"A thing of shreds and patches."Shakespeare.
"A thing of shreds and patches."
Shakespeare.
After the incidents narrated in the foregoing chapter, there followed a scene of complete disorder. Many of those who were well affected towards the Prince and his cause, fell away from him, and quitted the dwelling with Sigurd and myself; and speedily the Atheling was left quite alone, saving his personal friends, who had journeyed with him from Scotland, and who were mostly foreigners.
Whilst this had been transpiring, most of the camp was wrapped in profound slumber. The followers and housecarles who had accompanied their masters, had found resting-places in the outhouses, amid the hay and bracken which had been accumulated for the fodder and bedding of the cattle during the winter months. But Badger was ill at ease amid it all. Some presentiment of evil disturbed his slumbers, and he turned uneasily again and again; finally he sprang bolt upright, and grasped his sword, at the same time giving Wulfhere a rough shake, which thoroughly roused him also on the instant.
"What is the matter, Badger? Anything amiss?"
"Hush! there are men astir in the camp. I warrant there is some mischief abroad, and I'll know the bottom of it."
At that moment two men entered stealthily at the farther end, where the horses were stalled. Wulfhere and Badger drew their swords, and instinctively ran their fingers down the blades in the darkness. The movements of the two men were plainly visible to the watchers, for the moonlight streaming in through the open door showed their outline very distinctly as they moved to and fro. Immediately the men began to saddle several horses belonging to the Prince, and then they led them out.
"There is a move of some sort, Wulfhere, and I warrant mischief is in it, for there are snakes about. A murrain on them! I am determined to know what it means. You stay here," said Badger—he, at the same time, stealing noiselessly out at the opposite end of the building.
As soon as he reached the open air, he saw, across the enclosure, that there were lights in the dwelling; so he nimbly dodged round, keeping in the shadow of the buildings, until he reached the rear of the house. There, peering through a crazy, patched window, he not only saw what was going on inside, but he overheard this conversation between the Atheling and his favourite Alred:—
"My stomach will stand no more on't, sweet Alred. Such a ruffian, boorish crew are not fit company for a prince. Then I believe that huge, over-grown Norse clown would carry out his threat, and take my life in a moment, if he got the chance. Curses on them all! Upon my soul, I wish the Normans would swoop down upon them, and cut the vile hogs into mincemeat."
"Bravo, Prince! That is a Heaven-sent suggestion, upon my soul!" interjected Alred. "I match you against any one of the seven sages. Whew! it just jumps with my humour. The Normans are in force, too, not more than half a dozen miles away. What atour-de-forceto bring the Normans down upon them by the morning! 'Twould be a stroke of policy William could not excel. Ah! look here—speaking of William: he would load you with favours, and replenish your royal treasury bountifully; then, heigho! there would always be a flowing bowl of Rhenish, or good Canary, and the sweet blue eyes of my lady-love would sparkle again. A fig for a kingdom, and the toiling and moiling of it! Give me the jolly life where care sits lightly, and my own sweet will can be indulged. To Rouen, say I again, with William's goodwill and his gold pieces!"
"Let us away, Alred! Upon my soul, revenge is sweet. You say right, too; when one does a service for William, there follow royal gifts enow. I would rather have a double purpose than a bootless errand, any day? Where are the churls who are saddling the horses?"
Having overheard this speech, Badger darted back to his comrade, who was awaiting his return impatiently.
"Heigho, Wulfhere! this princeling plots mischief. He will betray the camp, the hound, I do believe. Come along; let us dog his footsteps."
So the pair sallied out of the enclosure in the wake of the Prince, his parasites, and several serving-men. The party slowly threaded their way through the woods and entered a narrow defile between precipitous hills on either side; all the while being steadily followed by the two Saxons. Suddenly, on one side, the mountain range came to an abrupt termination, ending in a bold promontory running up to a point. At this juncture the valley broadened out into magnificent proportions, and a spacious lake of water gleamed in the darkness. Turning to the left, they skirted the lake for a couple of miles or more. Suddenly, however, they were confronted by a pair of Norman sentries, who challenged the party, and some time was spent inpourparlers; then one of the sentries accompanied them to the Norman encampment, not more than a quarter of a mile away, the lurid light of their fires making visible some portions of the Norman quarters.
Wulfhere and Badger were obliged to come to a halt, for the remaining sentry barred their further progress, even if they dared come nearer the encampment of the enemy. They waited and watched until they saw the forms of the Prince and his followers come within the circle of light thrown off by the blazing wood fires.
"Now," said Wulfhere, "there is nothing more to be done, Badger, I think. Let us go back now, and promptly warn our friends."
"Hold there, Wulfhere; there is something more to be done. Gettheeback, and do thine errand. I have a little further business here, I can see. Tell the Earl I shall be rounding the great Nab's Head about break of day."
"What hast thou in the wind, Badger? Thou wilt be hazarding one prank too many some of these days."
"Never fear, comrade, I know my way about, whether it be light or dark. Besides, my business is such as would disgrace a half-bred knight like thyself. Dost thou see, Grizzly here, and myself, have no dignity to uphold? so we may do anything either boldly or slily, as it suits our humour, if it only brings grist to the mill. Well, now be off. There is no time to talk, for it only hinders business. Come, Grizzly," said Badger, addressing his hound as soon as the form of Wulfhere was lost to view. "You know, Grizzly, you and I are not supposed to be above borrowing a few head of cattle, or to be too proud to do our own droving, at a pinch."
The fact was, the lynx eyes of Badger had espied a herd of cattle lying together under the trees by the side of the lake, although the darkness was so deep that none but keen eyes would have detected their presence. He had seen them at once, and instantly his nimble brain began revolving some scheme for carrying them off.
"The cackling and talking has come to naught, as it mostly does," said he grunting to himself; "but beshrew me if I like a bootless errand. I'll try a cast of my own net, whether there is aught to it or not."
Now there was but one formidable obstacle in the way, and that was the solitary sentinel who still stood at his post, and who continued slowly pacing to and fro in a limited space.
Badger turned to the hound and addressed him, for he was in the habit of having sundry conferences with his favourite, who had partnered him in many a daring exploit.
"Well, Grizzly, what is to be done now? Eh, sir? We must have yon cattle, Grizzly, come fair or come foul. There is this scurvy Norman in the way. What are we to do with him? I think we can dispose of him somehow or other. What say you?"
Grizzly answered by a vigorous attempt to lick Badger's chops.
"Eh, sir? I don't doubt but we can finish him off easily enough, you and I together, Grizzly. But what will our Abbot say? Are you aware, sir, that you and I have a sacred calling—that we belong to the monastic order? Don't you remember the many sermons we have from our Abbot, on loving our enemies? I don't quite see the turn of the wit in the case of these Norman dogs, somehow or other. No doubt it is sound doctrine enough, but bad to practise. Well, let that pass. I have a feeling, though, I would rather not brain this fellow, if another turn will serve as well. Now it would certainly ease my mind to do it if I caught him,flagrante delicto, flagrante delicto. Grizzly, did you note, that is themonkthat is speaking? You see I can mouth my Latin when it pleases me, Grizzly. There is many a scurvy monk knows less. But I say, Grizzly, I fancy the fellow's knees are knocking together already with fear at being left alone, and that is very suggestive. Let us try playing ghost with him."
So saying, Badger divested himself of his upper garments, leaving his shoulders and the upper parts of his body exposed. Then he took the garments and tied them deftly about the shoulders of Grizzly, giving him a most strange and uncouth appearance. Having done this, and without exposing themselves to view, Badger commenced to give forth, in a low tone, the most dismal groans, and varying this by most piercing shrieks of pain.
The Norman turned a terrified gaze in the direction from whence these strange noises came, evidently in great trepidation and fear. Then he darted off a few paces, as though about to beat a hasty retreat. This was enough. Badger saw at once that the ruse would answer. So, without more ado, he dropped down on all fours, and, accompanied by the dog, each of them presenting a most unearthly and fantastic appearance, they started off in the direction of the sentinel, the groans and shrieking of Badger deepening, and becoming most diabolical in tone and intensity.
The Norman for one moment turned a scared gaze on the advancing figures, which appeared to him to be none other than the Saxon devil Zernebock, of which many Normans went in mortal dread. Then, with the speed of the wind, he took to his heels and dashed off towards the camp. Quick as thought, Badger freed the dog from his trammels, and bade him fetch the cattle. In a very few minutes he was making off, all speed, with the herd.
"I am but a gatherer and disposer of other men's stuff."Sir Henry Wotton.
"I am but a gatherer and disposer of other men's stuff."
Sir Henry Wotton.
Badger, with his valuable plunder, had four good hours start ere daybreak, which was as early as the Normans would be likely to discover their loss. It was slow and tedious work driving cattle through the passes, and the wooded country, and the most that he could hope for in the way of start would be eight or ten miles. But there was considerable probability that the enemy would plan a night attack upon the Saxons, and in that case, if the loss was discovered by those remaining in camp, they would be quite unprepared for pursuit; and if no start could be made by them before the return of the expedition, then he would have his prize safely aboard the schooner.
In the meantime, Wulfhere, summarily dismissed by his comrade, returned to the Saxon camp, ruminating upon the strange vagaries of Badger's wit. He nothing doubted but that some sufficient purpose, if not some daring exploit, dictated his erratic movements. When he reached the encampment, he lost no time in rousing his chieftain, Oswald. After a brief consultation, they decided at once to rouse the whole camp. Then a council of war was held by the leaders. Hereward and Sigurd were for forming an ambush, and trying a brush with the foe; but the more prudent were very doubtful about the success of such a movement, seeing the Normans were far more numerous than they. Ultimately, it was decided not to risk an engagement. So hasty preparations were made, and in less than an hour's time the camp was broken up, and each party chose its own route for retreat.
"Wulfhere," said Oswald, when we had collected our little party, and had started home. "I miss Badger. Is he on before?"
"Well, I almost think he will be, my lord, though I left him lurking within a bowshot of a Norman sentinel, and within sight of their camp fires. What he had in his head I know not. Some crank, I warrant, by means of which he will get the best of the enemy."
"He will be venturing too far, I doubt, some day, and he will find he has got his head in a noose which all his ingenuity will not enable him to slip."
"No fear, my lord. It will take all the wit in the Norman camp to put him in a corner where there is not room enough for him to wriggle out. There is something in that old pate of his which will make him a match for them all, and something to spare. I have an opinion he will circumvent grim Death with some dodge or other."
"Well, he will know that we shall be bound homewards, I suppose, and he will follow when it suits his humour to do so."
"Nay, I fancy he will be ahead of us even now. He gave me instructions that he would be rounding the Great Nab's head at daybreak, so we may hope to meet with him ere long."
Thus we kept steadily pressing on through the darkness, and ere long the beams of the morning sun shot up athwart the eastern sky, and our march became much more easy and pleasant. By-and-by we rounded the bluff promontory indicated by Badger, and known as the "Great Nab's head;" and shortly we espied Badger, and his comrade Grizzly, seated most contentedly on a mossy bank, Badger regaling himself with a hunch of bread, and salt beef, whilst Grizzly, foraging for himself, was putting the finishing touches to a rabbit he had killed.
"Well, Badger," said the Earl, "alive and well, I see. What exploit have you been perpetrating? Reconnoitring the Norman camp, eh?"
"Reconnoitring, my lord? Mercy on us, no!—if that means sitting on a boulder like a moulting fowl, and gazing at nothing in particular. I never reconnoitre; that meanscananything be done. I alwaysknowsomething can be done if one sets about it."
"Very good philosophy, Badger—well to the point. What have you beendoing, then? What is the trick this time? and have you been found out for once in a way?"
"Just come with me, my lord, and we'll see."
So saying, he led us over the shoulder of the hill, revealing to us a lovely little dell where there was a stream of fresh water and an abundance of fresh green herbage. Here, also, were about twenty head of cattle browsing lustily.
"There, my lord. I thought we should have a bootless errand, for the wagging of tongues and the cackling of geese I never could understand; they are both pointless, and equally profitable. I never was a great hand at crooning since I was a baby, so I give that business up. But I owe a grudge to the Normans, and I borrowed these few cattle from them. They will be of service, I trow, on the top of the hill. And if you find you don't need them, why, there's no harm done—send them back again."
"Well, every man wields his own staff best, Badger. You do credit to yours. But I think we had better be moving, or the Normans may fetch them before they get to their journey's end."
"Quite ready, my lord. We can now reach the boat without another halt, if the Normans do not dock our tails in the meantime. Come, Grizzly, the drover's trade is a thriving trade in these times. The thieving Scot and the robber Dane have turned over their business to honester men. I never dreamed it was so respectable and well-spoken a trade as I find it to be now."
So saying, Badger and his hound set about collecting the beasts, and soon we were able to resume our march with as much celerity as we could command. Everybody seemed anxious to hear Badger's recital of his exploit, which he told us with much grim humour, and evidently much inward relish.
We were able to reach our destination without molestation from the enemy, their energies being fully occupied by other matters until we had got clear away. It was thought desirable not to embark until nightfall, unless we were compelled to do so; for it was more than probable, had we put out to sea, the movements of the vessel would have been observed by the enemy. A gangway, however, was laid ready for emergencies, whilst scouts were posted at points of observation, thus making it impossible for us to be surprised. During the day, the cattle were permitted to graze in the wood near, and when the shades of night gathered about us, they were driven aboard, and we weighed anchor and stood across the bay. Ultimately we reached our destination without mishap, though we had, in consequence of our cattle, to travel with the utmost circumspection.
"When Greeks joined Greeks, then was the tug of war."Nathaniel Lee.
"When Greeks joined Greeks, then was the tug of war."
Nathaniel Lee.
It was a most grievous disappointment to Sigurd when the Saxon leaders finally decided not to attack the Normans, and thus checkmate them as they sought to capture the Saxons whilst in council. When he saw that there was no hope of the Saxons uniting in this, he appealed most importunately to Hereward to join him, but in vain. When everything failed, so insatiate was his thirst for vengeance that he determined to attack them single-handed, trusting to his prowess, and his familiarity with the passes and the mountain retreats, to secure for himself immunity from capture.
"If I had but a dozen of my hardy mountaineers, I would lead these Normans a dance before this day was done!" he muttered, as he saw the remnant of the Saxons departing. His hatred of the Normans had so eaten into his soul, that every opportunity to attack them was a favourable one, and he was ready for any scheme of wild daring if only Norman blood could be spilled. So, alone, he grimly and resolutely strode up the pass, until he reached a spot he deemed suitable for his purpose. Boulders and bushes intermingled thickly on one side; on the other was a precipice—a sheer drop of twenty feet into a trout-stream, which threaded its way amid limestone boulders.
Behind him the gaunt, gloomy mountains shot up far away, their lower parts covered thickly with bracken, bushes, and boulders; behind and amid which a retreating figure need never be exposed for more than a second at a time. Looking around for a second or two, he gave a grunt of satisfaction, and then he climbed a few yards from the path, and laid himself down amid the bracken and deep grass, with his broad sword unsheathed and laid by his side, ready for the fray. Thus he waited for the oncoming Norman soldiery. For more than an hour he lay thus in ambush, with wild and turbulent passions fermenting in his breast, and a wild look in his eyes—reason for the moment dethroned by this one overmastering passion.
Presently on the still night air was borne the sound of stealthy footsteps. Sigurd bounded to his feet as the first sounds broke upon his ear. He fixed tightly his helmet, closed his visor, and adjusted his coat of link-mail, which had swung a little awry. Then, grasping his powerful broadsword, he made a vigorous lunge at an invisible foe, and then, with a grunt of satisfaction, he took his stand behind a massive boulder, flanked on the side next the advancing foe with a thick network of shrubs, through which, however, he could watch the movements of the Normans. The darkness was ebbing away fast. Already the morning's sun had smitten the head of mighty Helvellyn in the distance, and bathed his kingly head in a halo of golden glory; but substantial remains of laggard night still hung moodily about the bottom of the pass, as though nature, in shame and sadness, would fain cast her mantle over this mad strife of men, and over the deed about to be enacted before her eyes. Slowly, with hushed voices and stealthy tread, on came the unsuspecting foe. The head of the column threaded its way past the lurking-place. Sigurd clenched his sword with an impatient grip, for the sight of Norman foemen, within reach of his sword, was well nigh more than he could resist. On they passed, all unconscious that a human tiger was lurking near and making ready for his spring. File after file of the Normans strode on, mostly afoot, but some were leading their horses. Now the rear men are abreast. A second more, their backs are seen. A spring and a blow, and the hindmost Norman is cloven to the waist, and drops with scarce a groan. There is a wild shriek, and consternation is rampant amongst the rearmost ranks.
Sigurd, in mad rage, hacks and hews at the panic-stricken crew, cutting down man after man with terrific celerity, whilst some, in their efforts to escape his onslaught, fall over the precipice. Presently the Normans discover that but one solitary Saxon attacks them. A shout goes up, "The mad Saxon! Cut him down! Down with him! Run him through!" Immediately a hundred swords are whipped from their scabbards, and a united rush is directed towards him. Sigurd sees his chance is gone; he dashes along the path in swift retreat, followed by the yelling foe. Presently he darts from the path and makes for the hills, tearing through bracken, furze, and brushwood, and leaping boulders with an agility none but a mountaineer and a hunter who had been wont all his life to go swinging over these mountain sides, until the sinews of his legs had become like thongs of steel, could make pretence to imitate. Presently he turns to glance at the crew behind, and he laughs a savage laugh as he sees them huddling together like sheep at the bottom of the pass, some afraid to follow, and all of them conscious of the hopelessness of it. With an exclamation of contempt, he catches up a fragment of rock and hurls it with terrific energy amongst them, striking one of them on the shoulder, and knocking him to the ground with a broken shoulder-blade. Then, with a hysterical laugh, and a fierce brandish aloft of his sword, he dashes off again towards the summit. With wondering gaze the Normans watch him scaling, ridge after ridge, the beetling brow of the hill far above them, like a stag bounding from the hunter. Presently he darts over the topmost ridge, and is lost to view. He halts in a tiny hollow of the mountain's brow, and, pulling out his sword, dripping with gore, he wipes it on the sward.
"Aha!" he cried, apostrophising the fearsome weapon; "One more taste of blood! Norman blood, too. I love to see Norman blood. It drips, too; that means more will soon be shed."[5]Then, running his hand along its edge, he exclaimed, "Nothing blunted, my trusty friend Tyrfing,[6]ready as ever for the fray!" he shouted in frenzy, and commenced to hack and hew as though in deadly conflict with an invisible foe, the perspiration pouring off him in streams. But human nature, though it be never so strong, has its limits. This frenzied, this almost maniacal outburst, was followed by complete physical exhaustion. Like a stone, he dropped flat upon the ground, and there he lay without motion or any sign of existence whatever for a full hour or more. Had the Normans but known of the wild drama being enacted beyond the brow of the mountain, it would have been a fatal day to Sigurd, for the Normans had had so many tastes of his prowess, and of his mad daring, that they would have given large treasure to have this dreaded foe within their power. But this was not destined to be the last time when he should strike terror into their ranks when they least suspected him.
The sun had performed a considerable part of his day's journey when Sigurd began to manifest signs of returning consciousness. First there were sundry stretchings of the muscles, followed by a momentary unclosing of the eyelids. Then he sat up and gazed around, as though bewildered with his surroundings. By-and-by he seemed to recover a recollection of the incidents preceding the stupor he had been passing through. By an effort he rose to his feet, and staggered rather than walked to a cool spring of water, which, born of the clouds which constantly encircled these lofty peaks, was hurrying away with musical ripple to the lowlands. He drank a hearty draught of the ice-cold water; then he bathed his throbbing temples with it. Sitting down then, and taking from a wallet slung behind him a substantial piece of roast kid's flesh and a hunch of bread, he ate a hearty meal, and washed it down with another copious draught of water. Much refreshed by this, he next mounted to the topmost ridge. There, lying at full length, he ran his eye most minutely over every inch of the valleys on either side, carefully noting every suspicious object that came within the sweep of his vision. Then, with equal care, he searched the adjacent hills. The Normans he could see hurrying to and fro near their camp, some five miles away. But apparently there was nothing at all menacing to his position.
Rising to his feet, he strode along the ridge for a mile or two, then commenced to descend for another mile or two, in an oblique direction, until he disappeared from view in a dense wood, which covered the lower reaches of the valley on either side. Holding a downward course, and pushing aside the brushwood, he came ultimately to a stream of water, which, with one gigantic leap, started from its rocky bed and leaped unimpeded full eighty feet, falling into a deep, surging pool, where the waters, finding a level, flowed sluggishly away. The vast amphitheatre appeared to have been worn away by this leap of the waters, and by the crumbling away of the softer shale below, which had undermined and brought down the rocks from above.
This untamed warrior stood on the brink of the precipice with folded arms. There was something in the scene which consorted with his rude and rugged nature, and wonderfully soothed his warring passions. The daws, with cawing clamorousness, flew to and fro across the abyss, and crept into the crevices of the rock where their nests were. The swallows skimmed along the surface of the waters, ever and anon darting upwards to some skilfully made nest of baked clay, clinging to the rocky sides, and from which little black heads were anxiously peeping, and twittering lustily. Bird life here seemed to have found a veritable paradise, and they literally thronged bush and tree, and rock and bank, everywhere. Sigurd stood gazing down the ravine through an interminable labyrinth of foliage-laden trees. Here was a grand solitude such as his soul loved, and he regarded every tree in the forest as a personal friend. Presently he turned to one side of this abyss, and steadfastly regarded three stones which were laid side by side for a moment or two; then he altered the position of one of them, and immediately dropped down on to a shelving rock, and from that to another, and so on, until he had descended a considerable distance. Then suddenly he disappeared on hands and knees into an aperture of the rock which was completely hidden from the view of any one standing above. As soon as this portal was passed, he found himself in a spacious cavern, where evidently men were wont to resort, for there were many things denoting human occupation. Sigurd hastily threw off his armour and reared his sword, with the belt appended, against the rock. Then he threw himself upon a couch of dried bracken and grass, and was soon fast asleep.
Presently two wild-looking men appeared on the scene. One carried a brace of rabbits, and the other had over his shoulder a young fawn; whilst at their heels there followed a couple of fierce-looking hounds. They looked at the three stones, and one of them exclaimed,—
"The Jarl is here!"
"Doubtful luck that," growled the other.
They, however, changed the position of the other two stones, and then they followed their chieftain to his retreat. No sooner did they enter than one prepared to light a fire, and the other to skin and dress the animals they had brought. As soon as this was done, a huge iron pot was suspended on cross-poles over the fire, with about a gallon of water. In this were thrown a couple of haunches of venison with the rabbits. Then one of them turned to a vessel in which a quantity of corn was steeping in water. Two or three pounds of this, along with some savoury herbs and roots, and a quantity of salt, were deposited in the pot. Then the pair sat down to await the cooking of this substantial and savoury mess. Whilst this was being done, Sigurd slept soundly, and the pair carried on a conversation in a low tone, and interspersing their talk with sundry nods and motions towards the sleeping chieftain.
"There will be stirring times again, now, I warrant," said one.
"Yes; plenty of blood-letting, and plenty of scurrying over the mountains with the Normans at our heels," said the other.
"There will soon be none of us left, either for fight or aught else. There has been a desperate thinning going on."
"Well, it won't be a cow's death, anyhow, and that is some comfort for us."
Soon the boiling-pot began to send forth a most savoury and appetising smell, to these half-famished men.
"Wake the Jarl," said one to the other; "he must first break his fast."
So one of them gave Sigurd a rough shaking, and he presently sat up and rubbed his eyes; then he saluted his men.
"Skalds, how fare ye?"
"The hawks have not been so much abroad of late, so we have fared tolerably."
"But ye'll soon have to be on the alert, for the old eagle has been playing havoc with the hawks down in the pass yonder; a dozen of them at least will swoop upon their prey no more. But I'll taste your stew. Hot victuals have not been plentiful lately. Where are your comrades?"
"Scattered a good deal. There are a dozen lurking among the pikes. Some, the family men, have snug quarters near Deepwaters."
"Make signals for them. We have been idle long enough. We must bestir ourselves, for the Norman gets a tighter grip upon us every day we are idle."
"When nightDarkens the streets, then wander forth the sonsOf Belial, flown with insolence and wine."Milton.
"When nightDarkens the streets, then wander forth the sonsOf Belial, flown with insolence and wine."
Milton.
Most humiliating and distressing to usSaxonmonks was the state of lax morality in which these foreign monks lived. One of the worst vices imported into England by the Normans was that of uncleanness, a vice practically unknown amongst Saxons, and looked upon by them with great abhorrence. This was an offence, too, which the hardy Norsemen regarded with loathing. Fierce and blood-thirsty as they were, seduction, adultery, and the violation of the sanctity of blood-relationship, they detested. Amongst the Normans, not only the wild troopers, but the monks also, lived loose, irregular lives; and the chief and vilest offender, in this respect, was our new Abbot. Many were the outrages perpetrated by this man. Night by night, under cover of the darkness, he issued from the Monastery with lascivious intent, often accompanying his outrages by crime and bloodshed if he met with opposition. In vain I sought the assistance of Alice, who entreated the Count, her father; but he was either powerless, or cynical and indifferent—probably both. Sometimes a fierce check was given to these scoundrels by a sudden outburst of rage and revenge on the part of the Saxons; but for the most part, the Saxons who meekly submitted to serfdom were the most abject of their race, being often so broken in spirit that they submitted to unfathomable indignities, rather than face the consequences of opposition. Indeed, any display of spirit, and any act of retaliation or revenge, was sure to be followed by the most cruel vindictiveness, and most sweeping punishment. I stay to note one act of retaliation done to our Abbot by Badger, on one occasion, when the Abbot was bent on carrying his unscrupulous violence to the cottage of one of the serfs. I note it because of its comicality, as well as its effectiveness in punishing the vicious priest.
Now the Abbot, though it will scarcely be believed, was, in spite of his turbulent wickedness, a most abjectly superstitious man, as indeed most ignorant and wicked people are. Of this fact Badger, who was a most observant and shrewd judge of character, quickly became aware; and, taking advantage of this weakness, he used it to teach the Abbot a most valuable and salutary lesson. One of the serfs had frequently made most doleful complaints to Badger of the violation of the sanctities of his home by this man. Now Badger most cordially hated the Abbot, as indeed any one who knew the man could not fail to do; and on the other hand, his sympathies, either openly or veiled, were always extended to his countrymen, and he frequently wrought substantial amelioration in their lot. Badger turned this matter over in his mind, and at last hit upon a plan which he conceived would have the desired effect if successfully carried out. So, making use of his old expedient, he decked himself most fantastically as the Saxon "Zernebock" or devil. He expended much skill and ingenuity in the manufacture of some wondrously grotesque apparel, introducing a pair of horns and a tail after the orthodox fashion. In addition to this, he had also decked out one of the most savage of his hounds in a most fantastic garb, and, so disguised and ludicrously tricked out, they sallied forth at eventime, intent on frustrating the Abbot's vile intentions. Having selected their place of ambush, they patiently lay in wait for the object of their enterprise, bent both on terrifying and worrying him into a relinquishment of his devilish purpose.
The night selected as fitting for Badger's enterprise was moonless and somewhat dark, especially so within the added shade of the forest. Having selected a suitable place, Badger lay quietly in wait until he heard the approaching footsteps of the Abbot; then he strode into the path with the hound by his side, and together they fronted the object of their quest. Great was the consternation of the Abbot when he confronted this awful apparition. His knees smote together, and his teeth chattered in his head, as the awful voice of the fiend accosted him in angry tones.
"Abbot, I know thy errand; I am the Saxon devil 'Zernebock,' and this is my Hel-hound. I have come to kill thee, and my hound will tear thee in pieces, for thy cup of wickedness is now full; I give thee, therefore, two minutes in which to prepare for death."
So saying, the fiend uplifted a mighty sword, which seemed to the Abbot to tower almost to the height of the trees. It was a wooden one, but the night was too dark for this to be perceived, even if the victim had not been too terror-stricken to note it.
In a terrible fright he fell on his knees and began to call upon all the saints to protect him, writhing and groaning piteously.
"Silence!" said the fiend in still more awful tones. "Thou must die! I have been waiting long for permission to slay thee! The saints will not protect thee any longer, for thou hast professed to be a holy man, and thou art bent this night on an errand of wickedness, and I have permission to kill thee at last. Thy life is now in my hands. Art thou ready?" again roared the fiend in savage tones, whilst the hound, seeing the threatening attitude of his master, waxed furious, snarling and growling savagely, and making many half-executed attempts to fly at the Abbot, which half a word of encouragement from the fiend would have completed. "Speak!" said the fiend, "thy time is now expired."
And the uplifted sword began most ominously to sway to and fro, as though about to fall.
"Have mercy on me, fiend!" screamed the Abbot, "and I will make a vow to thee that I will repent me of my sins, and I will cease from fleshly lusts! I will set about mortifying my flesh this very night! I vow to abstain from meats and strong drink for the space of twelve months if thou wilt have mercy on me."
"Silence when I bid thee!" again roared the fiend. "I know thee for a hypocrite, and thou wilt not abide thy vow. Art thou ready? Quick! bow thy head, so that I cut it off clean."
Quick as thought in this dire strait the Abbot sprang to his feet, and fled with miraculous energy for one so stout and pursy.
"Hist! hist!" said the fiend to his hound.
There was a fierce growl and a few long, slouching strides, and the hound grasped the Abbot's nether parts in his powerful jaws; and with a yell of pain his reverence fell prone upon his face, writhing, groaning, wriggling, and yelling, as though ten thousand fiends clutched him. But the hound clung to him like a vice, chawing his struggling prey the more lustily as he tried to shake him off. At last the fiend called off his hound; but at the same time he lifted his sword over the prostrate Abbot.
"It is no use thy attempting to fly; thy doom is come, and I am here to kill thee. Choose at once whether thou wilt be torn in pieces by my hound or slain by my fiery sword; there is no escape for thee."
"Have mercy, fiend!" groaned the Abbot piteously; "thy hound hath well-nigh killed me already. His teeth are red hot, as thou well knowest. I shall surely die now, after the savage manner he hath torn me. In mercy leave me the little time left me for repentance. Think of my poor soul."
"I am the foul fiend, and there is no mercy now for thee. Thy soul is forfeited and given into my hands; but what of thy body? decide quick! Shall I kill thee, or wilt thou be devoured by my hound?"
Just at that moment, however, the fiend was interrupted, for footsteps and voices were heard approaching, and presently a couple of troopers, attracted by the terrible howling of the Abbot, drew near. As they did so the fiend and his hound promptly disappeared in the wood.
As these troopers timidly and fearfully advanced to the spot, to their consternation they beheld the Abbot lying flat along, and bellowing like any bull of Bashan, and calling upon the saints to come to help him. At once he was recognised by the pair.
"Ho, your reverence! what is this? What ails you?"
"Now the saints be praised! the foul fiend is fled; the Blessed Virgin hath sent me help, but too tardily, for I am surely done for. The mischief is ended, and I shall surely die. Had ye tarried but one minute more, my poor body would have been devoured also."
"What is it, your reverence! Have you been attacked by wolves?"
"Alas! I have been set upon by the wolf of hell; I have met face to face in this very spot the foul fiend. 'Twas the Saxon devil Zernebock, for he spoke Saxon. He and his furious Hel-hound hath set upon me together. The fiend was about to kill me with his fiery sword when ye drew near so opportunely; and his hound hath torn me dreadfully. His teeth were red hot, and he spouted fire out of his fearful mouth. Can ye lift me up? for I hardly know whether he hath left me any legs to stand upon. Oh! not there! not there! did I not tell you he had torn me fearfully behind. Lift me by the shoulder, but do not touch me behind. Steady, ye maudlin villains! did I not tell ye to be steady?" he roared most savagely.
"I think your reverence had better let me go for help; my comrade will stand by ye till I come again," remarked one trooper.
"Stay ye where ye are, villain! Ye do not stir from me, either of ye, not a yard! If the fiend come again the other one will run also, and I shall be slain and devoured. Lift me up, ye lazy louts! ye are well able."
By dint of tugging and lifting, eventually they set the Abbot on his legs; but he could not bear to walk, neither could he bear to be carried; and he would not be left for a moment. Slowly he made an effort to shamble along, but every step was torture to him, and he swore at the two troopers as roundly as in his extremity he had prayed to the saints. It was a most painful and protracted home-coming to all of them; for the Abbot clutched his deliverers most tenaciously, terrified almost into frenzy if there was a rustle in the bushes, and conjured up visions of the fiend and his hound in every object that met his gaze; whilst all the while he vented upon the two his spleen and rage, sometimes for their clumsiness and want of sympathy, and at other times for their having been so long in coming to his aid.
With infinite trouble they at last reached the Abbey, and the Abbot was put to bed; but when there he was obliged to lie upon his stomach, for the hound had severely mauled him behind. Two of the monks were set apart to nurse him by night, and two by day. The rest of the monks were commanded to spend so many hours of each day in prayers and in invocations, whilst penances and fasting were imposed upon all.
In time, by dint of careful nursing, the Abbot was restored. But he could not so easily forget the painful lesson he had learnt; and as he still firmly believed that it was indeed the Saxon devil Zernebock and his Hel-hound that had set upon him, he never dared venture abroad after dark until he had banished the fiend from the adjacent woods.
Then ensued the most comical part of the whole affair. A procession of the monks to the place of adventure was organised. One headed the solemn procession bearing a crucifix on which our blessed Lord was impaled. Others followed next in order bearing the sacred relics, most of which had been brought from Normandy, and consisted of bones of eminent saints of the order, also a shred of the garment of our Saviour, the identical one for which the soldiers cast lots. One carried a front tooth of the apostle Peter, said to have been broken out at the last supper of our Lord; and another had a small vial containing a portion of the tears which Peter shed at the denial, when "he went out and wept bitterly"; the last had possession of a pair of straps or leathern thongs, said to have been used to fasten the sandals of the Apostle John when he dwelt in the lonely isle of Patmos. But most laughable it was to see Badger and several of the lay brothers of the monastery following behind, with large ewers containing holy water, with which the monks plentifully besprinkled the path and its surroundings; all the while chanting psalms and repeating prayers for the exorcism of the devil and all evil spirits that haunted the woods.
One can imagine the uncontrollable delight with which Badger assisted at this solemn function. And I confess when he told me the whole story I could not help but laugh most immoderately, though such levity scarcely became my office, especially when I remembered that our sacred things had been associated with so ridiculous an exploit. Though I can scarcely undertake to excuse the deception practised upon this occasion, yet it had a most salutary effect upon the Abbot, for seldom after that incident did he venture, under cover of the night, to prosecute his villainies; though, like most vile and wicked persons, he found other means of giving rein to his lusts, which were infamous and cruel.
"Good-night, good-night; parting is such sweet sorrow,That I shall say good-night, till it be morrow."Shakespeare.
"Good-night, good-night; parting is such sweet sorrow,That I shall say good-night, till it be morrow."
Shakespeare.
The day appointed for Alice's ill-starred nuptials draws near with ill-omened celerity. Anxious consultations and meetings at the trysting-place with her Saxon lover become most frequent as the fatal day approaches. To-night, as she climbs the rough stone stairs which lead to the tower, her heart seems to grow lighter in the toilsome ascent. When she reaches the top night has already asserted its sway over the face of nature, and deep silence broods solemnly everywhere around. On the turret she paces to and fro in deep meditation, whilst occasionally she steps upon the stone platform and peers anxiously towards the adjacent wood, and waves her handkerchief. But the night is dark, and she knows not whether any one is there to heed her signal. Then she steps down and listens at the head of the stair for the sound of the welcome footsteps. Though this most serious and portentous crisis in her life is approaching, and dark-browed Fate seems from day to day to frown more darkly upon her path, and though she recognises most vividly the perilousness of the enterprise which Oswald is entering upon for her deliverance, yet to-night none but pleasant thoughts dance through her mind, and ever and anon also pleasant smiles persist in wreathing her countenance in sweet hopefulness, for she conjures up some pleasing dream of a possible escape from the dreaded union designed for her. But the wonderful secret of this hopeful spirit is this: her champion, the Saxon chieftain, will be here to-night. Here it must be confessed was the chief inspiration of those pleasant thoughts and pleasant smiles. When he was nigh fear and doubt and dismay never oppressed her. But alas! this buoyancy of hopefulness was just as surely followed by cruel depression of spirit, and a dread sense of loneliness and helplessness, when he was far away—when the hated presence of Vigneau was obtruded upon her especially. Worst of all, as the appointed time of marriage drew near, he presumed more and more to thrust himself upon her; and she must needs hide, as best she could, the feelings of abhorrence and deep loathing with which she regarded him. She had come to see the futility of resistance, and of manifesting dislike to him; for she had no hope that he would abate one jot of his determination to force the fulfilment of this marriage contract.
Presently, as she listens, a feeble grating sound strikes her ear, and she strains anxiously to hear further. Soon a distinct sound of movement in the winding stair is heard. She rushes to the spot where the steps reach the platform of the tower, and anxiously peers into the dark beneath. One moment more and Oswald clasps her to his heart.
"Ah, you lonely watcher," said he, tremulous with emotion. "How long have you been waiting here alone? are you not afraid to watch here in the darkness?"
"I am not afraid to-night, dearest. I am only a woman, you know, with a woman's weakness; but I have always fortitude enough to dare anything for you. Why should I be afraid of darkness, which is only God's coverlet, drawn with infinite gentleness over tired and sleeping nature?"
"Ah! there is a good angel watching over you, Alice dear, whether 'tis dark or light, and whether I am near or far. So be of good courage."
"I have faith in God, and I have faith in my Saxon lover; but alas! my heart fails me often as the fateful day draws nigh. Sometimes I am almost paralysed with fear, lest some cruel fate should, after all, doom me to a hated meeting of Vigneau at the altar; but I have a little friend which I keep sharp and bright, and there is a step beyond which I go no farther with him."
"Hush, dearest! such thoughts are cruel; that dreadful alternative you will never resort to. Vigneau, in his gross attempt to force your hand, in the face of earth and heaven, will rush upon a fate he recks not of, but which he richly merits. No more of this, dearest; this hour we will dedicate to more welcome topics. So a truce to all unpleasant thoughts. How does the question of questions wear apace? Have you become more reconciled to my project?"
"Dearest, do not think me foolish; but since you intimated your intention of appearing in the lists, I have been engaged in a little enterprise of my own. I have still my forebodings that you will be discovered if you venture to enter the lists of the tournament, without some more effectual disguise than you seem to possess. So, excuse me, I have been taxing my poor woman's wit in the matter. Would it be wrong to practise a little ruse upon my father, think you? I have a cousin, who, some years ago, joined the ranks of the king of Spain, and has gone to war with him against the Moors in the south. He is much commended by the king of Spain for his valour. If we could dare to convey to my father a message that this knight would be present at the festival, and take part in the joust and feat of arms, you yourself might then assume this disguise. You would, I think, pass easily for this valiant southern knight, providing you could arrive opportunely, so as to preclude as much as possible previous intercourse. Your followers also might be prepared to enact their part. It would disarm suspicion effectively, I think."
"Ah! to be sure, set love a-plotting and the thing is done at once."
"Nonsense! you jest with me. Now listen! I have already set about embroidering you handsome trappings for your horse, with quaint, southern devices, which I learnt under the tuition of the good sisters of the convent. Now, don't laugh, you think it a mad whim, I can see."
"Nay, nay! my Lady Suspicion," said Oswald, stooping and kissing her, and giving her a tighter squeeze. "I almost begin to fear you as I think of the dark plots you are capable of weaving. I never for a moment dreamed I had found such a subtle schemer. Now, go on; you have got your finger on the weak point in the plot. I certainly feared the ordeal of exposure on the field myself; and you have been taxing your 'poor woman's wit,' and have anticipated my one difficulty. Now for the rest, dearest."
"Come down with me to my room. All is perfectly quiet."
So together they descended the winding stair, and sought Alice's room. Here she and Jeannette had been deftly plying their fingers in embroidering most quaint devices upon the trappings of the horses of the knight and his esquire, and a couple of men-at-arms. Oswald's were most gorgeously embroidered with silk and gold, upon the finest Bayeaux cloth, by the fingers of Alice alone. Most beautiful and chaste was the workmanship, for she had lavished not only her skill, but her love in the equipment of her champion. The figures were so quaint, the design so original, and the whole so rich in quality, that no prince could hope to ride with more tasteful and imposing housings for his steed. Jeannette also had done her best, it can easily be imagined, to equip her valiant squire like his master.
Oswald took the garments in his hands.
"Well, dearest," said he, "no one will expect a boorish Saxon outlaw to appear like a Norman prince, that is certain; and I dare warrant no curious eyes will penetrate a disguise so complete as you are preparing. Love is not blind in this case, Alice dear, I avouch it; but it has the gift of prevision also. There remains but one condition to give point and consummation to this, and it is that your valiant cousin shall prove himself worthy of such a lady love. But, darling, can you answer this question,—if Vigneau should be overthrown ignominiously, will the spoils of war, the fair queen of this high festival, be the lawful prize of the victor? Now, beware! if you escape the toils of Vigneau, there is another ominous figure hovering near, who is ready to pounce down upon you and carry you off."
"So, I suppose, like an unhappy maiden, I may sing—