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The Last of the Vikings

by John Bowling · English · Gutenberg #36054 · 645,650 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Last of the Vikings

Author: John Bowling


        
Release date: May 7, 2011 [eBook #36054]

Language: English

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THE LAST OF THE VIKINGS.

by

JOHN BOWLING

Author of "Brailsford: A Tale of West Riding Life," etc.







London:
Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent & Co.
Leeds: Henry Walker, Briggate.

Printed by Hazell, Watson, & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury



[Illustration: SAXON AND VIKING. "THE CURSE OF SKULD BE UPON THEE,
TRAITOR!"]




CONTENTS.


         I. ETHEL

        II. STORM CLOUDS

       III. TRAITORS IN COUNCIL

        IV. DEFEAT

         V. DESPERATE RESOLVES

        VI. BARON VIGNEAU

       VII. ALICE DE MONTFORT

      VIII. VILLAINS PLOTTING

        IX. VILLAINS OUTWITTED

         X. A FRUITLESS EMBASSY

        XI. OSWALD'S DEFENCE OF HIS CASTLE

       XII. ALICE DE MONTFORT SETS FREE THE SAXON CHIEFTAIN

      XIII. BARON VIGNEAU BALKED OF HIS REVENGE

       XIV. THE SAXON CHIEFTAIN CONFRONTS DE MONTFORT

        XV. OUTLAWS AND WOLFSHEADS

       XVI. SIGURD THE VIKING

      XVII. EVIL COUNSELLORS

     XVIII. LOVE IS STRONGER THAN HATE

       XIX. ALICE DE MONTFORT AND THE SAXON CHIEFTAIN

        XX. WAR'S VICISSITUDES

       XXI. VIKING CHIEF AND SAXON MAIDEN

      XXII. A VIKING'S LOVE

     XXIII. A VILLAIN DEMANDS HIS WAGES

      XXIV. THE TRYST

       XXV. BADGER CRACKS THE NORMAN'S PATE

      XXVI. SAXON AND VIKING AT THE SWORD'S POINT

     XXVII. JEANNETTE AND WULFHERE; OR LOVE'S COMEDIES

    XXVIII. A GRIM TEMPLE, A GRIM PRIEST, AND A SAD HEART

      XXIX. EDGAR ATHELING

       XXX. PRINCE AND PARASITE

      XXXI. PRINCE AND VIKING

     XXXII. BADGER ON THE ALERT

    XXXIII. DOG ROBS DOG

     XXXIV. WILD DARING OF SIGURD THE VIKING

      XXXV. THE SAXON DEVIL AND THE WICKED ABBOT

     XXXVI. LOVERS PLOTTING

    XXXVII. THE JOUST: SAXON AND NORMAN

   XXXVIII. THE SAXONS' REVENGE

     XXXIX. BEWARE THE VIKING

        XL. THE HOUR BEFORE THE DAWN

       XLI. NOBILITY IN CONTRAST

      XLII. VIKINGS ALL! AN OLD TIME SAGA

     XLIII. THE CONQUEROR CONQUERED

      XLIV. THE LAST OF THE VIKINGS

       XLV. SUNSHINE HAS ITS SHADOWS




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


SAXON AND VIKING. "THE CURSE OF SKULD BE UPON THEE, TRAITOR!"

ALICE DE MONTFORT SETS FREE THE SAXON CHIEFTAIN.

THE SAXON CHIEFTAIN CONFRONTS DE MONTFORT.




NOTE.


From "Smith's History of Old Yorkshire" we learn that one Arthur Clapham
in the year 1066 was possessed of several hides of land near Lambeth in
Surrey, and also of the domain of Clapham in Yorkshire. But by opposing
the Conqueror he lost his lands in the South of England. He then fled
into the wilds of Craven in Yorkshire, and built a stronghold, on the
brow of Ingleboro', (the remains of which are still visible) and he
founded the village of Clapham in the valley beneath. In 1068, however,
the said Arthur by marrying a daughter of Robert, Earl of
Northumberland, was restored to the confidence and favour of William,
and had lands granted to him in Lonsdale.




THE LAST OF THE VIKINGS

(_From the Monastic Chronicles of ----._)




CHAPTER I.

ETHEL.

            "Be just and fear not.
    Let all thou aim'st at be thy country's,
    Thy God's, and truth's."

    Shakespeare.


I, Adhelm, Abbot of this monastery of ----, being eye-witness, and
likewise participator in the unhappy times my beloved country was
subjected to, in consequence of the Norman Conquest and the troublous
times which followed, it occurred to me to make a record of these things
after the example of the beloved Bede, whose "Chronicles" are so justly
esteemed by those who are concerned in the history of our ancient race.

I would have it known, then, by all those who are interested in the
matter, that this ancient monastery was founded by that wise and good
king, Alfred, who assigned unto it, for revenue, one hundred and twenty
hides of land; all of which was well wooded and watered, being fertile
and free. That is, with sack and sock, toll and team, and infang-thief.
It pleased him also, in furtherance of his purpose, to lay charges upon
certain thegns and nobles, who had lands adjacent to this monastery
assigned to them by him, that they should annually pay to the monastery
for the maintenance of the brotherhood, and for the purpose of defraying
the cost of its extensive charities and hospitalities, one hundred and
fifty loads of wood, and twenty-five loads of faggots; together with
thirty-five tuns of pure ale; seventy beasts, ready for slaughter;
twelve hundred loaves; fifty-six measures of Welsh ale; sixteen butts of
wine; six horses; and one hundred and thirty pounds, ten shillings, of
money. Now, as to all other matters, such as the particulars of lands
and farms, church and cloister, granges, Abbot's and Prior's lodgings,
which may be of interest to some, but which are not material to this
narrative; I refer all such to our carticularies, in which all these
particulars were carefully noted by our sacristan. Enough, however, has
now been said to show that in the merely worldly point of view, this
monastery was, when in peaceful enjoyment of its emoluments, a
foundation of no mean order. In consequence also of its bounties it
attracted palmers, minstrels, newsbearers, from all parts of the
kingdom. Thus I had exceptional opportunities of learning how the
kingdom fared.

       *       *       *       *       *

Adown the valley one bright September morning, in the year 1066, was
speeding Ethel, the only daughter of the Danish thane Beowulf, who is
lord of the domain of Rivenwood, and whose hall looks down from the
wooded heights in the distance like a grim sentinel. This fair girl
Ethel was probably not more than fifteen years of age--just at the
juncture where coy and blushing maidenhood, with its unconscious
assumptions of grace and dignity, joins issue with the freer and bolder
manners of girlhood, and when the wholesome, innocent, and graceful
blending is wholly interesting, and often most piquant. Most piquant
indeed, at all events, was this graceful specimen of budding womanhood.
Her brow was open and expressive, her countenance somewhat broad, in
sympathy with her manner of life; the free, unfettered, and merry
out-of-door life of sylvan England. Her blue eyes glanced, and sparkled,
and glowed, betokening a mind responsive and alert as the falcon which
perched upon her embroidered leathern gauntlet. Her nose was perfectly
straight, but had just so much of an upward trend as to indicate the
point positive, and the attitude--"beware all." Upon her head she wore a
sort of cap of blue silk, broad at the crown and drooping over the broad
scarlet band with which it was bound. In the front of this head-dress
stood erect a couple of eagles' feathers; whilst from underneath it the
flaxen curls, like the fetterless things they were, burst luxuriantly,
and circled across her forehead and over her ears; and though the wanton
tresses were captured again at the back of her head, yet they burst away
again and ran riot over her shoulders and down to her girdle. Of
jewellery, she wore a handsome gold torc which encircled her neck, on
which, and on the pendants attached thereto, were skilfully engraved
strange mystical runic devices. She wore a mantle trimmed with fur,
which on this occasion flowed loosely down her back, leaving free her
arms, but which, at needs be, became a cloak covering the upper parts of
her body entirely. Her under dress was of woollen material and
tight-fitting, whilst her sandals had a stout sole of leather with
toe-piece and overstraps of prepared deer skin. Accompanying this fair
girl was a favourite maid, and one of her father's housecarles who
filled the office of ranger and provider for the household, in the
matters of fish and game. At his heels there followed a couple of dogs,
whilst on his left arm there perched a falcon with all his furniture on.
On Ethel's arm also there perched another falcon, ready for flight.

"Let the dogs go now, Bretwul, for we should have good sport hereabouts,
and have a capital view of it too, on this hillside," said the maiden.

At a word of encouragement from Bretwul the dogs, with wagging tails,
immediately clapped nose to ground, and commenced threading in and out
amongst the gorse and brushwood to start the game. Presently a loud
fluttering of wings and a scream, sent the hawks into a violent
agitation, and a handsome-plumaged pheasant took to wing. Ethel
immediately whipped off the hood of her hawk, and quick almost as a
flash of lightning it covered the helpless quarry. Then down it swooped,
and a struggling mass of feathers and mingled plumage came fluttering to
the ground.

"Oh, that is wretchedly poor, Bretwul!" exclaimed Ethel impatiently. "I
like a good long chase which puts master Grey-eye thoroughly upon his
mettle. Such sluggard creatures as that one are poor sport. Come, let us
climb higher, for amid yon gorse and bracken on the hill we shall meet
with partridge, moorfowl, or perhaps, better still, a woodcock. Then we
shall test the mettle of little Grey-eye." So together they clambered
through the brackened steep, until they reached the fringe of the
heather which crowned the brow of the hill. Soon they espied a covey of
grouse racing along before them stealthily amid the cover; but promptly
these sprang aloft with whirring sound of wing, and loud, peculiar
cries. Ethel again unhoods her favourite falcon, Grey-eye, and flings
him towards the game. But the falcon has another matter in hand than
that of bringing down a sluggard pheasant; for moorfowl, when fairly on
the wing, scud along like the wind. Immediately also when they perceived
the enemy in pursuit they changed their tactics, and, quitting the
mountain side, made a dart for the valley, where shelter was to be had.
Plump and heavy, the descent suits them more than the falcon; and with
impetuous whirl they rush along with incredible speed. It seems as
though the hawk will never head them! The valley is reached, and the
moorfowl, flying low, are hidden from view by the tops of the trees; but
the hawk can be seen scudding along above them.

"Oh, my poor Grey-eye, you are beaten this time, I do believe!" cried
Ethel. But just at that moment there was an arrow-like swoop. "Bravo!"
she shouted. "He has struck his quarry, for he never swoops to miss!
Come along, Bretwul, or he will gorge himself, and then he will fly no
more to-day, the greedy little glutton!" Then away she raced down the
rough declivity, leaving her maid panting and trembling far behind.

"There she goes! there she goes! Plague on the girl!" ejaculated
Bretwul. "Did ever mortal see such a girl? She's like a two-year-old
filly that has never had bit in mouth or harness to back; and if she
throw out a splint or strain a fetlock, why then the old thane will
cozen my back with a cudgel, and call me a lazy lout of a churl. Come
along, Eadburgh, my buxom lass, I have finished my wattled cote in the
dell yonder, and if we come well out of this, we'll get the girl to
wheedle the master for us, and then it will be done in a twinkling; for
he's ready enough when Dame Ethel lays on the butter." So together they
stumbled after their mistress with might and main.

But the girl mood was uppermost in the damsel now, and away she flew
down the hill with her long hair streaming behind her, giving never a
thought to man or maid. She came to a halt, however, when she reached
the spot where apparently Grey-eye had made his swoop. But not a trace
of either falcon or victim was to be seen. In vain she blew a tiny
silver whistle with which she was wont to call her hawks. There was no
response. "The greedy fellow is gorging himself I doubt not, Bretwul,"
cried Ethel impatiently. "If you feed him before flying he is too lazy
to exert himself, and if he hunt on an empty stomach he must needs turn
glutton after this fashion."

At that moment the clear blast of a hunter's horn in the distance broke
upon the ears of the three seekers, and Ethel, hastily turning in the
direction, exclaimed, "Oh, dear me! Eadburgh, straighten my hair for me,
quick. Do I look a gowk? Do be quick! Straighten my cloak out. Those
gallant gentlemen are returning who would not let me take part in the
boar hunt because I was a _girl_, honest Beowulf was pleased to say. But
Master Oswald was no better, though he has spent so much time about the
court, and, I am told, carried off the Queen's favour at the tilt ground
at Westminster, and that too against the picked squires of Normandy. I
suppose I was only a _girl_ in his eyes too, though he was not pleased
to say it, like Beowulf. Never mind, I will let them see I can amuse
myself, and find good sport too, without them."

Presently a couple of horsemen issued from the forest, clad in hunters'
attire, with a green baldric over their shoulders and down to their
waists, from which was suspended a hunter's horn. These two were quickly
followed by a retinue of rangers, serving men, and hounds, with the
weapons of the chase--boar spears, javelins, and short swords; whilst
over the backs of a couple of horses were thrown the carcasses of a pair
of wild boar, the fruit of their morning's chase.

No sooner did these young chieftains set eyes on Ethel than the
countenance of the younger of them was wreathed in smiles, and snatching
his bugle from his belt he blew a mocking blast in the ear of the
damsel; then, in the blandest of tones, and with an assumption of mock
gallantry, he saluted the maiden: "Bon matin, madame. Are you taking a
little _gentle_ exercise in company of your maid?" and he doffed his
hunter's bonnet and made a most pretentious bow.

"I beg your pardon, gallant sir," retorted Ethel, with a gracious
inclination, parodying with inimitable grace and humour his mock
gallantry, "but if it please you, sir, I am not taking a little _gentle_
exercise in company of my maid, I am hawking, as you may easily see if
you care to."

"Oh, I see quite easily, madame. So you determined to have a little
sport all to yourself because we disdained the company of a lady at our
boar hunt?" said the young man, with a twinkle in his eye.

"You have hit it quite wonderfully, sir; which is very remarkable. We
take note of your behaviour, for, although we do not go to court, we
hear about your pranking it about with grand Norman dames and knights
errant, and we expected something quite different from you than from
Beowulf here. But I have lost my hawk hereabouts, so make amends for
your past conduct. Get down, brother Beowulf; and you too, sir; you have
travelled in France, so show your chivalry and your gallantry by getting
down and helping me seek my hawk."

"I bow most humbly to your imperious commands, noble lady," said Oswald
again, doffing his bonnet in mock humility.

Meanwhile, honest Beowulf sat almost dumbfounded whilst this passage of
wit was proceeding, though he only dimly comprehended what this
new-fangled jargon meant; but his choler was rising rapidly during the
process. "Now, drop it fooling, you two!" he at length broke out. "You,
Ethel, would imitate Master Oswald and be off to court too, for all your
japes and jokes about his pranking and parading it with the grand folks,
if we did not tie a clog about your neck for you. I know very well what
passes in that jay's noddle of yours, though you think I'm a numskull,
Mistress Ethel."

This outburst of sturdy Beowulf's was greeted by the pair with a shout
of hilarious laughter.

"Now don't make asses of yourselves," grunted brother Beowulf.
"Whereabouts did you lose your hawk, Ethel?"

"Why, hereabouts, Beowulf. Did you not hear me? He was pursuing moorfowl
from the hill, and he appeared to strike his quarry just in this place."

"If that be so, I warrant the headlong flight of the stricken bird would
carry them much farther down the slope," said Oswald.

"A bright idea, I do declare, Master Oswald," exclaimed Ethel. "We never
thought of that, Bretwul. You will gain some repute for wit, neighbour
Oswald, if you brighten up like this."

"I am much obliged for your condescension, lady; I feel highly honoured
and greatly flattered by your compliment;" and again he made pretence of
a low obeisance.

"Oh, don't take it too seriously, sir; but we will take your hint,
nevertheless." So the party extended their search, and presently they
discovered the falcon and his prey beneath a tree--the hawk having
improved the time by stripping the bird of its plumage, and gorging
himself with the flesh and blood of his victim.

"There, you greedy creature," exclaimed Ethel, as she set eyes on the
falcon. "You will fly no more to-day, I suppose, you glutton! I think
you had better hood him at once, Bretwul, and take him home; and I will
join this party of gallants--by their permission, of course--and if they
should now deem it quite safe for a lady to do so."

So the two young chieftains and Ethel headed the company, and steadily
they pressed homeward to the rough and primitive, but nevertheless
hospitable hall of Beowulf the Dane.




CHAPTER II.

STORM CLOUDS.

    "Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news
    Hath but a losing office; and his tongue
    Sounds ever after as a sullen bell,
    Remembered knolling a departed friend."

    Shakespeare.


"Whilst the cooks are busy with our spoil, Beowulf, I propose we
practise at the joust," said Oswald. "Rumour hath it this Count William,
of Normandy, is collecting an army in order to eject our rightful Saxon
king, Harold, from the throne, and ere long we may have these Norman
knights tilting through the ranks of our simple yeomen, who are unused
to this method of warfare; and King Harold and his brothers would be
pleased to have sturdy comrades who would be a match for the Norman at
his own weapons," remarked Oswald.

"Leave the joust to Norman fops, say I, neighbour Oswald, and their
tilting methods to our hardy pikemen, who will know how to deal with
them, never fear. The honest Saxon broadsword is a match for any weapon,
I warrant you. As for this new-fangled Norman joust, as they call it,
why I despise it. Playing at war, with women looking on, and waving
their 'kerchiefs, and simpering, and whimpering about--bah! I wonder
you'll meddle with such stuff, neighbour!" growled Beowulf
contemptuously.

"Thank you, Beowulf, for your compliments, but if I am permitted to
witness your feat of arms, I'll endeavour not to 'simper and whimper
about' if it annoys you. But you men folk can find nothing better to do
than play at war, I know, and therefore I rule it shall be with both the
broadsword and lance," said Ethel.

"Agreed!" cried Oswald; "and our fair cousin Ethel shall be queen of
beauty _a la joute_."

"Mind you don't make a fool or a dolt of yourself, neighbour Oswald,
with your Norman fooleries. But I'll humour you in your folly for the
sake of a bout with the broadsword, in honest Saxon fashion," growled
Beowulf.

When they reached the hall the two young men retired to the armoury, and
presently reappeared clad in complete armour, several lances being borne
by the housecarles. The pair then sprang into their saddles, and Oswald,
partly to joke his opponent, careened round in a circle, mimicking the
gallantry of the Normans, displaying the paces of his charger and his
skill in horsemanship. As he passed Ethel, in mock seriousness he dipped
the point of his lance in salutation of her as queen of beauty. Ethel
endeavoured to disguise it, but the crimson blushes suffused her
countenance for an instant; but there was a quick revolt of maidenly
dignity; her eye flashed, and her foot beat the ground impatiently, as
she exclaimed under her breath,--"I presume he thinks I am but a child
to tease and joke."

Presently the pair took up a position some twenty paces apart, and
prepared to charge. Ethel, fearful of her brother's temper, which was
most uncertain, cried to them, "Will you remember this is but play, and
see you two don't come to blows in good earnest? for I know by
experience that brother Beowulf flies into a rage with me if I poke fun
at him, and what he will do if you poke him in the ribs with that ugly
weapon, Master Oswald, I know not."

"Go to, wench, your tongue is too ready! You would be better seen
superintending the wenches who are roasting hogsflesh, than wagging your
tongue in the presence of men." Then, turning to his friend and comrade
Oswald, he said, "Now, sir, are you ready? Let us be done with this
Norman folly as soon as maybe."

So they laid their lances in rest, and prepared to tilt. Oswald was much
more tall and lithe than his opponent, and much more skilful in the
handling of his charger. Indeed, it seemed almost as though one mind
animated the pair. Beowulf was rather older, bulkier in build, and
better set up, being twenty-three. But he cherished a deep-rooted
aversion and contempt of the Norman leaven which had been stealing over
the land during the late reign of Edward the Confessor, and his pet
aversion was the mode of warfare current amongst Norman gentlemen; and
so he never practised it, except on occasions like the present.

"Now, sirs," iterated Ethel, still fearful, "and especially you,
Beowulf, don't get mad and knock each other's heads off, I tell you
again!"

"Hold your tongue, chattering magpie, and go inside as I bid you! That
is where petticoated jades like you should be when weapons are about,"
said Beowulf. "Now, come on, sir. If we listen to her she'll prate like
a half-fed fowl by the hour together."

So the tilt commenced, and continued for some time, more in play than in
dead earnest, Oswald showing his superior skill by striking Beowulf how
and where he pleased, at the same time handling his horse so perfectly
that Beowulf found no opportunity of striking him squarely. The rough
knocks which he receives, and his want of skill, are most exasperating
to Beowulf, especially so when at last by a skilful manoeuvre Oswald
flings his charger's flank round, bringing his head broadside on of his
opponent, and then ignominiously tilts him out of his saddle to the
ground. Beowulf sprang to his feet, mad with rage, and shouted,--

"Come down from that perch! I'll soon give you quits with a better
weapon!" and away he marched for a couple of broadswords.

Forgetting her dignity in her anxiety over Beowulf's temper, Ethel
tripped up to Oswald and with girlish freedom grasped his arm. "Now,
Master Oswald, you have driven Beowulf mad, as I thought you would. If I
may use his not very complimentary term, I would say, Will you, to
please a _jade_ like me, take care to come off second best in this
sword-play, if it be only to mollify him? for if you don't I am afraid
he will be quite furious."

Oswald laughed and stroked the fair hair of the maiden as he remarked,
"It is well advised, my bright-eyed little dame; I do believe that fair
face is index to a kindly and wholesome mother-wit."

Presently Beowulf returned with a couple of broadswords, but his temper
had abated nothing in the interval. The quick-witted and irrepressible
Ethel noticed this at once, and she banteringly called out to him, "Now,
brother Beowulf, remember this is only sword-play. Don't go and cut
Master Oswald's head off!"

"What! you are still there, are you, jade? I saw you titter when Master
Oswald pushed me out of the saddle. When I've dealt with him, I'll give
you a taste of an ash sapling, since you won't mend your manners when
told."

Ethel burst into a most provoking, merry laugh. "Thank you, brother
Beowulf, for your good intentions; but haven't I told you many times
before, that ash sapling hasn't grown yet?"

"Go to, you chit, you provoke me past endurance!" and he made for her in
an ungovernable rage; but Ethel turned and fled like a gazelle, and
Beowulf knew by past experience that to catch the fleet-footed maiden
was a hopeless task, so he returned to his sword-play.

The diversion of Beowulf's wrath, however, did good, and especially as
Oswald took Ethel's hint, and was clearly second best. So Beowulf's good
humour was completely restored when Ethel pronounced Oswald victor at
the joust, and Beowulf at sword-play. Then Ethel grasped Beowulf's arm,
and they adjourned to the hall.

"How shocking of you, brother Beowulf, to talk of using an ash sapling
to a young lady! You quite humiliated me in Master Oswald's eyes."

"Now go to, Ethel! If you don't give up teasing me I shall do something
to you I shall have to repent of some time."

"Oh, no, you won't, brother Beowulf, I know better than that," said
Ethel, with true sisterly affection.

The castle, or what is more correct, the hall of the Thane Beowulf made
no pretension to architectural style or beauty. It was like its master,
rough, but stout and of massive build. One saw the stoutness of its
walls by a glance at its deep mullion windows, and its massive doors,
formed of double layers of oak, securely fastened and strengthened by
iron bands and bolts. In the large hall there was set a long table down
the centre, loaded with viands and large jugs of ale. Down each side of
the hall also there were side tables, where the housecarles and villeins
fed. But the centre table was reserved for guests, and the more favoured
retainers of the thane. A glance round the hall told at once that
Beowulf still held by the heathenish customs which his viking ancestors
brought over with them. For, conspicuous everywhere, upon wood and stone
and vessels, were carved the characters and devices of their
superstition, known as runes. Here and there also there looked down upon
the banqueters the carved images of Thor and Woden.

On the thane's right hand sat his daughter Ethel, who, since the death
of her mother many years ago, had become a greatly privileged object of
his affection. On his left sat Oswald, son of a Saxon chieftain who had
extensive lands in a neighbouring valley. At the foot of the table sat
his son, who took his own name of Beowulf.

"I hear you have been out hawking to-day, Ethel girl," said the grizzled
old thane, turning to his daughter.

"Yes, father, brother Beowulf said it wasn't fitting for a girl like me
to go to the boar hunt, and Master Oswald then, to his shame, never
spoke a word in my favour, so I must needs perforce stay at home.
Therefore I went out hawking; for brother Beowulf kindly allows that."

"Ha, ha!" giggled the old thane gleefully; "thou art a wild slip of a
girl; too much wit for honest Beowulf. But curb thy tongue," he
continued, stroking her fair hair. "He means thee well. He is honest, is
Beowulf, and brave too. He will do! He will do! Like his old father
maybe, not overloaded with wit, but honest, and never turned back on
friend or foe."

The banquet proceeded in very hearty fashion, which atoned for its
roughness. But there seldom sat at the thane's table any guest afflicted
with a squeamish appetite. So beef, venison, pork, and sundries, along
with wheaten cake and ale, disappeared at an alarming rate.

Whilst the banquet was proceeding, one of the housecarles drew near and
whispered to the thane that Saxon runners had arrived with messages from
the king which permitted no delay.

"Have them ushered in. Kings will be obeyed," said the thane; "and
truly, if they rule well, honest men will never be slack to obey."

So these messengers were ushered in, and the thane addressed them: "What
be your message, gallant fellows, that will not tarry till we have fed,
and ye yourselves have tasted our hospitality? Speak out, men! we have
no secrets here!"

"If it please you, worthy thane, the king hath sent round the war arrow,
and summons all loyal gentlemen, together with their men-at-arms, to
repair to him at York instantly; for the Danes be landed in the Humber
under King Hardrada. Also, Count William, of Normandy, hath prepared him
a fleet of vessels, a thousand in number, and threatens an invasion of
the southern coasts."

"Ye bear a sorry message, my worthy fellows, truly, but ye have only
done your errand. But if two overladen mountain torrents join their
forces in one pent-up little burn, there follows desolation in their
wake. A sorry day for merry England, this, gentlemen--north and south
together distraught."

Then, addressing his guests and retainers, he said, "My guests are their
own masters in this matter. But the men of my household--my son, my
retainers and vassals--most of us come of viking stock; and it may be
sorry work to march against these Danes. But we live on the land, and we
must defend the land."

Immediately a wild shout of approval greeted that saying.

"Further, these greedy plunderers will treat us as Saxons, nor spare
aught we have of goods or cattle; or even our lives. So in this quarrel
we are Saxons, and we will prove it at the sword's point."

This also was greeted with shouts of approval. So the feast came
abruptly to an end. The guests withdrew, to meet again within a week to
do battle with the Danes at Stanford Bridge, since known as
Battle-bridge, and from thence to Hastings' bloody field.




CHAPTER III.

TRAITORS IN COUNCIL.

    "Treason doth never prosper. What's the reason?
    Why, if it prosper, none dare call it treason."

    _Epigram._


We pass over the details of the sturdy struggle and victory over the
Danes at Battle-bridge, and the disastrous defeat of Hastings, except
just to note that the young chieftain Oswald left his father dead on the
battle-field. The next three years were ones of immunity from the
rapacity of the Normans, so far as we were concerned, for they never
ventured so far north. But in the year 1069, whilst William was absent
in Normandy, there was a powerful conspiracy entered into for the
purpose of wresting the kingdom from him. The Danes landed in the
Humber. The Saxons rallied throughout the North. York was taken, and its
garrison of three thousand Normans put to the sword.

Immediately after the wonderful successes which attended the
insurrectionary movement, the leaders of the rebellion hastily called
together at York what was known as a "Thing," or council. All the
leaders of note were summoned. A somewhat motley company they were,
their aims being far from identical, and the elements of disruption and
disunion were on the surface. All of them were excessively elated and
flushed with the complete and wonderful victories achieved--I am sorry
to say, also, very much demoralised by them. The Danish leaders in
particular were so, for they had taken much spoil, plundering friend or
foe pretty much as they listed--plunder being, in fact, their sole
reason for taking part in the movement. Very conspicuous, both by their
dress and demeanour, were these Danish leaders. They were deeply bronzed
and hardy-looking, rough and fierce as warrior seamen who had been wont
all their lives to do battle with foes on land, and often with the
fiercer and still more deadly foe of old ocean. They carried daggers at
their belts, and heavy swords dangled by their sides. The young
chieftain Oswald, whom we have already introduced to the readers, was
there. The few years of stress and struggle since last we met him had
had a marked effect upon him. He had stood by Harold's side at Stanford
Bridge, and marched with him to Hastings, and stood in the forefront of
that historic "wedge" of sturdy Saxons, who defied the utmost efforts of
William's horse and foot to dislodge them. The playfulness of youth had
given place to the stern thoughtfulness of manhood; whilst the tall
figure had broadened in sturdy proportions. He was of commanding
presence, young, handsome, and daring, yet wise as any elder, known
intimately by me, and a very great favourite with me also, and
destined to figure prominently in these records. By his side,
as a near neighbour, as well as a compatriot, sat the young Thane
Beowulf--aforementioned--of another lineage, but still identified with
the Saxon cause, being native born, though by his father's side a
descendant of the Danes who settled in the north of England three
generations earlier. Other leaders also there were, of whom it is not
necessary to speak, as they occupy no further place in these pages.

At the appointed hour Waltheof, the leader of the Saxon forces, entered.
He was a man gifted by nature with the physical proportions which
attract attention. But there was a hesitancy, irresolution, and lack of
force depicted in his countenance, and a wariness and suspicion about
his small, shrinking grey eyes, that were the reverse of reassuring.
Accompanying Waltheof was a Norman knight at whose appearance many
sprang to their feet in amazement. Seeing which, Waltheof introduced the
Norman to the company.

"Worthy thanes and nobles," said he, "this gallant Norman is Baron
Vigneau, one of William's bravest knights, who has been assigned some
lands bordering on the Fen country, and had tacked on to the beggarly
gift, the duty of defending that coast against our allies the Danes, as
well as to assist in keeping in check our brave countryman Hereward. A
weighty charge, I warrant, for such a beggar's dole of barren acres.
This gallant knight comes as emissary of a still more famous Norman, the
Count de Montfort, whose lance wrought such havoc in our ranks at
Hastings. Count de Montfort has good and weighty reasons against the
king, or his councillors, for the base ingratitude with which his
services have been rewarded; and he offers to join hands with us, and
will lead into the field seventeen knights, fully equipped and
accoutred, together with three hundred of foot; all of them men-at-arms,
trained and stout. This worthy knight, Baron Vigneau, of whose prowess
also I have ample proof, is bearer of letters--which I have carefully
examined--from the Count de Montfort, duly signed and sealed, and
bearing ample evidence of good faith. Under the circumstances, I have
taken the liberty to introduce this worthy knight to our council."

This speech was received by many in blank astonishment, and there was
loud and angry murmuring amongst the company, but no one seemed willing
to voice the discontent. Oswald, however, sprang to his feet and said,
"Noble sir, no doubt the credentials presented by this Norman knight are
such as meet with your approval, but I would respectfully urge that no
one should sit at our Council who has not attested his fidelity to our
cause by services rendered in the field of battle; for when this is the
case we have pledges which cannot be shaken off at pleasure."

"A plague on your impudence, boy! You are too ready of the tongue! Let
the elders speak if they have any objections to make!--but I am not in
the habit of having my conduct called in question by a mere youth; and
what is sufficient for me must be sufficient for such as you, and
without cavil. What say our Danish allies? No objection, I see. Then let
us proceed to business." So saying, he took his place at the head of the
board, and the bulky Norman slid into a back seat.

The question to deliberate upon was how to prosecute the war so
auspiciously begun. The Council, however, proceeded to discuss the
question in a very unpromising fashion, the discussion being
characterised by a good deal of blatant braggadocio, and accompanied by
a very free use of the wine-cup.

The chief of the Danes reared aloft his stalwart form and said,--

"My lord, we Danes are wanting to know when we are to make a move south?
We have wasted four good days in drivel and talk, when we should have
been making good our vantage. We might by this time have sacked
Shepfield, Leacaster, and Birmingam, where they tell me the
gold-smiths', armourers', and weavers' crafts are flourishing, and
where, to boot, the Normans have built themselves many pretty house
places full of dainty stuff. All of which we might have pouched whilst
this dog's whelp is abroad!"

"Worthy thane," replied Waltheof, "we are waiting for Malcolm of
Scotland and the young Prince Atheling, for we expect the Saxons of the
south will rally to the standard of the Prince. We also have to remember
that the Normans are more thickly posted farther south, and we must
therefore have all our forces up."

"Tut, tut! Cowardice is at the bottom of it all, as I thought. But what
care we for the Norman dogs? and what care we for a baby prince who
cannot be brought to the fray? We want the spoils, and there is none to
be had cowering here like a fox in his hole. If we are not to move south
at once, why then we take the tide the morn's even, and leave you to
face the bear when he comes to his lair as best you can."

At this juncture the attention of every member of the council was
suddenly arrested by the advent of a messenger who suddenly burst into
the room, with the perspiration pouring off him by reason of the hot
haste with which he had ridden.

"How now, fellow! what news hast thou which calls for such haste?" said
Waltheof.

"My lords," exclaimed the messenger, "I have ridden all speed to make
known unto you that the Norman is back again in England, and that he is
rapidly marching northwards at the head of an army; he being not more
than two days' march to the south."

If a thunderbolt had dashed into the room instead of this messenger, the
effect could not have been greater. Waltheof turned pale as death, and
peered nervously about the room, as though he expected to be instantly
confronted by the dreaded presence of the king. Several also rose from
their seats and promptly slid out of the room in dismay at the tidings.
The Danish rovers were not slow to note this arrant cowardice, and one
of them immediately jumped to his feet in fierce exasperation at this
conduct, and sneeringly shouted, "Ha, ha! the Saxon caitiffs are
slinking off at the mention of this dog of a Norman! Never mind, let the
cowards go. I pledge me a health to the Danish warriors, who will dare
to fight the cowardly Saxons' battle for them; but we'll see to't that
the Danish war-ships shall bear away the spoil," and as he spoke he
gulped down a huge draught of wine.

"Excuse me, worthy thane," said Oswald, the young Saxon chieftain,
starting to his feet at these taunts; "let me tell you the Saxons have
their virtues, and valour too, not one whit behind that of your
countrymen."

"Whew! Virtues say you?" bawled the quarrelsome and half-drunken Dane.
"Aye, marry! Saxons can preach you a homily with any shaveling priest in
the land, or simper as chastely as any wench. Virtues! Ha, ha! Ho, ho!
_Maugre!_ Virtues by the bushel, I warrant you, sirs. Marry, anything,
in fact, but fight. Ha, ha! Virtues! Thou hast well said it, and aptly
too, young suckling! If I were a Saxon I'd don my mother's petticoats."

"Hear me, thane," retorted Oswald, repressing with great difficulty the
rising choler. "You are our ally, and that shall be some excuse for your
unseemly mouthing; but hark you to this for a moment. Your memory does
not seem quite long enough to remember Battle-bridge and the precious
figure cut by your countrymen on that occasion against the Saxon; and
yet it is not more than four years agone. Hark you to this also, friend;
I warrant you will find, ere this war be done, that Saxons can fight as
bravely as any Dane that ever wielded sword."

But the Dane persisted in his irritating and quarrelsome jesting.
"Saxons fight?" he bawled, "Why, come, that is a joke, anyhow! I say,
young Milkfed, tell me, if you can, what of this? How comes it to pass
that either Norman or Dane, or even the tricky Scot, come when they list
to crow on the Saxons' dunghill? How comes it also, my valiant Saxon
cub, that you should ask us to come and help you fight this dog of a
Norman? Read me that riddle, can you, boy? You besought us to come and
help you, and here we are. I wish you joy of it. You'll be well rid when
we go; for if we get not Norman booty, I warrant we will have Saxon, if
we skin every Saxon churl in the island for it. What think you to that,
young Sixfoot, eh?"

The altercation seemed likely to develop into a serious quarrel, but at
this juncture a Danish messenger crept slily into the room, and, nudging
his leader's elbow, whispered something in his ear, at which he jumped
to his feet and turned to his comrade, and between them a brief and
excited conversation was carried on in an undertone; the result being
that immediately the pair hurriedly withdrew from the room. Oswald, who
had been watching these Danes with a suspicious eye, immediately turned
to the leader, Waltheof; but he beheld with astonishment that the
leader's chair was empty; Waltheof, amid the clamour of voices, having
noiselessly slipped out of the room.

"Ah, ah! what now?" he ejaculated, leaping to his feet and dragging his
comrade Beowulf to the door. "There is something ominous in all this,
Beowulf. It bodes no good to the Saxon cause, mark me."

"What is it, think you, Oswald, that breeds this fear and distrust in
the breasts of our leaders?"

"I know not, Beowulf, but, by the rood! I cannot believe that the mere
mention of the Norman's name breeds this cowardice and panic in the
breasts of our leaders. 'Tis not fear that has overtaken these Danes,
mark me, but something more potent. They are at best but hirelings, and
are as treacherous as the foul fiend. They will not scruple to betray us
for a paltry bribe if it be offered; and this Norman is astute enough to
know that they have their price."

"That is not the extent of the mischief, Oswald. I marked this Waltheof
closely, and I like not his looks at all. The coward's blood forsook his
cheek instantly at the mention of the Norman's name. I warrant him a
coward and traitor at heart, or I know not a coward when I see him."

"What is to be done, Beowulf!"

"We must stand to it like men. We know our duty, and to turn tail like a
whipped hound ere we have seen this Norman's face would be worse than
cowardice."

"Then we must place ourselves at the head of our men forthwith; for if
any idle rumours reach their ears, I would not answer for it. Indeed, if
William be within striking distance we must bestir ourselves, for if he
find us unprepared, he knows well how to push his vantage against an
unready foe."

Thus this ill-starred Council came to an end, and it left the Saxons as
a rope of sand, without cohesion, without any definite plan of attack or
of defence--a ready prey for a wily and daring commander. In bitter
dejection, and with forebodings of impending disaster, one by one the
members passed out, each one to pursue his own course.

When the Saxon members of the Council had one and all left the room,
then uprose the bulky and sinister-looking figure of the Norman
emissary, from a seat in a shaded corner, where, unobserved, he had been
quietly taking note of the wretched divisions of the Saxon Council. As
he came forward he burst into a hoarse and derisive laugh, and
exclaimed, "Here's a go anyhow--ha, ha! A precious revolt it is! A man
would be an ass to pin his fortunes to a quarrelsome rabble like this.
Why, I warrant me they would cut one another's throats at a word! And
then how the bubble burst up at the mere mention of the Conqueror's
name! But where are my precious letters?" said he, fumbling in his
doublet for something, and eventually pulling out a packet carefully
folded with a silken band, and sealed in several places by a huge seal
with the crest and quarterings of the famous Count De Montfort. "Ha, ha,
my precious!" said he, turning the missive over and eyeing it with
savage delight. "I'm glad I kept possession of you. You are a treasure!
I'll not part with you yet awhile," and he carefully thrust the letter
back again within his doublet. "Ha, ha!" said he, scowling demoniacally,
"De Montfort will finger that missive no more until he makes good his
bargain with me. I'll have his proud daughter as the price of this, or
we'll see what will come to pass. I have my own belt to buckle as well
as De Montfort; and I'll do it now after my own humour. I'll no longer
dangle like a moonstruck suitor at my lady's skirts, and wag my tail
like any spaniel if I should chance to get a word or a smile. I have
been meek and humble long enough; but now Vigneau shall be first, for I
have got him! Trapped, by ----! He thought he would play the traitor,
did he? fool and dolt that he is! One would have thought him wiser than
to do his treason second-hand. He makes pretence of wisdom, but he acts
the fool at times as roundly as any clown. But I'll no more of this
anyhow. I do believe the Saxon clowns have scurried off to their holes
like a parcel of rats already. I must be off too, for if the _tanner's_
son should catch me at my present business, it will go bad with my hide
I'm feared; and I should like to keep my skin whole a little longer,
come what may. Ho, ho!" said he, bursting again into hoarse laughter. "I
wonder what Odo or Fitz-Osborne would give to know of this little freak
of De Montfort's! The wily Odo has ousted him from William's councils
already, and if he had possession of this"--thumping his chest where the
missive lay--"he'd have De Montfort's head in a trice. Enough! that will
do for me." So saying, he vanished from the hall.

Meanwhile, the second messenger, at whose communication the Danish
sea-rovers had vanished from the Council, proved to be an emissary of
the wily Conqueror--his purpose being to negotiate with the Danes, and
with Waltheof, conditions on which they would retire from the fray.
Scarcely were they outside than he said to these Danes,--

"My master offers to you five hundred ounces of beaten gold, and a free
passage for your vessels, together with such plunder as you can wrest
from the Saxons."

"Five hundred ounces of gold is a sorry price for a wealthy king like
your master to offer for such a service," said one of the Danes. "But
come now, if your master will make it one thousand ounces, to be
delivered over by sunset to-morrow; together with our plunder, and such
as we can further gather; why then, within twenty-four hours our vessels
shall be ploughing the northern seas for home."

"Done!" said the messenger. "My hand on it. The gold shall be delivered
over to you by sunset to-morrow, as you say."

No sooner was this bargain made than the spy turned his attention to
Waltheof, a man treacherous by instinct, and cowardly by nature. It is
scarcely necessary to say, he grasped only too eagerly at the promised
free pardon, coupled as it was with large grants of land and estates.
With the Saxon forces thus weakened and demoralised, William knew the
remnant of this powerful conspiracy would be crushed with the utmost
ease by him.




CHAPTER IV.

DEFEAT.

      "What though the field be lost?
    All is not lost."

    _Paradise Lost._


Oswald the Saxon, and Beowulf the Saxon Dane, passed out into the night,
and continued their course beyond the gates of the city, which were so
broken down that they served no longer the purpose for which they were
erected. The walls also for considerable distances were thrown down, and
in a state of disrepair. The insurrectionary forces had determined to
push forward in the king's absence, but in the meantime they were
halting, waiting for Malcolm of Scotland, and for further counsel. They
were encamped some miles away on the banks of the river running between
York and the head of the estuary of the Humber, where the Danish
war-vessels were anchored. The Danes held the head of the estuary,
throwing out their forces Yorkward, but encamped sufficiently near to
cover their vessels, in the event of an attack upon them. Waltheof, the
leader and commander-in-chief of the Saxon forces, occupied a central
position, having under his command the bulk of the rebels; whilst
Oswald, Beowulf, and others, occupied the right wing, which to a certain
extent covered the city. On the news of William's landing, the bridges
were thrown down, but in many places the river was fordable, during dry
weather, both for man and horse. But to effect this in the face of
sturdy enemies was a most formidable task, and the Saxons were
sufficiently numerous to guard the river effectually wherever it was
fordable.

Early in the morning, after the breaking up of the council of war, the
scouts brought in the intelligence that William had arrived within six
miles, and ere nightfall the pennants of the Normans were flying within
sight of the Saxon forces.

Very little of that night was spent by Oswald in rest. Twice he
patrolled the whole length of the river under his command, visiting and
cheering every outpost. But judge how great was his consternation, and
that of his forces also, when, with the dawning of the morning, the
fraction of the Saxons commanded by him were made painfully aware of the
fact that the Normans had passed the river, unopposed, in the night; and
worse than that, there began to be ominous rumours that this had arisen
through the treachery of Waltheof--that he, having been bribed by the
Conqueror, had left the remnant to their fate. In these straits time was
precious, for the Normans were advancing up the river, doubling up the
Saxon outposts, and throwing them back on the main body. Hastily a
council of war was called, and not a few, in face of the danger and the
hopelessness of their cause in the midst of such treachery, were for
dispersing without a blow; but Oswald, addressing them, said,--

"I fear it is too true that there is treachery in our ranks; but as yet
we know not its extent. If Waltheof has succumbed to William's bribes,
there are still the Danes, who will be able to harass the rear of our
enemy. Hourly, also, we are expecting Malcolm of Scotland and the
Atheling, so that we need not despair. Let us make a bold stand; the
battle is by no means lost if the Danes stand firm. Now, with our
handful of men it is utterly impossible to meet the Normans in the open
country; for they will double our left flank easily and surround us. But
on the fringe of yonder dense wood, with our line extended under cover
of the thicket, and where the enemy's horse will be absolutely
useless--where also our men will be quite in their element and be able
to ply their long bows with deadly effect, and their spears or swords at
close quarters--we shall surely avoid, in any case, the wholesale
slaughter of our men; and we shall administer a severe check to
William's march."

The force of this sage advice was seen at once by the leaders, and the
forces accordingly retired to the wood in their rear, and took up their
fighting attitude just within its shelter. The Saxons, who were brave
individually, were still undisciplined and incapable of acting together
with precision in the open; but they were wonderfully heartened by this
movement, which gave them shelter from the onslaughts of the enemy's
horse--a mode of warfare which has at all times had a demoralising
effect upon untrained soldiers. So, having their right flank resting on
the river, and in consequence shielded from any flank movement there,
they threw out their left considerably, so as to prevent, if possible,
any over-lapping by the Normans. They were the better able to do this,
seeing that the enemy's horse were totally unable to charge through
their attenuated lines; the jungle being an effectual barrier to this.
Oswald arranged his men in two fighting lines. The foremost ranks, with
spear and sword, were to resist the advance of the Normans. The second
were bowmen, who were to cover the front ranks by letting fly their
arrows in the faces of the foe; a most ingenious and effective
expedient. To Beowulf he entrusted the command of the left wing, with
instructions to in no case permit the Normans to outflank them, but, if
necessary, to double in the left flank also, until it rested on the
river.

Scarcely had Oswald time to make this careful disposition of his men ere
the vanguard of the Normans were upon them. But a shower of arrows from
the Saxons at close quarters thoroughly disconcerted them. So fiercely
were they met, and by a force whose numbers they had no means of
gauging, that they deemed it prudent to retire beyond bowshot until the
remainder of the forces advanced to their support. Then came a more
determined assault on the Saxons' position. But, from behind trees and
shrubs, the concealed defenders drave their short spears through each
assailant, or clave them with their short Saxon swords or battle-axes.
Oswald and others, who were clad in armour, boldly fronted them in every
gap, making great havoc in the ranks of the men-at-arms, or singling out
the Norman leaders and engaging them.

In the midst of the fray, one noteworthy incident occurred. Oswald, to
his amazement, saw the burly Norman, Vigneau, who had come with
professions of help, now fighting fiercely against them. Immediately his
blood was fired, and pressing steadily towards him, eventually they met
face to face.

"Ah, treacherous villain!" said Oswald. "This is your friendship for our
cause, is it? I have a particular message for tricksters and sneaking
traitors like you."

"Come on, varlet of a Saxon, and don't stand prating like some gowky
wench, and I'll quickly give thee thy quietus," said Vigneau savagely.

Instantly there ensued a most desperate encounter between these two
powerful combatants. Each of them, however, wore a suit of armour, and
carried a shield, and each one was most skilful in the use of his
weapons, so that, desperate and determined as they both were, no
conclusive blow resulted. But whilst the duel progressed, the general
body of the Normans made steady progress, in spite of the valour of the
Saxons, and speedily Oswald was quite surrounded, though totally
oblivious of the fact. One stalwart Saxon, however, who had fought by
Oswald's side--by name Wulfhere--saw the imminent danger in which his
leader was placed, and he rushed to his rescue, quickly cleaving his way
through; and seizing Oswald, he exclaimed,--

"Master, you will be cut off if you don't keep in fighting line with
us!"

This fierce reminder awoke Oswald to the peril of his position, and he
said to his antagonist, "Another time, villain, will come, when I hope
we may effectually finish this quarrel."

"Sooner and better, churl; but for the present your better plan is to
run away," retorted Vigneau.

In the meantime, although the Saxons had extended their lines to the
utmost limits which the sparsity of their men would permit, the Normans
surged round and completely overlapped them. So Beowulf was compelled to
initiate the movement ordered by Oswald, and the left wing was gradually
doubled back until it also converged on the river; and thus the line of
battle was in the form of a semicircle. The Saxons fought with
desperation, disputing every inch of the ground, and strewing the
ground, yard by yard, with the Norman slain. The masterly skill with
which their ground had been chosen and their defence planned, gave them
great advantage, and enabled them to maintain the unequal contest for
nearly an hour. But ultimately the quivers of the archers were emptied
of every shaft, and the battle could no longer be maintained with
advantage, but would probably end in complete massacre. So Oswald
selected a spot where the river was fordable; then, he and a hundred
stalwart Saxons stood shoulder to shoulder, keeping the enemy at bay
whilst the rank and file crossed the stream. Then, gradually narrowing
their own circle until every one had taken the river, the last
half-dozen, with their faces to the foe, fought their way across.

When they had reached the opposite side, the order was given for
dispersal, and the gallant band melted away, and severally, or in bands,
sought their distant homes. Thus ended in total failure, through
cowardice and treachery, what at one time seemed, in its very marked
success, a conspiracy that would ultimately wrest the kingdom from the
usurper.




CHAPTER V.

DESPERATE RESOLVES.

    "Cowards die many times before their death
    The valiant never taste of death but once."

    Shakespeare.


"The Saxon cause is lost, Wulfhere, by base-hearted cowardice and
treachery," said Oswald, turning to the stalwart "freeman" already
introduced to the reader. "Look to the rear, though I think the Normans
have had such a taste of our quality that there will be no pursuit for
the present; but henceforth we may look to it, for there will be--unless
I greatly misjudge the Norman king--a bitter revenge exacted from us,
and untempered in the least degree by mercy. We have our broadswords
left to us, and we have proved this day that they have a keen edge and
bite as sharp as ever. We have a few bowmen, also, who can shoot
straight; but for our shelter I fear me we shall have but the dense
forest, and the rugged hills of our native Craven for our defence. But
they are a defence familiar to us, and no battering-ram or assault of
besiegers will avail our foe. Let them drive the wolf to bay if they
dare, and they shall find he has sharp teeth. Well, to me, Wulfhere, a
life of valorous freedom is better than servile slavery and degraded
serfdom."

"I join you there, my lord. A ceorl born, a ceorl for ever. That is my
charter. I will maintain it to the death," said Wulfhere.

The conclusions of Oswald, with regard to the revenge which the Normans
would exact, proved only too true. Like a conflagration, the sanguinary,
mercenary host spread themselves over the northern part of the kingdom,
and desolation and death spread their ghastly wings over the land.
William's aim evidently was to decimate the population, and thus make
any further revolt utterly impossible.

I forbear, however, to enter into the details of the wholesale slaughter
which followed after the Saxons were put to the rout at York, in mercy
to the reader.

So, at the word of command, the followers of Oswald moved away from the
fatal field, with celerity, but in perfect order. The close of the
second day brought them home again. Bitterly sad our hearts were at the
tidings they brought us, and at sight of the thinned ranks of stout and
hardy yeomen who went out from us on this last desperate venture. The
Earl addressed the following words to them, as we stood together in the
monastery grounds: "My trusty followers, my faithful friends,--We have
probably not more than forty-eight hours before we shall be face to face
again with the hated Norman foe--on our own lands, and at the thresholds
of our own homes. Do not let us, because of this short respite, close
our eyes to what will inevitably follow. Neither age nor sex will be
spared, though we should crawl at their feet, and grovel in the dust.
The only thing these Normans will respect is the broadsword, as it
flashes at their breast, or the arrow, glancing unerringly through the
branches of the trees in the forest fastnesses. I advise you to take to
the hills; the caves will form in some respects a shelter for your wives
and little ones. Carry your cattle along with you to the hills and
mountain gorges. Your corn, your cooking utensils--in short, everything
of value and of service--take along with you. There are men here from
every corner of our domain. Tell your neighbours, and make haste; even
the minutes are precious. I shall contrive, if I live, to protect you
for the present, and until my castle is taken you will be absolutely
safe."

As the men moved slowly away to their homes in the distant hamlets,
bearers of the sorrowful news, the Earl turned to Wulfhere.

"Well, Wulfhere, my resolve is taken. I shall not cower before, or
servilely beg for freedom at the hands of the proudest Norman of them
all. Further, I shall not fly over sea, and sell my sword to a foreign
potentate. Yonder, in the distance, I can descry the turrets of my
castle. I was born there, and I shall defend it to the last; and when
driven from it, it will still be a joy to sit on the hillsides and gaze
upon the old home. There are likewise these followers of mine, who have
followed me everywhere and blindly done my bidding. It were dastardly
conduct to give them over now to sanguinary massacre. When, as a boy,
with falcon on my arm and hound at my heel, I hied me o'er these lands,
my faithful yeomen welcomed me everywhere, and their good wives brought
out their daintiest morsel and their sweetest mead. We shall stand or
fall together. Who knows? The Saxon star may some day be in the
ascendant again, and we may push the Normans from our shores. What
sayest thou, Wulfhere?"

"Your purpose, my lord, if I understand you aright, is to defend the
castle so long as you can, and then try to hold the Normans at bay by
means of the shelter which the woods and the hills afford."

"That is my present purpose. I can scarcely hope to hold the castle,
except for a little while, but I may thus materially check the
desolating march of the Normans. But ultimately I look to the woods and
the hills for permanent safety. We are more fortunate than our
countrymen in other parts of the kingdom. If we look to the north we see
the stately Hanging-brow mountain, lifting itself to the sky and girdled
with the clouds, and those dense woods, which, like a vast army
clambering up its sides, will fight for us in our onslaught, and shield
us in our flight. The waters also shed on its brow by the clouds which
nestle well-nigh perpetually on its shoulders, and go leaping down its
sides with the fierceness of a cataract, have ploughed into the
mountain's seamy sides gorges impassable to untrained feet. Look, to the
east a few miles we have the scarcely less remarkable Weirdburn hills.
To the south, Baldby heights. Think also of the dense woods which
everywhere abound in this Craven of ours. Then, like myself, you will
see that in no other part of the land has Nature so combined to shelter
the friendless and protect the oppressed. Further, we are quite two
hundred and fifty miles from London. Though the Normans will come very
surely to despoil the land, William will speedily draw off his forces,
and we shall have but to cope with the Norman who usurps my lands and
castle, holding it probably with a slender garrison. For the present we
are unequal to the task of contending in open warfare with our foe. We
will contend with him with the most effective weapons we possess; and
these are cunning and evasion. There shall be no solid front presented
to him at which he can aim an effective blow. But when the Normans have
overrun the land, and the bulk of them gone hence, then we will present
a bolder front, and assert our right to share the land, and cultivate
the soil."

"What do you purpose in this dire emergency, reverend Father?" said he,
turning to me. "Have you any purpose of defending the Abbey?"

"No, my lord," said I; "we are the disciples of the Prince of Peace, and
we must follow His example. And indeed, carnal weapons would not protect
us if we were minded to use them, and this sacred edifice would suffer
irreparably by our resistance. Perhaps these untamed and bloody men may
have some regard for the sanctity of these walls. We will throw open our
gates to receive them. Those of our servants and followers who prefer to
trust to the woods and the hills, as you advise, are free to do so.
Those who prefer to stay--together with any unhappy fugitives who have
fled hither for shelter--will join the monks in prayers and
supplications, in the sanctuary. Perhaps God will give us favour in the
eyes of our enemies."

"Give us your blessing, Father," said Oswald, falling on his knees and
meekly uncovering his head, all his followers humbly following his
example.

"Adieu, my son," said I, laying my hand upon his head. "May the God of
our fathers nerve thy arm for the protection of thy humbler fellows, and
give thee wisdom and discretion in this terrible day of thy country's
visitation!"

With tearful eyes I watched the receding form of this noble Saxon. No
carnal offspring could be dearer to an earthly parent than he to me. I
had watched over him from infancy, educated him, travelled with him in
many foreign lands; and I hoped he would be a great leader in
statesmanship, in learning, and in all the arts of peace. Now, alas! I
fear circumstance will make him a man of war, and a stern leader of
bloody and desperate men.




CHAPTER VI.

BARON VIGNEAU.

    "All is lost save honour."


Early on the morrow, strange rumours and stories, which made the blood
curdle, were brought to the monastery by refugees from far and near.
Both gentle and simple fled hither, being buoyed up by the widespread,
but in this case delusive notion, that sanctuary walls would be sacredly
respected. Amongst the number was the lovely daughter of the worthy
Thane Beowulf, who, along with his son, had been slain in resisting the
advance of the Normans. My heart sank within me as I looked upon her
great beauty, realising with painful vividness how helpless and impotent
I was to protect her--well knowing that lust and rapine, let loose,
would not be awed or restrained even by the sanctity of the Church.

I had commanded the monks, with all refugees, to repair to the chapel
for prayer, whilst I at the first summons repaired to the gate with some
of the housecarles and lay brothers, and commanded the gates to be
thrown open, when in poured a motley crowd of soldiers and men-at-arms,
evidently bent on plunder, and totally uncontrolled by any sort of
discipline. The crowd surged by me and carried me along, deriding my
entreaties to be heard. One leader, in complete armour, and whom I
afterwards ascertained to be Baron Vigneau, I appealed to in vain. He
rudely pushed me aside with an oath, bidding me say my prayers to the
devil, for he would soon have me and my monkish crew.

One party made a dash for the northern extremity of the enclosure, where
were the outbuildings, in which our cattle, sheep and goats, and
numerous attendants were housed. These servants, however, made their
exit, with all speed, from the northern gate, as they saw the Normans
enter at the south. One, Badger as he was called by his companions, who
was keeper of the hounds and hawks--a mighty hunter, who kept our larder
well stocked with venison, and fish, and game of every kind--held his
ground. A sly rogue was Badger--so called from his propensity for
hunting these animals and clothing himself in their skins. For hunting,
hawking, and fishing, he was a prodigy. He was well-nigh fleet as a
hare, and could swim like an otter; and had wherewithal so sly a humour,
and such shrewdness, that he was a great favourite with me, and I had
taken pains to add such instruction as I thought would be serviceable to
him. The reader will pardon me this digression. But this Badger was such
an active agent in the subsequent troublous times, and served the Saxon
cause so well, both by his matchless cunning and his rare valour, that I
have taken the trouble to introduce the reader to him at such great
length. A most grotesque figure he presented on this fateful morning,
clothed as he was from head to foot in skins.

"Hilloa!" roared one trooper to another, as they set eyes upon him.
"What the deuce kind of an animal is this?"

"The foul fiend, or one of his imps, by Moses!" rejoined the other.

"Who are you, Satan?" said the first one, riding up to him and giving
him a hearty thwack across the shoulders with the flat of his sword; at
which Badger set up a most hypocritical howl. "Stash that, will you, you
lump of hog's-flesh, or I'll make pork of you in a twinkling! Where are
your cronies? Have you buried them, you old grave-digger?"

"Oh, hang him, Jaques!" chimed in the other impatiently. "Don't bother
with the slobbering clown! But I've a notion it is a dry shop in this
quarter; you had better get back again to the jolly friars, if you would
have venison pasties and old ale. But I'm going to have a look round,
and see if they have left a hack or two better than mine. They haven't
left a worse, I'm blowed! I don't believe he is a horse. He's only a
shadow and a half; the wind was just going to carry him off when I took
him: so I committed no robbery when I stole him. I vow it's only my
weight which keeps him in this world at all. Gee up, old marrow-bones!
Your old backbone will do to shave the monks with. I wonder I'm not
split up the middle by this. I verily believe my trunk is shorter by a
good six inches than my legs, and I've only been perched on your old
razor-rig these three days. Heigh-up! Jaques," continued he, suddenly
wheeling round, "if you find a tap of good old ale before I get back,
hold on to it till I come! I'm as thirsty as a sponge that hasn't had a
soaking for twenty years. I could suck up half a hogshead easily. My
soul is oozing away through the pores in my body, and all for lack of
moisture."

Meanwhile, the monks, together with numerous refugees, chiefly women,
were gathered in the church, vainly trusting to the sanctity of the
place for protection. I had no faith in this, however, and had taken the
precaution to have our most valuable and costly treasures of silver and
gold and books conveyed to the sacristy, a barrel-vaulted apartment near
the south transept, led down to by a flight of stone steps, which were
cunningly covered over by the flagging of the floor. This had been
designed expressly for the hiding of our valuables when a raid was
anticipated by the Scots or Danes.

Many of the Normans, I noticed, made at once for the church. No doubt
they fancied the richest booty would there be found. They rudely burst
open the doors, and I pressed in with them. At once the fierce and
undisciplined soldiery commenced to break and plunder everything. I
advanced towards the leader, Vigneau, and prostrated myself before him
to beg for mercy for the refugees. Alas! He furiously spurned me with
his heavy boot, and cried to his men, "Ho, men! here are a lot of scurvy
monks! Kill the rats in their hole!" Prompt to obey, the soldiers let
fly a volley of arrows amongst the helpless throng huddled about the
altar steps, and wounded many of them. Unhappily, Vigneau at that moment
espied the lovely Ethel crouching amongst them. "Stay, men!" he shouted.
"By Jupiter, here's the loveliest Saxon wench my eyes have seen. You may
take the gold and silver baubles and melt them into zechins. Here's my
share of the plunder!" Immediately he seized Ethel and dragged her from
the steps of the high altar. "Nay, nay, wench," said he, "never be so
shy! Thou wert intended for better company than simpering monks and
friars. Damnation!" he roared, suddenly releasing her, staggering back a
pace or two and staring aghast at her; for she had sprung at him and
driven with all her force at his chest a small dagger she held in her
hand. The dagger rattled upon his mailed chest, but left him scathless.
Still she stood confronting him, like a panther at bay.

"By Jove!" he roared, as soon as he had recovered from his astonishment.
"Here's mettle anyhow! I little thought there was so much spirit behind
that pretty face. All the better however, for milk and water is no good
even in a wench. Here goes for another embrace, my bantam!" So saying,
he seized her with his mailed hands, and wrested the dagger from her,
pitching it across the church. Then he literally tucked her under his
arm, all the while roaring with laughter at her frantic but ineffectual
efforts to release herself, and away he marched down the aisle of the
church. I seized his arm, and was imploring him to have pity, when he
called to a rough-looking soldier. "Here, fellow, run this shaveling
priest through with thy sword, quick!" I gave myself up for a dead man,
for I felt that I could not let him carry off Ethel, when suddenly there
was a hush of voices, and looking round I beheld a Norman lady, of
majestic port and bearing, pressing forward towards us, whilst close
behind her there followed a score of armed men. I perceived at once that
she was a lady of rank by her rich apparel and jewelled head-dress. She
was also of surpassing loveliness and commanding figure. As she beheld
the brutal Norman, I saw the fire flash in her rich dark eyes, as with
quick step she marched boldly up to him and accosted him in words almost
of fire. "I think this is another evidence, Baron, of your base and
unchivalrous regard for the distressed of my sex, by the brutal way in
which you are treating this helpless Saxon lady! You afford me ample
opportunities of testing your gallantry, and better opportunities, too,
than listening to your false and honeyed words, which you are pleased to
pour into my ears."

"These are but Saxon varlets, Alice; and Saxon varlets, whether male or
female, are not fitting objects of chivalry to a Norman knight."

"Chivalry is for the oppressed and weak of any nation. So be pleased to
release this lady, and cease harrying these holy and unresisting men."

"Take care what you are at, madame!" savagely hissed the Baron, between
his teeth, "or your meddlesome interference with business which does not
concern you will be at your peril. Mark that, _ma grande dame_!"

"Let go the arm of this lady, I say, and leave this sanctuary at once,
or I shall report your conduct to the Count forthwith."

"Tell the Count, madame, if he dare, to look in the wolf's mouth and
count his teeth, and he'll not do it twice, you may mark that!"

He let go of Ethel, however, and, muttering savagely many fierce oaths,
he strode out of the church, followed very reluctantly by his men.

"Jules Reynard," said the lady, addressing the leader of her men, "do
your best to protect this holy place, and the lives of these monks."
Jules Reynard acquiesced by a low obeisance. "Lady," she said,
addressing Ethel, "I grieve very much at the rude treatment and
mishandling you have been subjected to at the hands of these savage men.
If you like to accept my protection, I think I can protect you from
further annoyance and insult."

"I thank you, madame," said Ethel, "but this cannot be. Your people have
burnt my home, basely slaughtered my father and my brother, and I
prefer, whether living or dying, to company with my own people."

The Norman lady heaved a deep sigh. "Alas! I daresay it is but too true,
and I can well understand your feelings; but I will strive to be a
sister to you, if you will come with me."

"Say no more, lady; this cannot be."

"Well, then, we must part. But, mark me--though it is hard to say it of
one's people--look for no compassion at the hands of my people, and
beware especially of him from whom you have just escaped, for 'his
tender mercies are cruel.'"

"I look for no compassion at the hands of the Normans, nor will I seek
it or suffer it. The hands that are red with my kinsmen's blood, cannot
be grasped in amity by me. There is a deep and bloody barrier betwixt me
and thee, which a lifetime cannot erase," said Ethel bitterly.

"Alas! alas! Nevertheless, adieu, lady; we may meet again. If I can
befriend you in any way, how gladly will I do it, to the very utmost of
my power!" With that she hastily left the chapel--as I learnt
afterwards, to try and stay as much as possible the fierce bloodshed and
rapine of the soldiery. But it is needless to say her efforts were to
little purpose, for though she managed to have them cleared out of the
sanctuary, ere long they were back again, and, like greedy hawks, they
pounced upon everything, no matter how sacred the purpose to which
articles of value were devoted. They carried off the silver table of the
high altar, the silver cups, dalmatics, censers of silver; in fact,
everything ornamented with silver or gold. Speedily the whole of our
possessions were at their mercy, excepting the things I had secreted as
aforesaid. To complete this sad day's work, when nothing more of value
could be had, they turned their attention to our cellarer's store of
wines and ale, and the rest of the day, and the night also, was spent in
drunkenness and carousing. The whole of the night was spent by the monks
in prayer and fasting, whilst for the most part our refugees were glad
to escape to the woods, being thankful if only they could do so with
their lives. A sad day's work this for the sanctuary which had taken
generations to bring it to its high state of usefulness and piety!




CHAPTER VII.

ALICE DE MONTFORT.

    "And thus I clothe my naked villainy
    With old odd ends, stol'n out of holy writ,
    And seem a saint, when most I play the devil."

    Shakespeare.


My readers, I am sure, will pardon me for passing over the bitter
sufferings and humiliation I and the members of our Order had to endure,
and the still more harrowing cruelties and bloodshed heaped upon the
common people, who, despite the Earl's advice, still clung to their
homes and their patches of land.

We therefore proceed to follow the fortunes of certain characters who
are the central figures in our history. In reality the history of our
time was made by the important actors, the common people playing a very
ignoble part, and being little better than chattels and instruments of
the leaders' wills.

The Normans overran the adjacent country like a flood let loose, leaving
desolation behind them. Indeed, if the Saxons had not fled before, and
secreted themselves, their wives, their children, and their cattle,
there would have been nothing but annihilation and utter extermination.
The main body of the Normans swarmed forwards like locusts as soon as
they had devastated one part. But the castle of the youthful Ealdorman
Oswald could not be taken without siege operations. Its splendid
situation and rich lands attracted the cupidity of the De Montfort
already mentioned, and he sat down before it with the determination to
take possession of it and the splendid domain belonging thereto.

Carefully De Montfort reconnoitred the castle from all points, and
though it had no pretension to invulnerability, yet it was plain to him
that some days must elapse before he would be sufficiently prepared to
venture an assault upon it.

In the meantime, however, he despatched heralds to summon Oswald to
surrender. The Saxon paced the walls, clad in complete armour, and in
person directed the labours of the housecarles who laboured at
strengthening and repairing the fortifications; whilst a score or so of
his choicest bowmen, with well-stocked quivers, were set apart for the
defence of those who toiled.

The heralds, three in number, rode up to the walls, and, after blowing a
blast from their bugles, they accosted Oswald thus:--

"What ho, there, Saxon!"

To which Oswald responded,--

"What ho, there! What message have ye from your master?--I perceive ye
are messengers."

"Our master, the valiant Count de Montfort, of great renown and valour,
giveth thee summons to deliver up to him, within the space of
twenty-four hours, without let or hindrance, this castle, with the
appurtenances thereof."

"What conditions doth your master tender if we yield to his wishes, and
without resistance obey his summons?"

"De Montfort hath given us this message: 'Yield thee forthwith without
conditions, and trust to our clemency.' Defiance of our summons is
torture and death."

"Tell your master that we have too many illustrations of his clemency,
and that of Norman tyrants generally, to put any trust or reliance in
his word. If he would fain have possession of this castle, tell him he
must first take it, for we put no faith in his professions of clemency;
and that we defy him and his myrmidons to wrest this castle from us."

These were brave words, and intended to inspire his own followers; but
no one knew better than he where victory must inevitably rest. Many
times had he told over the number of the Norman tents pitched little
more than a bowshot away. With sinking heart he had noted the masses of
archers and men-at-arms who swarmed around the camp by day. In the
stillness of night he had crept within earshot of wary sentinels in
company of Wulfhere the freeman, in the hope that some chance, or some
overweening confidence on the part of the enemy, might afford the
opportunity for some desperate deed of valour. But de Montfort was far
too wise and experienced a soldier to permit negligence or
over-confidence to prevail. The pickets at all points were thickly
posted and kept on the alert by patrols.

The tents of the Count de Montfort and his daughter, Lady Alice de
Montfort, were pitched on a knoll in the centre of the encampment, which
was sufficiently elevated to overlook every other tent and beyond them
on every side. The tents of the maids and personal attendants were
situated to the rear, and were intercommunicable by a covered way. The
entrance to Lady Alice's tent was hung with richly embroidered curtains,
whilst costly figured velvet carpets from the looms of Rouen were spread
over the soft carpet of nature. As already stated, Lady Alice had been
affianced to Baron Vigneau by her father, for the most ignoble reason of
policy and personal ambition, Alice's wishes or preferences not being
consulted in the least. But a union more abhorrent to her feelings could
not possibly be imagined.

Indeed, to one much less refined and gentle than Alice, this union would
have been most distasteful. Vigneau was at once drunken, licentious, and
boorish, his habits being such as befitted the company of the besotted
and brutal troopers whom he led, rather than that of one of the gentlest
ladies of Normandy. True, he had won for himself a large measure of fame
on the battle-field, and in the lists at tournaments. He had undoubtedly
a large measure of reckless valour, and enormous physical strength; but
he was utterly destitute of that chivalry and knightly courtesy which
was reckoned only second to personal prowess. His chief recommendation
in De Montfort's eyes was that he commanded a "free company" of
mercenaries as reckless and blood-thirsty as himself. De Montfort
cherished a lofty ambition: he aspired to, and in fact held, an exalted
position in the estimation of William; and this he well knew was due in
great part to the number of lances in his retinue, and the men-at-arms
who followed his standard.

Need we say that Alice scorned this hateful yoke; for the warm current
of romance which ran in her southern blood demanded a nobler and
courtlier knight than Vigneau as the object of her love. Through a vista
in the noble line of beeches and oaks which studded the park she had a
full view of the castle and its defenders, and she shuddered as she
contemplated the impending carnage and bloodshed which hovered over the
camp and the castle alike. Thus, often as she sat in her tent did she
watch the mailed Saxon chief, as he paced his walls and directed the
housecarles as they laboured at the fortifications--far too often,
indeed, for her peace of mind; for the contrast between Oswald's mien
and Vigneau's was most glaring. Then the fact that Oswald was fighting
against fearful odds, and for dear life, awoke the keenest interest in
him, whilst the stories current in the camp of his prowess threw around
him a glamour most piquant.

Often Alice would turn to her favourite maid and confidante, Jeannette,
for confirmation of her thoughts.

"Methinks he is a comely knight, this Saxon, and valiant withal.
Jeannette, how sayest thou? is it not so?"

"He is a comely knight, my lady, and brave too, the fighting men say."

"Didst thou notice, when he removed his visor to answer the Count's
summons, his handsome visage? 'Twas, I thought, so like the statue of
Mars in the old home in Normandy. The same curly locks; the same
inflexible cast of features, as though ready to front a host. Didst thou
notice this, Jeannette?"

"I marked it much, my lady."

"Yet, didst thou notice, there was a nobility about the open brow which
bespeaks a magnanimity which wondrously beseemeth brave men?"

"I noticed all this, my lady."

"Ah me, Jeannette, I read those old romances in my father's hall, and
listened to the stories of Christian knights and warriors told me by the
good sisters of St. Justin's, until I came to think that all knights and
soldierly men must be brave to avenge the oppressed, and magnanimous to
the fallen and the weak, scorning to wreak vengeance upon helpless men
and women. I thought all brave men must be at least chivalrous to my
sex. I thought all brave men must be virtuous, too; for how could they
be brave to conquer their enemies, and yet be the slaves of their own
over-grown lusts like this Baron Vigneau?"

"These are evil times, lady. I much fear me that nothing good thrives
now; and the Baron may not be much worse than others, though I go in
daily fear of him. His gloating eyes are ever upon me, and once he
caught me in his arms. But let him beware! I carry that in my bosom will
teach him a lesson he will not need to learn over again!" and she
displayed the flashing blade of a small stiletto.

"Listen, Jeannette! I saw the Baron lay hold upon a young and beautiful
lady, who had found shelter with the monks down at the abbey. I heard
his lascivious, gloating words, and I looked into his greedy eyes, and
his steely gaze made me shudder as though it were the gaze of a serpent.
I hate him, but I fear him beyond expression!"

"Hush, lady! Perhaps you will think better of him when these horrid
times have passed."

"Never, Jeannette! My heart's revolt is complete. Let death come, and
welcome, but never wedlock with him. He is but a huge mountain of
evil-smelling carrion. I shall hie me to Normandy, and there in my books
I'll find a worthy knight, all brave and pure, and I'll wed him in
imagination. But I will never share my young life with a knight besotted
and cruel as Vigneau."

"Hush, lady. He comes to your tent. Shall I retire?"

"No, no! Stay by me, Jeannette. I shall feign sickness; let me lean my
head upon you."

Baron Vigneau unceremoniously brushed aside the curtains and stalked
into the tent. His gait was unsteady, and his eyes bloodshot;
unmistakable evidences of a recent debauch.

"What, Alice, how is this?" said he, taking her hand in his. But it
involuntarily shrank from his grasp. "What! aren't we friends yet? I did
but drag the fair Saxon from among those monkish scoundrels to save her
life."

"You seemed loth to part with her, Baron."

"Well, well, we'll take a goose till we can get our swan. But no great
harm would have been done. They're jolly fellows, those monks, and know
what's what, I warrant. The wench wouldn't have suffered, exchanging
sniffling priests for a valiant knight."

Alice shuddered, and made haste to change the subject.

"What says the Saxon knight to your latest summons?"

"'Saxon whelp,' is much more like it, I trow. Well, he struts himself
upon his trumpery battlements like a valiant scarecrow. I would he were
a true knight and worthy of my prowess, I would challenge him to single
combat, and you should see how he would fare when matched with Norman
valour. But let him boast himself a day or two until we get our gear
ready; then, if he does not get a short shrift in the _melee_, we'll
have a little sport with him and make him dance to the music these
Saxons like least best."

"Have you offered him honourable terms?"

"Honourable terms to a dog of a Saxon! He'll get the same terms as other
Saxons, a sudden exit at the sword's point, or a slower process but a
rougher passage. I am hoping we shall see sport yet."

Alice shuddered, for she knew too well that instruments of torture were
meant; and she well knew that the Baron would not only use them, but
would derive positive pleasure in watching the agonies of his victim.

"I don't care about such practices; they are hideous and barbarous. What
good it can do to massacre and torture helpless men and women I can't
tell; indeed, I cannot help despising those who indulge in such
detestable things."

"You have been trained in too gentle a school to relish these rough
times, Alice. We must exterminate these Saxon pests, especially the
leaders, and those who have spirit in them. The churls may serve some
useful purpose, when we have knocked their freemen manners out of them.
But they will need to be well knocked about, and ground into shape."

"When will it all end? And if this castle is taken is it to be our
resting-place? I am aweary of being dragged at the heels of a soldiery
thirsting like wild beasts for blood and plunder."

"Ha, ha! Softly, softly, my sweet one! This is to be the end of it for
us. Then comes love and downy pillows--eh, my queen, is it not so?" said
he, endeavouring to chuck her under the chin.

Alice hastily fled, followed by her maid; for, sickening as was
Vigneau's general conversation, his amorous advances begat in her an
overpowering disgust.

A horrible scowl spread itself over Vigneau's base countenance, and he
stood as though petrified with rage. Then his tongue gave vent to this
pent-up storm, and, with a volley of oaths and threatenings, he strode
out of the tent, demoniacal hatred of his betrothed raging in his heart.




CHAPTER VIII.

VILLAINS PLOTTING.

    "And my imaginations are as foul
    As Vulcan's stithy."

    Shakespeare.


The same day, a little before nightfall, Baron Vigneau strode across the
greensward to the spot where his own followers were bivouacking beneath
some huge beech trees. "Pierre," said he, calling to a stalwart and
villainous-looking soldier, who was engaged in a noisy chaffering with
some comrades, "I have a dainty bit of work for you, Pierre. Just such a
commission as you love next best to swilling old Saxon ale."

"What is it your lordship has in the wind now? It has some connection
with wine or wenches, I stake my rosary on it."

"Thou had better throw thy rosary into the first ditch thou comes
across; for if thou tell thy beads in proportion to thy sins, thou can
find no time for anything else; and if thou do penance for half thy
sins, and be d----d for the other half, why, marry, thou might as well
be d----d for the whole. But I warrant _that_ the end of thee in any
case, villain; so there's an end on't. But I want none of thy scurvy
impudence, mark me! I want thy ears, and the best discretion thou hast.
I have a delicate mission for thee to perform--a mission well suited to
thy tender and susceptible disposition."

"Many thanks for your lordship's highly valued appreciation. But truly,
when I quit my sins I'll have to quit your service; for how a saint will
manage the devil's business I cannot tell. Indifferently well, I fancy."

"Silence, sirrah, or I'll crop thy ears! Listen to me! Down at the
monastery there is a Saxon wench--a gem of the first water. None of your
bare-legged slotch-puddles, with a figure as shapely as an ill-made
wine-butt. She is a genuine offshoot of the Saxon nobility, I am told. I
want thee to do a little delicate negotiation for me, such as thou art
justly famous for. If thou do it well, thou shalt rise even higher in my
esteem."

"Ah, I see; a delicate mission truly!"

"Stop the wagging of thy tongue, knave, and take heed to what I say.
This is not the daughter of a villainous churl, bred and reared on a
midden, take note. So I will have this business done accordingly."

"Ah, I comprehend it all. This is potter's ware, that must not be soiled
in transit. All damage and defacement must be reserved for your
respectable self."

"Just so! Don't poke thy villainous phiz--which reminds me of a keg of
wine gone sour--beneath her hood for kisses on thy own account. I'll
have none of it! Just do thine errand as a Christian should, and----"

"Christian, forsooth, I think you said just now, Baron?"

"Eh? Stop thy chatter, dog, when I am speaking! Thy tongue will cut thy
throat some day, villain, if thou sharpen it a little more, now mark
that! Thou art getting much too ready with thy scurvy impudence. Just
attend to me and shut thy mouth. I have these further instructions for
thee. This business, understand, must be done in the dark, and thy
tongue must not wag of it--or any of thy comrades' either, mark me. Her
ladyship, over yonder," said he, jerking his thumb over his left
shoulder in the direction of Alice's tent, "tosses her head a little too
much for my stomach already, and she has worked herself up into a devil
of a fume, just because I took a fancy to this same wench a little time
ago. So let there be no hullaballoo over it, mind that. I know what I'm
about," said he, with a brutal chuckle. "When your game's afield you
must tread softly, that's my point, but when it's bagged--ha, ha! you
may skin it anyhow you please. So, so! wait awhile; my turn will come
by-and-by, and when I get the bit within her teeth--well, never mind
that just now. There's no need to tell all one's mind to a scurvy
trooper," he muttered, under his breath. "There, now thou knows thy
business; but don't bring her to the camp, and don't get drunk and
bungle the whole thing."

Pierre was both a ready and a capable tool of the Baron's, and
indispensable to him in the life of brutality and villainy which he led.
So promptly he set about selecting some half a dozen of his comrades to
assist him in carrying out his master's behests. As the shadows of
evening began to gather about the camp, they mounted their horses and
stole away from the encampment at a brisk trot, reaching the monastery
just as the evening twilight had deepened into the sombre gloom of
night. "Let us dismount here," said Pierre, "and leave our horses
outside the grounds; for the less row there is in this business the
better it will suit the Baron. I suppose as usual it will be a
screeching affair, and if we do not be careful we shall have the whole
brood of pious gentry at our heels in a trice." So, hastily dismounting
and leaving their horses in charge of one of their number, they strode
up to the entrance gates, which they found in charge of two of the
Norman soldiery, by whom they were promptly admitted.

"I say, Jaques," said Pierre, addressing one of the guard, "can you tell
us whereabouts this Saxon wench called Ethel may be found?"

"You will find her in the monks' quarters sure enough," said Jaques;
"but I would advise you to get one of the kitchen scullions to lead the
way for you; that will be your best plan."

So, stealthily wheeling round the main building, they entered the
refectory kitchen, where they found several of the meaner lay brothers
occupied in the menial tasks of that department, whilst a number of
half-starved and ragged mendicants sat round the spacious hall, drinking
the small ale and munching the bacon and bread with which they had been
provided. With abject consternation and fear they beheld the advent of
these troopers; but Pierre immediately laid hold of one of them.

"Varlet," said he, "where is the Saxon wench Ethel to be found?"

The Saxon, clown as he was, took in the situation at once, and tried, by
affecting even greater silliness than his clownish looks betokened, to
evade the question. Pierre whipped out his sword and, grasping him by
the throat, said,--

"None of thy lying, churl! Lead the way. I'll follow; and if thou
mislead me I'll run my sword through thy body in a twinkling. Stop here,
two of you men, and see these skulking villains do not make a hubbub.
Let the others follow me. Now march, hound!" said he, giving the Saxon a
vicious prod with the point of his sword. The Saxon led the way with
much greater alacrity of body than of mind, but it did the business
effectively, for they quickly reached Ethel's room.

"Now for it!" said Pierre. "Diplomacy will ruffle this pretty bird's
feathers the least, so I'll oil my tongue for the occasion. But have you
the cloak ready, men?"

"Aye, aye! all's ready!"

Pierre knocked at the door, and without further ceremony entered. But no
sooner did Ethel set eyes on his unsavoury visage than she knew that
mischief was meant, and she started to her feet and slid her hand into
her bosom.

Pierre doffed his helmet, and assuming a bland and hypocritical tone,
said that "he had been commissioned by the Norman lady who had showed
her a kindness the other day, to bid the Saxon lady come to her in the
Norman camp, where she would be protected and cared for with every
regard to her noble extraction and gentle blood."

But Ethel was not deceived. There is a subtle force in the tones of
sincerity which the most accomplished liar can never successfully
simulate. We are far oftener convinced by this indefinable something in
a man's eye, and in his tones, than by the words he utters. When we have
flung away this quality of candour and truthfulness, liar and knave will
ring out in our utterances, though we use the utmost art of a magician
to hide it. Ethel saw through this ruse, though she dare not show it. So
she manoeuvred to gain time.

"If you will kindly wait until morning, I shall have a little time to
prepare. Some of the servants will find you comfortable quarters for the
night. If you call me early I shall be ready."

"I dare not disobey my lady's orders, who has sent horses and an escort.
I will wait a few minutes for you. But my lady requested me to ask you
to come right away, for her ladyship's ample wardrobe would be at your
service."

"I will acquaint the Abbot first, as I am afraid he will be much
distressed if I depart without his knowledge. I shall be but a few
minutes."

"I am sorry I cannot allow this. My orders are very explicit, and I must
obey. If I have to use force to execute them, I shall be sorry; but I
must ask you to accompany us forthwith," said Pierre, dropping into his
usual menacing and rasping tone of voice, and advancing towards Ethel.

"Yes, villain, I am not deceived by you, nor by any of your villainous
crew!" said Ethel, drawing from her bosom a brightly shining blade and
springing at him like a wild cat. Instantly half a dozen strong hands
were laid upon her, the dagger was wrested from her, and a soldier's
cloak muffled thickly over her face to stifle her screams. Then Pierre
gathered her up in his strong arms and bore her, struggling, along the
passage, and over the greensward, and through the entrance gates.

Immediately the Normans' backs were turned the news spread, I being
apprised at once of the outrage which had been done. As I stumbled along
in the darkness I met with Badger, who, with a stout cudgel in his hand,
and bow-and-arrows slung over his shoulders, was rushing eagerly to the
fray.

"Ah, is that your Grace?" said he. "Where are those Norman carrion? Have
they cleared the ground?"

"I am afraid they have got clear away. Is not that the clatter of their
horses' hoofs I hear beyond the walls?"

"It is, without a doubt. I'll track them as easily as a hound tracks a
deer."

"Go after them, Badger, and see what becomes of the maiden. I will away
to the Norman camp. If I can get speech of the fair Norman perhaps these
men may be made to disgorge their prey. But, Badger, be not too ready
with those carnal weapons, for it will greatly exasperate them; and
remember they that take the sword shall perish with the sword."

"The application must be for the Normans, Father, for I take but my bow
and my quiver, and just a splinter of timber. But if I tickle not their
flanks with a shaft or two before the night is out, why then the witches
of Addergyll may take me for a dolt and a coward."

So saying, he glided off like an arrow; but I saw in the darkness that
he went not by the way of the entrance, but to an oaken tree which grew
near the wall, and, hastily climbing it, he slid along a branch which
overran the wall, and from thence I heard him drop to the ground
without.




CHAPTER IX.

VILLAINS OUTWITTED.

     "Drunk? and speak parrot? and squabble? swear? and discourse
     fustian with one's own shadow?"--Shakespeare.


In the meantime, the darkness had gathered quickly and deepened into
night. This was greatly intensified along the forest path by the lofty
and overhanging branches of the trees. The road also had its twists and
turns innumerable, here to avoid a massive tree, and there to avoid a
huge boulder; and it was little better than a cattle path at any time,
and totally impassable, even to the rude Saxon carts, except at broad
daylight. In these circumstances Pierre and party moved with extreme
difficulty, having frequently to stop to make sure of the road, their
oaths and execrations in the meantime resounding through the wood. But
Badger, who was as familiar with the forest as the deer which roamed in
it, sped swiftly and noiselessly after them, catching up with them
quickly. "Ah, ah!" said he, as he caught sight of the black and moving
mass in front of him; "one good Saxon is equal to the half-dozen of you
here, my hearties! Some of you will have a cold bed in the damp grass
to-night for your pains, or else my shafts will go mightily astray!"
Then, sticking his thorn cudgel in his belt, he took his bow from his
back and adjusted an arrow, and then he crept stealthily near to them.
Raising his bow, he drew the arrow to its head; then he withdrew it. "My
fingers," said he, "are in a hurry to make a cur of a Norman the less in
the world. But where is the use in bagging one of their carrion
carcasses and losing the game? To kill a Norman is a luxury; but I must
rescue Ethel. Let me see whether my purpose cannot be served best by
joining my wits to my weapons. There are three couples--two abreast; and
Ethel is in charge of the centre one to the right. I can send a shaft in
the nape of the last one's neck. That is _one_ certain. Then there will
be a stampede probably: I may get another one. Shall I get the villain
who has charge of Ethel? Can't make sure; and if I do, Ethel will come
to the ground with him, and perhaps be badly bruised. Well, some risk
will have to be taken, for I am but one." So saying, he stole nearer to
them. Suddenly, ahead of the party, there was a wide opening in the tops
of the trees directly in the line of vision, the outlines of the figures
in front showing boldly against the starlit sky. "Now is my time," said
Badger, planting his foot firmly, and drawing back the string until it
touched his shoulder--when suddenly a hurried footfall in the path
behind him arrested his attention, and he darted into the thicket,
keeping his arrow in position. When the runner drew near, Badger sprang
forward and faced the new-comer, with his shaft still in position.
"Who's this?" said he. "Speak, or I'll let fly my shaft!"

"Steady, Badger," said the stranger. "Don't shoot a friend."

"Well timed, Bretwul, I have just been wishing for a Saxon or two! What
has brought you?"

"The very purpose that brought you here. I heard of that Norman's
attempt to carry off my young mistress, and I knew the wolf, having
scented prey like that, would never drop the trail until he ran it down.
I watched the abbey night by night, in the hope of frustrating his
purpose; but the villain has got clear off with her."

"Not quite so fast, comrade. If you had been a minute or two later, my
shafts would have overtaken one or more of them. But it is better as it
is, for two of us will make a better fight of it than one. But enough of
this; they are not two hundred yards ahead of us. There are six
horsemen, and the second horseman at the right side has charge of Ethel.
Now, how are we to effect a rescue?"

So the pair debated the matter as they followed on the heels of the
party.

"Well, Bretwul," said Badger, "as I was telling you, I was just going to
try a rough-and-ready method when your footsteps arrested me. I knew it
to be a risky venture, but I little expected any help in the business.
Now I am inclined to think a more favourable opportunity will turn up
by-and-by."

"Well, I am inclined to think so myself, Badger. There is the risk that
the game would carry the shaft, unless it were hit very squarely; and
the odds are the other way in the darkness. Any failure would make it
bad for the young mistress, it is certain."

"That we must prevent, if possible. But now, what are the chances? These
Normans have no strong place near in which they can shut her. I can
promise you they'll not dare to carry her to the camp; there is a lady
there who rescued her before, and was desperate savage with the brute
who offered her violence then. But they will find a place elsewhere;
probably leave her for the night in charge of half their number."

"There's reason in it, Badger. Anyway, it is better to wait awhile, and
see if some better chance is forthcoming."

So the pair continued to dog the steps of their adversaries, until,
emerging from the wood, they struck across an open glade, or clearing,
in the forest, formerly cultivated by a Saxon yeoman. Soon they reached
the fringe of the forest again, where, embowered within its shelter, was
the house of this Saxon; but it was deserted and plundered of
everything. Here they dismounted, Pierre lifting Ethel down and carrying
her into the house. The cloak was removed, and, lighting a torch, its
flickering blaze made visible a two-roomed dwelling, rude and damp in
its tenantless condition. The inner room was doorless, and the outer
door was thrown back and dilapidated. The floors were of earth trodden
hard. There was a rude attempt at a fireplace in the first room; it was
built entirely of rough, unhewn stone, whilst its huge, gaping chimney
was such, that a man would have had no difficulty in ascending it. Into
the inner room Pierre led, or dragged, Ethel; then he fetched a rough
stone from the fireplace for her to sit upon.

"Now, fair one," said he, "this is rather a cold place to call home, but
we'll soon make it a bit more comfortable. I can see no further
advantage in lying in this matter--and I keep a conscience, and don't
make a practice of lying for nothing--so I may as well tell you at once
that my master admires that pretty face of yours. It is a weakness he
has. The more fool he; for it spoils his chances of higher game. Well,
that's a riddle you need not puzzle out. But my master is a knight
renowned for valour, and for some other things not recommended by the
worthy Order of Cistercians, or indeed any strict Orders of the pious
gentry. That, of course, is neither here nor there. But my master, when
he hears of your distress, is bound, I believe, by his oath, to succour
you; and he is well able to do so. It is the highest wisdom on your part
to be friends with him. But heigho! no more of that! A fig for doing
another man's wooing; 'tis worse than carving for another's eating!"

Happily, much of this jargon was perfectly unintelligible to Ethel.

"Here, men," said he, turning to his comrades in the other room. "One of
you must mount guard inside the house, and another outside. We will to
camp, and return soon with both eatables and drinkables; so make the
best of a bad bargain for a little while. Come, men, let us cut the tail
off this business as quickly as we can." So saying, they mounted their
horses, and, leading the disengaged ones, their forms were speedily lost
in the darkness.

"My fingers itch most dreadfully to try the effect of a shaft upon the
carcass of the big lubberly villain who leads the party," said Badger,
raising his bow with the arrow directed towards the hazy forms
disappearing in the night.

"Stay, Badger!" said Bretwul, laying his hand on him. "The game's in the
net; don't rend it."

"Aye, aye. The fool acts on the thought as it is made, but the wise man
when it is weighed. But as surely as the gallows nods when the rogue
goes by, so his time will come!"

"Well, Badger, what is to be the next move? We must get to business
whilst our chance lasts."

"Right, Bretwul. Well, we shall have to work round from the rear of the
house, and we shall thus get close on them if we move stealthily. I
doubt not but we can brain the one outside before he knows where he is;
then, two to one is more than the other will be prepared for."

So saying, the pair stole to the rear of the house, and crept round by
the gable, until Badger peered round the corner at the fellow on duty
outside. Fortunately, he had his back to them, and was talking through
the open door to his comrade within.

"Are you ready, Bretwul?" said Badger, in a whisper to his companion,
who followed closely at his heels.

Bretwul made no reply, but brandished his Saxon broadsword aloft in
token of his readiness. Then, with the agility of a panther, Badger
sprang round the corner of the hovel, and, delivering a powerful blow
with his cudgel upon the back of the Norman's head, he felled him in
insensibility to the ground, whilst another spring quick as lightning
landed him within grappling distance of the other Norman. He also, it is
needless to say, was quite unprepared for any attack, and had barely
time to spring to his feet and raise his arm to ward off Badger's first
stroke, which sent him staggering against the wall; and Bretwul being in
close attendance at that instant, with a sweep of his sword effectually
cut short all further resistance. Then, returning to the door where the
other soldier was lying prostrate, he quickly finished the work of
revenge.

Meanwhile, Ethel from within witnessed the scuffling going on, but
without comprehending in the least the import of it; she improved the
opportunity for flight which the struggle afforded her, by bounding
through the open door, and fled like a Will-o'-the-wisp across the open
glade in a frantic effort to gain the shelter of the forest, whilst her
rescuers followed full chase in her wake. Very quickly, however,
Badger's nimble feet caught up to her; when, to her infinite relief, she
discovered that they were faithful friends, who had risked much to free
her from the custody of the brutal Norman troopers.

Whilst this was transpiring, Pierre and the remainder of his troop
stumbled along through the darkness of the forest, all unconscious that
their footsteps had been dogged, and their evil purposes frustrated,
just when they thought they had been crowned with perfect success.

"This has been neatly done, men," said Pierre. "Now, I wonder what the
Baron will do for us in the shape of reward!"

"Well, I guess none of our pouches will burst with gold pieces, Pierre.
I expected better pay or more plunder when I took service, I promise
you; but his scurvy humours are even worse than his pay. Why don't you
take the lead? The whole company is ready for a new master."

"Hold hard a bit. There are others who are getting as tired of his
humours as yourself; and if you hear the clash of steel between us you
need not be very much surprised, for my temper is none of the smoothest,
and he may play the bully some day until nothing will settle it but cold
steel."

When they reached the camp, Pierre alone carried the news to his master.
No sooner, however, had he put his head within the tent than he gave a
grunt of infinite disgust as he set eyes upon the Baron; for he was far
gone in his cups.

"Hilloa, Pierre! What now, you scowling villain! What has brought you?"
he bawled, with drunken incoherency; but, drunk as he was, he had
noticed Pierre's disgust.

"We have executed your order, Baron," Pierre replied.

"Executed my order? Who? What have they done?"

"The commission you gave me about the Saxon lady down at the monastery."

"The wench that all the pother's about?"

"Yes, the same."

"Ah, I remember. Have you got her, Pierre?"

"Yes, as snug as anybody could wish. Not a whisper has got abroad."

"Bravo, Pierre! You are a gentleman. Pierre, do you hear? You are a
gentleman, or a thief, I don't care which," giving a drunken chuckle.
"Drink, Pierre," said he, handing him a flagon of wine with a trembling
hand.

Pierre took the goblet and drained it to the last drop.

Vigneau took it again, and looked into it for a moment with maudlin
pensiveness, as though he could scarcely realise that it was really the
bottom he gazed at. But the quarrelsome humour in him was never so
rampant as when he was in his cups.

"There's a pint of good Rhenish gone, Pierre. Gone, too, into a stomach
that must be about rotted out with Saxon ale by this time."

"Well, we'll bring them round with soothing draughts of Rhenish,
master."

"Eh, dog? Not with mine, Pierre. With swill if you like, Pierre! Swill
will do for a hog like you, Pierre! Eh! Do you hear me? Swill will do
for you!" said the Baron, becoming quarrelsome with drunken excitement.

Fortunately, Pierre was sober, or matters would speedily have become
serious. Checking the rising choler, he said,--

"What is to be done with this Saxon--Ethel, as she is called?"

"What do you know about Ethel, eh? Have you got her, scurvy villain? I
say, have you got her? Answer me that."

"I told you we had, not a minute since."

"Eh? Then speak civilly, varlet! Do you know who I am? D---- me, I allow
thy tongue too much licence. I'll not have such impudence from a scurvy
trooper as I've taken lately. I'll teach you I'm a gentleman. Now mark
me, Pierre. Keep a civil distance. I'll not have it," and he began
fumbling for the hilt of his sword.

"Pshaw!" said Pierre, assuming both a look and a tone of disgust.

"Eh, churl, what now?" roared Vigneau, in a towering rage, with great
effort staggering to his feet, and after prolonged exertion getting out
his sword, and lunging furiously at Pierre. But the act was too much for
him. Lurching head foremost, the sword's point came ignominiously to the
ground with his weight upon it, to prevent his falling flat. The result
was, his great weight forced it a foot into the ground, from which his
utmost efforts failed to extricate it, Pierre, meanwhile, vanishing from
the tent with a horse-laugh. Vigneau dropped into his seat and stared
vacantly at the point where Pierre had vanished, then at the sword
standing upright in the ground. But his efforts to recall what it was
all about were a total failure. Slowly his bleared eyes closed, and soon
after he slid from his seat to the ground, to sleep off the effects of
the night's debauch.

"The Baron is drunk and quarrelsome as usual to-night," said Pierre to
his comrades, as he issued from the tent. "Nothing can be done with him
till morning, and if he be not in a pleasanter humour in the morning,
and come down handsome for us, you will have to be led by another, I
trow. Well, we'll finish the business we have begun. Let us take
victuals and a few other things down yonder. It will be a little more
like a habitation, and not so like a sty."




CHAPTER X.

A FRUITLESS EMBASSY.

     "A bold, bad man."--Spenser.


To return to myself. I paced to and fro in the abbey grounds in anguish
and suspense, waiting for Badger's return, yet almost dreading it, lest
he should bring ill news. But midnight passed, and the small hours of
the morning came on, with no tidings of Ethel. I feared for her personal
safety, and I feared also the effects upon her mind. For I must state
here, for the benefit of the reader, that Ethel's surroundings had been
such as to strongly imbue her mind with the heathenish beliefs of her
ancestors. Her father came of an old viking stock, and rigidly adhered
to the superstitions of his forefathers. He had likewise given to Ethel
a large measure of his stern and aggressive temperament, and had striven
to instil into her mind his own religious beliefs. I had seen also at
times the strange flashing of the fierce fire within her, when deeply
stirred. Yet I saw there were elements of gentleness and delicacy in her
composition, inherited in all probability from her mother, who was
Saxon, and a devout Christian. With my whole energy I had striven, at
the request of her dying mother, to train her in the Christian faith:
but my opportunities had been of a most desultory nature. Then when I
began to hope that my work would be accomplished, this terrible invasion
occurred. Thus efforts to show her how the fierce passions and reckless
bloodshedding of the Norsemen--her father's ancestors--were cruel and
heathenish, and their religion a gross superstition, were frustrated by
this war of usurpation inflicted upon us by a Christian nation, with the
approbation and blessing of the Pope, whilst at the head of their army
they carried sacred banners and holy relics of saints. Thus the
Christian religion was made to sanction bloodshed and massacre,
unsparing and fiendish in its extent and in its mercilessness. In the
train of these professedly Christian soldiery also, there followed
nameless horrors and offences, which outdid the excesses of Norseman and
Dane tenfold. But, worse than all, her father and her two brothers had
been massacred--their home levelled--and she, having to fly to the
shelter of the sanctuary, only found that the sanctuary was no sanctuary
to her, and no protection against violence and brutality. It is utterly
impossible to imagine any one more completely shorn of every prop and
stay than she was; and I feared much also for her faith. I knew that
there was that in her which would not permit her to tamely submit to
indignities. But where would her revolt end?

Well, feeling that it would be better to be doing something to effect
her rescue than to be absorbed in these painful cogitations, I decided I
would start at once for the Norman camp. It was a long and a weary tramp
in the darkness through the forest, but still, I hoped, by patient
plodding forward, I should reach the camp by daylight. Happily I found I
had not overrated my powers. As I drew near, I was challenged by the
outpost. There was a considerable parleying, and a determination evinced
to prevent my farther advance. But my sacred calling, coupled with the
fact that I was unarmed, and that it was now broad daylight, ultimately
prevailed, and I was conducted to a tent not far from the one occupied
by Lady Alice de Montfort, with whom, after some time, I received an
audience, and whom we will in future call Alice. To her I related all
that I knew of the outrage, with such description of the persons taking
part in it as I had been able to gather. From my description of the
leader, she had no difficulty in identifying Pierre as the man.

"Well, Father, I may as well tell you at the outset, that this is what I
expected. I warned this Saxon lady of the risks she ran by staying at
the monastery, but I could not persuade her to accept my protection."

"She has been a great sufferer, gracious madame," I replied, "during
these wars; and she was, no doubt, greatly afraid. Probably, also, she
was greatly averse to joining your camp; though it was unquestionably a
generous offer on your part."

"Well, reverend Father, I am not saying this to excuse my inaction now,
but I assure you from what I know, and what I suspect of the
participants in this outrage, that it would have been far easier to keep
the prey from the jaws of the lion than it will be to force his den and
wrest it from him. I will do my utmost, I assure you. Jeannette," said
she, turning to her maid, "let our guest have some refreshment, for he
will be weary and faint, I am sure." So saying, she departed I know not
where.

She returned in the course of half an hour; but she gave me little hope
of success, though she said the Count, her father, had gone out in quest
of the persons whom he suspected. She was most gracious to me, and asked
most anxiously as to whether we were treated properly by the soldiers
quartered upon us. I suspected very strongly that the comparative
immunity from personal molestation we had hitherto enjoyed arose in
great part from her goodwill and protection. She asked many questions
with regard to our books; to our endowments; especially to the great
relief we had been able to extend to the poor, and to strangers. I was
highly impressed, not only with the charms of her person, but with her
highly cultivated mind, and gracious demeanour.

I hastened my departure with as little delay as decency would permit;
for to tell the truth, I was driven back upon my first hopes, that
Badger's cunning and prowess would be equal to the emergency. I was thus
extremely anxious to get me back to the monastery, that I might learn
how he had fared. So I hurried over the open plain, and gat me into the
forest as quickly as I could. For in very deed I felt myself anything
but safe, as I noticed jealous eyes watching me narrowly. But I had
scarcely entered the forest when I found myself in the presence of the
ungodly Norman who had desecrated the sanctuary, and endeavoured to
carry off Ethel--whom, also, I strongly suspected of being at the bottom
of this latest outrage. I involuntarily crossed myself, and uttered a
prayer for help, for I felt instinctively that I had myself in very
truth fallen into the jaws of the lion.

"Well, shaveling," said he, "thou hast said thy prayers, I perceive.
Thou hast done well to be prepared, lest the devil should get thee. What
has been thy errand to the camp so early? Be explicit and prompt, or
thou wilt rue it."

"I have had particular business there, my lord."

"I knew that already, dolt! Let us have details. With whom hast thou had
business?"

"With Lady de Montfort."

"So I thought. What was the matter that disturbed your saintly bosom,
old smooth-pate? Out with it!"

"There has been an outrage committed upon us, and one of our refugees
carried off by force from the monastery."

"Ah! that was terrible! So you first despatched a posse of your
bog-trotting Saxon churls to murder two of my men; then you dragged your
battered old shins through the woods, to raise a hullaballoo at the
camp. It was well done. Now, what shall I give you for your trouble? I
think a broken neck is about your deserts."

So, without more ado, he laid violent hands upon me, and tore my cloak
from my back. Then he tried to strangle me; but I had been stout of
limb, and agile as any of my fellows, when I was young, so I resisted
with all my might. I was delighted to find, in spite of the disadvantage
of a score of years, he was more blown than I was. Eventually, I was
able to slip from his grasp, and immediately took to my heels. He was
younger, but stout and bulky; and I found in this point, also, I was
greatly his superior, and quickly increased the distance between us. So
he gave up the chase, and permitted me for the time being to go in
peace. For this wonderful deliverance I gave God thanks.




CHAPTER XI.

OSWALD'S DEFENCE OF HIS CASTLE.

     "Cry 'Havock!' and let slip the dogs of war."--Shakespeare.


In the meantime, the Normans had made diligent preparation for an
assault on the castle. Now the castle could not be described as a very
formidable stronghold, or one designed to withstand a regular siege. It
had been built mainly to resist the incursions of the Scots, who
periodically raided in force into these parts, their purpose being
plunder and cattle-lifting. They overran the country quickly, getting
them back as speedily as possible, before the Saxons had time to
concentrate, so that no very great powers of resistance were needed to
repel them, or weary them. Occasionally also the Danes carried fire and
sword to our parts; but since the conquest of Northumbria and the north
of England generally, by Halfdane, and the settlement of so many of his
followers in the land, we had not been afflicted much with their
incursions in this part of the kingdom, during my lifetime. Thus, the
strength of the castle being sufficient for our hereditary foes, it
still was not such as would be likely to long resist the experienced and
numerous foes now pitched before it. The castle itself stood on an
eminence; was built of good solid masonry, with a battlemented tower
rising from its centre, but without any special design. It was
strengthened by a wall which ran completely round, forming a spacious
enclosure, in which cattle could be speedily and safely housed in cases
of emergency. This wall was lofty and fairly proportioned, but its great
length made it difficult to man by the handful of Saxon defenders. It is
well also to note that, as in the case of nearly all the strongholds of
the land, it was provided with a secret passage, known only to the
trusted followers of Oswald--a passage which could be entered by the
initiated at a certain place in the circular stair which led to the
turret. This underground passage had an emerging place, carefully
concealed in a dense wood some distance away.

In a very few days the Normans had prepared themselves with scaling
ladders, and had cut long poles from the forest for the purpose of
pushing the defenders from the wall. Mantelets were prepared of boards
fastened together, behind which the attacking parties could advance on
the defenders, without exposing themselves to the arrows and javelins
which would be hurled at them. The leaders also had pavises, or large
shields, which covered the person from head to foot. The time had now
come when the assault might be made, it was believed, with impunity, so
the Norman forces were put into battle array, a small number only being
appointed to the task of protecting the women and the camp.

It was a fine sight to see these disciplined men as they moved to the
attack in orderly array. Everything bore evidence to the fact that the
plan of attack, and the marshalling and disposition of the forces, was
the work of a competent general, one who was well versed in the art of
war.

The Norman bowmen were thrown out in companies on either flank, for the
protection of the forces who were to conduct the assault, and also for
the purpose of distracting and harassing the defenders as they strove to
repel the attack of the besiegers.

It needed little military knowledge to see that the issue could not be
doubtful. The meagre band of Saxons, stretched in thin line over the
extent of wall, could never hold it against the multitude who swarmed to
the attack. Oswald alone, of all the Saxons, was fully equipped for the
resistance of the clouds of barbed arrows about to be poured amongst
them. His second in command, Wulfhere, was partly clad in a light coat
of mail; but, for the most part, leathern jerkins were the only
protection they had. Had it been an attack in the open, in which the
forces were equal, these rough Saxons would have given a good account of
themselves. Any one of them could have been depended upon to bring down
a stag at a hundred paces. Whilst, if it had been a hand-to-hand
struggle with their broadswords, or their pikes, they would have fought
with the ferocity of tigers. But here they were outnumbered by ten to
one, and so circumstanced that they could not hurl themselves upon their
adversaries, and by sheer bravery strike terror into their ranks. They
must wait to be attacked, and for every arrow they shot, and for every
javelin they flung, there would be half a dozen returned.

Vigneau, Reynard, Jules Reynard and other leaders, were grouped together
with De Montfort, who gave orders for successive movements of the
besiegers, as though, with the prevision which comes of a carefully
matured plan, he could see every act of the stirring drama about to be
enacted.

Now the order for assault is given. The attacking party, with their
mantelets mounted on rude wheels, steadily advance across the plain, the
archers disposing themselves to the right and left in advance of the
main body, giving the attacking forces the form of a crescent. The
archers, dodging adroitly beneath the trees, were able to get near the
wall, thus threatening to put the defenders between a cross fire. The
Saxons, with bow in hand and pike at their feet, but without a shout or
the wasting of a single arrow, stood grimly awaiting the onset. The
Norman archers commenced the attack by letting fly a volley of arrows,
but at too great a distance to be effective. Some of them fell short,
and the others were easily dodged by the Saxons, who, as yet, had no
pressing call upon their attention. But now the attacking party draw
near, and, as they do so, they become more exposed. At a signal from
Oswald a stinging volley of arrows from the Saxons come hissing amongst
them with galling effect. At this the pace of the besiegers is
quickened, and their archers are quickly within distance to do deadly
execution with their arrows.

The Saxons, too, find it necessary to let go their bows, and grasp their
javelins and spears to deal with foes in close contact, who by this time
have begun to scale the wall. The foremost Normans were met with a
merciless slaughter, and it is probable that never a Norman that day
would have kept a foothold on the wall had it not been for the support
of their archers. These, being now at close quarters, pour their arrows
in pitiless showers into the ranks of the defenders, and many a stout
Saxon falls with dozens of these barbed messengers of death in his body.
Where the attack is hottest, the Saxons reel and stagger, a foothold on
the wall is gained, and the Normans are swarming upon it. Oswald
immediately dashes to the spot and his battle-axe descends in thunder
strokes. Right and left the Normans are beaten down before him; and,
with a shout, the Saxons signal the wall clear again.

But the respite is brief, for quickly Oswald's attention is directed
elsewhere by the loud shouts of the Normans. He turns a hurried glance
thitherward, only to see that the Normans there have gained a foothold
on the wall, and are rapidly overbearing his handful of men, though
Wulfhere manfully stems the tide, and deals out to the Normans many a
deadly blow. In a moment, Oswald also is on the spot to the rescue, and
once more the tide of victory smiles upon the Saxon cause. Again it is
only for a brief span, for like an oncoming and resistless tide the
Normans surge upon the wall, and beat back the slender ranks of the
Saxons. One advantage, however, the Saxons now reap; the combatants are
so mingled in one deadly hand-to-hand struggle, that the Norman archers
dare not let fly their shafts, and can only stand, and, with bated
breath, watch the sanguinary struggle.

In the distance yonder, and at the entrance to the tent, there stand
Alice and her maid Jeannette, who shudderingly watch the carnage
proceed. Oswald and Wulfhere are now fighting back to back, with shield
on arm, and having exchanged their axes for their broadswords. Together
they cleave down the ranks of the enemy, until like sheep they quail
before these stalwart Saxons.

"What matchless valour this pair of Saxon chieftains display, Jeannette!
If ever heroism and valour deserved to win a battle, surely this is the
time!"

"How frightened our men-at-arms seem to be!" said Jeannette. "Do you see
how frantically the Baron raves there at the foot of the wall, and
shouts at the men? He boasts him of his valour. Why does he not mount
the wall and face this Saxon?"

"What human lives are being sacrificed! 'Tis most dreadful! May God send
us peace quickly!" murmured Alice, shading her eyes at the spectacle
before her. "These are our people, Jeannette, but I must confess my
sympathies are with the Saxons. This leader, too, defends his home with
the courage of a hero. God grant he may not fall into the hands of our
men alive, or he will be tortured with fiendish brutality for this day's
work!"

The struggle still proceeds with gathering intensity and fierceness.
Baron Vigneau, indeed, as Jeannette had described him, does rave and
gesticulate frantically. "Down with him! Now, men, rush on him two or
three together! Close with him! Push him from the wall! Hurl something
at him!" But nevertheless he makes no effort to mount the wall himself.

De Montfort also stands there nervously directing the attack. "Here,
man," said he, to a stalwart soldier by his side, "heave up this long
pole and aim a blow at the Saxon." The man heaves up the pole, and, with
a run and a powerful blow, he struck Oswald on the head. The blow
completely staggers the Saxon; for a moment or two he hovers on the edge
of the wall endeavouring to recover his balance; but, alas! it is all in
vain, and he drops, with his heavy harness on, down into the castle yard
a dozen feet or more.

At this untoward event the Saxons, in a perfect panic, rush for the
drawbridge thrown across to the wall from one of the barbicans, and
intended as a means of retreat by Oswald in the last resort. But the
Normans have intercepted them and cut them off from this, and the
custodians, seeing that this would be seized by the Normans, immediately
withdraw it. Then the Saxons wildly leap from the wall, and for dear
life's sake, rush like hunted hares, for the neighbouring thicket.

For a little while attention is distracted from the fallen chieftain by
the efforts of the Normans to cut off these flying Saxons. But down
there in the castle yard lies Oswald, stunned, bleeding, and insensible;
helpless to fight or to fly. Wulfhere witnesses the helpless condition
of his leader, and down he leaps and lifts him up and detaches his
visor. As he does so, a deep sob escapes from the parted lips of Oswald;
but there is no further sign of life or returning consciousness.

Whilst this has been transpiring, the attention of the Normans has been
distracted from the leaders by the necessity to clear the walls of the
few Saxons who, disdaining to seek safety in flight, die fighting most
determinedly at their posts. Now, however, the Normans turn their
attention to the two Saxon leaders entrapped within the castle yard.
Immediately they send up a yell of fiendish delight, as they behold the
almost frantic efforts of Wulfhere to arouse his unconscious master, and
restore him to his senses.

But 'twas in vain. Oswald's head had been rudely jammed by the steel
helmet in the shock of falling; and it was soon apparent to Wulfhere
that the brief respite was now exhausted, without bringing any signs of
returning consciousness. He threw his left arm around the waist of his
helpless chieftain, and drew him, harness and all, upon his hip, and,
grasping his broadsword in his right hand, he made with all the speed he
could command for the door of the castle, hoping by this manoeuvre to
gain time.

But the stalwart and muscular form of Oswald, encumbered as it was by
heavy armour, made progress painfully slow. In the meantime, the Normans
reversed their scaling ladders and slid down into the quadrangle, and
came trooping after the fugitives. Wulfhere saw his task was hopeless,
and with a cry of pain like a wounded deer he dropped his helpless
burthen on the greensward, and, furious as some wild beast, sprang at
the yelling foe, cutting down the foremost at a blow. Following up the
others, who quailed before him, he quickly laid half a dozen corpses in
a ghastly circle round his master. But there was no end to the stream of
furious assailants who were fast surrounding him. "'Tis in vain!" he
pitifully exclaimed. "Oh, had I here but a score of stout men to make a
rampart of steel, we would defy the yelling crew! God forgive me for
this coward's act, my master! I would gladly die with you, but I know I
shall better do your will by reserving my worthless life for service to
your followers."

So saying, he bounded over the prostrate form of Oswald, and across the
sward, mounting the half-dozen steps at the terrace entrance at a
spring, and dashing through the open door.

The Normans followed him in concert; but when it became a question of
single file to pass the portal, without knowing whether Wulfhere was
lurking within, why then they in "honour preferred one another," with
the result that they one and all ceased following Wulfhere, and
courageously returned to help their fellows to heap indignities upon the
prostrate Earl.

Meanwhile, the gates had been burst open and the Norman soldiers, camp
followers and all, had pressed into the enclosure, Alice and Jeannette,
with the women, bringing up the rear.

"Whatever are they clambering and yelling so about, Jeannette? Is it the
dead chieftain?"

"I think so, my lady. They are like wolves worrying their prey."

"It is a pity so brave a man should perish. If he be not dead I will
beseech my father for his life; though I am afraid it will be to little
purpose."

"See, my lady, he is not dead; he is standing up."

Oswald had recovered consciousness, and, stripped of his helmet, looked
around, though deathly pale and half-dazed.

"Do not kill him, men!" roared Vigneau. "We'll have some sport
to-morrow, and then you may cut his throat if he survives."

"Do you hear what that beast in human form is saying, Jeannette?"

"It is horrible, my lady. Let us go away; I am quite sickened."

"Stay a minute, Jeannette. Let us have a good look at him. How pale he
is! But look at his noble countenance--handsome and expressive as a
hero's should be! Such countenances have men only who live temperately
and think purely. Contrast, Jeannette, the blotched and bleared
countenance of Vigneau. There is a tell-tale and an index at once to the
beastly life and foul imagination. How my heart revolts at the sight of
him! I would prefer the touch of a vampire."

Meanwhile, Wulfhere threaded his way by a path familiar to him, until he
reached the foot of the circular stair which led to the turret,
ascending which, and watching through a loophole, he heard the command
to spare Oswald's life until the morrow.

"Thank Heaven! Whilst there is life there is hope. If a desperate effort
to rescue him will succeed, I count upon a few daring spirits to venture
it."

But the tramp of heavy feet resounding through the corridors warned him
to delay no longer. Turning his face towards a farther ascent, he ran
his hand along the wall in the darkness until the feel of a certain
stone arrested his attention, applying his strength to which, it slowly
revolved, disclosing an aperture into which a man might drop.

Into this aperture Wulfhere disappeared; and the stone revolved to its
place again.




CHAPTER XII.

ALICE DE MONTFORT SETS FREE THE SAXON CHIEFTAIN.

    "O woman! lovely woman! nature made thee
    To temper man; we had been brutes without you."

    Otway.


It was only by the exercise of the utmost energy that the soldiery and
camp followers of the Normans were prevented from looting the castle.
They were somewhat appeased by an unlimited supply of ale from the
cellars, and promises of money. Bonfires were lit in the enclosure, and
carcasses of sheep and oxen roasted thereat, the whole resolving itself
into a grand carousal of drinking, singing, and rough jollity. A certain
number of the better class were admitted to the castle, where the same
kind of thing was repeated in much the same fashion.

In the large hall the leaders feasted and drank with little more of
refinement and seemliness than the vulgar people, except that they drank
wine and mead.

"Well, Captain Reynard!" said the Count. "Is all well?"

"All well, sire; the gates secured, the place explored, and, I think I
may add, the Saxons so thoroughly routed and cowed that they will have
little stomach for more fighting yet awhile."

"That may be; but I fancy we should be found very unprepared if they
dared venture an attempt to rescue their leader."

"You may depend upon me, Count, to keep a sharp look-out; I shall not
close my eyes in sleep until the sun rises to-morrow. But I have no fear
the Saxons will attempt a rescue. As I said, they are so thoroughly
beaten, and the remnant so glad to be able to escape with their lives,
that they will venture no more."

An exceedingly busy and anxious time was spent by Alice and her maids in
their efforts to protect the domestics left in charge from the drunken
frolics of both officers and men-at-arms. This would have been a task
utterly beyond their powers but for the watchful eye and stern
discipline of the Count, who, despising the drunken excesses of his
lieutenants, with ceaseless care and watchfulness kept watch and ward
within and without the castle.

Alice and Jeannette, too, with the curiosity of their sex, and with
ever-increasing interest, explored the rooms of the castle, marvelling
greatly at the many tokens of taste and refinement manifested therein,
and which they little expected to find in the castle of a Saxon
chieftain.

Said Alice, "My interest grows strangely from day to day, Jeannette, in
this Saxon chieftain. I see no evidence of the boorishness I have always
associated with the lives of the Barons of England. Now also that he is
in such sore distress, and hath so sad a fate before him, my heart
grieves sorely for him."

"Yes, my lady, I cannot help thinking that these Saxons would despise
the beastly orgies proceeding under this roof, and outside."

"Yes, Jeannette; but what will it be on the morrow, when this Saxon is
given over to their cruelty? It makes my blood curdle! Would I knew how
to set him free! My heart tells me it would be an act of mercy done to
my own people as well as to him; for to spare my people the humiliation
and degradation of the morrow's inhumanity were indeed a good deed,
whether they would appreciate it or not."

"My lady, if you wish it, I warrant we can do it. I know how to set
about it. Paul Lazaire mounts guard, and I can coax the simpleton into
obeying me. I declare if I had to bid him stand on his head he would do
it."

"But, Jeannette, that would probably get Paul into trouble. Perhaps it
would cost him his life. That would not do."

"Well, if you will not let me manage Paul, I cannot tell how to help
you."

"But cannot we manage it without implicating Paul. I could make a
sleeping draught which would put him to rest speedily."

"Oh, that would be fine, my lady! Just the very thing! Put it in some
mulled ale, and I will dose him."

"But how then, Jeannette? Have we courage to open the prison doors? I am
afraid our nerves would fail us down in those damp and ghostly cells."

"Not at all, my lady. I will go; my heart will not fail me, for it would
just suit me to do it."

"Well, it sounds strange we should thus plot to deceive our people; but
my heart prompts me to do this deed, come what may."

"Yes, let us do it; but, as I said, let it be mulled ale, for I declare
ale is never too muddy for them, and they will drink it, no matter what
stuff you put in it."

"But how shall we convey it to him when it is made? That is our next
difficulty, Jeannette."

"Oh, I'll convey it, never fear for me, lady. The little soft is fool
enough to think I admire him. It will be such fun! I shall almost burst
with laughter when he gulps it down. I'll take him a tit-bit also, for
his supper. The simpleton will be overjoyed, and I expect he'll begin
maundering something about love," and Jeannette clapped her hands and
skipped about gleefully. This was a matter that just jumped with her
madcap humour, and her high spirits could any time carry her through a
frolic of this sort; but when fairly cornered, her nerves were subject
to complete collapse, and she became as helpless as any bird before the
swoop of a hawk, unable to do anything but cower and helplessly flutter.

"Really, Jeannette, I think you treat this poor fellow rather too
badly," said Alice.

"It's only a joke, my lady. I like to tease him, he amuses me so!"

"Well, get him some supper, then, and I will make him some mulled ale.
For this once, at least, we must ignore our consciences; but indeed, I
almost think the end will justify the means, for this worthy Saxon
deserves some better fate than the one awaiting him, and I care not if I
permit the claims of humanity and of chivalry to triumph, even though it
be at the expense of my own people, of whose cruelty and greed I am
heartily ashamed."

The evening hours were advancing rapidly towards the twelfth. Much of
the clamour of the early hours of the night was effectually hushed in
the drunken slumbers of both officers and men, and at the dread hour the
attempt at rescue was to be made; so Jeannette, fortifying herself for
her humorous but somewhat daring feat, tripped boldly along the
corridors, torch in hand, bearing the repast prepared for her would-be
lover.

"There, you false man, that is a great deal too good for you!" she said,
accosting Paul Lazaire, who was mounting guard over the cell in which
Oswald was confined, and who, in great trepidation and fear, shrank
before the ghostly advent of an unknown and muffled visitant at the
dread hour of night.

"Oh! goodness me, my pretty Jeannette, is it you? I was quite startled.
I thought it was a ghost, and I declare it's an angel."

"You thought it was that ugly Saxon wench I caught you kissing, you
false man! That is what you thought."

"Tush, tush, Jeannette! Whenever will you forget that? You know I love
only you. Give me a kiss, and let us be friends. I vow I will never look
at another Saxon wench as long as I live."

"Now, get off with you, if you please. You make a mistake if you think I
am going to be kissed by you, when you are so fond of kissing any dirty
hussy you meet."

"Now, don't, my fiery little wife! This is too bad--too bad for
anything, Jeannette! You never have done with it."

"Don't you imagine you will have me for a wife unless you mend your
manners very greatly. You shall have that dirty hussy of a Saxon for a
wife, and I will have Jaques Leroux. He is a smarter man than you are,
any day; and if I but put up my finger to him, he will run after me."

"You don't mean it, Jeannette! Now, don't be cruel! You might just as
well say that you love me, for I know you do at heart, and you are only
teasing me, as usual. I know you wouldn't have brought me this nice
supper if you hadn't thought something of me. Now, isn't it so,
Jeannette? Just give me a kiss, and say you forgive me for that Saxon
wench, and then I shall be happy;" and Paul endeavoured gallantly to
plant a kiss on Jeannette's rosy cheek.

"Here, get off, will you, or else I'll scratch you!" said Jeannette,
violently pushing Paul away. "I'm not going to go shares with a dirty
Saxon. Mark that, Paul Lazaire! You will have to mend your manners
before you kiss me, I can tell you that much!"

"There you go again, Jeannette. You never will forget about that Saxon
wench, I do believe; and you know it was only a joke."

"Now, just get your supper, and give up fooling, will you? or your ale
will be cold, and I shall go away and leave you," was the very
irresponsive reply of the dame.

Paul was really madly in love with Jeannette, but still he had to spare
a considerable amount of affection for the steaming tankard of mulled
ale and the victuals, which she had brought him. So he raised the
tankard to his lips, and gave a hearty drink.

"Bravo, Jeannette!" said he, smacking his lips. "What a lovely brew it
is to be sure! How it warms the pit of my stomach! You'll make me a
happy man some day, I do declare, Jeannette."

"Now you are fooling again!" said Jeannette, giggling most immoderately
at the gusto with which, unsuspectingly, he swallowed the potion. "Now,
get your supper. I cannot spend the whole night with you here. So be
quick, or I shall be missed."

Thus exhorted, Paul fell on the victuals with right good will, and
drained to the dregs the tankard of spiced ale, all the while
interspersing his feeding by casting pitiful glances at Jeannette, which
made that mercurial young damsel giggle more immoderately still.

"Don't go, Jeannette," said he beseechingly, as Jeannette was about to
turn away. "It is a long time to the next watch, and you can't imagine
how creepy I feel in this passage, with that fearful Saxon inside
clanking his irons, and tearing about, and not a soul within call if he
should break loose."

"Is that the cell in which he is confined?"

"Yes, but he is very quiet just now. Perhaps he hears us talking; but I
can hear him tugging at the chains sometimes as though he would tear the
place down. He makes me feel as if next moment he'd burst open the door,
and murder me. He is a most desperate fellow. You should have seen how
he fought on that wall; and there was another one who escaped, a fearful
man, too, at his weapons."

"Oh, I saw them, and I noticed how frightened you all were into the
bargain. But are those the keys you have at your girdle?"

"Yes; this is the one for the door, and this other one for the
manacles," said Paul, holding up a pair of rusty keys to Jeannette's
view. "I wish the watch was over," he added, shuddering, "or I had _un
bon camarade_."

"Eh, bien! bon nuit, mon bonhomme," said Jeannette, gathering up the
empty tankard, and flitting along the lonesome corridors back again to
her mistress, who was waiting with feverish impatience for her return.

"What news have you, Jeannette? Did all go well?"

"Beautiful, my lady. He drank the ale, and praised it finely. I knew he
would do that, for those horrid men always praise ale. But the wonder to
me is that the beastly stuff did not turn his stomach."

"Did you see the cell, then, in which the Saxon is confined?"

"Yes; and Paul showed me which is the key for the door, and which is for
the manacles; for he is chained fast to the wall, it appears."

"Oh, dear, I wish it was over, for I tremble from head to foot. It is a
desperate enterprise, and would be both rash and indelicate if the
mercifulness of it did not demand the sacrifice. Dost thou fear to
venture it, Jeannette?"

"Not a bit, my lady; I like to outwit those men folk, for they count us
nothing, and it will be such a joke to see their blank looks in the
morning! And won't the Baron rage and swear at the men-at-arms?"

"Oh, do hush, you foolish child, it is far too serious to jest about. I
wish your courage and lightheartedness may not fail you before our task
is accomplished! If a merciful Heaven do not help us, I fear me we shall
never accomplish our purpose."

"Let us make vow to Notre Dame, before we venture, that we will repeat
fifty Aves and Credos if she help us, and give twenty silver pennies to
the holy Father at the next gathering of the Romescot."[1]

[Footnote 1: Peter's pence.]

"Well, we will see about that; but we had better get ready, for the
draught will soon take effect upon this sweetheart of yours."

"Stuff, my lady! He is a little finikin fellow, and simple to boot. I do
but tease him. He amuses me so much I really cannot help joking him."

Ere long these two frail women stole along the lonesome passages, having
fortified themselves as best they could for their task. Alice was
dreadfully nervous, but determined of purpose. Jeannette, however, was
jaunty enough at starting, and had it been the congenial task of
tricking poor Paul Lazaire, her volatile temperament would have carried
her through; but she soon began to manifest, by many hysterical starts,
that this dramatic adventure, which might become a tragedy, was telling
powerfully upon her nerves.

They soon reached the place, however, where, as they anticipated, Paul
was found in a state of blissful insensibility to either friend or foe.
He had speedily felt the soothing effect of the drug, and had sat down
with his back to the wall. But he had quickly slidden from that position
and was now lying flat along, in a sound sleep, and breathing heavily.

"Oh, dear!" almost shrieked Jeannette, as she witnessed Paul's
insensible condition. "He's not dead, is he, my lady?"

"No, he is not, you simpleton! Now let us be quick, Jeannette! Reach the
keys from his girdle. May Heaven help us!" said Alice, devoutly crossing
herself. But she dared not give utterance to her fears in presence of
her maid, whose condition was plainly visible to her.

Jeannette snatched the keys from Paul's girdle, and Alice thrust the
clumsy piece of metal into the door; but she had to apply her utmost
strength ere the rusty bolt shot back with a loud snap. Then, applying
her strength to the heavy oaken door, it recoiled slowly on its rusty
hinges, with a horrid, creaking noise which grated fearfully on the
excited nerves of the pair. Immediately, as the torch's flickering light
fell dimly across the cell, their eyes fell upon the captive chief, who
was chained to the wall by heavy chains, but nevertheless stood erect,
with distended nostrils, clenched hands, and threatening attitude. He
was evidently expecting a midnight assassin, and though manacled and
bound hand and foot, he would fight it out to the end. Alice started
back, trembling violently, as she beheld the fierce attitude of Oswald;
and the last spark of Jeannette's courage disappeared, for, with a
shriek, she clutched the arm of her mistress and tried to drag her away.

"Hush, Jeannette! Be still," cried Alice beseechingly; "we shall be
discovered if you do not be quiet."

The scene was a graphic one truly. The two timid women stood on the
threshold of the cell, cowed by the savage attitude of the captive, and
afraid to advance a step, though bent on doing a deed of mercy. Oswald
also was strangely bewildered at the sight of such gentle visitors; for,
as the torch was held aloft, the uncertain light revealed to him the
forms of two timid and graceful women, and one of them, at least,
bearing evidence of gentle blood and gentle manners. His muscles relaxed
and his manacled hands fell to his side, and the heavy irons clanked
horribly in the vaulted cell. This still further terrified the visitors,
and Jeannette, whose nerves were at their utmost tension, with a shriek
involuntarily bounded over the sleeping form of Paul Lazaire, and fled
like the wind along the corridors, leaving her mistress alone with the
captive chieftain. The awful silence was broken by Oswald, who said, "Be
not afraid, gentle lady. I was expecting some red-handed murderer and
the cold steel; but methinks so fair a messenger should bear a message
of mercy."

"We have at least a merciful intent, Saxon. We saw your brave defence of
the castle, and we would fain set you free if we can, for we know the
brutal designs of some of our people, and we would save our own people
from dishonour, and you from a cruel death."

"Ah! then pity still exists in the breast of woman! I thought the world
was emptied of such things."

"This can never be, sir knight, whilst honour and chivalry inspire the
deeds of knights and warriors; for such can never fail to inspire the
sympathies of us weak women."

"Will you dare, then, fair lady, to carry out your beneficent purpose,
and give me my liberty again, enemy though I be to thy people?"

"I have counted all costs, sir knight; and I dare, if so be that my
woman's strength can effect it."

"Here is my right hand, then. Ten thousand blessings on your woman's
heart if you can set it free once more!"

As he spoke he stretched out his right arm, loaded with the heavy and
rusty fetters.

Alice boldly advanced and thrust the key into the lock, but her utmost
strength was insufficient to force back the catch, whilst Oswald's
fetters prevented him from reaching one hand with the other. Alice
unloosed from her shoulders a collarette of rich lace, and wrapped it
round the rusty key, the angles of which hurt her hand. Then, applying
again her utmost strength, happily she succeeded in forcing back the
stubborn bolt, and thus liberating Oswald's right hand.

[Illustration: ALICE DE MONTFORT SETS FREE THE SAXON CHIEFTAIN.]

"Thank Heaven for a limb at liberty! My good right hand, too," said he,
stretching it to its utmost length for very joy. "Give me the key, now,
fair lady, for I can myself undo the rest." Soon, one by one, the
fetters were stripped off from his cramped and lacerated limbs, and he
bounded from them free. Falling on his knees before Alice, he seized her
hand and pressed it to his lips, exclaiming, "Tell me the name of my
benefactress, lady, for it shall be enshrined in my memory for ever."

"I am Alice de Montfort, and that was my maid," said Alice timidly, and
blushing crimson.

"Alice de Montfort!" said Oswald, starting to his feet as one bewildered
at the avowal. Then, seizing the other trembling hand, he passionately
exclaimed, "Nay, never blush, lady! So noble a name, so fair a form, and
so generous a deed are worthily associated."

"Alas! I fear me, sir knight, some men, if they knew that I thus acted
falsely to my father and to my people, would despise me; but I have
learnt to despise the opinions of men, when the cause of humanity and of
chivalry claims my feeble help. We noticed your brave defence of your
home, and the evil fortune which befel you; and we two weak women were
overtaken with pity, which is our woman's weakness. Thus we have
ventured this deed. I would you should accept it as some atonement for
the violence and greed of my people. But tarry not, sir knight, I
beseech you, lest this act be marred ere it be accomplished."

"How can I express my gratitude to you, gentle lady, for adventuring so
much in order that you might give me my life! But I would that the curse
of Heaven may be upon me as an ingrate, if I forget, even for an hour,
the debt I owe to you, and, if opportunity serve, I return not with
interest to thee and thine this act of mercy done to me in my extremity.
But the time is urgent, as you say. So adieu, lady."

"Stay, sir knight; there is one other point--how will you make good your
escape? Had you not better go with us to our women's quarters? Then we
may devise with greater leisure some further means to ensure your
escape."

"If you will but lend me your cloak, lady, to disguise my form, I know
this castle's resources, and I shall not fail to make my escape. As a
token of this, I will leave the cloak at the foot of the stair leading
to the tower. Adieu, lady! We shall meet again under happier auspices."

So saying, he bounded from the dungeon and disappeared in the darkness.




CHAPTER XIII.

BARON VIGNEAU BAULKED OF HIS REVENGE.

    "Midnight brought on the dusky hour,
    Friendliest to sleep and silence."

    Milton.


The pall of darkness is spread over the face of Nature, and the bold
outlines of the mountains are shrouded in its embrace. Under cover of
the darkness, a cordon of vigilant and daring sentinels are closing in
upon the castle and its carousing inmates. One stealthy figure glides
peeringly from tree to tree amongst the clump of towering chestnuts,
until he reaches one near the wall, when, throwing his legs around it,
and catching hold of the tough and sinewy shoots in the bole, he mounts
aloft, and perches daringly amid the branches of the tree, watching the
remnant of the Normans who still are able to keep up the orgie. But most
of them are now fast in the arms of a sodden sleep.

Another figure, on hands and knees, with snake-like motion has left the
thicket of laurel, hazels, and flowering currants at the foot of the
slope in front, and wriggles his way up the rising ground on which the
castle is built, until he comes daringly close to the wall; whilst the
short, sharp scream of the night-owl, issuing from first one point and
then another, tells that concerted action is afoot. The secret of it is,
that Wulfhere has rallied a band of the hardiest Saxons, if needs be, to
dare a desperate deed of rescue on behalf of their captive chieftain.
Many a fierce Saxon, with naked sword and eagerly listening ear, is
lurking around, ready for any deed that may be required of him.

Wulfhere and a trusty comrade are standing together at the foot of a
gigantic oak in an adjoining wood. The capacious trunk tells that for
many centuries it has looked down upon its contemporaries. The decayed
and verdureless branches, clustered around its centre, tell also that
the process of decay has been progressing for a longer span of time than
is permitted in the life of mortals. If we ascend it for a few yards we
shall find that, just where its stout limbs divide themselves from the
bole, a yawning cavern has taken the place of its once stout heart, into
which a man would find no difficulty in descending.

"I think there are none of the enemy on the alert, and we may venture,"
said Wulfhere to his companion. So saying, he mounted the tree and
disappeared in the recess, and, sliding down until he reached the
ground, he quietly removed some leaves and other _debris_; then there
was visible a trap-door, which he raised, revealing a flight of steps,
which he descended, followed by his companion. Drawing forth a horn
lantern, with tinder-box and flint, he struck a light, and the pair
began slowly marching along in the direction of the castle. But they had
not proceeded very far before they were saluted by a familiar voice.

"What ho, Wulfhere! what are you venturing?"

After the first violent consternation, Wulfhere found his tongue.

"We essayed a rescue, my lord, but you have saved us the trouble. How is
this? We scarcely hoped to find you alive at this time, much less a free
man."

"A miracle, Wulfhere! I account it a miracle, for I am as one given back
from the dead. But more anon. Let us haste for the present, for I
tremble lest it should turn out that it is but a dream, and that there
will follow a horrid awakening."

The trio quickly retraced their steps, and stood together in the wood,
Wulfhere uttering a series of peculiar calls well known to every Saxon
comprising the band of rescuers. Quickly, one by one, they rallied to
the spot; and when they saw their chieftain safe and well their
demonstrations of joy were most exuberant--almost frantic--many of them
dancing round him like satyrs in the dim light of the wood, each and all
most anxiously demanding by what strange chance he had obtained his
liberty. As they hastily retreated to the hills, Oswald briefly related
to his followers the circumstances of his release by two Norman women,
who at dead of night had boldly opened the prison door and unfettered
him--Oswald carefully laying upon his followers the injunction that no
harm should be done to the Norman women, and that special regard should
be paid to the Norman lady, daughter of Count de Montfort. He also
enjoined upon them the strictest secrecy as to the agents who had taken
part in it.

       *       *       *       *       *

Early on the morrow there was a grand muster of the Norman men-at-arms
in the castle yard. Many of them who had taken part in the assault on
the castle were not followers of the Count, but mercenaries, who were
eager for further advance in quest of plunder. To this multitude who had
fought for him, and stayed their hand from plunder and burning, at his
request, a liberal donative of gold was distributed; and presently
three-fourths of the soldiery shouldered arms and marched northwards to
swell the ranks of the desolating host which carried fire and sword
throughout the north of England, and to the borders of Scotland.
Blood-curdling were the dreadful scenes of slaughter that were enacted;
not less than two hundred thousand Saxons perishing in that ruthless
massacre.

Alice and Jeannette were astir betimes in the morning also; in fact,
Alice had not closed her eyes during that night of suspense. With
considerable daring, in the morning she and Jeannette passed from room
to room, from basement to roof, in search of evidence that the Saxon had
made good his escape, starting and trembling violently as the wild
shouts of the men fell upon their ears, lest it should be but the herald
of Oswald's recapture.

"There remains but the tower, Jeannette," said Alice, after they had
explored, as best they could, the various rooms of the castle. So
towards the dismal winding stair of the tower they hastened, and there
in the semi-darkness they came across the cloak which Alice had lent the
fugitive. Then Alice remembered the parting words of the Saxon,--that
'she would find the cloak at the bottom of the stair.' Slowly they
scrambled up these stairs, often-times having literally to grope their
way. When they reached the top they peered anxiously around, but no
trace of Oswald was to be seen. Looking over the battlements, they
beheld Vigneau, Pierre, and a number of men making preparation for what
they considered a morning's sport. Some had fenced round a small
enclosure, and others had kindled a large fire, in which were heating
pincers and long iron spikes wherewith they purposed torturing the Saxon
chieftain. Vigneau, casting a glance up at the castle, perceived Alice
and Jeannette peering over the battlements and watching the fiendish
preparations.

"Pierre," said Vigneau, "do you see _la grande dame_ watching us? We
shall find her sport soon the mawkish damsel will sicken at, I warrant.
I would like to tie her to the spot and make her look on whether she
will or no."

"You will win no gracious smiles by this work, I doubt, my lord; it
would have been better done farther away," said Pierre.

"I neither care for her smiles nor her tears. I have got the hook in her
gills and I'll land her in my own fashion, and she may struggle and
flounder as she will. I can bring her ladyship or her precious sire to
their knees as I like. You shall see presently. But come along, bring
half a dozen of your men with you; we'll have Samson up now."

So away they hastened to the cells to fetch their prisoner.

"Jeannette," said Alice, "I am ready to faint! Do you think the Saxon
has escaped? I fear he could never scale that horrid wall; and if he be
but hiding on the roof or in the cells he will be surely caught."

"If I could push these huge stones upon the Baron's head I would do it
freely," said Jeannette.

Just at that moment a wild shout came pealing up the stair.

"Oh, Jeannette," said Alice, "let me sit down! They have found him, I
fear! This is sickening!"

Just at that moment a soldier was seen to dash from the door of the
castle and fly across the enclosure and through the gate. This was the
sentinel who had taken Paul Lazaire's place; and who, as soon as he
found the prisoner gone had himself fled for life and was seen no more.

Speedily a hue and cry was raised. The castle was searched within and
without with the utmost minuteness. Vigneau's violence and rage were
fearful, and his demeanour that of a wild beast baulked of his prey.

     It is needless to say that I was well-nigh overjoyed when
     Badger brought me the wonderful news of Oswald's deliverance. I
     gave God praise, for truly it was little less than a miracle.
     Badger, by some means or other, seemed to be constantly in
     possession of all information as regarded the movements of the
     Normans as well as the Saxons. Truly, he seemed ever on the
     alert. By night he was constantly in conference with the
     outlaws. Marvellously, also, he gained the goodwill of the
     Normans, and he became a repository of all their secrets.
     Unfortunately for us, Vigneau and his men quartered themselves
     at the abbey; and, fearful for Ethel's safety, I made Badger
     the bearer of the following letter to Oswald, who had, I was
     pleased to hear, found a retreat which promised some prospect
     of immunity from molestation; and, as I said, I had become most
     nervously anxious for the welfare of Ethel now that Vigneau had
     taken up his abode so near to her retreat.

     "To the most noble and valiant Ealdorman Oswald,
     greeting.--Having been assured by yourself that you purpose
     devoting your great wisdom and undoubted valour to the most
     worthy cause of protecting and succouring your unfortunate and
     distressed countrymen, in these most perilous times, I would
     fain bring to your notice that most evil times have befallen
     the house of your late neighbour, the Thane Beowulf, in that
     his lands, like your own, have become forfeit. But, what is
     even more distressing, he, along with his son, has been slain
     whilst endeavouring to prevent the spoliation of their
     possessions by the Normans. His lovely and accomplished
     daughter Ethel had fled to these cloisters for safety; but
     inasmuch as this most holy sanctuary is involved in the general
     ruin, being seized by violent hands, and remains at this
     present in possession and under the control of beings who are
     little better than fiends--men who have no regard for sacred
     things, and who in their cruelty and lust spare neither age nor
     sex--violent hands have been laid upon Ethel, but happily she
     hath been delivered out of their hands as a 'bird from the
     fowler,' by the combined address and valour of the bearer of
     this message. Unfortunately there is no place of safety for
     her, for the remnant of her father's housecarles and fiefs are
     a scattered band, and outlaws. She hath for the present,
     however, found a temporary place of shelter in the dwelling of
     one of her father's rangers, who hath a rude abode in 'Hooded
     Crow's Gyll.' But this is at best a precarious refuge, for, as
     soon as the Normans muster courage to explore the forest, she
     will inevitably fall into their hands again. If thou canst
     befriend this orphaned one, the God of the friendless and
     distressed bless thee! If thou canst offer her a more secure
     shelter, the bearer of this missive--whom doubtless thou wilt
     know--may be safely trusted to guide thee to the herdsman's
     hut. Most sorrowfully I salute thee.

     "Adhelm, Abbot,
     "Monastery of ----. [symbol: cross]

This epistle duly reached Oswald, who, as I surmised, lost no time in
setting about a rescue. Calling Wulfhere, three horses were quickly
saddled--one for Oswald, one for Wulfhere, and one for Badger, who was
to act as guide.

"Lead the way," said the Earl; "and keep by the hills as far as
possible, for the Normans as yet have had no time to spare from their
eating, drinking, and plundering, to explore the hill country, and, I
doubt not, we shall go unmolested."

With these directions, the three horsemen started off, keeping to the
hills, where their vision could sweep the valleys and lowlands with so
much accuracy that it would have been impossible for an enemy to come at
any time within a couple of miles of steep climbing without being
perceived. A little more than an hour's ride brought them to the point
from whence they must strike the forest and lowlands. They paused for a
minute or two, calmly surveying the hillsides, and minutely scrutinising
every object which had any indefiniteness or uncertainty about it. But
the curlews swept the long circle of the hills, uttering their plaintive
cries, and the hawks glided over the tops of the trees, or darted in and
out amongst them to start their prey into the open, or, on poised wing,
they rested motionless in the air, scanning with keen vision the ground
beneath them, and ready to pounce like a flash upon any luckless mouse
or tiny rabbit that had ventured on an excursion from its hole.

"The presence of man--or, at least, of men--is not here," said Oswald,
"or these shy denizens of the solitudes of Nature would betray it by
their unrest. Lead on, Badger; we shall not be molested, I trust."

So Badger struck out for the lowlands at a rapid pace, presently
plunging into the head of the wood which ran up the valley some
half-mile beyond the unbroken forest. In the bottom of this valley or
gorge, a water-course was speeding away from the hills, occasionally
leaping over falls of several yards. But, amongst the unsolvable
mysteries of Nature, trout in goodly numbers had penetrated beyond them,
and in every pool or temporary resting-place of the waters, these
enterprising denizens of the flood abounded. The three followed a rough
path by this water-course for a considerable distance, until it merged
in the well-nigh interminable forest.

Suddenly Badger diverged from the path, and, dismounting, led his horse
through the thicket, putting aside the branches as he passed. Presently
a rude dwelling became visible, with a little clearing around it. This
was the spot where the herdsman, or, more properly speaking, the ranger,
dwelt. It was a rough and primitive sort of building, made of wood.
Stout oak limbs, deeply inserted into the ground, and from which the
bark had been removed, formed the main supports, whilst the arched roof
and interspaces of the sides were interlaced in most fantastic shapes by
smaller branches of the oak, all carefully peeled. Upon this framework
of oaken branches the roof and sides were dexterously thatched by
heather from the neighbouring moor, and over all a rude daubing of mud
and lime mixed; the whole making a rude, but, nevertheless, a warm and
dry abode. Around the entrance there was a few yards paved with smooth
limestone pebbles gathered from the neighbouring brook. Amid these were
interspersed most fantastically the knuckle-bones of deer, sheep,
wolves, and other animals. Grotesque and whimsical all this seemed, but
it jumped with the fancy of the architect, who was literally a child of
the forest. Badger, as he drew nigh, heard hasty scuffling of feet and
barricading of the door. But when he gave a knock all was as still as
death in a moment.

"Hillo, within there!" shouted Badger. "There is nothing but good Saxons
here."

The ranger's wife recognised at once the voice of Badger, and undid the
door; and the three entered, leaving their horses standing together.
Ethel, meanwhile, was listening within in great trepidation, but when
she discovered that their unexpected visitants were Saxon, she emerged
from an inner room. As her eyes rested upon Oswald, who had removed his
helmet, the burning blushes mounted in a deep crimson glow to her face
and neck, and she cast an anxiously nervous look at her disarranged
toilette.

"Ah!" said Oswald, taking her hand and raising it to his lips, "is this
the sweet little Ethel who used to watch us rough boys play at the
joust, and fence with our broadswords?--whom we used to accompany
through the Bruneswald on her hawking expeditions? Why, how you have
grown, too! To be sure, these terrible times have left no opportunities
for neighbourly amenities. Why, 'tis three years since I last set eyes
upon you. Ah, I know 'tis very sad," said he, as he saw the tears start
into her eyes; "but dry those eyes, timid one, we will endeavour to find
a covert where you may hide; and we will put about it a girdle of steel,
and woe shall be to the Norman who obtrudes his hated presence near."

But these gentle words only seemed to open the floodgates still wider,
and the frail frame of the fair girl quivered with emotion. Recently she
had passed through sufferings, privations, terrors innumerable; but as
she looked upon the mailed warrior before her, it seemed as though a
very tower of refuge had been found. The most casual observer would have
been powerfully impressed by the striking contrast in these two human
beings--Ethel, with her fair complexion, deep blue eyes, and rich
tresses of fair hair falling with unkempt gracefulness over her
shoulders, being a picture of maidenly grace, and an ideal high-born
Saxon maiden; whilst the Earl's tall, muscular frame, well-shapen head,
and curly locks, seemed like a modern Hercules made for the times, and
equipped by Nature to play a conspicuous part in a troublous
epoch,--times, in which personal prowess, dauntless courage, and a
commanding presence were essential qualities in one who aspired to be a
leader of men.

We can scarcely wonder that there should be a touch of more than wonted
gentleness in the tone of his voice, as he spoke to this fair and
sorrowing maiden.

"We heard of your misfortunes, fair one," said Oswald, "and we have come
to offer you such succour as a dispossessed Saxon can still offer. I
fear me it will be but a rude shelter for so gentle a guest. It may be
precarious, and subject to alarms, too; but I warrant it shall have a
measure of safety, if you will accept of it."

"Thank you, my lord. Alas! that is all that I have to offer for your
great kindness. I will gladly accept your offer, and I will try not to
be altogether a burden to you."

"Now, my worthy dame," said Oswald, addressing the ranger's wife, "you
have done a good deed in sheltering this lady."

"We have but done our duty. She is our lawful mistress. We have fed on
her father's bounty, and enjoyed his protection, and the sorrow is to
see her brought to this pass."

"Where is thy husband?"

"He is adown the Gyll on the watch."

"Canst thou call him?"

"Presently, my lord, if you wish to see him."

"Yes, let us see his face. We may be able to befriend him, and he us."

The woman reached from the side of the dwelling a small whistle, made
from a branch of the plaintain tree, and, going to the door, she blew a
low and peculiar note, then listened for a second; but there was no
response. Then a little louder she blew the same note. Immediately there
came trembling through the wood a response.

"He will be here soon," said the woman, coming back to the dwelling.

Presently, the ranger pressed through the bushes into the enclosure; in
one hand a dish of fine trout dangled on a string, and in the other hand
a pheasant. But there was no mark of surprise on Bretwul's countenance
as he beheld his visitors.

"How now, friend. Thou art not alarmed, I see," said Oswald.

"No; I have one eye for the hills, and another for the dales, and I know
a Saxon any gait, and my old comrade Badger in any guise."

"So thou hast busied thyself in securing these dainties for thy
mistress, I presume?"

"Yes, I have sent one of my trusty shafts after this dainty bird, and I
have poked under a few stones in the brook for these trout. Here," said
he, throwing his quiver on the floor, "are a score of cloth-yard shafts,
and every one a trusty friend, and never fails. I have taken great pains
in the rearing of them. I have tried them all at a mark, and I have all
their peculiarities logged up in my brain-pan. I have taken the swerve
out of them, as nearly as I can, by paring their heads, and twisting
their tails; but they have all a mind of their own at the finish. But I
know their minds as well as they know themselves, and I can allow, to a
shadow, what they require and I can shoot a Norman's eye out at
fourscore paces with any of them. Look, also; all these heads have been
made by Sweyn, the Sheffield armourer; all of them forked ye see, and
make a dainty little slit between a Norman's ribs as they enter; but
gramercy! getting them out, there's the rub! I have been watching for
many a day down the Gyll, for the Normans have been getting bold,
ransacking the forest in quest of Saxon refugees. A slice of luck, and a
crumb of comfort, has fallen to me this morning."

"Oh! Hast thou had some of them within reach of thy cloth-yard shafts,
then, this morning?"

"Marry, that I have! and I have tickled one or two of them with a long
stick; but they didn't laugh, mark you."

"Oh, then, we'll have thy story, Bretwul, for we are all anxious to hear
how they like messages from our woodsmen."

"Well, it came about thus. There is a little path from the valley leads
up to our cot. 'Twas worn, before these dogs came, be assured, for we
shall make no further tracks, yet awhile. As I was out this morning, on
the rough side of my cottage--that is, the side turned to the foe--and
on the look-out for them, three or four of these Normans had come across
the track, and, of course, they naturally thought there would be
something at the end on't. Well, there was something in the middle that
satisfied them. No sooner did I see them coming, than I says to myself,
'Come on, my bucks! I've got something warm for you, and you can have it
for nothing but love.' I planted myself in the bush not forty paces
away, and I selected my choicest shaft. This is him," said he, pulling
one out of the quiver, still red with blood. "I'd trust my life on this
shaft, master, for he never fails. Well; on they came, and I gave him
all the strength of my arm, and plump in the throat my arrow struck the
foremost Norman, and he dropped in the path. Gramercy! His fellows
didn't even stop to say to him, 'Are you much hurt?' or even to inquire
if there was any more of the same sort about; but they turned tail,
master, if you believe me, and they ran--why, Badger here couldn't have
overhauled them, and he's the nimblest fellow in these parts. Well, I
says to myself, 'I should not like you to go empty away, any of you, if
I can help it.' So I lodged another of my shafts pretty securely, I
warrant, in the buttocks of the last one, and the fellow never halted
for a moment to inquire what it was, but he carried off my shaft. I
suppose they will be busy now inviting it to come out; but, depend upon
it, it will hold its own as closely as any Norman could stick to a
Saxon's goods. I've lost a good shaft over him, but it will tickle him
for many a day yet; and he'll want nobody to scratch the place, either.
There, marry! it's bad manners to stand prating before my betters, but a
bit of news of this sort I like, either to hear or tell it."

"It is news good either to hear or tell," said Oswald, "and we shall be
glad to hear more of thy stories when thou hast any as good as this. But
prithee, my good fellow, what is this bundle of shafts in the corner?"

"These, master, are my youngsters, and they haven't quite finished their
schooling. They are trusty shafts enough when you come to close
quarters, but, like an unbroken colt, a trifle skittish when accurate
work has to be done. I'll make them steady goers by-and-bye. Wife
haven't you a drink of mead or a bite of anything for our guests? This
is Oswald, our only chieftain in these parts. Don't you remember his
coming to the hall and playing joust and broadsword with Master Beowulf?
A stout rogue he was, too, in those days. This is Wulfhere, Folkfree and
Sacless (lawful freeman); Badger, too, a merry fellow--like myself,
though, thrall and bondman, but as trusty a knave, I trow, as breathes."

"I like thy mettle, Bretwul, if such be thy name; but what dost thou
purpose to do? Wilt thou stay here and take thy luck single-handed, or
dost thou intend to make terms with the Normans, and accept such mercies
as they may bestow?"

"'Down with the Normans,' is the Saxon's good word now, and it has been
mine from the first. The Bruneswald, and the company of the merry
outlaws who range it, would suit me best; but hopping about in the
woods, like a squirrel from tree to tree, does not suit the womenfolk
and my toddlers. But shift I must now; after to-day's business there
will be no staying here. I left yon fellow across the path as a sort of
warning to trespassers, but it won't act long, for the Normans will come
again in larger numbers, and the game will soon be up."

"Maybe thou hast heard that we have made a stand on the hills yonder?"

"Ay, ay! that I have, master."

"If thou likest to bring thy wife to Tarnghyll, where we are sheltering
for the present, she and the little ones will be much safer, and thy
wife Eadburgh will be useful to Lady Ethel. By-the-bye, thou hast a
brace of falcons and some fishing gear, I see; and I warrant there is a
ferret or two in that hutch outside. Every man to his craft, and marry,
thine is a serviceable one just now. If thou wilt do thine office for
thy mistress and the rest of us, why then bring thy tackle, and thou
shalt ply thy craft for us, and be assured we shall not grumble if thou
waste an occasional shaft upon the buttocks of any bold or prying
Norman. Hast thou any of thy comrades, servants of the worthy Thane
Beowulf, hiding hereabouts who are willing to take a new master? If
there are, bring them along with thee, for any one sturdy enough to
despise the Norman yoke, and anxious to loose a shaft in defence of the
Saxon's cause, will be heartily welcomed, for we purpose a venture in
which a man who can shoot straight will do us good service."

"That will be blithe news, I trow, for there are a number of the
housecarles of the worthy Thane, my late master, who are casting about
for something more settled-like than the wolf's-head life of the forest.
In truth, there will be a merry gathering of stout outlaws at the
hermit's cave on Crowfell at nightfall. I would be keen to carry your
message to this trysting. At our last gathering the talk ran much on
your defence of the castle, and some of these are forest men and outlaws
who range the woods as far south as Sherwood. Anyway, I warrant me the
natives of these parts will hear the news with rare glee, for a dalesman
likes to keep in the shadow of his hills and fells. Stout men at a push
you'll find them, and ready to stand to their weapons with the best, and
as slippery as eels when they must shift for themselves. Say the word,
and I'll see it runs through these parts like a heather-fire in a stiff
breeze."

"Good! Bretwul, stir up these fellows, the more the merrier, for we are
not going to play hide-and-seek with these Normans, and the stouter the
mustering the better we can deal with them."

Bretwul's wife set before the visitors a stout repast--spoils of the
chase and the flood--for Bretwul was an adept at his vocation. The
visitors also were well supplied with hunger-sauce, and they did rare
justice to it.

"Well, Badger," said Oswald, "you seem to have taken such a liking to
your new friends that you could not bear parting with them on any terms,
so we must leave you behind, and wish them joy of their friend."

"Gramercy, master, it is true! I am such a simple fellow that I can wag
a paw with these Normans in all meekness and humility; but I have a
snare or two set on my own account, and the game always finds its way
fellward. Leave me alone, I'll wriggle through it somehow; and, by our
Lady, I've had no broken bones thus far."

So Oswald, Wulfhere, and Ethel sped them on their way--Ethel being
accommodated with the spare horse.

"Come, Ethel, my girl, you must dry those eyes, for I shall take note
each day, be assured, to see how the sunshine comes back again to your
countenance," said Oswald, pleasantly.

"I am afraid I shall prove to be a great burden, and very little of a
help to you in your struggles."

"Oh, yes; you will be just such a burden as the wild flowers, as little
tending and as fragrant and beautiful as they."

Ethel blushed scarlet, and made haste to change the subject. "Do you
think, my lord, this Norman Count is bent on exterminating all Saxons
who do not yield them vassals to him?"

"Nay, Ethel girl, why this formality? I used to be Master Oswald; I pray
you let the honest Saxon name suffice. I cannot tell what De Montfort
intends, but I fear he will let nothing slip that he can by any means
grasp; but I have determined I will know the best or the worst of his
intentions. I shall open negotiations with him, and ascertain, if
possible, if he purposes we shall dwell in peace and as freemen."

"But you will not venture so far as to put yourself in his power? I pray
you, trust them not, for they are insatiable in their cruelty," said
Ethel anxiously.

"No fear, Ethel, of my putting myself in his power. Having once tasted
the horrors of captivity I shall not risk its repetition rashly; but I
have a plan, and I shall speak with him face to face. I may tell you,
despite the many reasons we have for undying hatred and no compromise, I
have a deep-rooted conviction that for the present, at all events, a
truce on reasonable and honourable terms will be immeasurably best for
the Saxon cause."

"The land is undoubtedly prostrate, and time is urgently needed ere it
can rally once more," said Ethel.




CHAPTER XIV.

THE SAXON CHIEFTAIN CONFRONTS DE MONTFORT.

    "Then crouch no more on suppliant knee,
      But scorn with scorn outbrave;
    A Briton even in love should be
      A subject, not a slave."

    Wordsworth.


Count de Montfort and his daughter Alice were seated together one
evening in what was known as the crimson parlour, a comfortable and
somewhat elegant room for the period. It was wainscoted in dark oak,
with carpets and hangings of richly-figured crimson cloth from the looms
of Avignon. They were enjoying a temporary respite from the incessant
bustle and turmoil which had been their daily accompaniment since the
day they first occupied the Saxon chieftain's patrimony. Even here,
their quiet was unpleasantly disturbed by the roystering merriment of
their followers in the distant kitchen, who stoutly maintained their
freedom to carouse and drink pretty much as they listed. I take the
liberty here to introduce the reader to a more intimate acquaintance
with the Count and his beautiful and accomplished daughter. The Count
was considerably past middle life, probably not less than fifty-five.
His sunburnt countenance, and the stern lines about his mouth and
forehead, told eloquently the tale of a soldier's life. For the habits
of a rough and unscrupulous life had lent a grim and unfeeling hardness
to a visage which had strong evidence of force and character depicted in
it. There was also palpable evidence of a spirit ill at ease and clouded
with doubt, which made him irritable sometimes to a degree positively
cruel to friend or foe. His once jet-black locks were silvering rapidly;
but his tall form had lost none of its erectness, and his haughty and
imperious demeanour proclaimed him a man used to ruling arbitrarily, and
little accustomed to brooking opposition, or the frustrating of his
purposes. His daughter, Lady Alice de Montfort, was extremely like him
in general appearance. Tall and elegant in carriage, her profuse raven
tresses were gathered in silken bands, and from thence fell over her
shoulders well-nigh to her girdle. Her face was pale; her features
regular, as though chiselled. A pair of lustrous dark eyes glowed from
between darker lashes, proclaiming her southern extraction. She was
indeed a model of queenly beauty. Like many of her countrywomen of
exalted station, her youth had been spent in the seclusion of the
convent, where alone an education worthy of the name could be obtained.
This secluded life--despite her fiery extraction--had toned down her
disposition; whilst the culture and refinement had made her a typical
example of the romance and troubadour spirit of song, which we Saxons
knew to be developed in the maidens of sunny France. For her, the rough
life of the Norman occupation, with its scenes of blood and cruelty, was
a daily horror.

"Alice," began the Count, "I told you some time ago that I had affianced
you to Baron Vigneau. He has followed my fortunes, and lent the prowess
of himself and his mercenaries in furthering my interests, in return for
which he was to receive your hand in marriage; and I gave him my solemn
promise to that effect. His recent conduct has not pleased me, and his
addiction to the wine-cup has become inordinate. But I lay the fault of
this to the rough times we have had, and I doubt not when peaceful times
come again he will become a sober and a virtuous Norman Baron. Anyway, I
gave him my promise, and he has fulfilled the obligation. He now presses
for the fulfilment of this promise. Much time has already been allowed
you to prepare, so I would have you bethink yourself when it can be
redeemed. As you know, it rests solely with yourself as to when this
event shall be, and my pledges made good. I pray you despise him not,
for though he is a landless mercenary, he is brave, and has powerful
friends."

"Father, this marriage is most distasteful--I may say, most abhorrent to
me. The Baron is a man I cannot possibly love; and if my fortune is what
he would have, let him take it and welcome--I care not if I am
penniless, if I have my liberty. Nay, I would much rather take the veil
if I have no other choice than to marry him."

"Alice, this cannot be; I cannot break my promise. Once for all let me
tell you I dare not. This man has obtained a fatal advantage over me,
and it is a question of life and death for me. Listen!" said he, rising
and pacing the room with quick nervous tread. "Fool that I was, when
this last insurrection of the Saxons broke out I was deeply smarting
under the rebuffs I had received at the hands of my mortal enemies Odo
and Fitz-Osborne, and the base ingratitude of William. I counted the
forces of the rebels, and noted their wonderful successes; and foolishly
imagining the Danes and Scots would stand firm, I thought that William's
time had come at last. Madman that I was! to think ought could thwart
the iron will and marvellous resource. But I had many things to be
revenged upon, and I was blinded by it. I thought, now is the time. But
worst of all, in sheer madness and infatuation I entrusted
letters--deadly compromising letters--to this Vigneau for the leaders of
the insurrection. These letters Vigneau never delivered, and he now
holds them over my head, the villain! and threatens to divulge the whole
thing to William. If he does this, I know well, with the enemies I have
at court, that nothing will appease the self-willed tyrant but my head.
These letters contain such ample proof of my treasonous intentions that
my life literally hangs in the balance if I cannot gratify Vigneau. Fool
and dolt that I was to place myself in the power of so unscrupulous a
villain!

"I have told you this much that you may think less hardly of me. But the
thing is absolute and irrevocable. I can no longer put him off by my
excuses on your behalf, for he becomes clamorous and threatening. There
is nothing further to gain, I perceive, by remonstrances and promises,
so the sooner this marriage takes place the better; for I am hopelessly
involved in the toils of this snake."

A dead silence of some minutes followed this, and a sickening sensation
almost to fainting crept over Alice. How long the death-like stillness
would have lasted I know not, but just at that juncture, in silence
profound, the massive oaken door swung back unbidden, and a snatch of a
Bacchanalian chorus pealed along the corridors and burst unbidden on the
ears of father and daughter. But the rising temper of the Count at this
ill-timed jollity and carousing gave way on the instant to profound
astonishment and alarm, as Oswald the Saxon, armed with shield and
buckler, with his drawn sword in his hand, strode into the room; whilst
the dim form of an armed accomplice was visible for a moment in the
darkness ere the door swung back to its place, shutting out the sounds
of revelry and riot, and the three were alone together. The Count sprang
to his feet, whipped out his sword, and savagely stood at bay, awaiting
the onslaught of the sturdy Saxon. Alice also sprang to her feet with a
startled cry, and a strange panic seized her. Had this Saxon, who owed
his life to her, sought this interview with murderous intent? His
appearance betokened it most surely, and she began to upbraid herself
most keenly.

"Quiet you, lady," said Oswald, with a low obeisance, and in tones which
belied the warlike attitude and arms which he bore. "I have none but
peaceable intentions, gentle lady, though in these times we must be
prepared for any eventualities. I hope you will let this excuse my
weapons and my untimely visit."

"What doest thou here, Saxon? and how darest thou intrude thyself so
recklessly?" said the Count.

[Illustration: THE SAXON CHIEFTAIN CONFRONTS DE MONTFORT.]

"As to intrusion, noble sir, you will pardon me, but my father built
this castle, and I was born here, and inherited it from him; so I would
fain point out, if you will allow me, that I am not the intruder. You
have usurped my lands, appropriated my home, and slain my vassals;
whilst I am homeless, landless, and an outlaw."

"Lucky, too, art thou, Saxon, to escape with thy life, and wondrous
venturesome withal, in thrusting thy neck a second time into the
halter."

"I have not come to bandy threats, but it is not my neck that is in the
halter just now, and if thou wert not shielded by a protector more
potent than thy armed minions thy life would soon be forfeit--mark that,
Norman! and be a little more merciful."

"Thou liest, Saxon dog! I fear thee not, nor any Saxon boor in the
land!" said the Count, brandishing his sword, whilst Alice rushed
frantically between them.

"Excuse my hastiness, fair lady," said Oswald, "and permit me to say
that I have not come to shed blood, but the reverse; I am come to
solicit a truce, an honourable truce, and to treat for a cessation of
hostilities and hatred; and I would fain you should be umpire between us
this night, gentle lady."

"What truce dost thou expect, Saxon?" said the Count. "There can but be
one truce between the conqueror and a foe routed and beaten; and that
is, that he should lay down his arms unconditionally and accept the
clemency of the conqueror."

"That is a condition which we shall not accept. We shall maintain our
liberty at all hazards, and the Norman had better beware of harassing
desperate men."

"If thy arrogance were equalled by thy power, Saxon, thou wouldst do
great things. But be thou well assured that I will root every mother's
son of you out of your holes in the mountains within a month, if there
is not unconditional surrender. But if thou and thy vassals return, and
accept these terms, ye shall be entitled to my protection as my vassals
and villeins. For thyself, if thou subscribe the oath of fealty, I will
assign to thee certain lands, which thou shalt atone for by such
services rendered to me as I please, as thy feudal lord."

"Excuse me, noble sir; but these are impossible terms. In the first
place, I am not going to submit to be a grovelling feudatory, wearing
clumsy brogues and a vassal's collar, coming cringingly to thee for
permission to make a journey or shoot a stag--to ask humbly if I may
keep a dog; catch a fish; or marry a wife! I am not going to hold the
stirrup for beggarly Norman adventurers, and say, Your most humble
servant, By your leave, puissant sir, Crave your pardon, my lord, and
all the rest of servile rigmarole, being afraid to breathe the breath of
heaven, or tread mother earth; or say that I am a man; content to be
numbered with thy cattle, or thy goods and chattels, and be spoken of as
the loutish Saxon clown. Never! Let that be understood once for all. No
drop of vassal's blood courses through my veins. No part of a vassal's
spirit animates me. I have not looked upon the face of any man, Saxon or
Norman, that I fear, and I will be vassal to no man. Leave me alone,
with the handful of Saxons who follow me. Thou hast my lands and my
home--take them as the spoils of war, but be content. There is land
enough, and thou mayest leave us in peace. We will not come nigh thee,
but be content to till a little land for sustenance; and we may be of
service as thy allies. Probably many of the serfs will be willing to
return to their lands and to vassalage; and all who are willing may do
so freely."

"Thou hast come to dictate terms, not to supplicate them, Saxon. Dost
thou think it probable I shall tolerate a petty Saxon chieftain holding
sway close to my doors? or harbour on my lands a brood of villeins who
will render the service of fear to me and that of fealty to the Saxon
near, so that in any pinch they will treacherously fail me? Thou hast a
low estimate of my wisdom, truly. But listen once for all, Saxon; if
there be not immediate surrender I will hunt you from your holes in the
hills, as I have already said, within a month, and few will escape
me--mark that!"

"Father," said Alice, "you do this noble Saxon grievous wrong in
rejecting so rudely hi

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