It was two o'clock in the morning of Sunday, the 24th of August, 1573, when I reached theporte-cochèreof the Baron de Blancford. The whole town was still, and the soft, balmy air of the summer night fanned my cheek like the breath of love. The wicket was, as I had expected, open, and behind it was Moric Endem, armed only with the usual weapons of daily defence, with the addition of a pistol in case of need. He was masked, however, as it was agreed that we all should be; and, pointing to a small door on the other side of the court, he whispered, "By that door and up the stairs, sir, you will find Andriot and two others."
I looked towards the porter's room, fearing lest the least noise should disturb those we wished to slumber. All was quiet, however; and, passing across the court, I found the door held open by Andriot. On the first landing-place of the stairs there was another of my men, and higher up a third. On the third landing there appeared a light shining through a door ajar, and I gently pushed it open and entered. It admitted me to a small anteroom, and watching on the opposite side was Albert of Blancford. The noble boy embraced me gladly; and, with a whispered word or two of joyful congratulation, led me into the room beyond. There stood Louise, somewhat pale and agitated; but the dear girl suffered not such feelings to veil or check her affection for the man she loved; and, starting forward from the side of old La Tour, she cast herself into my arms. I soothed and caressed her for a moment, while the good old pastor came forward and grasped me eagerly by the hand. The contract of our marriage lay upon the table; but we had many words to say to each other, and had not yet signed it, when the door behind us opened, and the baron himself entered.
"Is it done?" he asked, anxiously: "has it taken place? Be quick, Henry! be quick!" he added, seeing that the contract was still unsigned. "I fear, and shall fear for your happiness, my children, till the act is irrevocable."
Oh! happy interruption to words, every one of which occupied those moments that bore Fate upon their wings! Gladly we signed the paper; gladly we pronounced the vow that bound us to each other; gladly I placed the mystic symbol of eternal union on the hand of her I loved.
"Now!" cried the baron, as soon as the whole was completed, "Now depart at once! You will find good Dame Marguelette without the walls at the spot where your horses wait. Bless thee, my Louise! bless thee! Be kind to her, Henry, and love none but her: be warned--be warned by what you have seen and know. Get thee to bed, Albert, and let all now be quiet in the house."
Louise trembled a good deal, but I led her on; and gradually, as the severing from her father's house seemed more complete, she clung to me more closely. The baron, with his own hand, shut the door behind us, and, step by step, we descended the dark stairs.
"I have thought it better, dear Louise," I said, as we reached the bottom of the stairs, "That we should both be screened from notice as far as possible; and I have here a nun's gown, if you can throw it over your other clothes. Where is the gown, Andriot?"
He gave it me, and Louise covered her white dress with the gray serge; but, as she was in the very act of putting it on, to my surprise I heard the great and remarkable-toned bell of St. Germain l'Auxerrois begin to ring loudly, as if for matins; and, scarcely had I hurried Louise across the court into the street, when loud shouts were heard from different parts of the town; the bells of the churches were heard ringing; the light of torches and flambeaux was seen advancing from the side of the Louvre; and it was evident that, notwithstanding the profound stillness which had reigned in the city as I passed along, one part, at least, of the population was up and watchful.
A moment after we heard a loud and piercing shriek in the distance, and Louise, trembling in every limb, clung to my arm. At first she seemed to think that all this referred to ourselves; that we were discovered, and about to be dragged back; but the cries from every part of the town soon undeceived her: and, as I remembered the various little incidents of the last three days; the warning of young Martin Vern; the eager and pressing invitation of the prince dauphin, I doubted not that some dark and horrible scheme for the destruction of the Protestants was upon the eve of execution.
Moric Endem closed the door behind us, and, with the other men, sprung to my side; and, remembering the caution of the young merchant, I drew Louise on, with scarcely a word, towards his dwelling.
The street in which we were was still nearly vacant, with the exception of the people bearing torches, who were coming from the farther end; but, just as we quitted the shadow of the Hôtel de Blancford, a man darted forth from a doorway on the other side, crying, "Help! help! Here are Protestants escaping!" and, at the same time, he seized me by the arm and aimed a blow at my head. He was masked, but the voice was that of De Blaye; and he certainly would, have cut me down, had not Moric Endem, always prompt and cool, levelled his pistol at his head and fired. He fell dead upon the spot; but the cry had brought a number of the torch-men down at full speed, and I certainly thought that our hour was come.
Moric's wit, however, now saved us, as his ready courage had done. He seemed to comprehend the whole in a moment; and, as his religion never stood in the way of his proceedings, he burst out into a loud laugh as the men came up, crying, "That Maheutre of a Huguenot will need no more. By the mass, if I had not had my pistol, he would have murdered some of us. There, drag him along by the heels to Montfaucon. So perish all enemies of the true church!"
"Bravo! bravo!" cried the torchmen, taking us for zealous Catholics; and on we hurried after them as close as we could come. But the house of Martin Vern was far off. The streets were beginning to swarm with people; we saw two doors burst open, to pillage the houses and massacre the inhabitants, before we reached the end of the street; and Louise could not keep up with the men, whose mistake might still have saved us if we could have gone on in their company. Nothing, then, but certain death seemed to surround us on every side; the only chance was in putting Moric Endem at the head of our troop; but he was known to so many Catholics as well as Protestants, that the first order to unmask would have betrayed all.
As we were following the other party at some distance, five or six people came up from the opposite direction, and spoke a moment to those before us. There was a woman with these new-comers; but they stopped, and one man advanced, saying, "Unmask!"
Moric was about to cut him down, but I stopped him, and replied, "Unmask yourself."
"Ha!" cried the other, "I was seeking you, Monsieur des Bois. We shall save you still. Miriam, link yourself with the lady; my men, mingle with their men. Let none of your party," he added, in a low tone, "unmask; we will do that if need should be. Now, shout, my men, and wave your torches. Up with the Catholic church, down with the Maheutres!"
"Oh, my father! my father!" said Louise to me, in a low voice; "can we not save my father! Oh, Henry! Henry! think of him!"
I spoke a word upon the subject to the young merchant, but he stopped me sharply ere I could finish my sentence. "I am risking my life by what I am doing even now. Speak not of it! He has a Catholic wife; she will save his house. Come on! come on! You will see such sights as will make you glad of your own lives!"
I whispered to Louise the hope that he gave me, scanty as it was; and, alas! as we hastened onward, the sights we saw did fully justify that which the young merchant had said.
Before we had gone half a mile, the streets of Paris were one scene of massacre and horror. The whole place was blazing with torches; large parties of armed men, on foot and on horseback, were scouring the streets, killing every one even suspected of Protestantism; and many a Catholic, too, was slain in the anarchy of the time, who stood between fair estates and greedy relations. Six or seven we saw slain before our eyes; and thrice, while the echoing screams of new victims were heard within the houses, a dead body was cast forth from the upper windows into the streets as we were passing. Instantly a crowd of the dark and sallow villains that crowd the lanes and alleys of every great metropolis, gathered round, like vultures over the dead, to strip it of its clothing; and often was heard the low groan or faint cry which followed the dagger-stroke that ended what the assassins above had left unfinished.
As we approached the banks of the river, however, the scene became still more terrible and still more confused; thousands of figures, all bent on the same bloody business, whirled round us in every direction; the cries of the victims; the shouts of their butchers; the breaking in of doors and windows; the occasional discharge of firearms; the incessant ringing of the bells, the beating of drums, and the sounding of trumpets, made a noise perfectly deafening; while the sights that were now presented, as clearly as if it had been day, made the heart sick with horror, and agony, and indignant grief. In one gateway alone I saw piled up so many human bodies, among which were two women, that the gate could not be shut; and, as I kept my eyes upon the ground, I saw that the gutters flowed red with blood. A little farther on, a boy of thirteen or fourteen years of age was seen dragging along a naked body by the heels; and farther still, a fiend of a woman pressing out the last breath from the body of a creature like herself, while she tore the rich clothes from her dying limbs.
All those that appeared active in the massacre, of a better class, at least, all I saw were masked; but much happened even close to me that I beheld not at all; for my whole thoughts were taken up with the situation of the dear girl by my side, and I feared every moment that her strength would fail through terror, horror, and agitation. She hung heavily upon my arm, it is true, but still she did not give way. With her eyes bent down upon the ground, she hurried on, while the kind girl Miriam, though evidently terribly agitated herself, poured strengthening and consoling words into her ear, and supported her on the other side.
Three times we had been stopped and commanded to unmask; but either a single word from young Martin Vern, or Moric Endem's well-imitated shout of "Down with the Huguenots!" obtained us a free passage without uncovering our faces.
At length, the long-wished-for sight of the street in which the merchant lived presented itself; but at that very spot we were stopped by a crowd of wild rabble whom no words would pacify; and even when the young merchant and two of those who were with him pulled their vizards off, a furious man, brandishing a sword, swore that he gave a false name, and was calling out to kill him, when Moric Endem, starting forward, exclaimed, "Ha! Gouquant! Huguenot! Maheutre that you are! Knock his brains out, Martin! Knock his brains out! He was Coligne's horseboy at Moncontour, and was taken. Knock his brains out! knock his brains out! He is a Huguenot shamming Catholic."
With his drawn sword in his hand he rushed forward, and, before he could be stopped, cut the man down. "By the mass, there are more Huguenots among them!" he cried, springing at another man. "Kill them all! kill them all! Down with the Huguenots!" but the men fled in every direction, and left the street clear.
Young Martin Vern, however, paused and looked angrily upon Moric Endem, saying, "This must be answered."
"It is answered in six words," replied Moric. "The man is what I said. He is Gouquant, who was horseboy to the admiral, and has since, I hear, been cutthroat for any one that wanted one here in Paris."
Nobody could contradict him, and the young merchant hurried on.
Oh! with what joy and satisfaction did I see the great doors of the merchant's courtyard close behind us, and held my poor half-fainting Louise to my heart in a momentary dream of safety! But that dream was soon dispelled, for I heard one of the men, as pale as death, telling the good youth who had protected us that the whole place had been twice searched for me and my followers already. The next moment there was a low rap at the gate, and, on looking through the grating, we saw the two elder merchants, with a footboy, and immediately gave them admission. Martin Vern's face was sad and pale, however.
"They refuse me to open the city gates on any account," he said, as soon as the door was closed. "Nay, cheer up, sweet lady, we will find means to save you. Miriam, what says your quick wit? To-morrow the search will be stricter and more orderly--not less fatal, though. How can we get them out of the city?"
"By the river!" said the girl, eagerly, "by the river! My father's barge, that brought all the gold plate from Rouen, is just at the back of our garden."
"But, to get to the top of your house, Miriam," said the merchant, "They must pass round through that awful street where the blood is now flowing like water."
"Over the tops of the houses!" cried the girl; "over the roof! I know there is a way. You, dear Martin, run round and tell my father to open the door above. I will guide them thither."
The young merchant paused not a moment, and his uncles as eagerly and rapidly led us out upon the tops of their warehouses. Tremendous was the lurid glare that rose up from the streets below; tremendous the mingled roar of terrific sounds that reached us as we hurried along the narrow and giddy way; it was like walking along the precipice verge of hell itself; and I do not think that Louise could have borne it long, had not good Martin Vern soon led us into a sort of alley between the double roofs of the houses. It was with some difficulty that we found out which was the roof of the good Jew's house; but at length Miriam fixed upon it, and knocked at a small door in the side. For several moments there was no answer, and she knocked again. Then, however, came the sound of steps hurrying up, and hands unsteady, it seemed, with age or fear, unlocked the door on the other side. As soon as it was opened the head of Solomon Ahar appeared, his limbs shaking, and his face pale.
"Blessed be God!" he cried. "Blessed be God! Come in, my children! come in! All is safe here. I always make my house doubly strong. Ah! bless your sweet face, lady, you look pale, and well you may; but the boat will save you. It is close to the shore; in the little creek I had made to unload my merchandise. I owe my life to the good lord, your lover, there!"
"My husband!" said Louise, in a tone that I shall never forget; and, casting herself upon my bosom, she wept. Her tears were soon dried, however, and we hurried down to the bank.
As it was probable that we might be fired upon, some large piles of fagots were given us to make a sort of screen on either side, and also to give the barge the appearance of merely a wood-boat. A large bag of money was placed in my hands by Martin Vern; Miriam brought down some rich cushions for Louise to lie upon; the Jew himself added wine and provisions; and Moric Endem, doing his best to assume the appearance of a common boatman, aided another of the men to push away from the shore and get into the middle of the river.
As we slowly made our way along, the horrid sounds from the centre of the town began to decrease; but, just in passing near the walls, the guards first called out to stop, and then fired upon us. But their shot did us no harm, and, ere they could load and fire again, we were out of reach. We passed the suburb, too, in safety; and oh! how strange was the sensation, when we felt the boat gliding on through the calm, noiseless scenes of the country, and saw the calm morning light glowing warmly in the east!
Our horses and the rest of my followers, with good Dame Marguelette, had been stationed at a little cabaret not a hundred yards from the river, and Moric, who knew the spot, engaged to land us, and lead us thither at once. He was not one to mistake, and we put ourselves entirely under his guidance. When the boat touched the shore, however, I thought I heard many persons talking at a distance, and landed first to see.
As I approached the rendezvous, I saw, by the gray dawn, a much larger body of horse than that which I expected, and, pausing, I was on the eve of returning to the barge, when I perceived a young man dismounted, and pacing eagerly backward and forward, but every now and then pausing to look up the road. I thought that I could not be mistaken in the figure, and, advancing a little nearer, the face of the prince dauphin became more distinct. At the same moment he caught a sight of me, and, darting forward, he caught me by the hand, saying, "Thank God! but oh, De Cerons, you are surely not alone!"
I told him briefly what had happened, and he replied, "Lose not a moment! Bring them all here. There is a letter for the lady, and an escort of my own men, with a safe conduct from my father. But you must put twenty leagues between you and Paris ere you sleep; for here, at this moment, no man could be certain of saving his own brother from hour to hour. No words, De Cerons, but away! To Geneva! to Geneva! if you would have safety."
No words, indeed, were spent in vain. Louise and the rest were brought up from the boat, and, ere twenty minutes had passed, we were on the road to Switzerland.
It was not till we had passed the French frontier that I could believe that the beloved being, now my own, was in safety; but there my joy was mingled with deep grief; for there we learned, for the first time, the extent of our loss, and found that the Barony of Blancford, as well as the Lordship of Cerons, had fallen to one who wept to receive them. Good old La Tour, too, was among the gone; and the Baroness de Blancford had not been suffered, by the wild beasts that were let loose upon the Protestants of France, to escape that fate which she made no effort to avert from her husband.
'Twas a bright day in the autumn; the brown leaves were still upon the trees, the moss was springing up rich and green round the old roots and upon the sloping banks, and the sun, peeping in wherever the hand of Time had cast down their green garmenture from the earlier shrubs, checkered the ground every here and there with bright glances of yellow light, which, while the wind moved the branches gently above, waved slowly backward and forward, as if well pleased at the velvety cushion on which it rested. The scene was as still and solitary as it was possible to conceive; for those were days in which civil wars and angry strife had diminished by one half the population of merry England. No forester took his way through the wood; no guard of the king's chase or baron's huntsman watched to see whether some churl or yeoman was not aiming the shaft at the royal deer, or entangling the roebuck in a concealed snare. Stephen, pressed on all sides, had been forced to abandon rights for the sake of popularity; and many a wide track, deserted by its lord, and destitute of inhabitants, remained open to any one that chose to hunt within its precincts.
A low wind sighed through the tops of the trees, and made the dry leaves whisper as if telling each other some solemn tale. The sun shone, as I have said; but with great silence and in the midst of solitude, there is something solemn even in sunshine. At length a woodpecker came down upon the green moss, ran up a neighbouring tree, knocked it with its bill where it seemed hollow, and then either came down again upon the ground, or flew on again to another tree, with the wild, melancholy sort of laugh to which that bird gives utterance while upon the wing.
He had gone on this way for nearly an hour, confining his excursions to the limits of a few hundred yards, when suddenly he started up from a green cushion of moss on which he had settled for a moment, and flew away from the open spot, where the trees stood far apart, into the depths of the thicker wood beyond.
What was it started the wild bird from the moss! It was a step that fell lightly, and scarcely left a print behind it; but it was quick and hurried, and the small foot that made it was somewhat weary with the length of way it had come.
In a moment after, in the midst of the tall trees where the woodpecker had been disporting himself, there stood the form of a girl of some nineteen or twenty years of age. Over her other clothes she wore a dark brown cloak, such as in those days was very commonly worn by women of the lower orders, and the hood, which formed the principal part of the garment, was brought far over the head. This mantle, rough and rude in itself, seemed also somewhat too large for the person that wore it; but, nevertheless, it could not conceal entirely the grace of the form it covered, nor the movement of each well-turned limb.
The young lady--for no one who saw her could doubt that she was so--paused as she came up to the spot we have mentioned, and gazed round about her somewhat inquiringly, as if she expected to find there something she did not behold.
"It is strange," she said at length, speaking low, in a sweet, melodious voice, like the musical murmuring of a stream, "it is very strange that the old woman is not here. Perhaps I am before the time. I will wait and see," and, seating herself on the mossy bank in the sunshine, she bent down her head upon her hand, and soon fell into a deep fit of meditation. The expression of her countenance grew something more than thoughtful--it grew even melancholy; and so busy did she become with her own thoughts, that her tongue betrayed, from time to time, the ideas that were passing within. "It is very long," she said, "very long since I heard from him. Old Maude has forgotten such feelings, or she would not keep me so long from the letter. I wonder if I shall ever forget them? Oh, I hope not!" And again she fell into silent thought, with her eyes fixed upon the rich green stems of the moss which carpeted the ground beneath her feet. A minute or two after, however, borne upon the light wind came the sound of a distant bell, and, looking up and listening with a smile, she again murmured, "I was too soon! There is the bell of the convent sounding the Angelus."
Scarcely had the last tone died away when another sound met her ear--the sound of a full, clear voice singing a gay country ditty; one of the many for which old England has been famous at all times. The words were In the old Saxon tongue, but they may very nearly be rendered as follows in the English of our own day.
SONG.Shut the window, close the door;See, the brown leaves strew the floor;Chilling winds are in the sky,Autumn's gone and spring is nigh,But winter lies between.Oh, the brown leaves! oh, the brown,Best of hues for fields or town,It outlives the good-by of the green.Hark, the curfew! Hide the fire;Let no flame rise like a spire,But leave enough of ashes brightTo see my Maude's eyes by the lightThat the gray embers lend.Oh, the gray! night's sober gray!Gold light and blue sky for the day,But gray on all in the end.
SONG.Shut the window, close the door;See, the brown leaves strew the floor;Chilling winds are in the sky,Autumn's gone and spring is nigh,But winter lies between.Oh, the brown leaves! oh, the brown,Best of hues for fields or town,It outlives the good-by of the green.Hark, the curfew! Hide the fire;Let no flame rise like a spire,But leave enough of ashes brightTo see my Maude's eyes by the lightThat the gray embers lend.Oh, the gray! night's sober gray!Gold light and blue sky for the day,But gray on all in the end.
The lady had started up at the very first sounds, and looked in the direction whence they came with some degree of apprehension. As she listened, however, she said, with a more assured countenance, "She has sent her son, the good woodman; yet that does not sound like his voice either. I will creep behind those bushes and watch; but it must be him."
Silently drawing back, and keeping the tree still between her and the path by which the singer seemed to be approaching, she placed herself behind some bushes at the distance of between twenty or thirty yards of the spot where she had been seated. As she there stood, the person whose voice she had heard came forward from the thicker part of the wood, looking, as he advanced, towards the westward, which, it must be remarked, was the quarter from which the lady herself had first appeared. He slackened his pace, too, as he came up, so that there could be but little doubt that it was for her he looked. His dress, too, reassured her; for it consisted of the yellow untanned leather coat of the woodman, which, from the green ochrey earth that was employed to clean it, received a tint very much like that of the young leaves of the trees. The coat, indeed, was not in the very best condition, being a good deal worn, and somewhat ragged at the spot where the heavy axe, thrust through the broad belt, had chafed the thick leather for many a day. There was a large gap, too, and a patch upon the right arm; and the fair girl, who was now advancing, with a heart naturally kindly and expanding, at that moment more particularly, from the happy expectation of receiving tidings, thought that she would give the good woodman wherewithal to renew his leathern coat as a reward for bearing her the letter.
The woodman, unconscious of her presence, was looking the other way; but, though her step was light, his ears soon caught it, and he turned quickly towards her as she came forward.
There might be seen, the instant that he turned, a sudden change in the lady's look. She stopped, gazed at him with a look of astonishment, and then, uttering a cry of surprise and joy, sprang forward to his arms. In her eagerness, the hood and mantle fell off, disclosing the graceful person, the lovely face, and the rich apparel below; and it was a strange sight, certainly, to see so fair and delicate a creature, habited as might become the daughter of a prince, clasped in the arms of one clothed in such rude attire. It wanted, however, but one glance at his countenance to show that he upon whose bosom the lady hung so fondly was not what he seemed; and every moment spoke of long training to graceful exercises and to courtly demeanour, though each limb was well fitted to wield the heavy sword or couch the tough ash spear. He was tall and powerfully made, but his countenance was mild and kind, and his eye, as it rested upon the fair girl whom he now held to his heart, was full of tenderness and affection as well as joy--joy rising out of grief, and not entirely freed from some portion thereof, like a flower opening out after a shower, but with its head still bent down, and its leaves encumbered with the drops that had fallen heavily upon it. All that the young gentleman said for some time was, "Eva, my beloved Eva;" and all that the lady replied was, "Oh, Richard, how long it is since we have met!"
Then succeeded words of joy, and tenderness, and love; but upon these we will not dwell, for to pause and fix our eyes upon moments of such bright happiness is like gazing upon the sun, which, for long after, prevents us from seeing all other things less bright. They had much to say, however, that was not joyful; they had much to tell that was painful to hear; for, though Eva St. Clair assured him again and again that she would never love any one but him; that, sooner than wed any other, she would take that fatal vow by which many a young, a kind, and affectionate heart bound itself, in those days, to cold solitude for ever, she had yet to tell him that she saw no prospect of her father, the well-known Hubert of St. Clair, changing in any degree his determination of refusing her hand to him whom he had once permitted to expect it as a certain treasure; with whom all her years had been passed, and to whom her young affection had been given. The dissension between their fathers, which, as was so often the case in those days, had been permitted to break through the happiness of their children, seemed, she said, of a character rather to be aggravated than diminished by time, at least in the mind of her father, who, though generous to all, and especially kind to her, would not yield on a point where he conceived his honour was concerned. He, too, had to tell much that was painful. He had to inform her that his father was more than ever attached to the cause of the usurper Stephen, and that he, his son, was still bound to fight upon a side where his heart told him that the cause was unjust, and where his own observation showed him that injustice was upheld by tyranny and wrong; a side in defence of which his arm was weak and his sword fell powerless; where he felt that he could never win renown, because his heart was deprived of all those enthusiasms that lead on to high destinies in whatever cause they are enlisted.
Still, however, while they told each other all these sad things, the joy of this meeting again mingled with the sorrow, and many a look of love, and many a fond caress was added, which softened their grief, and made the anticipated evils look far off while hope was born of joy.
Though their meeting, even in the wild chase of the Lords of St. Clair, was a rash and dangerous act, yet they promised to meet again: and still they talked, and still they lingered; nor would they probably have separated for many a moment longer, had not the sound of a horn, echoing through the glades of the green wood, told them that some one was rapidly approaching.
"Fly, Richard, fly!" exclaimed the fair girl; "it is my father; most likely it is my father; and oh, if he were to find you here, how terrible might be the result."
Richard de Lacy pressed her once more to his heart, once more kissed the sweet lips of her who loved him, and then plunged into the deepest part of the wood; while Eva, snatching up the dark mantle she had dropped, gathered it round her, and, with a quick step, bent her way homeward.
We must now change the scene for a time; for, in so brief a history as this the reader's imagination must aid the writer, and supply all those links in the chain which would occupy much time to detail.
On the top of a high wooded hill in the county of Buckingham, which was in those days covered with great forests of beech-trees, rose heavily from amid the green boughs the square, heavy keep of an old Norman castle. This was all that could be seen of the dwelling of the Lords of St. Clair from the lower country which it commanded; but, upon approaching through the chase, vast ranges of walls, and battlements, and outbuildings were seen; moats and ditches covering a great extent of ground, with the turreted gate and barbican thrown forward in front. Though no artillery, in those days, looked down from the battlements, with mouths ready to pour forth fire and destruction upon those who advanced to attack them, yet the aspect of those walls was no less imposing; and bold would have been the man who, without an overwhelming force, would have marched to the assault of the Castle of St. Clair.
Such was not likely to be the case on the day of which we speak. But, nevertheless, there was an imposing display of strength upon the walls--archers, and slingers, and men-at-arms; and, though the gates were thrown open and the drawbridge was down, yet the archway was lined with soldiers, and the great court was half filled with men in complete arms. Often did it happen in those days, that the appearance of reverence covered preparations for defence or resistance; and while Hubert of St. Clair stood a few steps beyond the gateway of his own castle, clad in the long and flowing robes which were then much affected in times of peace by the Norman nobles, he looked round upon the iron-clad forms and bristling spears of his men-at-arms with pride and pleasure, while he watched the advance of a small train of horsemen who came slowly up the long road cut down the edge of the wooded hill.
The person who approached at the head of that party was Stephen, king of England; and ever and anon, as he rode up the ascent, he rolled his eyes over the well-manned walls of the castle he was approaching, and murmured some words to himself in a tone of displeasure, perhaps of scorn. When he came near to St. Clair, indeed, his face assumed a softer aspect, and he tried hard to smooth his tone and manner when he returned the salutation of the baron. The effort was very unsuccessful, however; and a heavy frown still sat upon his brow as he dismounted from his horse and entered the hall, where everything had been prepared as far to receive him as the shortness of the notice he had given would permit.
"Well, my good lord, well," he said, as he advanced into the hall, still glancing his eye, as he spoke, over every object that the place contained, "I have come all this way from my army to see if I cannot persuade you to give your fair daughter to the son of my noble friend De Lacy."
The baron heard him with a calm, cold countenance, but replied nothing directly, merely saying, "Let me beseech you, my liege, to taste some refreshment, such as my place can afford. Had I known of your coming sooner, I would have been better provided."
"But give me an answer, give me an answer, my good lord," replied the king, "and a fair answer, too, I beseech you."
"I seek not to marry my daughter, sire," replied the baron, in the same cold tone; "perhaps, before I do, she may be a ward of the crown."
Stephen bit his lip, but smothered every inclination to make a sharp reply, saying, in a jesting tone, "But where is the fair lady? where is your daughter, my good lord! Let us have her to council; her voice, surely, will have some weight in the matter."
"Not knowing of your coming, my liege," replied the baron, "she is gone forth, I understand, either to visit the good nuns of Grace Dieu, or to see her old foster-mother Maude, who lives near the small town on the other side of the chase. But where is your noble son, my liege? Your messengers informed me he came with you."
"He follows hard after," answered the king; "perhaps he may have gone to strike a hart in your forest, my good lord. You will not grudge the king's son a head of venison?"
"Heaven forbid!" replied the baron. "But there seems some disturbance without there, as if they were bringing in some one who is hurt. Heaven forbid that your son, my liege, should have met any one of my rough foresters."
Stephen looked instantly towards the court; but, seeing his son, Prince Eustace, on horseback, and apparently safe, he turned again towards the baron, whose attention had been called in another direction.
During the brief time the king's eyes had been turned towards the court, some other persons had been added to the group in the hall; but, ere we proceed to say what brought them thither, we must once more take the wings of imagination, and fly back to the glades of the forest, and to the scenes which had just taken place under their green canopy.
Eva, as we have said, had hastened rapidly homeward; and, though the horns sounded hither and thither at no great distance from her, the path she pursued was for some way quite solitary; till at length, secure from being found in the midst of the wild chase with Richard de Lacy, she slackened her pace and walked more slowly, stopping at last entirely, to take breath and gaze around her, at a spot where the road, rounding an angle at the hill, exposed a deep wooded valley below, with a wide, sloping upland on the other side, rising gradually towards her father's castle, the tall keep of which was discernible above the woody scene before her eyes.
Along the side of the opposite hill the hunt was sweeping merrily; horsemen and hounds were seen from time to time bursting forth for an instant, and then plunging again among the bushes; and still the cheerful echo of the horns and eager cry of the dogs told which way the chase went, as the quarry led them through a long, mazy course amid its native woods. Eva gazed, and saw them take their way in a direction opposite to that in which her own steps were bent; but, the moment after, she started with surprise, and uttered a faint cry, as two gayly-dressed horsemen dashed forth from the wood close beside her, and one of them, springing from his horse, caught the edge of her mantle with rude familiarity.
"Ha! my pretty maiden," he cried, "We have been hunting the hart and caught the hind, ha? Back with your hood! back with your hood! We three foresters let no deer escape us. On my soul, Eustace, this is no pitiful prize! Thank my lucky stars, that gave you the first choice and the miller's maiden, and threw this pretty creature as the prize of the second chance."
The person who spoke was a young man of some nineteen or twenty years of age, rather effeminate than otherwise in his appearance, and with a great quantity of long black hair,[1]beautifully curled and parted in front. As he spoke he pulled back violently the hood from Eva's face, and al the same moment cast his arm round her slender waist. She struggled to free herself, entreated, threatened her father's wrath; but he heard not or heeded not; those were days of unbridled license, when even churches and monasteries did not give security; and the walls of the castle were woman place of safety against insult and brutal violence. Terror took possession of the daughter of St. Clair, and she screamed loudly again and again.
Ere the second cry had issued from her lips, however, some one darted from the wood, and in a moment another followed him. Both were dressed as woodmen, and again Eva screamed loudly, holding forth her arms towards the one who first appeared.
"Get thee back, churl," cried the man who held her, still detaining her with his left arm while he drew his sword with his right; "get thee back, or, by Heaven, I will send thy soul to the place appointed for the serfs in the other world;" and he laughed aloud at his own jest.
His laughter was soon over, however, for the stranger was upon him in a moment with a broad axe drawn from his belt and glittering in his hand. The proud noble struck at him with his sword; but, to his surprise, the axe met the blow and parried it, as a weapon in the hand of a skilful swordsman. With a bitter curse he let go his hold of Eva, and rushed forward upon his adversary; but he had scarcely time to strike another blow, when his opponent, turning the back of the axe, struck him first on the shoulder a blow that brought him on his knee, and then another on the forehead, which, though lighter than the first, laid him stunned and bleeding on the earth.
"Lie there, Earl of Northampton," said his adversary: and then, giving one glance to Eva, who had fled to some distance, he turned towards the other horseman, who had likewise drawn his sword, and, with furious and blasphemous invectives, was pressing fiercely upon the second person who had come to Eva's rescue. That other horseman was even younger than the first; but pride, and violence were stamped on every feature, and vice had written early marks of its blighting effects upon his countenance.
"Walter, Walter," cried the voice of him who had so soon terminated the contest with the Earl of Northampton, "leave him, Walter; it is the king's son! The lady is safe. Leave him, I say."
"He shall not leave me till I have cleft his scull," cried the prince. "Richard de Lacy, I know you; and, if you dare to interfere, I will treat you as I would a hound;" and, as he spoke, he spurred his horse upon the woodman Walter, aiming a furious blow at his head; but Richard de Lacy thrust himself between, turned aside the stroke, and, catching the bridle of the horse, reined it sharply back upon its haunches, so that it slipped and wellnigh rolled down the hill.
"Fy, prince, for shame," said De Lacy; "some day such acts will cost you a crown. You can do no more mischief here, however; get some of your attendants to carry away the carrion of yonder vile perverter of your youth."
"Hark ye, De Lacy, hark ye," cried the prince, bending over his saddle-bow, and dropping the point of his sword; and, as the young baron approached nearer to hear, the prince struck him a blow with his clinched fist in the face, saying, "Take that, hound, and learn your duty."
De Lacy suddenly raised the axe in his hand, but instantly suffered it to fall again without doing the deed he had meditated. "The time for answering this will come," he said; "it shall not be said of me that I killed the king's son in a wood, with no one by, or broke the neck of a stripling who deserves the rod of a pedagogue."
Thus saying, he cast free the rein, and, making the woodman go before him, he followed Eva on her way. He overtook her soon; for, though fright carried her fast, her strength soon failed; and, taking a small path which all of them well knew through the depth of the wood, he led her to one of the postern gates of the castle, and there left her in safety. When he had done so he went back to the woodman's cottage, cast off the dress under which he had concealed his rank, and mounted the horse which was waiting there for his return.
At the neighbouring town a large and splendid train had been ordered to remain till he came back; but Richard de Lacy waited only for those who were ready to spring into the saddle, and, spurring onward without the loss of an hour, he reached his father's castle on the following morning just as high mass was over. His father was still in the chapel, speaking with old friends and affectionate retainers ere he returned to the hall; but Richard advanced at once up the aisle, and, to the astonishment of his father, he strode without a pause to the high altar, on which, after kissing the cross upon its hilt, he laid down his sheathed sword, saying, "That sword shall never be drawn again in the service of an usurper, or for the race of one who has dared to strike the son of Reginald de Lacy."
The old man frowned upon him, but made no reply.
These were busy and eager movements seen through the lands of Hubert St. Clair. Horsemen galloping hither and thither, the German catching up his bow, the men-at-arms buckling on sword and helmet, and troops flocking to the castle from every part of the domain. These signs and symptoms of some sudden change in the views and the prospects of the Lord of St. Clair were followed by the marching of forces towards Oxford; and in the midst of one of the strongest bands was a fair lady, with a train of matrons and damsels attending upon her, and several old squires and grooms, who had seen her grow up among them from infancy to womanhood.
In the good town of Oxford there stood at that time a large palace and a strong castle, both of which have been long swept away, if not entirely, yet so far as to leave scarcely a trace of the original forms behind. At the gates of the palace Eva St. Clair dismounted from her horse, and was led on by some attendants who met her, into a chamber where sat a lady of tall and commanding person and imposing aspect. Eva advanced somewhat agitated, but still gracefully, and knelt at the feet of the Empress Matilda; for such was the person to whom she now came. The empress suffered her to kneel, gazing on her as she did so with a look of some surprise and admiration; but at length, seeming suddenly to recollect her, she exclaimed, "Oh! the daughter of St. Clair! He has, indeed, kept his word with me, and sooner than he promised;" and, bending down her head, she kissed the fair brow that was raised towards her, and asked what news the lady had brought.
"I bring you, madam," said Eva, "a small band of three hundred chosen men, with tidings from my father, that with the same number he has gone to join your majesty's brother, the noble Earl of Gloucester. Besides this, he holds three castles strongly garrisoned for your majesty's service, and he hopes, ere long, to join you with the earl, with such a force as will make your enemies tremble."
Such tidings were very consolatory to the empress queen, and the aid she so suddenly received was indeed most needful, for her party had been reduced to little better than a name. Stephen's power was every day increasing; her brother, the Earl of Gloucester, had gone to seek aid in Normandy and Anjou, and she was left with a very scanty force to keep alive the struggle till his return. That return, however, was delayed much longer than any one expected, by the hesitation and uncertainty of her own husband, who left her to fight for the crown, which was hers by hereditary right, with scarcely an effort to assist or support her. Taking advantage of the great Earl of Gloucester's absence, Stephen exerted every energy to crush the cause of his rival while the hand of adversity was upon her. The last troops which found their way into Oxford were those which accompanied Eva St. Clair; and although, for two days more, the army of Stephen did not appear beneath the walls of the city, the supply of provisions which had been eagerly demanded from the country round, in order to enable the place to support a long siege, became more and more scanty every day. At length appeared the armies of the enemy. One body led by Stephen in person, one by the murderous and bloody William of Ipres, and one by Prince Eustace, in whose camp was the young Earl of Northampton, slowly recovering from the severe blow which he had received.
At first nothing was seen but the tents and pavilions of the enemy crowning every distant eminence, while dark bodies of horse and foot, the numbers of which could scarcely be distinguished, were seen moving about over the low hills, and through the meadows around. Day by day, however, the besieging force drew closer and closer round the city. The numbers could be counted, the arms could be distinguished, the groups of leaders could be told, the shouts and commands could be heard, and at length many a face could be recognised, and every piece of armour plainly seen from the beleaguered walls.
Eva's heart sunk when she gazed forth and saw nothing but the iron ranks of the enemy surrounding her on every side; it seemed as if deliverance could never come, and hope were at an end.
Still, however, the gallant defenders of the place knew no fear and relaxed no effort. By many a sally and feat of arms, they proved their prowess upon the assailants, and not one tower or outwork was lost. Still the garrison thought the good Earl of Gloucester must soon be here. Still they gazed from the highest turret, to see if they could discover the lances of their deliverers coming through the distant woods.
No aid, however, appeared: the provisions in the place became scanty, autumn gave way to winter, and intense cold was added to their other evils. Regulations were made in regard to the quantity of food and firing to be allowed to each person; and the table of the empress and her attendants was, by her own order, reduced to no more than would supply the demands of nature. In the town the scarcity was, of course, felt more than in the castle; for there were many poor, and many improvident there, who had not been able, or had not thought fit, to lay in sufficient stores against the hour of need; and, after the siege had lasted about two months, one could not walk through the streets without seeing pale and haggard faces, and sunken eyes turned eagerly towards the countenance of every one they met, as if asking, "Is there any hope of relief?"
No relief appeared; and the eyes that watched the distant country saw the low winter sun slowly rise and early set without one sign of coming deliverance. At length a heavy fog fell over the whole land, and lasted nearly a week: so dense that nothing could be seen the distance of twenty yards. During the first and second day, under the cover of the mist, the besieging force attempted at various points to force its way into the town; but it was in vain that they did so; and, repelled at every point, again reduced their efforts to a strict blockade.
After that busy period was over, the garrison had nothing more to occupy them than hope and fear. The stores were often examined, and found to have dwindled down to a mere pittance: but then, again, people thought they heard distant trumpets and shouts from a spot far beyond the lines of the besiegers. Every one augured that the Earl of Gloucester was coming up, and that, as soon as the mist cleared away, he would attack the army of the enemy. At length, however, after one night of more intense frost than ever, the fog did clear away, and the half-famished garrison ran up to the highest towers, alas! but to see their hopes blasted. There was the country beyond all bright and glittering in the frostwork, but neither spear, nor pennon, nor banner, nor hauberk, but those in the camp of the enemy. All hearts fell; and, although they endeavoured not to suffer despair to show itself in their looks, Matilda, wherever she turned her eyes, found nothing but an echo to the apprehensions that were in her own heart. The only one who even tried to console her was Eva of St. Clair, who had become very dear to the empress; and though, when the siege first began, her heart, unaccustomed to such scenes, had entertained none of the proud confidence which had animated others, she now displayed more fortitude than all, and in the midst of sorrow spoke of better days.
She was thus sitting at the feet of the empress, trying to cheer her, when the governor of the castle entered the chamber where they were alone, without other witnesses, and, approaching the empress with a calm but sad countenance, "I have come, madam," he said, "to bring your majesty very sad news. On examining the stores this day, I find that there is but food left of any kind for three days. By killing all the horses that we have left, we may, indeed, make it outlast a fourth day, but that is all; and, moreover, I grieve to say, that a pestilential distemper has broken out in the town for the want of food; a hundred and ten souls took flight last night between midnight and matins."
Matilda clasped her hands and looked up towards Heaven; but, instantly resuming her native courage, she said, "Something must be done, my lord, something must be done; have you anything to propose? Please God, we will never surrender."
"Were your majesty not here," he replied, "we could obtain easy terms enough; but the usurper has sworn that you shall yield to him without conditions. As that cannot be, however, all that I have to propose is this: Wallingford is full of your friends, strong, and well provided with all things; 'tis but a short distance; we are still here six hundred men-at-arms; and, though we have but thirty horses left, that number may well do all that is needful. Let your majesty, and such knights as can find horses, mount a little before daybreak to-morrow morning; let us take one good meal before we set out, and then, throwing open the gates towards Wallingford, all issue forth suddenly together, horse and foot, and cut our way through. The moment you and your guard have passed, I will form those that are on foot across the road, which is between steep banks, you know, and I will wager my head to maintain it for nearly half an hour against all they can bring to fight me. It will take them as long to go round by either of the other roads, so that you can get to Wallingford in safety."
"And you, my good friend, and you," said the empress, "you, and all the brave men who are with you, you will remain but to die in my defence. Well, well, say no more. I will think of it till midnight, and then give you my answer after consulting my fair counsellor here."
The baron shook his head, as if not approving of such counsel; but, before he went, he bent down his head to Eva, saying, "May thee be resolute; there is but one way to save your sovereign." When he was gone, the empress, who had hitherto suffered no emotion to appear, bent down her head upon her hands, and the tears rolled from her eyes. Eva stood by in silence, for she knew that as yet it was in vain to speak; and thus the sun went down, leaving the chamber in the gray shadow of the twilight. At that instant there was the sound of a footstep in the anteroom; and, in a moment after, the door opened, showing the tall, dark form of a monk, in his long gray gown and cowl.
The empress started up, exclaiming, "Who are you! Who is it you seek!"
"Peace be with you, my daughter," replied the monk; "it is you I seek, and I bear you some tidings of moment. See you this letter?"
The empress snatched it from his hand, and darted eagerly to the window to catch the last faint light that was in the sky. As soon as her eyes were fixed upon the letter, she exclaimed, "Robert of Gloucester's hand, as I live." Then, as she tore it, she added, "Six days! he will be here in six days! Alas! he will come too late!"
"So indeed I find, my daughter," said the monk. "Since I made my way in here, I see that your situation would be hopeless if you could not escape."
"Escape!" exclaimed the empress; "Would that I could escape! But how came you hither yourself? How found you your way through the enemy's lines?"
"By a path that is open to you, my daughter," replied the monk, "if you will be contented to trust to my guidance, and to take but few persons with you."
"But who are you that I should trust?" demanded the empress. "What is your name? How shall I know that you are faithful?"
"Did I not bring that letter?" said the Monk. "But if you want farther proof, let me speak a word to this lady in yonder chamber, and she shall be my surety." He took Eva's hand in his and led her towards the anteroom; and, as he did so, that fair hand trembled and her whole frame thrilled. They were absent some minutes; but, when they returned, Eva cast herself at the empress's feet, exclaiming, "Oh, trust him, madam, trust him. I will pledge my life and soul for his faith."