"'Then woe is me! a bride I'll be,Whether I will or no;For 'tis a law of chivalry—Victors will have it so.'
"'Then woe is me! a bride I'll be,Whether I will or no;For 'tis a law of chivalry—Victors will have it so.'
"Well, if only the 'fair queen' may have the option of choice, I think in that case the Norman cousin will have it. But do not cherish any vain hopes; I am sure that Vigneau will gulp down his humiliation, if he cannot avenge it; and there is no hope of his relinquishing any claims to myself, though I believe malignant hatred is the only feeling he cherishes towards me."
"It were an easy matter to sweep him out of the way; that would be an easy task; but here comes in a tax upon my conscience, for in spite of the fact that he richly merits it, to compass his overthrow in cold blood is abhorrent to my feelings. If I should worst him in the encounter, he will probably claim satisfaction, and if he does not, but persists in his determination to claim you as his bride, then, in accordance with the laws of chivalry, I also will claim your hand, and challenge him to mortal combat. So, honour and my conscience will be appeased. May Heaven nerve the arm that battles for the right!"
"I am afraid the complications will not end even if Heaven rid us of the Baron, for his brother at the Abbey is fully conversant with my father's ill-starred confidence."
"Well, enough, dearest; one step at once. Are there many knights expected in this tourney?"
"I scarcely think there will be many. My father is very half-hearted in the matter, and you may be sure he has no encouragement from myself. The fewer who are witness of my humiliation the better."
"Well, I am sure that so far as Vigneau is concerned, the feebler the opponents the better he will like it; I daresay, though, he counts upon an easy conquest in any case. Well, now, dearest, don't be discouraged; I must be away, but I shall look daily for the signal. May happier days soon dawn for you, and for this unhappy country.Au revoir, darling."
So saying, with a parting kiss Oswald sped him for the home on the hills.
"The age of chivalry is gone. That of sophisters, economists, and calculators has succeeded."—Burke.
"The age of chivalry is gone. That of sophisters, economists, and calculators has succeeded."—Burke.
The time had now come about on which De Montfort had promised his daughter to Vigneau. As was the wont invariably of the Normans, the ceremony must be preceded by the usual festivities, the most marked of which was the tournament, or feat of arms. During the reign of our late king Edward, this was one of the things in which the idle and dissolute Norman nobility who came over in swarms spent their time. To my very great sorrow and disappointment, the Saxon nobility copied only too slavishly this vain and foolish propensity, many of the Saxons being quite a match for the most skilful of the Normans. For some weeks before the marriage festivities were to begin, messengers had been sent out to the various Norman encampments situate within a reasonable distance; and many knights were expected to take part in the joust. The place which was selected for this spectacle was near to the castle, and well adapted for the humbler people, who never failed to gather in considerable numbers. The tournament would take place in a considerable hollow, with green hillsides and dense copses around, where a multitude might witness the wondrous pageantry and the struggle for the honours of the day. The central arena, where the knights were to contend, was a spacious enclosure, railed round to the height of about four feet, having two means of entrance and exit, one at each side, directly opposite each other, the one used as an entrance solely. There knights, squires, marshals, judges, etc., were to enter in all the panoply of war and glittering accoutrements. The other opening was used exclusively for purposes of exit. Here discomfited knights, disabled horses, and others who wished to retire might emerge. To the right of the main entrance was a raised platform, covered with rich tapestry, and capable of seating some fifty persons. Upon this platform was a dais, or raised central platform of small dimensions, on which the throne, an elegantly upholstered chair, was placed, and designed for the occupation of the "Queen of Beauty." The crowd were kept waiting considerably after the appointed time, in anticipation of an expected knight from over the sea; from whom a messenger had been sent, announcing his intention of taking part in this knightly fray. Eventually, however, Count de Montfort, amid a flourish of trumpets, issued from the gates of the castle, with his daughter leaning upon his arm, followed by two of her maids and a formidable retinue of invited guests, amongst whom was the Abbot Vigneau, and one or two other ecclesiastics, and a number of Norman guests. De Montfort escorted his daughter to the throne, and Jeannette occupied a seat to the right of her. Most fascinatingly lovely was Alice as she sat in the place of honour, with the victor's chaplet by her side. Pale, nervous, and anxious, but a veritable queen withal she looked—her lustrous dark eyes, and masses of dark wavy hair flowing in graceful undulations over her shoulders, and down to her girdle; her head crowned with a coronet of beautiful flowers, and one solitary gem in the centre. All eyes were upon her. Men of gentle blood marvelled at her surpassing loveliness. Norman men-at-arms and Saxon churls turned dazed and dreamy eyes towards her, with a persistent gaze as of fascination. Most of those present, whether gentle or simple, knew well the manner of man her betrothed was; for Vigneau was notorious in the camp and the cot for his gross villainy; and most knew, or surmised, that to-morrow's nuptial tie would be to her a most hateful tie, and a most unhappy union.
Jeannette sat close to her mistress; but no dark cloud frowned ominously over her as over her mistress. Volatile and mercurial to a degree, she never courted trouble, or recognised his unwelcome visage until it was thrust upon her; though, like most natures of a like temperament, when once fairly cornered, as we have seen, the collapse was pitiable and complete. There, however, she sat, perfectly self-possessed, with an irrepressible flutter of expectation in her heart and unfaltering confidence in her star, which was the wonderful and valorous Wulfhere, whom that day she should see companying with knights and men of renown. There was more than a wonted animation in her eye, and the roses on her cheek had taken a deeper and a rosier tint. All agog with the pleasing promptings of her fluttering little heart, she ran her eyes along the ranks of the common people who lined the enclosure, or stood together in groups, discussing the merits of the combatants who were to take part, and the spectacle which every one looked forward to with such zest. But Saxon and Norman alike of inferior station were to her contemptible; and as her eyes fell upon Paul Lazaire, who with despondent gaze looked at her, she could not restrain a saucy and coquettish smirk of laughter, which Paul, who thought she never looked half so lovely before, put a favourable construction upon, and was greatly comforted.
"Jeannette," said Alice, turning to her anxiously, "I fear the day will be disastrous, and the Saxon knight will be discovered. That would be most fearful; I don't think I could survive it."
"Don't be alarmed, my lady; I am not in the least. Wulfhere and the Earl will be a match for them all, I'm sure."
"But, Jeannette, what could a single knight do, contending with so many foes?"
"One knight truly would not do much; but you forget, my lady, that he is sure to be accompanied by his valiant squire."
"But a solitary esquire would not be of much use. If the Earl be discovered, he would be surrounded and cut to pieces."
"Never fear, my lady, you will see Wulfhere will protect him. He'll soon make an end of a score of this beer-drinking crew."
"Really, Jeannette," said Alice, smiling in spite of herself, "you have a good deal of faith in this Wulfhere."
"Why should I not? He is as pretty a man, and just as valiant as his leader, and I never intend to halt for want of faith, or starve for want of hope. Besides, don't you know there has been given to me anomen?—and I have noticed that they always come true if you have faith in them."
"Oh, indeed! Pray, what is theomenyou have had, Jeannette?"
"Well, last night when I went to bed it was not quite dark, and I have a little window in my room which overlooks a certain spot in the wood which I shall not tell you about, for it is mytryste."
"Yourtryste, Jeannette? I am afraid you will never cease your coquetry and foolishness. But youromen, Jeannette?"
"Well, I was telling you. It was not dark when I went to bed, so I sat down in front of this window which faces the place where the Saxon and I meet."
"The Saxon, Jeannette?"
"Yes, my lady, the Saxon Wulfhere. Well, in front of the window I told my beads for a full hour or more."
"Told your beads, Jeannette I Why, was that to Wulfhere, or to our Blessed Lady?"
"To our Lady, of course, though I was thinking about Wulfhere. But I said myavesandpatersto our Blessed Lady most dutifully. Then, when I went to bed, I put my beads under my pillow as usual, and I soon fell asleep. Then I dreamed such a strange and wonderful dream. I dreamt that I was walking through the woods all alone, when I was startled by a horrid, howling noise behind me, and, turning round, I beheld a number of fierce wolves pursuing me. I ran for my life, but they ran faster than I did, and just as the first one was about to grasp me with its fearful teeth, who should come to my rescue but Wulfhere. I sprang into his arms, and just as he clasped me safely the wolves all turned tail and ran off into the wood as though they had been whipped, for they ran as fast as they could scamper, and howled fearfully. Then I saw there was a holy man with Wulfhere, with whitened beard, and bearing a crucifix with our Blessed Lord thereon. This holy man took my rosary from my hand, and he placed it around my neck. Then he took my hand and joined it with Wulfhere's. After this, Wulfhere kissed me and placed a ring on my finger, and I was his wife. Then the holy man placed his hands on us as we kneeled before him, and he gave us his blessing. But, wonderful to tell, in the morning when I awoke, I knew it had all taken place as I dreamed; for I found the rosary was indeed around my neck, though I am almost certain I put it under my pillow the night before. I also felt most distinctly Wulfhere's kiss upon my cheek; and, when I looked in the glass, sure enough there was a little rosy spot around this little dimple on my cheek where he kissed me."
Jeannette's invaluable optimism and unflagging hopefulness, though simple almost to the verge of childishness, did much to fortify Alice for the trying ordeal before her. In spite of her anxiety, she laughed outright at the recital of Jeannette's dream. Presently, at the sound of the trumpet the castle gates were again thrown open, and forth issued a gaily dressed cavalcade; heralds, marshals, judges, leading the way, and followed by eight or ten knights armedcap-à-pié, each one being attended by his esquire. Alice scrutinised closely each knight as they severally filed past her, and dipped the point of their lances in salutation.
"The Saxon is not here. Some accident, I fear, has happened," she tremulously whispered to Jeannette.
"Don't agitate yourself, my lady; they will not fail us. Wulfhere said I should see his face this day; but I was to be careful not to show my recognition of him, or I should probably betray them."
Now the scene presented an animated appearance, as the knights and their esquires ranged themselves on opposite sides of the enclosure, whilst the heralds, marshals, and judges rode between the ranks, examining the points of each combatant's lance, to see that each one was blunt, and such as was allowed by the laws of the tourney.
Meanwhile, Norman soldiers crowd round the enclosure, whilst here and there groups of Saxons are wedged amongst them. Some half-dozen Saxon churls have been stood together on the outskirts of the crowd for some time, engaged in eager conversation. A careful observer would perceive that, despite their cowed and woe-begone appearance, they have some common purpose in view. They each of them carry a quarter staff,—not a formidable weapon, it is true; but no formidable weapon would be permitted them. At one end of those staves they have deftly inserted stout steel goads, which no casual observer would detect. I was first attracted to this group, in particular, by having observed them obey certain signals given by their leader. But my eyes turned on all occasions naturally and sympathetically to the Saxon portion of the crowd; and the result of my diligent scrutiny of this little band was quickened by my discovery of the fact that the leader was none other than Badger. Presently they divide themselves into couples and take their stand equidistant from each other, along with the spectators who line the enclosure. Soon, by dint of pushing and wriggling, they force their way close to the railings' side.
Now, at a signal the trumpet again sounds, and a marshal rides into the centre of the arena, and reads the proclamation and rules of the tourney. Just at that moment, however, a piercing blast from a horn in the distance makes the greenwood ring again. Immediately from the leafy bower there emerges a knight tall of stature, and mail-clad from head to foot. On his shield he bears a device of the rising sun on a field vert, and as the rays of the midday sun smite upon his helmet and breast-plate, the refulgence thereof is as of molten gold. He rode a handsome charger, whose trappings and housings were richly embroidered and resplendent with many strange devices. In close attendance rode his squire, bearing his lance and shield; he also was of brawny and athletic build, like his master. He had on a helmet with harness of link mail. His face and hands, which were uncovered, seemed deeply tanned, as though they had been subjected to long exposure in some sunny clime. Behind the knight and his esquire there rode a couple of men-at-arms, bronzed and brown as the squire.
It was soon buzzed about amidst the crowd that this was the foreign knight for whose advent the tourney had been delayed a full hour. The knight and his squire were admitted into the enclosure at once; but the couple of men-at-arms stood without. There was a brief consultation with the stewards in the Norman tongue, and the explanations were evidently satisfactory, for the knight rode on. And as he passed the dais, where sat the Queen of Beauty, he dipped the point of his lance and bowed low.
The crimson flood mounted to Alice's face and neck, as she, with great nervousness, acknowledged the salute. This momentary flush, followed by, if possible, a still deeper pallor and greater agitation, did not escape the notice of our Abbot, who turned keen and scrutinising glances, first on the knight, and then on Alice. He was suspicions as usual. Could it be possible that there was some love entanglement between these two which boded evil to his brother the Baron? Hitherto, none had appeared in the lists, saving knights who would probably be easily overthrown by Vigneau. Though this was but a joust of courtesy, yet the ignominy of being unhorsed, he knew, would exasperate his brother into desperation. This knight of commanding stature, and of warlike appearance and renown, introduced an element of grave uncertainty into the day's contest. There was, further, the gravest suspicion that this stranger knight was imported on purpose to frustrate his brother's union with Alice, a union which, he knew, was cordially detested by both father and daughter. The Baron also, suspicious by disposition, with lowering brow glared upon the stranger from behind his visor, and hated him at sight.
Not that he feared being overthrown, for his self-confidence was unlimited. His great weight and personal strength and skill had borne him to victory in many a famous joust in times past, and he was contemptuous of any rival he might chance to meet. But a knight young, handsome, and well-appointed as this stranger, might yet, with De Montfort's connivance, wrest the prize from his grasp. He swore a deep oath under his breath, and grasped his lance with a keener clutch. Clearly he meant mischief.
The preliminaries being now over, the knights wheeled into line and faced each other, ready for the signal to charge, their squires being in close attendance behind. Vigneau and the stranger knight found themselves opposed by antagonists much smaller in stature, and indifferently horsed. The trumpeter stood at the head of the lists, bugle in hand, ready to sound the onset at a signal from De Montfort. Excitement was visibly expressed in every countenance, the clamour of voices having given place to a hushed suspense, which was painful and sickening to Alice; though she saw that Vigneau and the "Knight of the Sun" would not antagonise each other in the first shock. Now the trumpet sends forth a shrill blast, and on the instant spurs are driven into each charger's side, and, with a snort of pain, they dash across the sward. There is a loud shock, and a confused and struggling mass of men and horses. Vigneau had thrown the whole weight and strength of himself and a powerful horse upon a feeble opponent, and both man and horse rolled over together before him. Then, with a contemptuous oath, he wheeled again to his place, utterly regardless of his fallen antagonist, whose horse had kicked him severely in its plunges to regain its feet. The "Knight of the Sun," on the other hand, rode steadily at his opponent, and seemed rather to push him over the horse's croup than to strike him with unmeasured force. Immediately, also, he sprang to the ground and chivalrously assisted the fallen knight to rise, exclaiming, as he did so,—
"None the worse, I trust, Sir Knight?"
"Only my pride hurt a little," was the reply; "but it was gallantly done and by a worthier knight, so I yield my steed and wish you further success; which you will have, I trow, whether I wish it or not, or I am no judge of your mettle."
"Take your horse, Sir Knight, I have no need of him, for there is a better in the lists, I perceive," said the stranger.
"You have my hearty wishes in the winning of it, if they will do you any good. Just a word in your ear, nevertheless," said he, drawing close to the "Knight of the Sun," and uttering in an undertone, whilst he professed to be adjusting his sword-belt, "You are a stranger, Sir Knight, but I have known Vigneau a round dozen years at least, so let me warn you. Beware your man, and doubly so if you throw him. His ugly carcase is charged with venom from head to foot, and no treacherous villainy will be too mean, in order to compass his revenge."
"Thanks for your good wishes, and I will not neglect your advice; but if he be wise, he will look to himself or he will rue it."
At the blast of the bugle, the knights who had proved victorious wheeled into line again; one pair had failed to unhorse each other; but evidently they were not consumed with a desire to try further their prowess in the mimic war, for both of them retired from the fray. So there were but four knights called upon to take part in the next encounter and brave again the fortunes of war. The stranger knight was now brought side by side with Vigneau, who surveyed him from head to foot, then turned sneeringly away, growling to himself, "If length of limb counted for anything, why, then, he would be formidable enough."
At the signal calling for theready, each lance was laid in rest, and each knight braced himself afresh. Springing again at the call to the charge, the turf flew from the horses' hoofs, and the shock, in more than one instance, was enough to throw the horses on their haunches. The "Knight of the Sun" and Vigneau were again victorious; but the latter had met a doughtier opponent than he had bargained for, for he had received a vigorous and well-aimed blow at the pit of his stomach, discomposing most unpleasantly its contents, and causing his head to swim with sickly qualms. He recovered his balance quickly, however, much more quickly than he recovered from the fury of his temper; for, as he faced about to meet the "Knight of the Sun," he poured out a volley of fierce oaths at Pierre, who was too slow in his attentions to him. The tall squire of the stranger dismounted and ran his eyes over the trappings of his master's steed, tightening a girth here and there, and whispering to his master as he did so, "He is strong and heavy; it were better policy to dodge his blow, I think, for he is unmistakably clumsy and slow."
"That is the very thing I have been turning over in my mind, and I think I will try it. Hand me a shorter lance, will you?"
The squire immediately reached him a lance shorter by some feet; and the bugle sounded again for the ready amid breathless silence. The whole scene floated dimly before the sickened gaze of Alice, who was but half conscious of what was passing in the lists; though she realised with painful vividness that Vigneau and the stranger were now opposed to each other. Jeannette put her arm around her mistress and held a small silver flask of rich scents to her nose, whispering gently to her,—
"Courage, lady! all goes well, never fear. The stranger will be the victor."
Now the combatants brace themselves for the final charge and for victory. The "Knight of the Sun" grasps his short lance with sinews of iron, whilst his gaze is intent upon the weapon of his antagonist. The signal is given, and the chargers bound like an avalanche across the intervening space. There is a quick swerve of the stranger's body, and Vigneau's lance passes like a flash over the mailed arm of the knight, a clear miss. Righting himself as deftly as he had swerved, and without permitting the point of his lance to deviate one iota from its mark, he closed in a deadly shock with the bulky Norman. The lance he held was so short that they seemed almost to rush into each other's arms; but the point was direct for his antagonist's chest. Vigneau, with an oath at the failure of his stroke, let go his lance, and aimed a blow with his clenched fist at his antagonist; but his act of blind fury was utterly futile and vain; with unerring aim the stranger struck him full on his steel breast-plate. There was a loud crash of tearing girths, and Vigneau rolled ignominiously to the ground amid a motley heap of horses, harness, and trappings.
Alice's head dropped on Jeannette's shoulder as she faintly asked, "Who's victor, Jeannette?"
"The stranger, lady; courage, courage! Vigneau is ignominiously overthrown."
"Thank God!" she ejaculated feebly, and her eyes closed in insensibility.
All eyes were now turned with a strange fascination towards the two antagonists, for Vigneau sprang to his feet, drew his broadsword, and brandishing it in the air like a demon, shouted "Joûte à l'outrance!Come on, varlet! it is to the death!"
The Abbot rushed into the arena, vainly endeavouring to restrain the blind fury of his brother; but with an oath the Baron threw him off, and rushed at his antagonist, who by this time had dismounted and stood on his guard. Fiercely exasperated, Vigneau rained blow upon blow, with the fury of a madman, whilst the stranger contented himself with coolly parrying or receiving on his shield the frantic blows of his assailant. The volcano-like rage of Vigneau quickly expended itself uselessly; soon limp, and spent, and utterly blown, he aimed a last blow with greatly diminished force. The stranger received it on his shield, whilst with concentrated energy he sprang upon Vigneau; his broadsword divided the air like lightning, and descended on the nape of Vigneau's neck, cutting clean through his armour, and well-nigh severing his head from his body. Vigneau threw up his arms wildly in the air as he dropped into his brother's arms, and shrieked frantically in his death agony, "The Saxon! 'Tis the Saxon!"
The cry acted like magic upon the whole multitude. Men sprang into the arena shouting madly to each other they knew not what. Horses reared and snorted, and plunged in dire confusion. The ruse also so consummately planned by Badger, in case of any hitch or exposure, was vigorously acted out. On the instant he and his comrades leaped into the arena, and deftly dodged in and out amongst the horses, and vigorously applied their goads to their flanks and sides, increasing the disorder and confusion a hundredfold.
Meantime, whilst the vengeful and sanguinary combat between the champions had been going on, the stranger's squire had seized the reins of Vigneau's charger as the spoil of the victor; but Pierre sprang at him in fierce resistance, and immediately the two squires also became engaged in a passage of arms as fiercely and as determinedly as their masters. Promptly Badger gave Wulfhere a vigorous push, which separated the pair. Then in a low tone, but unmistakably in earnest, he said, "Zounds, man! what are you doing? and where are your eyes? Can you not see there is not a moment to lose? Do you not see the Norman has detected your master? Fly, man, quick! or you're a dead man, and Oswald also."
Wulfhere, thus suddenly awakened to the peril of the situation, promptly took Badger's advice and vaulted into his saddle. But his blood was up, and as he did so, he turned to Pierre, and said,—
"I'll take care we meet again, villain, never fear. Then we will see whether aught will save thee from the fate which has befallen thy master, and which has been dogging thy heels this many a day."
Oswald, the stranger knight, also by this time fully comprehended the peril of the situation, and that if they would save their lives flight was their only resource. So promptly he sprang into the saddle, and immediately made for the gate, followed by Wulfhere. The two men-at-arms without the arena had been watching the movements of Oswald and Wulfhere with feverish anxiety, irresolute whether to rush in to effect a rescue or not. But no sooner did they see them make for the entrance than they pushed their horses amid the spectators, and vigorously plying the flats of their swords upon the shoulders of the churls who thronged and choked the way, they quickly cleared a passage; whilst Badger and his party continued to maintain a state of dire confusion in the enclosure. As soon as the entrance was passed the safety of the Saxons was assured, and at once falling into the rear of their leader, they dashed across the plain, and were lost in the woods ere any one comprehended for certain what strange things had happened.
Then the Abbot Vigneau strode up to De Montfort, the veins of his neck standing out with rage and his face livid with passion, and he hoarsely shouted,—
"I arraign thee traitor to thy king! and I will have thy head for this treacherous act! I tell thee if thou hast successfully conspired to murder my brother, I myself hold the letters thou wouldest give thy right hand to possess! I will use them to the full, nor rest till thou hast atoned with thy blood for thy treachery!"
Meantime, the scene which followed baffled description. The assembled company could not comprehend the charges made by Vigneau, and were bewildered at the tragic ending of what was designed for a day's festivities.
The condition of Alice was pitiable in the extreme. With returning consciousness she had seen the fiendish attitude of the Abbot as he fronted her father. She had heard the wild threats of vengeance, and a dim sense of uttermost calamity, hanging over her and her father, sent her back again into a swoon. I roused Jeannette and her companion from the state of helplessness into which they seemed to have relapsed, and, under my directions, Alice was carried to her room and laid upon her couch, whilst such restoratives as were at hand were applied to stimulate the laggard consciousness, which seemed as though it would never return.
"E'en these, when of their ill-got spoils possess'd,Find sure tormentors in the guilty breast."Homer.
"E'en these, when of their ill-got spoils possess'd,Find sure tormentors in the guilty breast."
Homer.
The same night, following the tragic ending of the tournament, and about two hours after Curfew had rung out its warning to churls, housecarles, and Saxons, all and sundry, who should be caught abroad after the bell had voiced the hour, there were seated in the Abbot's room two individuals engaged in a most earnest conversation. The look of deadly malignity on their countenances, and the low, fierce oaths with which they frequently emphasised their speech, was palpable evidence that they plotted mischief. Though one of them had partially divested himself of his attire, there was that about his dress which betokened that it was strangely out of keeping with the language he was using, and the business he was engaged in. The other was dressed in soldier's attire, and in the sturdy figure we easily recognise Pierre, confidante and willing tool of Baron Vigneau, and the sharer in most of his villainous exploits. The Abbot's room was spacious and lofty, and he had had it hung with costly silken hangings, and rich Turkish carpets covered the floor. The furniture also was of carved oak, delicate in workmanship, and of priceless value; for many handicraftsmen of great skill and experience came over with the Normans, or followed in the wake of the soldiery. On an exquisitely carved cabinet had been hastily thrust the remains of a substantial repast of boiled capon and venison cutlets; whilst on the table between them were two silver tankards containing good Rhenish wine, and from which libations, copious and frequent, were poured down two throats which it seemed impossible to effectually slake. Several letters on parchment, with the massive seal of De Montfort impressed upon them, were lying on the table betwixt them, the contents of which had been duly read over to Pierre by the Abbot; and the following conversation was proceeding:—
"No doubt," said the Abbot, "the whole thing was arranged by the cunning old fox De Montfort and his daughter. The make-believe of a foreign cousin was a ruse to prevent the exposure of the Saxon villain. His advent, also, was so timed that not the slightest opportunity was given to any one to see through his disguise; and he spoke the Norman language well."
"Well, I have often wondered at De Montfort's leniency to those Saxon wolves on the hills. He professed to send for help to William when he was at York last; but there has been no help forthcoming," said Pierre.
"I don't believe he ever sent such message; but the devil himself is not more cunning than De Montfort, and, unless we act promptly, he'll circumventus."
"Well, what's the business? Are you going to make use of those letters, and have him brought to book promptly?"
"That is it. What I wish, is that you, Pierre, should take this matter in hand; for it must be done by some one with sufficient courage and determination. I should like you to proceed forthwith to the court of his Majesty William, and lay before him these damning proofs of De Montfort's treachery. If you will undertake this, I confidently anticipate that within three months the traitor's head will be suspended over the gates of his castle. That done, I shall urge my suit for the possession of his forfeited lands, with well-assured success. Then, trust me, I will humble the pride of his haughty and scornful daughter. She shall know promptly, for I will teach her, that though Vigneau is dead, Vigneau still lives. I love her, and I hate her, and when she is in my power I will have my fill of both love and hate, mark me! I will have quits for all I owe her, for she has not only compassed the death of my brother, but she has thwarted me here constantly, by taking under her protection that old hypocrite Adhelm (meaning myself). I'll be revenged on both of them at a blow, mark me, Pierre!"
"Humph! This sounds well and good, your Reverence, no doubt, from your standpoint; but, if you will excuse me, I didn't see very clearly at what point Pierre came in when these good things were to be distributed. Now, it appears that I shall figure very prominently in the work of scotching this snake. So, so! well and good, revenge may be very sweet to you, and maybe it will be sweet to me; I'll not deny I like the flavour of it, but, after that, what additional? I shall want either the skin or the carcase, certainly, if I shoot the deer; if not, why, marry, I'll never bruise my shins in the chase. So, will you please point out where this thing is to be profitable to me? Devil's work, you know, should be well paid, for we must scorch for it by-and-bye, must we not, eh?"
"Thou shalt have everything I am able to bestow, Pierre; and thou shalt find that in my exalted position my powers of promotion will be equal to thy deserts. How sayest thou? wilt thou try the monk's calling? Nothing easier! I was a soldier ere I donned thehair shirt, eh! and took to mortifying the flesh, as thou well knowest I have done most rigidly at all times."
"Marry, 'tis quite true, the devil himself would vouch for it; and a merry jest it is. And now, after your Reverence's example, there's no saying, but we may expect the devil himself to turn monk some day; and, in faith, by copying your Reverence closely, he'd make more sinners in't, than he would by his old tricks;" and Pierre laughed most immoderately.
"Thou hadst ever a sharp tongue, Pierre, and little regard for thy betters; but I absolve thee. Nevertheless, I advisetheeto theholycalling also. Then what could hinder me bestowing upon thee my Abbot's office? The best of all things would be at thy command—ease, wine, wenches, and a jolly fat trencher at all times. I warrant thee there is no life so merry and so bountiful as the command of a good fat monastery."
"Bravo!" shouted Pierre, who was immensely tickled by the Abbot's suggestion; and, bursting again into a roar of laughter, he cried, "well, this is too rich for anything! Pierre turnedSaint; ha, ha, ha! 'Twould be after the most godly example of your Grace, I trow. Ha, ha! good! I'll wash it down, anyhow;" and he raised the tankard to his lips, and cried, "Drink to't, your Reverence. Here's toSaint Pierre of pious memory;" and promptly he drained the tankard to the bottom; then, bringing it down again with a bang upon the table, he fairly roared with laughter.
"Thou art an ass, Pierre! An arrant ass!" said the Abbot, who was considerably nettled at the freedom with which Pierre made a jest of him and his office. "Canst thou not see that after the Baron's death De Montfort will soon be quit of us if we cannot checkmate him? To jest under the gallows, and end it by swinging on them, is fool's work."
"Well, well, I'll turn the matter over carefully, I think," said Pierre a little more soberly. "Your Grace has done it, and I think there is something in it. I don't know how the sneaking method of doing things, after the dare-devil manner familiar to me, will suit my stomach. I have always liked the chase better than the game, and I confess I would rather fight it through, come what may.
"But," said he, bursting into a loud guffaw, as the ludicrousness of his turning monk thrust itself upon him, and relapsing again into the jocularity and bitter sarcastic tone familiar to him,—
"Now thatyourecommend it so strongly, I think I will retire fromactive duties, and grow fat and wheezy like yourself. Anyhow, it stands to reason, the bigger the paunch the more good sack wine it will hold, and that is an item. True, too, a lazy life and a lascivious appetite are bound to go together. Less force to labour, and more to lechery; that's the sum of it. I think I come to't, your Reverence. Beshrew me! what would any man have? for if he lust lustily, and be a jolly trencherman to boot, with his fill provided to him, what can he wish for more? My hand on it, your Reverence! I'll undertake the venture. It is a mad hazard, but I like it none the worse for that!"
"Then when wilt thou start on thine errand, Pierre? Time is precious. The Count knows I have possession of those letters, and, mark me, he will circumvent us if he can."
"Line my pocket with gold pieces and I'll start at cock crowing, and De Montfort may catch me if he can, when once I get the start of him."
Slowly at that instant the door opened behind them, and Oswald, Wulfhere and a couple of attendants, armed to the teeth, entered, and closed the door behind them, whilst one stout yeoman set his back against it. The countenance of Vigneau fell on the instant as though a sword had pierced him, and he became livid as death. Hastily clutching at the letters lying on the table, he endeavoured to thrust them into a recess of the cabinet, and he fairly cowered in abject terror before these strange visitants. On the contrary, Pierre whipped out his broadsword, and fiercely stood at bay; his savage valour being in striking contrast to the crouching cowardice of the Abbot.
"Give place, master," said Wulfhere, advancing on Pierre; "this fellow is mine. You have already had your revenge. Now, blood-thirsty villain," said he, addressing Pierre, "I told thee, did I not, that the time would come when thou shouldest answer to me for thy cruelties and murders? the time has come now; and thou canst no longer shirk the fate that has long awaited thee."
"Did I ever shirk meeting thee, or any churlish Saxon in Britain? Give me fair play, and I'll give thee a speedy passage to the devil, sirrah!" said Pierre savagely, striding towards Wulfhere.
So the two stood upon their guard. The Abbot shrinking in mortal terror in one corner, whilst Oswald and his followers looked on in anxious suspense; for they knew well the strength and brutal valour of Pierre, who was ever foremost in any fray, and equally an adept at either stroke or thrust. Wulfhere also was second to none amongst the Saxon outlaws in skill and strength, or personal bravery. Toe to toe for a moment they stood eyeing each other with lips set, and mortal enmity in their eyes. Then stroke and thrust and parry followed each other in rapid succession. The rapid advancing or retiring, as each one gave or received a stroke, by these powerful gladiators, wrought the spectators to such a pitch of excitement that they held their breath almost to suffocation. But the climax came in a totally unexpected manner. Wulfhere drove at his antagonist a powerful sweep of his sword, but Pierre effectually interposed his sword and parried the blow. Such was the force of the blow, however, that the treacherous weapon flew in two, the point striking the opposite side of the room, and the hilt, with half the broken blade, remaining in Wulfhere's hand. Ere Oswald could interpose between them, Pierre shouted,—
"Aha! Now I have you!" and rushed in with a furious lunge at Wulfhere's body.
The words were true enough, but not in the sense in which Pierre had uttered them; for with lightning-like agility Wulfhere sprang aside, and the glittering weapon slid harmlessly into the empty air beyond him. So confident, however, had Pierre been of the helplessness of his opponent, and so confident of the deadliness of his thrust, that he took no precaution whatever of his own body. The eager rush also of his own onslaught, coupled with the force with which Wulfhere drove the broken blade at him, caused it to pass clean through his body, and, with a groan and a half-uttered oath, he fell forward on his face, dead.
The Abbot, as he witnessed the close of the tragic scene, literally crawled to the feet of Oswald, begging piteously for mercy. One of the men-at-arms who accompanied Oswald, advanced upon him, and said,—
"Leave him to me, master. Now, dastardly fiend!" said he, addressing the Abbot, "there has come a reckoning day even for you. You remember the little cot out yonder befouled by your infamous presence. You know the boy murdered by you in cold blood, and waiting to be avenged until this hour. The time has come at last."
"Have mercy upon me," moaned the Abbot, "and I will recompense you liberally. Take this gold chain," said he, removing a massive gold chain from his neck, "it is very valuable, and I will give thee more."
"If you think a gold chain will recompense me for my dead child, base hound, you are greatly mistaken. His blood cries for vengeance, and I will exact it now."
As he spoke he raised his sword, and at a blow he severed the Abbot's head from his body.
"This is most ghastly work," said Oswald, "and to be done within the sacred precincts of this edifice it is most deplorable. But surely iniquities such as these men have constantly and unblushingly perpetrated call for most drastic remedies. Men, gather up these bodies, and bury them deep in the woods before the dawn."
The two men-at-arms called in some of their fellows who were watching in the corridors outside, and, swathing the bodies in the Abbot's robes, they hurried along the corridors and out of the grounds, bearing their ghastly burden to secret burial in the forest.
Oswald and Wulfhere remained behind engaged in diligent search.
"There are certain documents possessed by this man which are of vast importance to some one I would like to serve," said Oswald. "We must find them, if possible, ere we quit this place. I saw the Abbot hastily remove some papers as we entered, as though he was exceedingly anxious to conceal them. I strongly suspect they are the letters I would fain lay hands upon."
So saying, he advanced to the cabinet, and throwing it open, almost immediately drew forth the letters which had well-nigh had such dire effects upon the life and happiness of Alice De Montfort. Oswald gave an exclamation of pleased surprise as the seal of De Montfort caught his eye, and, hastily unfolding them, he eagerly ran over their contents one by one, and, as he gathered their import, he said to Wulfhere,—
"These are indeed a treasure more precious than gold. They bear evidence of one fatal mistake on the part of one whose astuteness is otherwise marvellous; and they have been an instrument of terror to the author of them for a long time. Now this dread secret will henceforth be sealed for ever. Sealed it is in the death of those who knew and used it so unscrupulously; and it will soon be sealed in the destruction of these documents."
So he hastily thrust them into his bosom, and they continued their search. But nothing further that had any bearing upon the subject could be found.
"Our work in this place is evidently at an end for the present," said Oswald. "So let us be gone, for I would finish this day's work. I wot there are some who at this moment are in terrible suspense, and are awaiting in well-nigh mortal terror for the further development of this tragedy. So let us away, the night is still young, and there is a voice eagerly calling for me."
"O'er bog or steep, through strait, rough, dense, or rare,With head, hands, wings, or feet, pursues his way,And swims, or sinks, or wades, or creeps, or flies."Milton.
"O'er bog or steep, through strait, rough, dense, or rare,With head, hands, wings, or feet, pursues his way,And swims, or sinks, or wades, or creeps, or flies."
Milton.
We left Sigurd and his two followers in the cave in the mountains. Sigurd, as usual, was restless and eager for further attacks upon the Normans. So, early next morning, one of his men, in obedience to his commands, climbed to the top of the mountain for the purpose of signalling the scattered band, who, since the departure of their leader, with the wounded chieftain Oswald—narrated previously—had been in hiding in small companies, or singly, with their wives and children. This messenger laboriously scaled peak after peak until he mounted the loftiest eminence of all; from whence, far away in the hazy distance, summit after summit towered heavenwards, with scarred weird valleys lying between them, and the placid wood-encircled lakes in goodly number shining like burnished silver, looking up to heaven, reflecting sun and cloud in their still depths. The man, ignorant, unlettered, and uncultured as he was, felt the mighty inspiration; and he stood passively for a few minutes surveying the scene lying before him. Then slowly he turned upon his heel until he had faced every point of the compass, taking in the mighty distances within the circle of these mountain sentinels, with the magnificent and inspiring solitudes around on every hand. The cool mountain breeze stirred his long, unkempt locks and beard; and the air, pure as the unsullied breath of heaven, like an inspiration thrilled through his lungs, and poured its vitalising energy through every vein in his body. Not a sound, however, broke from his lips betokening any sense of admiration or appreciation of what he looked upon. Only some half-articulated guttural sounds betokened intense inward satisfaction. But now, in a moment, quick as thought, his brawny arms unfolded from across his broad chest, and a fierce fire of rage kindled in his eye; a savage expression also escaped his lips, for the deep baying of a hound broke upon his ear, and turning, he saw down in the valley yonder, Norman soldiers putting bloodhounds on the trail of his chieftain, Sigurd. Instantly, without staying to rear aloft the beacon, which was to speak to comrades hiding in distant valleys or on the distant hills, he darted over the shoulder of the hill, and with long, fleet strides, seemed almost to fly towards the cave, where, in hiding, he had left his master. On reaching the cave he hurriedly explained to Sigurd the position of affairs. With a savage exclamation the chieftain said,—
"Ha! they hunt me with dogs again, as though I were a wolf or a hog. Well, let them beware! the wild boar of the mountains will find them more sport than will be pleasant, as he has done many times before! I suppose it will be a long race, for these Norman sleuthhounds are sure of scent, and will not be easily shaken off! Forward ye up the burn; we will go over the head, for there is a trap laid for them up yonder. From thence we go down into Deepdale, keeping along round the head of Ulleswater. Ye will get a good start, and may take it easy."
"What will ye do, Jarl? If ye mean to attack these Norman dogs, we would rather stand by you and share the risk."
"I shall be ruled by fate. Skuld, the Viking's friend, has me in his keeping; I shall not be slain; but one thing I must do, I must show myself to them, so as to divert the scent from this place. We must not let the hounds lead them to our lair here, for it is a snug port in a storm, and we shall need it for rest many times yet, I fear. When I have showed myself to them, I shall follow after you. As ye scale the summit ye may look out; if I need you I will signal, but it is not likely."
Buckling on their swords alone, so as to be lightly equipped, the two men followed the water-course which marked the dividing line betwixt the hills on either side, and which, in its turn, was flanked on each hand by the dense wood stretching for more than a mile further up the burn, until the inhospitable Zone was reached, where tree and shrub were pinched and stunted into barrenness by the chill mountain air, and where shelter only could be obtained by the innumerable and gigantic limestone boulders, which grimly stood sentinel over the leaping and tumbling waters. Sigurd hastily stowed away some provisions in a leathern case, which he strapped over his shoulders. Then, buckling on his belt, from which his broadsword was suspended, he crept from his hiding-place and strode upwards through the tangled undergrowth, making for the clear on the mountain side. His purpose, as we have already said, being to throw the hounds off the old scent which led to the cave overlooking the tarn, and to draw them directly after himself; for he was very little dismayed at the prospect, so confident was he of his own power to keep them at a safe distance, and weary out, if need be, the Norman band. Having cleared the wood, he climbed up the hillside for a little way, scanning carefully the course along which the enemy must come. All was quiet as yet, so he sat him down to await events. He had not long to wait in this position, however, ere the cry of the hounds and the shouting of men smote upon his ear, and he started to his feet. Yonder in the distance, and coming along the mountain side, he espied a couple of men, each leading a hound, and a company of thirty or forty Norman men-at-arms followed after. Climbing upon a knoll, professedly to survey the party, but in reality to attract attention to himself, he stood for a moment, a conspicuous figure on the barren hillside, and speedily he was seen by the Normans, who set up a great shout of exultation as they beheld the burly figure of their dire foe so nearly in their power. Sigurd waved his sword defiantly in their faces, and then turned and sped him after his men, towards the valley's head. Eagerly the Normans followed after, having Sigurd almost constantly in view; and, as they deemed, soon to be run down and captured.
As they followed after Sigurd up the valley it grew gradually into a most desolate and awe-inspiring solitude. All along the mountain summits the limestone rocks jutted out clear of every vestige of verdure—bare, bold, ominous, and frowning. The slow, but persistent disintegrating influences of climate and atmosphere had, through the centuries, slowly diminished their beetling heads; and all adown their scraggy sides layer upon layer of rocky fragments testified most eloquently that rugged and strong as were these rocky eminences, there was a despoiler strong enough even to cope with their might; whilst in the bottom of the glen were huge rocks lying where Nature's invisible fingers had toppled them from the summit. Few living things haunted the place. Yonder, over the crest of the mountain, a pair of golden eagles were wheeling in circles, delighting in the strength of their matchless pinions. Here and there a rabbit might be seen stealing in and out amongst the boulders. Several carrion crows, with hoarse croak, flitted from boulder to boulder in ominous expectation of coming carnage. Rich and plentiful had been their fare since the coming of the Normans, and, with true instinct, these flying Saxons and pursuing Normans, they knew, were prophetic of gratification to their base appetites.
On the Normans came, their following after being greatly expedited by a constant sight of the quarry. For there was no need to be careful, or anxious lest their hounds lost the trail. Sigurd was not a quarter of a mile ahead, but in consequence of the ascent, and the rough ground to be traversed, it represented a good start. He was also a much more powerful and skilful mountaineer than they were, and with the utmost ease he held the distance. As they progressed the ascent became steeper and steeper, wilder and more rugged. Frequently they lost sight of the Viking chief, as he disappeared behind huge boulders or frowning rocks, only to see him reappear again on some promontory still higher, from which he would watch them for a minute or two as they struggled after him, the savage defiances he shouted falling easily upon their ear. Nearer and nearer, however, they came towards the head of this rugged and water-furrowed gorge. Running along the topmost ridge of the hill on either side of the cleft, down which the water rushed, was a long line of steep beetling crags, bare, jutting, verdureless rocks, well-nigh impossible to scale, and involving a wide circuit to outflank. The waters, through countless generations, with unceasing rush and swirl, had shorn these flinty limestone rocks asunder in one steep slit from top to bottom; and to track the "mad Saxon"—as Sigurd was called by the Normans—through this weird crevice, was to penetrate a mere fissure between steep and overhanging rocks on either side, and so full of twists that the path was frequently completely hidden a couple of yards in advance. The Saxon knew his ground well.
Not so these Normans; but, enough for them, their foe was a flying foe, and they were numerous and consequently valorous. Ignoring completely the many lessons of personal valour and mad daring this man had taught them in the past, without pause they boldly followed after, the hounds foaming at the mouth and tugging at the leash. 'Twas a fearsome gap to enter, and they had not proceeded far when a jutting crag projected, and the waters were compelled to make a circuit in order to flow round it. With a deep bay, and an eager plunge in the turbid, rushing waters—for he scented blood—the hound which led the party dashed past the projection, eagerly dragging the Norman who followed after and held him. But a blow of Sigurd's sword cut the hound clean in two, and a second blow clave the Norman who held him. With a great shriek, a terror-stricken cry, and without pretence of defence, they turned in an eager scrambling retreat, each caring only for himself, and leaving the rearmost to the mercy of the savage giant who followed after. When they reached the open ground, where in numbers they could assail their foe, no foe was in sight. Sigurd had exhausted his opportunity and was gone. Who now would be first to enter again, and force this wild man from his lair? Alas! not one! There was, however, no time to lose, and the Normans were consumed with impotent rage. So some of them hurried round by the end of the crags, whilst some scaled the face of the cliff, each and all endeavouring, with utmost speed, to come upon the rocks above. This was done eventually, and, swarming to the brink of the rift, many heads endeavoured cautiously to peep over and down into the water-course, intensely hoping, but almost fearing, to set eyes upon their foe. But no Saxon was to be seen. They then rushed along the sides of the fissure, peeping down as they ran, and making sure that their victim was safely entrapped in his lair after all. But there was not a trace of him. On and on they rushed, over-lapping each other in turns, until, eventually, they came to the very summit, where the water-course had completely run out into a mere hollow, a deep, spongy marsh or bog. Hastily overtopping the hill, they eagerly looked down into the valley beyond. With wild execrations of rage they beheld the object of their direst hatred and fear moving down the mountain side with long, swinging strides, nearly a mile ahead, and immediately he disappeared in a dense wood, which seemed to stretch out its sheltering arms to the fugitive.
Sigurd was now joined by his two comrades, and together they pushed on for two or three miles through the forest, eventually rounding the head of Lake Ulleswater, and patiently climbing the steep headland on the opposite side of the lake. Here they halted for a while to rest and eat; but they were soon again roused to action by the voices of men and hound persistently following after. For the Normans were enraged, and, with the remaining hound, they continued mile after mile to track their arch enemy. Sigurd and his men, at a steady trot, continued to lead the chase, covering another five or six miles down the side of the lake without halting.
"Shall we keep up the race until we weary them out, Jarl?" remarked one of the men to Sigurd.
"No, I have another purpose in view; but this long race, with the taste of steel in the middle of it, will do them good."
"Ye do not purpose making for the cave, Jarl, do ye? There are not half a dozen men there, and we are no match for this company. Then there are the women and children to be thought of."
"No, that will not do at present. The boat will be safely moored at the foot of Hawks' Cliff, will it not, think ye?"
"Yes, I doubt not," was the reply. "I see now, Jarl. It is very good. To slip the noose so deftly when the Normans think to hang us is well thought of."
On for a little while the three continued, until coming to the rendezvous known to them as Hawks' Cliff—stupendous rocks shorn down with well-nigh a perpendicular face and overhanging the lake. Down these rocks, which required a cool head, deft feet, and a knowledge of the giddy path, these three swiftly descended, until the water was reached, where a boat was found snugly moored beneath the sheltering arms of the trees which fringed the water's edge. Into this boat the three stepped, and as the pursuers drew near they pulled away from the shore, making for the opposite side of the lake. Here was a masterly manœuvre, completely foiling the enemy. For whether they went round by the bottom of the lake, or retraced their steps by the head, it meant a start of ten or twelve miles to the fugitives; and with the day wearing on, and the pursuers wearied and fagged, the chase was manifestly closed for the day, with one more futile attempt to destroy this redoubtable enemy, who unweariedly persisted in exacting bloody tribute from their ranks, disdaining every overture of reconciliation, and defying their utmost efforts to subdue him.