"What outward form and feature areHe guesseth but in part;But what within is good and fairHe seeth with the heart."Coleridge.
"What outward form and feature areHe guesseth but in part;But what within is good and fairHe seeth with the heart."
Coleridge.
Through the woods with sure-footed fleetness their powerful horses bore Oswald and Wulfhere on the fateful night of their visit to the monastery. Matters of most momentous importance to Oswald at least, as well as to Alice and the Count her father, called for urgency, and would brook no delay. Presently the pair stood together in the wood, hard by the place of the mysterious passage. "Hold the horses, Wulfhere, and await my return; our rest will be more welcome, and much sweeter when we have brought peace unto others, and disburthened our minds of the momentous issues following on this day's work." So saying, he swung himself aloft, and speedily disappeared in the cavernous recesses of the giant oak.
Meanwhile, on the turret a lonely figure paced round and round its battlemented heights in the shivering cold, but all unconscious, and insensible to its chilling influences. It was Alice De Montfort who waited and watched in the loneliness of the night, hoping, yet despairing of hearing the welcome voice, or seeing the welcome form of her Saxon lover. Ever and anon, as she paced to and fro, she lifted up her tear-stained eyes in voiceless prayer to the heavens above her; but the driving clouds as they scudded across the face of the sky, seemed to shut out hope, and all response from the vaulted blue, toward which she looked for succour and for comfort. Then in mute agony she turned from the Omnipotent, whose form she could not see; and whose voice she could not hear, but who, though as yet there was no token, had nevertheless heard her prayer ere it was uttered, and in His own way was sending fleet messengers of hope.
Was there hope and help in man? She mounted the parapet and peered long and anxiously over the bastions into the cheerless night, listening with strained attention for sound of voice or human footfall. But the teeth of the driving wind bit with piteous severity her wan cheek, and she sank down again beneath the shelter of the wall.
"Will he come to-night?" she yearningly asked of the empty air.
Her faint heart gave the answer to the question.
"No, he is a fugitive and a hunted Saxon; a wolfshead and an outlaw; and after this day's vengeance he must hide himself as best he can. But I love him all the more for that, for he is brave and true, and I will gladly share poverty and exile with him. What would I not give this moment to know that he is safe? to feel the grasp of his strong arm; to hear his voice, resolute as a hero's should be, yet withal so tender, that a little babe would be hushed to sleep by its gentleness, as though 'twere a mother's lullaby. How danger seems to fly from me, and dark, overhanging fate is fronted by silver-winged hope when he is nigh! But, alas! vain are all my hopes, for he comes not. Perhaps already the traitorous minions have avenged themselves in his blood, and I shall never see him more. I must fain get me to my chamber and weep, and pray the night away, in the hope that with to-morrow's light there may come some tidings of him. Just one last look from the bastion ere I descend."
So saying, she rose to her feet. Ah! a footstep on the stone stair arrests her attention. Some spy upon her movements—she is discovered! Her heart beats feverishly, and she sinks to the ground with the day's carnage flitting indistinctly before her mental vision. Ah! what is that? The tall form of the Saxon chieftain is outlined in the dim light, and with a cry of uncontrollable delight, and with supernatural energy she bounds across the intervening space, and flings herself into his strong arms in sweet insensibility.
"You are my own now, sweetheart," said Oswald, folding her to his breast, and imprinting a kiss upon her cold brow. "You anxious one; whatever have you been doing? watching in this chill night air all alone, and so scantily clad too."
The ears into which he uttered his loving words were deaf; and the eyes into which he vainly strove to look were closed.
"Poor child," said he, "this is too bad."
Then he folded her tightly in his arms and rested his warm cheek against hers. Her eyes slowly unclosed, and for a moment she gazed up into his face. Then slowly they closed again, and a sweet smile passed over her features, the revulsion of feeling from despair to the joy of hope was delicious. Like a little child waking in agony from some horrid dream, and finding its mother's form bending over it, and forthwith dropping once more into sleep, and peace, and rest.
For a minute or two she was perfectly passive, whilst the new joy seemed to be saturating her whole being.
"I am so glad you have come," she said, rousing herself. "I was filled with most dreadful forebodings of disaster to you, to my father, and to all of us. Excuse my silence, but the joy was so great I could do nothing but quietly drink it in. This horrid day has nearly killed me. Even now I am more afraid of the future. After you fled the Abbot boldly charged my father with disloyalty, and with having planned the day's slaughter of his brother. His rage and his threatenings were dreadful to hear, for he vowed that he would forthwith lay the matter before the king."
"Fear not, dearest, the worst is past. Everything has this day been purged away in blood. I care not to think about it, much less to talk about it. But after all, only the barest justice has been done, and I know of nothing that calls for repentance. Has the Count retired to rest?"
"No. I fear there will be little rest for him to-night. I left him some time ago pacing his room in despair, and revolving in his mind various plans for frustrating the malicious intentions of the Abbot."
"Other hands have already frustrated the evil designs of that most wicked and loathsome representative of the Church. The avenger has met him face to face, and he is no more. Come, let us go down to the Count. I am the bearer of news which will make him look kindly upon even a Saxon outlaw. Come with me, one telling of the story will suffice."
So together they descended the turret stair and sought De Montfort's room. Alice gave a gentle knock upon the heavy oaken door, but there was no response. Then she gently pushed open the door, and the pair entered together. The Count was sat with his elbows on the oaken table, his face buried in his hands, and totally oblivious of their entrance.
"Father!" said Alice gently.
The Count gave a start and raised his head, and immediately started to his feet at the spectacle which met his sight; for the stalwart Saxon once more stood before him: his astonishment being still more inflamed, as he witnessed his fair daughter lovingly clinging to the outlawed chieftain's arm, and radiant with smiles.
"Alice!"
"Father, give this noble Saxon a hearty welcome, for he richly merits it. A long time since I unwittingly gave him my heart, or rather he took it, and he has proved himself our bravest and truest friend. He is bearer also to-night, I believe, of most welcome news."
So saying, she led her Saxon lover to the Count, and Oswald, dropping on one knee, said,—
"Noble sir, your lovely daughter some time ago, in pure pity, gave me my life. On the night of the taking of this castle she opened the prison doors, and with her own hands undid my shackles——"
"Alice, I little thought that it was your doing!"
"Wait, father, till you hear this noble Saxon's story, and you will chide me no more for that act of mercy."
"Noble sir," said Oswald, "we Saxons never permit a debt of honour to go unrequited. I have endeavoured as best I could to discharge the debt of honour so nobly laid upon me; but the fair creditor has taken possession of my heart. I cannot eject her, if I would; and I would not, if I could, eject so lovely and so winsome a tenant."
"Pray be seated, Saxon; I confess I do not understand the language used by either you or my daughter, nor do I know how far it is permissible for me to hold friendly intercourse with one whom my king expects me to be at deadly enmity with. But Saxon or not, you deported yourself to-day as a brave man and a true knight should do. The disguise was well planned and complete, and your advent timely. It was most daring, but what its purpose was I am at a loss to know."
"Its purpose was to rid you and yours of a most deadly viper, and to rid our race of a blood-thirsty tyrant."
"I divine thou knowest more of my concerns than it is meet a stranger should. But, be that as it may, I know not whether I am indebted to thee or not, for one viper laid low has given birth to others, whose venom I dread even more, and whom I have no means of appeasing.
"It is better I should explain, sire. It is true I became possessed of your secret, but the gratitude I owed to your daughter for the life given back to me from the jaws of death, as well as for the love I bore her, also for the fierce retribution I and my people owed to the brothers Vigneau, for numberless cruelties and outrages dealt out to our people, caused me to watch with scrupulous care, that I might serve you and yours and rid my people of a deadly terror. I have news for you, sire. Not only is Baron Vigneau dead, but also the Abbot, his brother, has fallen by the avenging hand of an outraged countryman of mine, and has been carried to his burial in the silent woods. Furthermore, here are the fatal letters," said Oswald, drawing them from his bosom and handing them to the Count.
"No living man, save ourselves, I believe, is aware of the nature of them, so it is easy to end their potency for mischief."
At the sight of the fatal letters which had for so long a time hung over him like the sword of Damocles, the countenance of the Count lighted up as though it were by magic, and, reading them over carefully, one by one, he ejaculated, "Thank God!" Then rising from his seat he walked to the huge fireplace, in which were the smouldering remains of a wood fire, and he dropped them into the embers, and watched the quick flame as it sped up the chimney. After this he most carefully raked over the filmy remains a pile of burning charcoal; then he returned to the table, and turned a satisfied and kindly look upon Oswald.
"Did I understand you to say, Saxon, that the Abbot was dead also?"
"Yes, sire, I knew well that the work was but half done and the deliverance half accomplished whilst the Abbot lived. I knew also that the least delay would be fatal, so I and a few followers made bold to force an entrance to the monastery, where we found the Abbot in close consultation with one Pierre, whom doubtless you have met."
"Yes, yes, Pierre—I know him well—a brave man, but an arrant villain withal. I trust he is not acquainted with this foolish act of mine."
"We found the Abbot communicating the whole matter to him, and by bribes and promises inciting him to proceed at once to London, and lay the letters before William. He hoped to bring down upon you the King's vengeance, and then to possess himself of your lands and possessions."
"And what of Pierre? then, is he at large, and in possession of this information?"
"No, sire. The stalwart fellow who acted the part of squire to me in the tournament had cause of quarrel with him personally, as well as a long catalogue of crimes against our people to avenge. He challenged Pierre, and single-handed, and in fair fight slew him; so he also is no more."
"Saxon, 'tis well done, whilst I have been moping and irresolute how to act, you have planned and executed. It is well done, as I have said, and I am a life-long debtor to you. But what is this betwixt yourself and my daughter? I am bewildered. Alice, are you two lovers?"
"Yes, father."
"And this thing has been going on for some time evidently, and under my very nose, and I as blind as a bat. This is passing strange; I confess, almost with shame, my obtuseness."
Alice rose from her seat, threw her arms about her father's neck, and affectionately imprinted a kiss upon his cheek, saying,
"Forgive us, father; we meant you no wrong, and we dared not confess until the circumstances were favourable; but all the while have we been carefully planning how we might extricate you from the power of your enemy."
"I have nothing to forgive, truly, you silly child. But was it wise to turn your heart adrift like a rudderless boat on a tempestuous sea, and leave the errant winds to drive it into port whenever they listed. A kindly providence, however, has watched over you, and you deserved it. Blindly, humanly speaking, your love has been placed, but it has been well placed, in the keeping of a brave man and true, though he be not of our race. But whither will all this tend, and how will imperious William receive the tidings—that the daughter of De Montfort has a Saxon lover?"
"Father, let us have patience and faith; all fear of disaster is now removed. This valiant Saxon lover of mine can wait the pleasure of our liege lord; and I—my happiness is so complete, I scarcely know whether I shall be, happiest as a lover or a wife. There remains much to be done, and I doubt not but William will know how to estimate the value of an ally and friend, who is at once wise and brave, even though he be a Saxon."
"Shall show us how divine a thingA woman may be made."Wordsworth.
"Shall show us how divine a thingA woman may be made."
Wordsworth.
After the stirring episode which ended in the removal from the scene of the brothers Vigneau, and their henchman Pierre, the relationship between the outlawed Saxons and the Normans,—as it related to the domains owned by De Montfort and those contiguous,—became much more amicable and peaceful. The Saxon colony on the mountains boldly advanced to the valley, and took up without molestation the tilling of the soil. The sturdy outlaws whose home had been the greenwood, and their sustenance the chase and plunder, now many of them returned to the peaceful calling they had pursued before the Normans drave them from their homes, and the plots of ground they lived upon. Intercourse between the races became regular and uninterrupted; intermarrying being of frequent occurrence. The Norman lost in great measure his haughty and overbearing manner, and the Saxon hatred of the Norman accordingly abated. The language also began to be a compound of Saxon and Norman, for each nation was driven by the exigencies of combined intercourse to learn a little of the other's language; and before my eyes daily did I witness the interblending of peoples. This was a joy to me, to Oswald, and to Alice; and indeed no one who thoroughly grasped the situation could ever again look for the overthrow of the Normans; and whilst there were wild, untamed, and irreconcilable Saxons, who fomented strife and rebellion, and on the other hand Normans proud, overbearing and cruel, yet there were to me palpable signs that the two races would eventually become one people, to their mutual advantage.
Happy am I also to relate that, through the interposition of Alice, and the kindness and confidence of De Montfort, I was once more restored to the rule of this monastery, and with its privileges and emoluments but little curtailed. Thus was I able to do much towards the reconciling of these two peoples. Thankful also I am to relate that, amid the multitude of claims upon me, I yet had strength and leisure sufficient to write these chronicles.
The kind reader I hope will pardon me this digression, and the little egotism I have indulged in, and I will proceed once more with this history.
De Montfort made no attempt to ignore the deep obligations that Oswald had laid him under; nor did he attempt to interfere with the plighted troth of these two lovers. Still many misgivings arose in his mind, with regard to the attitude his sovereign would assume towards this union. He knew well that if William disapproved of it, his will would have to be law. He debated long with himself the question, whether it would be best to first obtain William's consent to the marriage, or boldly solve the difficulty by uniting the pair and then presenting them to the king. The bolder course was finally adopted, and the day of the nuptials fixed. By the unanimous wish of all concerned, it was determined that the marriage should be celebrated without pomp and wholesale merriment, as was so often the case; but that there should be the rustic games and rural sports so dear to the common people.
So accordingly on the eventful morning the bridal party wended their way through the forest to this sanctuary, which we had decorated for the occasion. As the party passed through the forest with light hearts and joyous, there were others to whom these nuptials had most tragic results. Secreted in the thicket and watching the party go by was one, to whom every note of the joyous bells rang out a knell. Secreted also in another part was one to whom this nuptial act was infamous, and basest treachery; and like a wild beast he waited for an opportunity to spring upon the pair, and with one more wild deed of revenge to accentuate his undying hatred towards the Norman usurper. Soon after the party passed on their way and came near to the Abbey gates, Ethel, muffled and disguised as a peasant woman, stepped from the thicket from which she had watched the party go by, and slowly followed them. But she had not proceeded very far, ere some movement in the thicket attracted her attention, and turning more attentively to observe, she espied Sigurd's stealthy figure gliding amongst the trees with his naked sword in his hand, and evidently dogging the footsteps of the bridal party. A few fleet footsteps brought her abreast of him.
"My lord!" she said, addressing him, "what does this mean?"
"Ethel, is that you? I little thought to see you here," said he, ignoring altogether the question addressed to him.
"I am here, and opportunely my lord, too, if your attitude does not deceive me. What means that naked sword when there are no enemies present?"
"Do you not know," he said in low fierce tones, "what deed is to be done to-day? Oswald completes his infamy by wedding this Norman woman, and I will kill him before this day is done, or henceforth ye shall brand me a coward."
"My lord," said Ethel placing herself before him, "what madness is this that you purpose? Put up that sword, and mark me well! if any evil befall him, and if you dare to injure him or his bride, either now or henceforth, you make of me a mortal enemy, and I will not rest until your crime be punished."
"Ethel, 'tis ye are mad! or else your love at sight of this would be turned to mortal hatred! Would I had not met you this day, then would I have wiped out this stain from the Saxon race."
The power wielded by this beautiful Saxon woman over this untamed warrior was unbounded, and bore eloquent testimony to the depth and purity of his love for her; for without another word of remonstrance he sheathed his sword, and strode away into the depths of the forest.
Then Ethel pursued her journey, following the bridal party into the chapel, and sitting down, quite unnoticed, amid a motley throng of peasant women and Saxon churls, who had gathered to witness the nuptials. The marriage ceremony was designed to be carried out with great privacy, nevertheless there were a few Normans of note gathered there to witness it. There were also some Saxons, who had claim to honoured names and substantial estates, were it not for the greed of these usurpers; but most of these were now at best but fief-holders of their conquerors, and with cowed and brow-beaten looks, they were content to herd with their still more degraded countrymen.
It was manifest to any careful observer also that, amid the few Normans gathered, there was great disapprobation of the rite about to be celebrated; and as the tall muscular Saxon, who had maintained his independence and defied them all, advanced to the altar, they could not forget that the glamour of this man's name had given heart to the Saxons, and that, on innumerable occasions, he had vigorously interposed himself between these tyrants and the objects of their tyranny. To see him now standing side by side with one of the noblest, and one of the most beautiful of their race, was to them bitter as gall. And I could hear distinctly ominous muttering, and the handling of weapons. This, I must confess, was what I had dreaded, and others also, I found, had foreseen it; for at that moment Wulfhere and a sturdy band of Saxons, armed to the teeth, entered the chapel, and boldly took their stand near to the bridal party. At this the exasperation of the Normans was increased, but nevertheless they were distinctly overawed by it, and no further demonstrations of disapproval were made.
Ere the marriage ceremony was completed, and as the monks chaunted the Benedicite, Ethel glided noiselessly from her place in the chapel, and hurried from the grounds. As soon as she was clear of them she turned into an unfrequented path, which led to the heart of the forest. Sigurd had been secreted near, watching for her return, and immediately she was obscured from the gaze of others he joined her.
"Has this Saxon traitor completed his dishonour, by wedding a daughter of the Norman tyrant?" said he.
"Oswald has wedded the fair Norman, and I bestow my blessing on them, for 'tis the herald of peace to our downtrodden race, and an augury of the coming union of our people and the Norman."
"My curses on him and the coward brood of Saxons, who have betrayed their country and, by their submission to the tyrant usurper, have helped to rivet the fetters of bondage upon our race for generations to come!"
"My lord, this is most distasteful to me. I will hear no more of it. You are utterly incapable of understanding them or their motives, it is plain; so desist, once for all, from your unreasoning hatred."
"Whither go ye now, Ethel? and may I go with ye?" said Sigurd humbly.
"I am bound for the Monastery of Crowland, my lord."
"Monastery of Crowland! Never say it, girl!What do ye mean? Ye cannot gothere, Ethel!Say ye will not go there, Ethel!" he shrieked, in agonised tones.
"It is quite true, my lord," said Ethel firmly.
"It cannot be, Ethel! Ye' cannot leave us thus! We are undone if ye leave us! Say ye will not go to Crowland!anywhere but there!I thought ye would now forget my fierce and boorish habits, and be my wife. Oswald is wedded, and ye cannot be his. What hinders ye from being my wife? I will be anything ye ask of me, Ethel! I am quite broken now; my spirit is broken. I will make my peace with the Normans, and wear a serf's collar, and let themwhip me, cuff me—anything! only say ye will not leave me," he pleaded piteously.
"Alas! my lord, that can never be! My love is dead, and will never more have resurrection in this world. I have no capacity for a new affection. A maiden's heart can be won but once. Do not importune me, my lord, further. The end has come; 'tis a new epoch, and in it there is no place for you and me, and 'tis best we should quietly vanish from the scene."
"Is there nohope, Ethel, that ye will be my bride? Ye'll maybe change some day. I can wait twenty years, if ye bid me."
"There is no hope, my lord. There can be but one other change for me, and that will be when I don the cerements of the tomb."
"No hope, Ethel? No hope?" he slowly and painfully ejaculated, as though each word was a dagger thrust at his heart. "Then I am lost!"
Slowly he drew himself up, expanded his broad chest, and threw abroad his brawny arms, as though about to grapple with an enemy.
"Then," said he, "I'll have a sweet revenge on the Norman foe. I'll give my blood again to the soil I love so well, and get me a warrior's grave. Then, welcome Valhalla! Odin! Odin! Norseman's god!" he cried; "I am coming soon to join the hero spirits, awaiting me in the land beyond the dark and troubled sea."
His head drooped upon his chest, and he covered his face with his hands, whilst his whole frame quivered with emotion. It was the cry of a blind faith, but it was the cry of the soul, and it grappled him to the loving heart of infinite mercy.
Ethel trembled violently at the bitterness of soul displayed by this noble Viking, and the unbidden tears coursed down her cheeks in sympathy with his sorrow.
"Adieu, my lord! May God have mercy upon you," she said in broken and tender accents.
"Nay, Ethel! I'll go with you, I would like to see the door close upon you safe, if it must be. 'Tis not fitting ye should take this journey alone. These Norman dogs are abroad everywhere, and 'tis full of peril for ye to journey alone; they will not respect ye as I do. These Normans have no respect for such as you."
"I am sorry to say I cannot permit this, my lord. It would be both at your peril and my own. Do you not know what a heavy price these Normans have put upon your head?"
"Ah! they have made me a wolfshead truly, but they have not done with me yet, Ethel; not done with me, they will find! Broken in spirit, as I am, I do not fear them; nor do I care what price they have put upon my head. I have nothing to live for, but I willdie like a Viking. If it will be a peril to you if I go with you, well, let it be so; but 'tis bitter parting, Ethel."
"Do not fear on my account, my lord. The Abbot Adhelm has made arrangement for two of the monks to bear me company; and their sacred office and my vow will protect both them and myself from the violence of the Normans."
"Shall I never see ye more, Ethel?Never more?Won't ye comesometimesjust to have a look at theold hillsagain? and I'll meet ye, and we'll see how the world fares with you and me. Promise me ye'll come sometimes, Ethel, and let me look upon your sweet face. I've nought to live for but you!"
Ethel was deeply moved at Sigurd's importunity, but she said,—
"My lord, I cannot hope to meet you any more on earth; but I will venture to hope and pray that, when our God, who is a God infinite in mercy and compassion, shall strike the balance betwixt right and wrong, between high ideals and a grovelling ambition—in short, when He shall 'judge the world in righteousness,' He will find that the recording angel has made many an entry to your account, and blurred out many a fault with his tears; and that after all it will be found that your erring but sturdy virtues outweigh by far your many faults, and the limitations of your life. Then we shall meet again beyond the grave, where we shall see eye to eye, and 'where the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest.' Once more adieu, my lord!" So saying, she sped on her way.
Sigurd stood silently watching her retreating form until she disappeared from view, and for several minutes he still stood gazing after her like one bereft, whilst his massive frame was shaken with powerful emotions. Then slowly he muttered to himself: "The sun is set upon all my hopes; my day is done, and all is lost, save love of country and revenge. I cannot, like this Oswald, bend and crouch. A Viking once a Viking for ever." Then, turning round, he crashed into the forest.
"Sonorous metal, blowing martial sounds;At which the universal host upsentA shout, that tore hell's concave, and beyondFrighted the reign of Chaos and old Night."Milton.
"Sonorous metal, blowing martial sounds;At which the universal host upsentA shout, that tore hell's concave, and beyondFrighted the reign of Chaos and old Night."
Milton.
Not many months after the foregoing, Sigurd, followed by a score of his wild Vikings, sought the cave of the priest Olaf, and they received of the old priest a very hearty but a very grim welcome.
"Welcome, Jarl! welcome, skalds! all of ye. Ye are the bonniest warriors I have seen for many a day," he croaked. Truly the sunken eyes of the gnarled old Viking sparkled with strange delight, at the sight of so many hardy-looking warriors. He went round to every man of them, and felt severally the stoutness of their limbs, examined their weapons, capering gleefully at the old-style weapons he was so familiar with, and grunting and muttering gibberish all the time of his inspection. Such a display of force, unmistakably of the old stock, seemed almost to make him young again; and he mumbled snatches of old time sagas, and weird folk-talk of bygone generations.
Truly they were a desperate, and a desperate-looking band,—wild, daring, and uncouth; having all the instincts of wild beasts,—recking nothing of life, unless it were accompanied by some wild triumph over their enemies, and caring nothing for death; for it meant to them an entrance into Valhalla, the Viking's heaven.
"Priest," said Sigurd, "have ye any message offorth-tellingfor us? We are hotly pursued by these foreign dogs; they have hunted us out of our mountain fastnesses, and now they tread on our heels closely. They are encamped for the night in a neighbouring valley, and we cannot shake them off, for they are tracking us with sleuthhounds. Shall we give them battle to-night? Our stomachs are empty, and we shall be sore pressed on the morrow."
"Skalds, tarry ye here a little while and eat, and I will inquire for ye. Skuld is our friend, and he rules allman slaying. He will hear me this night, and if he ride with you to battle, woe will be to these Normans—ye shall sweep them before ye. We will set up theSkaldstong[7]also, presently, and invoke our ancient god Odin, that he may send his 'Maidens of Victory,' the 'Valkyrias,' and if they help, what shall hurt ye? Ye shall hurl your enemies to the ground and slay them every one. Come into my cave, the night falls in."
So saying, the old priest led the way into a spacious cavern, which opened out from the vast cleft where they stood. To the right of the cave a wood fire was burning low, and along the edge of it there were a number of natural seats, formed by ledges of the rock. Olaf bade his visitors be seated, then he lighted several torches at the fire, and suspended them against the rocky sides of the cave. In their flickering and fitful light the cave presented a very weird appearance. Here and there the white and jagged surfaces of the limestone rock seemed like human figures standing in the shadows, whilst the dark recesses threw them out like sentinels on guard.
Evidently it was a great occasion for the priest Olaf,—his ghostly office had fallen greatly into disuse of late years, to his great grief and chagrin. But troublous times had come, and men, unable to cope with their enemies, came now humbly to him for aid in their dire distress; and as he rambled about the cave, his mumbling, muttering and chanting never ceased. First he ransacked the cave for food for these famishing guests, and whilst they were eating he mended his fire. Then, from a stone coffin in one of the recesses, he fetched the whitened bones of some famous chieftain who had led them in the olden time. These he proceeded to fasten around his neck and body. Next he fetched from another recess a long pole with runes carved upon it. This he erected, and made it to stand by inserting its lower end in a hole evidently prepared for it. This was the "Skaldstong" orImprecation pole: its use being to invoke the curses of Odin upon their enemies, and to invoke the help of the "Valkyrias," whom warriors often saw riding on fiery steeds to their help.
All this time Olaf never ceased the horrid chant, or song. Strange gibberish indeed—sometimes running into metric verse, which he chanted in a rude sing-song voice—at other times it was wild imprecations and interjections, which he flung out with frenzied gestures, and in thrilling tones and loud.
Whilst this proceeding was confined to himself, it acted with electrical effect upon these wild men. Slowly at first, then with accelerated pace, they were worked up into a strange frenzy; first giving utterance to low passionate interjections, then, as the infection became more feverish, they seemed completely carried away,—shouting, starting to their feet, and brandishing their swords, as though in deadly combat. Ere long every man, Sigurd included, was in a state of overwhelming excitement, capering round the Skaldstong, holding aloft their weapons in the air, and making the cave ring again with their shouts and shrieking.
The following is a sample of the rude and uncouth song which Olaf chaunted:—
"Odin, the Norse god,Skaldstong we rear;Curse us the foe near,Cold-ribbed[8]and foul.Nithing[9]is the Saxon,Marrowless his bones;Jötun,[10]we call thee,Loose us the watch-dogs.Snarls the fierce wolf,Creeping light[11]bearing;Gyg, woman of Jötnar,Haste on before;Gird on the Hel-shoes,[12]Freeze up the blood.Terror-full and shaking,The sallowy kite hovers;The wolf digs his fangs,Drinks up the blood.Skuld[13]has gotten himVedrfölnir's[14]prey;Told o'er the corpsesFattened with gore.Water sprinkled heroes,Nornir hath life fated;Valkyrias hath guarded,Shout for the prey."
"Odin, the Norse god,Skaldstong we rear;Curse us the foe near,Cold-ribbed[8]and foul.Nithing[9]is the Saxon,Marrowless his bones;Jötun,[10]we call thee,Loose us the watch-dogs.Snarls the fierce wolf,Creeping light[11]bearing;Gyg, woman of Jötnar,Haste on before;Gird on the Hel-shoes,[12]Freeze up the blood.Terror-full and shaking,The sallowy kite hovers;The wolf digs his fangs,Drinks up the blood.Skuld[13]has gotten himVedrfölnir's[14]prey;Told o'er the corpsesFattened with gore.Water sprinkled heroes,Nornir hath life fated;Valkyrias hath guarded,Shout for the prey."
Gibberish it seems to modern ears; but upon these rude men,—with grossly over-grown superstitions, and dwarfish reasoning faculties,—this song, jerked out in frenzied exclamations and fanatical intensity, the effect was electrical and intensely contagious.
Whilst the excitement was at its height, above the din the priest's voice was heard as he shouted,—
"Skalds, hoi! I scent the battle; I smell the blood of the Normans. "Gyg,[15]" the woman of Jötun race, has gone before ye, to confound the foe.Scalds, hoi!Arise! scatter your enemies!"
As he said this he handed to every man a small piece of wood, with runes carved upon it, and each one hid it under his garment. It was a sure protection against wounds and death. Then, catching up an image of Thor and carrying it before him, he cried,—
"Follow me."
So saying, he led the way, followed by Sigurd and the rest in a state of intense excitement. Together they scrambled out on the limestone hills above them. It was quite dark, saving as the boisterous wind sent the broken and ominous-looking clouds scurrying before it, across the face of the heavens, and permitting the stars to look down to earth. The elements seemed, indeed, to have caught the fierce infection, for the wind howled and whistled against the huge boulders, and the bare limestone precipices on the hillside; and it soughed and roared through the woods below, rocking and tossing the tree-tops until they seemed possessed by the furies. The fierce band of men responded in savage glee to this tempest of the elements; every man amongst them believing that this fierce raging of nature was the work of the supernatural agencies invoked, and already hastening to help them in this work of revenge. The old priest's vigour and animation was marvellous: he seemed to have shaken off the infirmities of age; the wild fanatic spirit within achieving a complete triumph over the weak and shattered body. He led the band at a brisk pace, chanting as he went the same weird song. Ere long, the downward trend which they had followed led them within sight of the Norman camp fires, at the sight of which they could not resist the impulse to shout and savagely brandish their swords. But the state of the elements was such that scarcely any liberties of that sort would betray them.
The Normans were encamped in an open glade, with the wood all around them and within twenty yards of their camp fires. Previous bitter experience, however, had taught them extreme caution. Two or three sentinels paced to and fro, and several fierce dogs lay curled up in the glow of the fire. Besides this, every sleeper, as he lay wrapped in the arms of peaceful sleep, grasped the hilt of his sword.
Presently one of the dogs raised his head and listened, then he started to his feet with a fierce growl.
"What is the matter, Gripper?" said one of the sentinels stooping and patting him on the head. "'Tis only the shrieking of the wind amid the trees."
The dog listened intently with his eyes on the wood, and gave one or two impatient snarls as though somewhat appeased, but not satisfied.
"Lie down again, sir," said the sentinel, again patting him.
The dog very reluctantly obeyed this command, stretching himself again with a low, fierce growl, and placing his nose between his forepaws, whilst his eyes shone in the darkness, and rolled from side to side most ominously. Not a minute had elapsed before he sprang to his feet again; this time sending forth a loud, fierce bay, which woke the echoes and effectually roused every sleeper in the camp. Immediately the dog sprang towards the adjacent thicket with savage fierceness. But just as quickly he beat a cowardly retreat with his tail between his legs, like a whipped spaniel, for he had fronted the weird and unearthly form of the priest Olaf bearing the image of Thor before him, and the bones of the dead hero dangling from his neck and girdle.
With a savage yell and impetuous rush the Vikings burst into the centre of the camp, sending up their fierce war cry—Skalds hoi!—to the utter terror and bewilderment of the half-awakened Normans. Like infuriated demons they laid about them with terrible effect; and as the Normans realised the position, many of them sprang forward on the instant, sword in hand, only to recoil abashed with terror as they faced the weird form of the old priest, who, without weapon, or implement of war of any kind, headed the fierce onslaught. In their terror and superstition they thought that the devil himself fought for the Vikings, and they gave back in mortal terror. Meantime their assailants made good use of these moments of abject consternation of their enemies, yelling frantically, and cutting down the Normans wholesale; they themselves being thoroughly possessed with the belief that the supernatural powers fought for them. The onslaught was so furious that the Normans staggered and reeled before them, and hovered for a moment on the verge of an utter rout and stampede. But one Norman in this desperate strait broke the spell, for he sprang towards Olaf shouting,—
"Witch or devil, have at thee!I'll try cold steel upon thy pate," and with a blow he cleft the skull of the old priest.
The effect of this was magical, the Normans sent up a shout which made the greenwood ring again, and the echoes in the distant hills to send back long reverberations.
Now the Normans laid about them with vigour, and to some purpose. They outnumbered the Saxon by two or three to one, but fully one-third had been cut down ere they had courage to face the foe. Now the battle raged with more equal fortunes. Blow upon blow, no quarter, no mercy given or taken. At a terrible pace the ranks of each party dwindled, and ere long Sigurd alone of the Saxons was left to do battle with three of the Normans. A giant he was in strength compared with his antagonists. Better equipped also he was for defence, for he wore a coat of mail, and on his head a spiked helmet, with a shield of bronze upon his arm. But his antagonists wilily beset him behind and before. With a spring and a blow he cut down the man who fronted him; but whilst doing it, one of the others cut a deep gash in his thigh from behind, and the third drave the point of his sword between two of his ribs. Furiously Sigurd turned upon them, and with a blow cut down another of his assailants. But again a cowardly stroke from behind severed the sinews of his left arm, and his shield dropped immediately from the powerless limb. So these two alone remained of two stalwart bands of men, who a quarter of an hour ago revelled in the pride of health and vigour. Sigurd was fearfully wounded, with a deadly faint coming over him from pain and loss of blood. He still, however, retained his sword arm unimpaired. Had the Norman fought an evasive battle, time was in his favour, and the burly giant would have been helplessly at his mercy. But the Norman was not sufficiently alive to this fact, though he knew Sigurd was deeply wounded. On he came, furiously attacking his man, and the battle was ended, for with one sweep of his long broadsword Sigurd cut him down. Then for a moment he swayed to and fro, with strength all gone. Next, he staggered forward a step or two, rolling his eyes around as though in quest of further foemen. Stumbling eventually over the corpse of a fallen enemy, he fell forward amid a heap of mangled corpses; and, with a deep groan, consciousness was gone.
"Proceed my son! this youthful shame expel:An honest business never blush to tell."Homer.
"Proceed my son! this youthful shame expel:An honest business never blush to tell."
Homer.
Not many days were permitted to elapse after the marriage of Oswald and Alice, ere De Montfort, accompanied by his Saxon son-in-law, proceeded to London. The Count knew well that, if the resentment of William was once aroused, it would be a difficult matter to appease him. He was well aware also of the fact that there were Norman neighbours, who were exasperated at his conduct in bestowing his daughter upon a Saxon rebel; even though that rebel had but maintained a defensive attitude, and used his influence to calm the fierce passions which had been aroused in this strife of races. They knew he had effectually barred them in the barbarous policy on which they were bent; for which they gave him no thanks. If these malcontents but got the ear of the Conqueror, grievous complications might possibly ensue.
When De Montfort reached London the king was at Winchester; so to that place he and Oswald at once repaired. They proceeded to the castle together, but De Montfort alone sought an audience of the king.
It should here be stated that Northumbria, as the north of England generally was termed, was a grievous thorn in the side of William. To keep in check this people, and to suppress the ferocious outbursts of the downtrodden Saxons which were constantly taking place, was a most harassing and costly business; so he was keenly anxious to have reliable information and advice, with regard to the turbulent north. Thus De Montfort was welcomed heartily. As fortune would have it, Odo, who was De Montfort's chief enemy, was away in Normandy, and there was nothing, consequently, but the jealousy of Fitz-Osborne, that was likely to interfere with the success of his suit; and this nobleman alone was present at the audience which De Montfort had with the king.
The Count was ushered into the audience chamber without delay. There, the king occupied a chair of state in the centre of the wall opposite to the entrance, with a richly embroidered canopy above his head, and side hangings drooping to the wall and floor on either side.
As De Montfort prostrated himself to the floor, the king rose from his seat and, bidding him rise, shook him by the hand.
"Ye did well for our cause at Hastings, De Montfort, and should not be forgotten by us; but how comes it we have had so little of your presence at court since then? I trow ye have been over busy scaring Saxon rooks from their nests, and preparing yourself a roost in them. 'Tis an occupation my valiants knights have much busied themselves in since that day. Natheless, I mind me I have set my scribes to make abook, so I may know where all the fat manors lie; my liegemen and barons know their business well enough, and are going scot free of taxes; whilst the king has got nothing yet but hard blows and a beggar's dole. Howsomever, I will hear thy plaint. Thou would'st have more lands, or royal warrant for what thou hast already grabbed, I suppose; for that is the usual thing."
"I crave your pardon, sire, but it is not for lands I ask, for I fought my way into savage Northumbria, and ventured to lay hold of a tolerable demesne there, and——"
"'Twill be passing fair, I warrant, De Montfort, if thou think it tolerable. Fat, fertile, and ample. Well, proceed! proceed! I make a note of it thou didst not deem it necessary to say to thy king, May I? But no matter, that has come to be a mere formality."
"My purpose, sire, if your majesty will hear me, is to report the state of the land and its prospects; as well as to acquaint your majesty with an alliance which I have formed with one of the ablest of the Saxon chieftains of the north."
"By my halidame, De Montfort! hast thou ventured to form an alliancetoo, with the Saxon dogs? Truly thou art over bold. Much too bold. I think also thou hast forgotten the example of the countryman who warmed the snake by the fire. I'll none of this setting at nought of my authority, De Montfort, mark me!"
"Hear me patiently, your majesty," said De Montfort, alarmed at William's testiness. "I have brought this Saxon to court, and he will, if permitted, make oath of fealty to your majesty, and there is no Saxon leader north of the Humber whose influence is so great as his."
"Aye, aye! make oath of fealty readily enough! like the rest of them, and with as much honesty also. Truly, he matches thy boldness, De Montfort, in venturing hither after the tumult which has taken place at Durham. Natheless, we will see him, we will see him nevertheless; for such boldness is catching. But if he be advised, he will be somewhat careful how he deport himself, for he ventures into the jaws of the lion; and some of these Saxon boors are too loud of the mouth, and think it fine to 'beard' me, as they call it. Thou hast brought him hither thou sayest?"
"Yes, sire, he awaits your majesty's pleasure."
"Let him be ready, and we will call him presently, when we have considered the matter for a little while."
So De Montfort vanished from the presence chamber, and the king grasped Fitz-Osborne's arm, and together they paced the room in earnest conversation.
"What thinkest thou Fitz-Osborne, of this conduct of De Montfort? I would our brother Odo, who is now in Normandy, were here; for he hath somewhat against the Count, though I know not of a certainty what it is. I have myself heard some whisper of his playing fast and loose in his loyalty to me, but nothing of it has ever come to head. Knowest thou ought of this?"
"H—m!" said Fitz-Osborne warily, and craftily, "there are whispers about, as your majesty says, but I would advise your majesty to hear him and his Saxon ally, as he calls him. Northumbria is a wild part, and if he can, through this Saxon caitiff, exercise any substantial influence over that part of the country, it may be worth while to use him for the purpose; but I would not trust overmuch to either."
As a matter of fact, Fitz-Osborne was pleased at the prospect of having De Montfort removed so far from the councils of the king; for he was jealous of the ascendency he had acquired, and feared greatly any division of the royal favour.
"Thou sayest right. Tis best to hear the whole matter; though 'tis characterised by too much boldness to be to my liking. However, if there be a fox in the bag he cannot help but stink; and thou hast a sharp nose, Fitz-Osborne, and will smell him out promptly, I warrant."
So the king ordered the suppliants to be brought in.
William still clung to the arm of Fitz-Osborne when De Montfort was ushered in, followed by Oswald; and together they stood at the entrance, awaiting the king's command to advance. But no sooner did William set eyes on Oswald than he convulsively clutched the arm he held, and hoarsely whispered, "Notre Dame!What is this, Fitz-Osborne? 'Tis Harold come to life again! Did we not find his corpse at Hastings?"
"Be calm, Your Majesty. This is a much younger man than Harold, though he belikes him wonderfully."
The king calmly surveyed Oswald for a minute or two, and his composure returned. Then he motioned De Montfort to draw near, and the Count and Oswald advanced together, and bent their knees before the conqueror, De Montfort saying,—
"If it please Your Majesty, this loyal subject of yours is Oswald, Saxon Ealdorman, son of Ealdorman Ulfson, chieftains of Northumbria under Saxon rule."
"Rise, De Montfort," said William.
Then he motioned them to a seat opposite to his chair of state, which he resumed.
"Saxon," said he, addressing Oswald, "thou hast come, I understand, to make oath of fealty to me, and to swear in presence of myself and my chamberlain to be my faithful liegeman unto death."
"I have come with that purpose, sire, if it be your royal pleasure."
"If thou art minded to be both hypocrite and knave, first swearing fealty to me, and then proceeding straightway to stir up my subjects to rebellion, thou wilt have many illustrious examples before thee, truly. How long hast thou been of thy present mind? 'Tis a late-found repentance, I warrant me! Didst thou oppose me at Hastings?"
"I did oppose Your Majesty at Hastings, I confess."
"At York, also, I doubt not, if thou art minded to confess it, Saxon!"
"I opposed Your Majesty at York, too," said Oswald fearlessly.
"Tut, tut, dog!" said William, grinding his teeth vehemently, and grasping the hilt of his sword. "A very promising liegeman, truly, De Montfort!" turning savagely to the Count. Then addressing Oswald, he said, "Thou art to the fore, I perceive, when half a chance offers to overthrow my authority, and to kill my men, Saxon dog! How comes this whining for peace now? Thou hast had the Norman grip upon thy throat, I opine. 'Tis that has changed thy mind."
"I fear not the Norman, sire, for, if needs be, I am prepared to die for my country; but I have duly weighed the whole matter, and I recognise the futility of further resistance. I have also steadily, and for some time, counselled peace in our witan. If Your Majesty is pleased to extend your royal clemency to me, you will find me a loyal subject."
The frank and fearless tone and bearing of the Saxon chieftain evidently impressed the king, for he surveyed Oswald steadily for a minute or two, measuring him from head to foot, and studying his face as though he would read him through and through. Then addressing De Montfort, said,—
"Wait in the ante-room; we will consider this."
No sooner had the pair retired, than William started from his seat, and grasping Fitz-Osborne's arm, he exclaimed,—
"By the splendour of God![16]this Saxon is a pretty fellow, Fitz-Osborne! Got character in him! A demon, I warrant me, as an enemy, but to be sought after as a friend. Didst thou mark how he stood up like a man to me? By the holy rood! he looked me in the face without wincing, and there was none of that hypocritical whine in his tone, which I hate above all. Didst notice also how he out with the truth boldly, in a please God and dare the devil sort of way that I like? If he be really friendly disposed, we will conciliate him by all that lies in our power. How sayest thou, Fitz-Osborne?"
"He looks like a man who could be of service if he be minded to do so. Though, I confess it, there is an independence about him, which would be better if it were taken out of him. He looks as though he could make mischief. But I would question De Montfort further about this alliance he speaks of. It would be better if we had further light."
"Gramercy! Fitz-Osborne, I forgot about this alliance altogether. Call De Montfort alone!" said he, addressing one of the attendants.
When the Count again entered the room the king said,—
"What is this alliance thou hast formed with this Saxon, De Montfort?"
"I drove him, sire, in the first instance from his castle; but he built himself a stronghold on one of our mountains, from which the force I had at hand utterly failed to dislodge him; it is a wild and mountainous part, sire."
"Then thou shouldest have applied to me for help, and not have permitted a nest of vermin to thrive under thy nose."
"I crave Your Majesty's pardon; but, if you can call it to mind, I communicated with you at York the last time you came north, and then set forth fully the position of this Saxon and his followers."
"But thou asked no help! I remember it well; thou didst say how peaceably disposed this man was; and that he might safely be left alone."
"I think Your Majesty slightly mistakes the tenor of my message. Nevertheless, friendly intercourse was opened between us. He visited me at the castle with overtures of peace, which he has loyally kept. He is also at this present time at deadly feud with another Saxon chieftain, one Sigurd; because he refused to join an organised insurrection. Also in a secret assembly of the Saxon witan, which was summoned and presided over by the Atheling, he boldly advocated peace."
"Hold there! Thou saidst the Atheling summoned an assembly of the Saxon witan? My despatches say that the Prince gave secret information to my forces of this traitorous assembly, and protested his loyalty; and he is now at Rouen at my charges."
"True, Your Majesty, he did; but not until this Oswald denounced him as a coward to his face, and declared that he was unfit to reign in England. Many others then, following this Oswald's lead, declared they would not follow such a prince. Then, in the darkness, he sneaked away to a neighbouring encampment of Normans and gave information."
"Hearest thou this, Fitz-Osborne? By the splendour of God! But we must know more of this. But no matter," said he with an impatient gesture. "Proceed. What further about this alliance which thou hast formed with the Saxon?"
"We have dwelt together in a neighbourly way, having little trouble with the numerous bands of outlaws ranging the bruneswald; for his authority is acknowledged as far south as Sherwood Forest. If it please Your Majesty, I have likewise given him my daughter in marriage."
"Gramercy! De Montfort; but thou shouldst be king! Thou dost act right royally! I lose my breath discoursing with thee! Is this the lovely Alice we admired so much, now years agone, thou hast given him then?"
"My only daughter, Alice, Your Majesty."
"Were there none of my barons thou couldst have bestowed the hand of thy daughter upon? Dost thou not know I claim to be consulted in such matters?"
"'Twas a love match, Your Majesty. These two plighted their troth in true romance fashion, without consulting me. I was satisfied, however, that it would greatly strengthen Your Majesty's authority in the north of England."
"Tut, tut! Ha! that was deftly put, De Montfort; but I have too many of my knights, who make loud professions of strengthening my authority, whilst all the while they deliberately set it at naught. A precious loyalty it is. Now wait a little while, till thou hearest our commands."
"Now Fitz-Osborne, the cat is out of the bag! what thinkest thou? De Montfort is a wily dog, and has not told the whole story, I warrant me. I like not this setting me at naught in my own kingdom; 'tis passing strange, but I like this Oswald, Saxon though he be, better than my own countryman. I like the look of him, and I think good will come out of him. What sayest thou?"
"If this Saxon can be depended upon, it will do good doubtless, sire. His Norman wife, too, should influence him aright."
"So think I, Fitz-Osborne. Call De Montfort and the Saxon."
On the entrance of the pair, William said,—
"De Montfort, thy conduct has been most irregular, but, I condone it on conditions, which I will name presently." "Saxon," said he, addressing Oswald, "I congratulate thee on winning one of our most accomplished Norman maidens. I am further, upon a consideration of the whole matter, disposed to trust thee; and upon thy taking the oath of fealty, I will confer upon thee lands ample for thy needs. De Montfort, I create thee Earl of Northumberland; upon thee and thy Saxon son-in-law, I lay my charges for the welfare of that province. If ye do well, well will come of it; but I will have you beware, for if I find you unfaithful, I will root you out of the land, root and branch." So saying, with an imperious wave of his hand he dismissed them from his presence.