to receive your hand in marriage; and I gave him my solemn promise to that effect. His recent conduct has not pleased me, and his addiction to the wine-cup has become inordinate. But I lay the fault of this to the rough times we have had, and I doubt not when peaceful times come again he will become a sober and a virtuous Norman Baron. Anyway, I gave him my promise, and he has fulfilled the obligation. He now presses for the fulfilment of this promise. Much time has already been allowed you to prepare, so I would have you bethink yourself when it can be redeemed. As you know, it rests solely with yourself as to when this event shall be, and my pledges made good. I pray you despise him not, for though he is a landless mercenary, he is brave, and has powerful friends."
"Father, this marriage is most distasteful—I may say, most abhorrent to me. The Baron is a man I cannot possibly love; and if my fortune is what he would have, let him take it and welcome—I care not if I am penniless, if I have my liberty. Nay, I would much rather take the veil if I have no other choice than to marry him."
"Alice, this cannot be; I cannot break my promise. Once for all let me tell you I dare not. This man has obtained a fatal advantage over me, and it is a question of life and death for me. Listen!" said he, rising and pacing the room with quick nervous tread. "Fool that I was, when this last insurrection of the Saxons broke out I was deeply smarting under the rebuffs I had received at the hands of my mortal enemies Odo and Fitz-Osborne, and the base ingratitude of William. I counted the forces of the rebels, and noted their wonderful successes; and foolishly imagining the Danes and Scots would stand firm, I thought that William's time had come at last. Madman that I was! to think ought could thwart the iron will and marvellous resource. But I had many things to be revenged upon, and I was blinded by it. I thought, now is the time. But worst of all, in sheer madness and infatuation I entrusted letters—deadly compromising letters—to this Vigneau for the leaders of the insurrection. These letters Vigneau never delivered, and he now holds them over my head, the villain! and threatens to divulge the whole thing to William. If he does this, I know well, with the enemies I have at court, that nothing will appease the self-willed tyrant but my head. These letters contain such ample proof of my treasonous intentions that my life literally hangs in the balance if I cannot gratify Vigneau. Fool and dolt that I was to place myself in the power of so unscrupulous a villain!
"I have told you this much that you may think less hardly of me. But the thing is absolute and irrevocable. I can no longer put him off by my excuses on your behalf, for he becomes clamorous and threatening. There is nothing further to gain, I perceive, by remonstrances and promises, so the sooner this marriage takes place the better; for I am hopelessly involved in the toils of this snake."
A dead silence of some minutes followed this, and a sickening sensation almost to fainting crept over Alice. How long the death-like stillness would have lasted I know not, but just at that juncture, in silence profound, the massive oaken door swung back unbidden, and a snatch of a Bacchanalian chorus pealed along the corridors and burst unbidden on the ears of father and daughter. But the rising temper of the Count at this ill-timed jollity and carousing gave way on the instant to profound astonishment and alarm, as Oswald the Saxon, armed with shield and buckler, with his drawn sword in his hand, strode into the room; whilst the dim form of an armed accomplice was visible for a moment in the darkness ere the door swung back to its place, shutting out the sounds of revelry and riot, and the three were alone together. The Count sprang to his feet, whipped out his sword, and savagely stood at bay, awaiting the onslaught of the sturdy Saxon. Alice also sprang to her feet with a startled cry, and a strange panic seized her. Had this Saxon, who owed his life to her, sought this interview with murderous intent? His appearance betokened it most surely, and she began to upbraid herself most keenly.
"Quiet you, lady," said Oswald, with a low obeisance, and in tones which belied the warlike attitude and arms which he bore. "I have none but peaceable intentions, gentle lady, though in these times we must be prepared for any eventualities. I hope you will let this excuse my weapons and my untimely visit."
"What doest thou here, Saxon? and how darest thou intrude thyself so recklessly?" said the Count.
"As to intrusion, noble sir, you will pardon me, but my father built this castle, and I was born here, and inherited it from him; so I would fain point out, if you will allow me, that I am not the intruder. You have usurped my lands, appropriated my home, and slain my vassals; whilst I am homeless, landless, and an outlaw."
"Lucky, too, art thou, Saxon, to escape with thy life, and wondrous venturesome withal, in thrusting thy neck a second time into the halter."
"I have not come to bandy threats, but it is not my neck that is in the halter just now, and if thou wert not shielded by a protector more potent than thy armed minions thy life would soon be forfeit—mark that, Norman! and be a little more merciful."
"Thou liest, Saxon dog! I fear thee not, nor any Saxon boor in the land!" said the Count, brandishing his sword, whilst Alice rushed frantically between them.
"Excuse my hastiness, fair lady," said Oswald, "and permit me to say that I have not come to shed blood, but the reverse; I am come to solicit a truce, an honourable truce, and to treat for a cessation of hostilities and hatred; and I would fain you should be umpire between us this night, gentle lady."
"What truce dost thou expect, Saxon?" said the Count. "There can but be one truce between the conqueror and a foe routed and beaten; and that is, that he should lay down his arms unconditionally and accept the clemency of the conqueror."
"That is a condition which we shall not accept. We shall maintain our liberty at all hazards, and the Norman had better beware of harassing desperate men."
"If thy arrogance were equalled by thy power, Saxon, thou wouldst do great things. But be thou well assured that I will root every mother's son of you out of your holes in the mountains within a month, if there is not unconditional surrender. But if thou and thy vassals return, and accept these terms, ye shall be entitled to my protection as my vassals and villeins. For thyself, if thou subscribe the oath of fealty, I will assign to thee certain lands, which thou shalt atone for by such services rendered to me as I please, as thy feudal lord."
"Excuse me, noble sir; but these are impossible terms. In the first place, I am not going to submit to be a grovelling feudatory, wearing clumsy brogues and a vassal's collar, coming cringingly to thee for permission to make a journey or shoot a stag—to ask humbly if I may keep a dog; catch a fish; or marry a wife! I am not going to hold the stirrup for beggarly Norman adventurers, and say, Your most humble servant, By your leave, puissant sir, Crave your pardon, my lord, and all the rest of servile rigmarole, being afraid to breathe the breath of heaven, or tread mother earth; or say that I am a man; content to be numbered with thy cattle, or thy goods and chattels, and be spoken of as the loutish Saxon clown. Never! Let that be understood once for all. No drop of vassal's blood courses through my veins. No part of a vassal's spirit animates me. I have not looked upon the face of any man, Saxon or Norman, that I fear, and I will be vassal to no man. Leave me alone, with the handful of Saxons who follow me. Thou hast my lands and my home—take them as the spoils of war, but be content. There is land enough, and thou mayest leave us in peace. We will not come nigh thee, but be content to till a little land for sustenance; and we may be of service as thy allies. Probably many of the serfs will be willing to return to their lands and to vassalage; and all who are willing may do so freely."
"Thou hast come to dictate terms, not to supplicate them, Saxon. Dost thou think it probable I shall tolerate a petty Saxon chieftain holding sway close to my doors? or harbour on my lands a brood of villeins who will render the service of fear to me and that of fealty to the Saxon near, so that in any pinch they will treacherously fail me? Thou hast a low estimate of my wisdom, truly. But listen once for all, Saxon; if there be not immediate surrender I will hunt you from your holes in the hills, as I have already said, within a month, and few will escape me—mark that!"
"Father," said Alice, "you do this noble Saxon grievous wrong in rejecting so rudely his amicable overtures. You may surely mingle mercy with your designs. I myself will be bond, these Saxons will reciprocate any acts of generosity done to them. Besides, consider this: you saw the forms of armed men at the door just now. They have stayed their hand when it was at the throat of their victims, and they may do so again."
"Tush! tush! you speak like a school-girl. These boorish Saxons will count mercy as weakness; so no more of it."
"Many thanks, lady," interposed Oswald. "Gentle means are strongest when we deal with human beings, whether they be gentle or simple. But adieu! If my mission fails, the responsibility rests not with me, for I have now offered peace—a peace which is abject in its terms." So saying, he turned and struck the oaken door with the pommel of his sword, which on the instant sprung open and as quickly-closed behind him, whilst the massive bolt was shot from the outside.
The Count sprang to the door, and tried to force it open, but to no purpose. "Jules! Jules!" roared he. "What ho there! Treachery!" But the only response he received to his frantic cries was the fragment of a rollicking song and chorus, trolled more lustily than musically by rough voices in the distant kitchen, the substance of which ran something like the following:—
"Old Bacchus was a merry dog,And kept good company;He loved good wine and a jovial song,So his days sped merrily.Chorus.—Ho, comrades all, we'll drink and sing,So pass the bowl along.If a better cask the morrow bring,We'll greet it with a song."
"Old Bacchus was a merry dog,And kept good company;He loved good wine and a jovial song,So his days sped merrily.
Chorus.—Ho, comrades all, we'll drink and sing,So pass the bowl along.If a better cask the morrow bring,We'll greet it with a song."
"What ho there, you drunken brutes! What ho, Jules!" shouted the Count, frantic with rage. But again the response was in a similar strain:—
"We're freemen all, but have our liege,For William is our lord;We've wine and ale and venisonTo crown our festive board.Chorus.—Ho, comrades, all," etc.
"We're freemen all, but have our liege,For William is our lord;We've wine and ale and venisonTo crown our festive board.
Chorus.—Ho, comrades, all," etc.
"What ho there!" roared the Count, more lustily than ever, and furiously beating the door with an oaken footstool. But all in vain, the song ran its course oblivious of all beside, and with, if possible, an increase in its roystering loudness:—
"No foemen can our arms withstand,The Saxons are our scorn.We'll drink and laugh, and sing at eve,And chase them in the morn.Chorus.—Ho, comrades all," etc.
"No foemen can our arms withstand,The Saxons are our scorn.We'll drink and laugh, and sing at eve,And chase them in the morn.
Chorus.—Ho, comrades all," etc.
"To be forewarned is to be forearmed."Proverbial Saying.
"To be forewarned is to be forearmed."
Proverbial Saying.
Count de Montfort, the born autocrat, it may be inferred, was not the man to permit any remnant of the conquered Saxons to assume an independent authority, or to defy him in his exercise of unlimited power. Nor did he relish the fearless tone in which Oswald had addressed him. Such an affront must not be tolerated for a moment; so he determined to organise an expedition which should explore the hills and root out any incipient rebellion which might be afoot. It is needless to say that the mysterious escape and reappearance of Oswald also caused increased vigilance in guarding the castle to be resorted to.
Now Badger had manifested a wonderful tact in ingratiating himself with the rough Norman troopers. It was much more common to see him sallying forth cheek by jowl with some of these, fishing, hawking, or boar-hunting, than to see him companying with his Saxon comrades. But there was method in it all, for he was always possessed of their plans and purposes; and when he communicated to me this determination of theirs we made haste to apprise our countrymen of it. That night Badger quietly issued from the postern gate of the Abbey, leading his mountain pony Shaggy, and followed by his faithful wolf-hound Grizzly. Every light was extinguished. Not a sound fell on the stillness of the night air, saving the horrid braying of a stag in the distant wood, and the screeching of owlets as they fluttered amid the branches of the trees in quest of prey. No sooner had they passed through the gate at the northern extremity of the Abbey's ground than Badger mounted Shaggy's back, and they steadily threaded their way through the forest, making as quickly as possible for the hill country. Steady riding for half an hour brought them to the first spur of the mountain, when Badger threw himself from the pony's back, and led the way at a brisk walk. Soon they reached the top of this lower promontory, when, again mounting Shaggy, they dashed along, sending the rabbits by hundreds scurrying away to their holes. But Badger steadily forged ahead towards the huge eminences, which seemed to rise out of utter darkness, and throw their black and ominous outlines against the starlit sky. Half an hour's more riding and patient climbing, and he neared the top. Choosing as the easiest path a deflection between two peaks, he was proceeding at a rapid pace, when, of a sudden, two men on horseback came bearing down upon him like a whirlwind, and drew up in front of him with swords drawn. "Saxon or Norman?" sang out one of them in a tone of inquiry.
"Saxon!" shouted Badger. "Down with the Normans!"
As the well-known voice was heard, the swords were sheathed, and the two horsemen greeted him with a loud laugh.
"Why, you are living yet, then, Badger!" said one. "We have been calculating your chances; and we had come to the conclusion you would be killed and eaten by this time. You would be worth money, Badger, for yourskinsalone, this cold weather."
"Better shed every extra skin, Badger, or you'll lose your own, I'm thinking," said the other.
"Yes, his skins are valuable, but his carcase is good for nothing. Badgers are just carrion, and nothing more."
"We are right glad to see you, however," said the pair. And indeed they seemed inclined to hug him in the exuberance of their delight.
"Well, and Shaggy's living too! What next, and next. These Normans are becoming most merciful," again broke out the first one.
"Yes, yes," retorted the second one, "that's right enough. But they aren't human beings either of them, or they'd have been murdered before this."
"What news, Badger? I declare he's gone in a trance. Have they burnt the castle down? Are they murdering everybody?"
"They'll have a mighty job to murder some of you," retorted Badger, finding his tongue at last, "unless they could fly. You take mighty good care of your skins. And i' faith, you've only one to take care of. But I wager that will be whole at the finish, unless you should happen to tumble and break your neck with running away."
"Hold there!" said the pair, bursting into a loud laugh at Badger's retort. "When the time comes we shall be amongst the first at the Normans' throats."
"All in good time, my hearties. They are coming in the morning to disturb your roosts, so there will be a chance for you; but come along, I can't stand here, I must see Oswald forthwith about this matter."
"This is our station for the night, Badger. This valley would almost certainly be selected for a night attack, or day attack either, for the matter of that. So we must watch until daybreak."
"Oh, come along, I know everything is perfectly quiet. Not a Norman astir, I will be bond for it. You will be useful, so come along."
"If you will take the responsibility, Badger."
"That I will readily, so come along."
Then the pair turned their horses' heads round, and joined Badger in his errand. As they sped across the moor they heard to the right of them a fierce baying; and presently some half-dozen wolves came bearing down upon them. The horses began to tremble in every limb, and show evidences of bolting. So the three dismounted, and stood at the horses' heads with Grizzly fiercely growling in front. This seemed to reassure the horses; but as the wolves drew near they were evidently mistaken in their prey, for they turned tail and fled. But Grizzly with a terrific growl dashed after them, throwing himself on the haunches of the hindmost, and rolling him over. Then, seizing him by the throat, he would speedily have made an end of him, if the horsemen had not come up and dispatched him with their swords. The monster turned out to be a large gaunt dog wolf, who would have been an ugly customer for an unarmed man to meet when the pinch of hunger was upon him.
"I hope they've got the sheep, and cattle, and swine all trim and tight, or I'm feared they'll be missing some of them in the morning, with these beasts prowling about," remarked one horseman.
"They're getting too plentiful to be at all pleasant. There's been little time for wolf-hunting since these Normans came; they are getting bold too, and are beginning to pack," remarked the second horseman.
"I wish they were the worst foes we had to deal with," said Badger; "I should be a happier man by a good deal. But these dastardly Normans, I fear me we shall never more shake them off. The villainous brood are swarming all over the land, and there will soon be never a patch of soil that a Saxon can call his own. We shall all either have to be slaves or feed on the wind ere long."
"Not me, Badger," said one. "I have neither child nor chick, and a freeman I'll be at all costs. The limestone caves and the greenwood shall make me shelter. As for feeding on air, I'll not want something more substantial if any Norman this side Baldley Heights or Whernside Fell has a sheep in the fold or an ox in the stall."
"Well, don't be downhearted, comrades," said Badger. "When the wind shifts, the cloud lifts. It's a broad ford that can't be bridged. The strongest bow soonest relaxes, and the spent arrow falls lightly. Our time will come, for these Normans are not Viking rovers, but like fat living, and that breeds laziness; and we shall be able to shake ourselves down comfortably if we can't push them out of the bed."
Whilst this conversation was proceeding the three were rapidly pressing on, Badger having by this time put eight or ten miles between himself and the Norman foe. But in the vast distance before them there seemed to loom an unending stretch of moorland, vast and drear and dark. In the pale moonlight the mists could be seen climbing the heights, or creeping lazily along the hollows, where damp and bogs abounded. Like huge repositories of old-world histories these grim old hills seemed—dwarfing human nature into nothingness in their presence—"everlasting hills," broad-based and firm; defying the storms of winter, and bathing their heads in the golden sunshine of summer; unmoved amid the changes, transformations, and fierce race struggles which were being fought out with relentless cruelty around their base; and offering a cold, unsympathetic shelter to fugitives flying to them for safety.
"Keep to the left, Badger. We must keep on the outskirts of that vapour, or we shall be speedily up to the knees in a bog. We have not far to go. Do you see the tops of those fir-trees just peeping over those boulders? That is our headquarters, and Oswald will be there."
Presently the persons of two scouts could be seen moving amid the stones, and evidently reconnoitring the new-comers. A low, shrill whistle is given by one of them, and is answered by Badger's friends; at which signal they drew near to interview the strangers. Then it was seen that the tops of the fir trees were but the outermost ring of a dense wood, which lined the sides of a mammoth ravine, with a still lake of water, or tarn, lying placidly in its hollow.
"Is Oswald here to-night?" was the first inquiry.
"Yes. What news?"
"All right so far; but there will be a lively time to-morrow. Badger, here, has brought the news. Let him have speech with the Earl forthwith."
So the three dismounted, and began slowly to thread their way by a path, winding and difficult, with branches hanging low, and brushwood closing up, so as to make progress impossible except in single file. By-and-bye the bottom is reached, and before them there stands—what was totally concealed from any one skirting the wood on the outside—a spacious one-storied building near the head of the tarn. As they drew near, a fierce growling of a watch-dog was heard, and a challenge was addressed to them by some one hid from view by the dense brushwood. The answer being satisfactory the horses were tied to the trees, and the stranger led them by a winding path to the rear of the dwelling. A gentle tap being given to the door, a woman's voice challenges the visitors; but soon the bolts are withdrawn, and the party enters what was evidently the kitchen quarters.
"Has the Earl retired?" said Bretwul to his wife.
"Yes, long ago. There has not been a sound in the house these two hours."
After consulting together it was deemed a matter of sufficient importance to summon Oswald, and to him Badger briefly related the news which had brought him.
Then ensued a council of war, some advocating evasive tactics. But this brought them face to face with the fact that the Normans were all aware that they were hiding not far away, and they would be sure to persevere until they had unearthed them. So it was decided that a lesson in retaliation was necessary. Word was sent round at once for all cattle and non-fighters to keep especially close, also for the able-bodied men to meet the Earl at daylight at the cave on Deepdale Head.
Badger's errand being now accomplished, he led his pony to the clear. There mounting, and accompanied by Grizzly, the return journey commenced at a steady trot, which was never broken until the monastery was reached; and soon each one was at rest. He had thus given a timely warning to the outlawed Saxons, from which it will be seen they were not slow to profit.
"BewareOf entrance to a quarrel; but being in,Bear 't that the opposed may beware of thee."Shakespeare.
"BewareOf entrance to a quarrel; but being in,Bear 't that the opposed may beware of thee."
Shakespeare.
Hanging-Brow Scaur, to which allusion has been made, is a huge peak towering high above the Pennine Range, out of which it springs. A rude cultivation obtains to its very summit—such a cultivation as the bleak winds and perpetual cold permit. Ere the advent of the Normans small mountain sheep with the single lamb at their heels had swarmed over its hoary sides, browsing amid its moistureless grass, nipping the fresh shoots during the summer time, and retreating to the lowlands at the advent of winter. The husbandman who reared his humble dwelling beneath its shoulders had frequent need to beware the cold north wind, the drifted snow, and not unfrequently the rushing avalanche. A sluggish, unromantic life was lived, and a precarious livelihood obtained by these hill-folk. The woods ran up the gorges to the foot of the loftiest peak. Coming downwards they spread over the tops of the lower hills until, from gorge to gorge, the forest trees join hands, and an unbroken forest sweeps downwards, gathering density and luxuriousness until it sweeps over the valleys and up the sides of the hills beyond. Inexpressibly lovely especially are these wooded gorges in the summertime, when the fragrant breath of foliage and flower, of moss and lichen, is in the nostril, when the music of rushing cataract and waterfall is in the ear. Buoyant and bracing as an elixir of life is the cool air on these mountain-sides, when the hot breath of July is enervating the dwellers in the valley below. How delightful was my task at this season to carry the consolations of my office to the lonely scattered folk on the hills! How often have I felt my heart expand with lowly adoration when, from the lofty summit of Hanging-brow, I have turned my gaze westward, and far away in the distance my sweep of vision has taken in the coast-line of the Irish sea; whilst north, and east, and south there lay before me a mighty vista of hill and dale and rugged peak! Then, how lovely the magnificent stretch of forest too!—a rich unbroken canopy of green, many-tinted and beautiful, the oak, the ash, the elm, and many others blending their various tints in the lowlands; whilst the fir, the pine, and the mountain-ash belted the forest in the higher reaches. The fleet-footed red-deer might be seen threading their way through the tangled undergrowth, or browsing amid the boulders in the clear, keeping ever a wary eye on the stealthy hunter. Sly Reynard here abounded, and might be seen gliding warily along; and occasionally his fiercer cousin the wolf prowled in fierce loneliness; whilst ceaselessly the woods rang with the songs of her feathered denizens. Birds of rare plumage, too, and shy, such as the jay, the magpie, the thrush, the curlew, the wood-pigeon, with many specimens of the hawk family, were here; whilst the golden eagle wheeled in airy flight round the crown, or moodily perched on some boulder, while his mate patiently hatched her young in the fissures of the rocks, which, steep and high, lined the pathway of the descending waters. But on this eventful day, as the sun reared its blood-red visage above the horizon, and kissed the mountain peak into a ruddy twilight, two Saxon warriors, with broadswords by their sides and battle-axes at their girdles, rounded the peak on the side which overlooked the castle and broad fertile acres which had been comparatively cleared around it. Just the dimmest outlines of this scene were visible; but as the sun mounted higher in the heavens, and his rays swept down from the hills into the lowest valleys, the whole landscape was spread in beauty before them. The castle's noble proportions, here and there also the river's sinuous course, as it threaded in and out amongst the trees, could be seen; whilst farther down the valley the gorgeous masonry of the Abbey peeped through the tops of the trees. With rapt vision, but with very sad hearts, the pair stood together, and watched the marvellous transformation taking place before them.
"Was ever man called to yield so fair a possession before, Wulfhere?" said the chieftain to his comrade.
"Well, truly it is a fair spot—finer, I think, than ever I thought it before. But it may be yours again, and I may get my little patrimony also. So let us not despair."
"Well, we know not what may happen, but it seems very unlikely at present. But come, we will go over the summit and consider our plan for the stronghold. It will be some time yet ere our enemies are astir, I dare say. The scouts will bring us timely word."
So the pair climbed to the summit, and again considered their plans for the fortress which had already been decided upon. Now the summit was a remarkably level plateau of five or six acres in extent. Round the outer edge of this plateau the ground sank away steep and suddenly for fifty yards, and it was only by the utmost exertions that a man could scramble up this last steep brow. The pair walked around the outer fringe together.
"Well," said Oswald, "the hand of man could never have raised so impregnable a rampart, and if gallantly manned it can never be carried by assault. There is but one danger: we may be starved out, for the provisioning of it is most difficult with our scanty resources."
"It is as you say, my lord, matchless as a site for defence; for the provisioning we must make strenuous efforts whilst the respite lasts; and if we can by any means give them this day such a taste of our quality as we ought to, they will never, unless greatly reinforced, attempt to force our stronghold."
"How bountiful, Wulfhere, nature has been in providing material for building. Stones ready to our hand and inexhaustible in quantity, and timber near to hand also."
At this juncture a horseman was seen coming over the mile of gently rising ground which stretched away from the forest.
"He bears a message," said Oswald; "come, we will descend and meet him."
By the time they had scrambled to the bottom of the declivity the horseman drew near, bringing the news that evidently something more than usual was afoot, by the number of men who were actively mustering at so early an hour of the morning; this thing being quite an unusual one with the Normans, who loved to carouse well into the night, and then sleep off the effects in the morning.
"Well we may be sure, if these besotted louts are moving thus early, that there is something which has stirred the hornet's nest, so we will to our rendezvous." Then turning to the scout, he said, "You know the cave at Deepdale Head?"
"Aye, aye, I know it well!"
"You will find us there from now: keep us well informed, you and your comrades, so that we may make our dispositions."
Then the two rapidly descended until they came to the head of a deep gorge, where was one of the many limestone caves to be found in the district. It had an obscure and unpretentious entrance; but once well within it, it assumed lofty proportions, and ran away into many cavities roomy and weird. In past times no one would have dared to enter its gloomy precincts, as it was considered to be the abode of pixies, witch-hags, and the powers of evil and darkness generally. But now these superstitious and ignorant people had dared to force the abode of evil spirits, rather than face the still more cruel and hated Norman.
Gathered around the entrance to this cave, and sitting on the hillside were a number of men all armed, and evidently anticipating a conflict with the enemy. They were a very miscellaneous company, some of them being fierce, ragged, wild and most unsavoury looking. At the head of some ten or fifteen was one Sigurd, who had been a chieftain in Lakesland, some fifty miles distant; but so desperate had been his conflict with the Normans, and so incessant his attacks and so daring in character, that the Normans had found it necessary to put in motion numerous forces to capture or slay this man and his desperate band. This they had not been able to do; but so incessant had their harrying been, that he had been driven from his native hills, with the result that this opportune moment he was found swelling the ranks of Oswald's men.
"Your coming is timely, Jarl," said Oswald. "Men who can wield a sword, or fling a javelin, as I perceive you and these hardy warriors can, are doubly welcome at this pinch."
"You are right, master, I am Viking every inch of me; these men are skalds every one also, so we need not tell you we like the ring of steel. Give us a corner where there is room to fight and none to fly, for we like it best."
Just then another horseman hot with haste arrived with the tidings that the Normans had divided themselves into two bands, and were ascending by the water-courses. This was as Oswald had anticipated, for these water-courses alone afforded what by compliment could be considered continuous paths, the forest being very dense and tangled, and a hopeless labyrinth. Now the Normans had made the somewhat common but, nevertheless, often fatal mistake, of underrating the enemy—or rather the hunted fugitives they sought. It had never occurred to them for a moment that the Saxons would present a bold front, and even dare an issue with them in force. They regarded the matter with a very light heart; although they had had a taste of Oswald's prowess, they believed that he had but few to stand by him. They little thought as they scrambled jauntily along up the gorge with no precautions against an ambush, or sudden assault, that they were forcing the hiding places of desperate men, who, when hard driven were capable of desperate deeds.
By-and-by the scouts came in bringing definite information as to numbers, and the routes the Normans were pursuing. They had, as already said, divided themselves into two parties; each one purposing to thoroughly scour one of the two paths along the water-courses, and intending to join together again when the hills should be reached.
Now Sigurd, of whom more anon, had command of one company of the Saxon forces at the head of one of the ravines, and he was duly apprised of the number of Normans he would have to contend with. Oswald with Wulfhere as second in command, had charge of the other contingent, and they slowly drew away down the ravine to a spot which had been selected by Oswald for the attack. The most numerous company of the Normans struck the water-course which Oswald defended. The stream had there reached the valley where the mighty slit in the mountains down which it boisterously tumbled had broadened into a lovely dell, green as an emerald, and studded with flowers. Here the waters moved placidly along; but the innumerable foam-caps which slowly sailed away on its bosom, bore ample evidence of its tumultuous descent from the mountains. Here the Normans drew together and took council with regard to their further movements. Eventually they took the left bank, and with long and attenuated ranks they commenced the ascent. All this was duly noted, and nimble feet carried each several movement speedily to the waiting Saxons.
The place selected by Oswald was where the limestone rock seemed to be shorn down with a perpendicular face to the bed of the stream. On the opposite side Wulfhere with a company of archers were ambushed. The steep and lofty face of the rocks precluded any possibility of their being dislodged, whilst the position of the Norman foe across the ravine would expose them mercilessly to their shafts. Oswald, with some dozen of the stoutest of his followers, barred the path at a point where it took an upward trend, and a huge boulder blocked the vision of the approaching foe. He had also thrown forward a party of men up the steep and wooded ravine side, in advance of himself, who were completely obscured by the trees. These were, at the signal, to roll down the boulders and huge stones which abounded in the rough and scraggy hillside. The position and the method of attack were matchlessly planned. If these desperate Saxons only stood each one unflinchingly to his post, victory was certain, for the enemy was entrapped, and flight alone could save them.
"Wulfhere," said Oswald, "you understand my plan, I think. The path on our side is so narrow and rough, the enemy will be obliged to move pretty nearly in single file. Your men must hide in the brushwood until I give the signal; then pour into them volleys of arrows. If they should be seized with panic, which assuredly they will, and beat a headlong retreat, then rush down, and meet them at the neck of the gorge and cut off their retreat. Remember, battle-axes are best for the thicket, and broadswords for the open. Strike swiftly, strike hard, and victory is certain."
So Wulfhere crossed the stream with his men, and clambered up the steep bank on the opposite side. Then abreast, but on each side the stream, the two companies marched downwards. Presently they reached the spot selected for the attack. The disposition of the men was quickly effected. Then Wulfhere, keeping in the shelter of the trees, advanced to the brink of the precipice, where his position commanded a view of the enemy, who were swarming forward. From thence he could easily hold converse across the chasm with Oswald, who, with battle-axe firmly grasped in his right hand, and bronze shield on his left, like a fierce lion was grimly waiting for his prey; behind him, a dozen stout yeomen, who from their youth had been taught to wield either weapons of war or implements of husbandry, men who had proved their valour against both Norman and Dane on many occasions. As the enemy drew near, their numbers and every movement was minutely described to Oswald, until they drew so near that further parleying must cease. Then Wulfhere retired a few steps into the thicket where his men were lurking, with arrows affixed, ready for the fray. Meanwhile, the loud oaths, coarse laughter, and unchecked speech of the Normans told plainly the feelings of contempt they entertained for the foe, and the little apprehension they had of the onslaught awaiting them. Soon their scrambling footsteps drew quite close, amid a death-like stillness in the ranks of the lurking foe. The Saxon war-cry, "Ahoi!" in thunderous tones burst from the lips of Oswald and his men. "Ahoi!" shouted Wulfhere's men. "Ahoi!" shouted the men ambushed aloft. At that instant also, a dozen arrows with deadly aim came hissing across the defile; down also came the boulders from aloft, leaping with gathering velocity into the ranks of the foe, whilst Oswald dashed from behind the boulder, and closed with the Norman leader. Their gleaming eyes met for a second; the Norman dealt a hurried forceless blow with his sword, which the Saxon received on his shield; then his ponderous battle-axe came crashing down with irresistible force. The Norman interposed his shield, but the axe bore it down and, glancing therefrom, came full upon his cranium, tearing away his helmet, and felling him through the shrubs down into the water-course in the bottom of the glen. As the Normans witnessed the overthrow of their leader, they were completely panic-stricken, and helplessly huddled together like sheep, unable to strike a blow. The Saxon dominated the path in front, cutting down the foremost with marvellous celerity; whilst on one flank the deadly arrows were being poured into them, and on the other flank the huge stones clashed through their ranks and decimated their numbers. This hesitancy lasted but for a minute or two; very speedily the discomfiture became an abject panic, and each one for himself made a rush for the valley. The Saxons followed them swiftly, relentlessly, and cut them off in numbers, as they impetuously rushed away towards the valley and the castle. At a signal from Oswald, the Saxons ceased their harrying of the scattered and flying foe, and with swift footsteps they regained the head of the gorge and over the shoulder of the hills, to the help of their comrades, who barred the advance of the second band of Normans.
Now, whilst Oswald, with sagacity and conspicuous valour, had routed one contingent of the Normans, the sturdy Viking Sigurd, with a dozen of his own reckless and desperate band, reinforced by less than a score of Oswald's followers, pressed eagerly on to the fray with the other band of Normans. Sigurd possessed none of the qualities of generalship, beyond a desperate and headlong valour, which always bore him into the thickest of the fight. His personal strength was prodigious, and no other man could wield his ponderous sword; in a rough and desperate struggle where strength and valour were everything, and skill of little avail, he had no equal in all Northumbria. His own followers, too, in thicket warfare, with their short but heavy swords in one hand, and a long, gleaming knife or dagger in the other, were unrivalled in such an encounter as the one they challenged to-day. In Oswald's struggle, the place and plan of attack had more to do with the complete demoralisation of the Normans, than the desperate valour with which it was carried out. In Sigurd's case, it is true, the surprise, the thicket, and the rough and precipitous ground, were stout allies of his. But otherwise, everything depended on the vigour and valour of himself and men. Now Pierre led this second company, and he was a sturdy rogue who had to be reckoned with when it came to a tussle with weapons; and any one who counted on Pierre succumbing to panic or to fear would be grievously mistaken.
On, however, the Normans pressed, like their routed compatriots, never dreaming that the Saxons would be prepared for them; and, as a matter of fact, despising them, in any case. Right into the ambush they marched, recklessly and unheeding. Instantly the Saxon war-cry rends the air, and the wood is alive with men who frantically hurl themselves upon the astonished foe. The Normans stagger and reel at the fierce onset, and some fly, coward-like, without striking a blow. But the presence of mind and personal bravery of Pierre stands them in good stead at this juncture. In stentorian tones he shouted, "Notre Dame! Have at the dogs! Follow me!" And whipping out his sword he headed the onset, laying about him lustily and encouraging his men. But the burly Viking, Sigurd, finds none to withstand him, and he makes sad havoc amongst the men-at-arms, who quail and cower before him; whilst his followers, like mountain goats, dart from behind trees and boulders, dealing stealthy and effective strokes, completely nonplussing the Normans with their organised methods. Pierre quickly perceives, however, that they number five to one of the Saxons; and, if the burly Viking's arm can be arrested for ten minutes, victory will come speedily. There is none but he to do it. So boldly he dashes off on the instant and confronts the giant. No mean foeman is Pierre in point of physical strength and courage; but, when to that was added his superb skill in handling his weapon, he is not to be trifled with, even by so doughty a foe as Sigurd.
"Ha, ha!" roared the Viking chief, as he witnessed the temerity of this Norman in courting battle with him, and with reckless vigour he smites at Pierre. But the Norman plies shield and sword in defence, and dexterously shifts his ground to get an advantage. In swift succession the thunder-strokes fall, and gleams of fire dart from Pierre's shield and sword as he parries the blows. Scathless, however, he endures the ordeal.
"Bravo, Pierre!" his comrades shouted. "Holdhimin play a little while, and we will make short work of these churls."
Truly everything points to this conclusion, for the Normans have gathered courage wonderfully, and by sheer numbers the Saxons are being rapidly overborne. At the instant, however, the Saxon battle-cry, Ahoi! Ahoi! Ahoi! wakes the echoes in the hills, and Oswald and his men dash into the flanks of the Normans. The effect is electrical. Panic-stricken, they fly before the onrush of the avenging Saxons. The retreat was a regular stampede; and Pierre and his men, along with the stragglers from the first company, rushed into the castle yard breathless with haste, never having made attempt to rally.
De Montfort and Vigneau, who had received the former troop with rage and dismay, were little less than frantic at this double disaster and ignoble defeat.
"Pierre, you scurvy villain, what is this? I wish thou hadst left thy ugly carcase with those Saxon dogs yonder, ere thou disgraced thy calling thus!" roared Vigneau at his henchman.
"You will take care that fat carcase of yours is put in no manner of danger, master!" rasped out Pierre, in fierce retort.
"How now, villain!" said Vigneau, drawing his sword and advancing on Pierre. "I'll put a stop to thy unmannerly insolence, dog!"
"Stand back!" said Pierre fiercely, and whipping out his sword. "You will have to take your chance, mark me, if you put not up that weapon. I'll have no more of your bullying! My weapon is as good as yours any day, whether I have won my spurs or no."
"Stop that!" said De Montfort, authoritatively, and stepping between them. "How is this, Pierre? What has happened?"
"Treachery, my lord! The Saxons were well advised of our purpose, depend upon it, for they were prepared for us, lying in ambush to receive us. But in spite of this we should have worsted them; but when we were just getting the mastery, the Saxon Oswald and fifty others dashed into our rear and demoralised us entirely. A burly monster, huge as a bull, led the first company. Look at my shield! cut through in several places by his weapons. Depend upon it, we were betrayed by some one; they were evidently awaiting us, everything prepared."
Wonderfully elated and heartened these Saxons were at the day's successes; for this was the first encounter since the Normans' disastrous march through the north when, matching force with force, they had gained so signal a victory. The fame and prowess of Oswald spread like wildfire amongst the hunted refugees, who were lurking, like beasts of the forest, in any hiding-place they could find. Salutary also was the lesson the arrogant and vindictive oppressors learnt, for both their respect and their fears were marvellously increased by it.