THE RIVAL HEIRS:

Being the Third and Last Chronicle of Aescendune;by Rev. A. D. Crake. 

 PREFACE. 

 CHAPTER I. THE ANGLO-SAXON HALL. 

 CHAPTER II. THE BLACK AND DARK NIGHT. 

 CHAPTER III. THE WEDDING OF THE HAWK AND THE DOVE. 

 CHAPTER IV. THE NORMAN PAGES. 

 CHAPTER V. A FRAY IN THE GREENWOOD. 

 CHAPTER VI. A REVELATION. 

 CHAPTER VII. FRUSTRATED. 

 CHAPTER VIII. VAE VICTIS. 

 CHAPTER IX. A HUNT IN THE WOODS. 

 CHAPTER X. EVEN THE TIGER LOVES ITS CUB. 

 CHAPTER XI. ALIVE--OR DEAD?

 CHAPTER XII. THE ENIGMA SOLVED. 

 CHAPTER XIII. "COALS OF FIRE. "

 CHAPTER XIV. THE GUIDE. 

 CHAPTER XV. RESTORED TO LIFE. 

 CHAPTER XVI. RETRIBUTION. 

 CHAPTER XVII. THE ENGLISH HEIR TAKES POSSESSION. 

 CHAPTER XVIII. AT THE ABBEY OF ABINGDON. 

 CHAPTER XIX. AN INTERVIEW WITH THE CONQUEROR. 

 CHAPTER XX. THE MESSENGER FROM THE CAMP OF REFUGE. 

 CHAPTER XXI. TWO DOCUMENTS. 

 CHAPTER XXII. THE CHAPTER HOUSE OF ABINGDON. 

 CHAPTER XXIII. "GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY. "

 CHAPTER XXIV. THE CASTLE OF OXFORD. 

 CHAPTER XXV. IN THE FOREST OF LEBANON. 

 CHAPTER XXVI. "QUANTUM MUTATUS AB ILLO HECTORE. "

 CHAPTER XXVII. THE FRIENDS WHO ONCE WERE FOES. 

 CHAPTER XXVIII. AESCENDUNE ONCE MORE. 

PREFACE. 

This little volume, now presented to the indulgence of the reader, is the third of a series intended to illustrate the history andmanners of our Anglo-Saxon forefathers, whom a great historian veryappropriately names "The Old English:" it does not claim the meritof deep research, only of an earnest endeavour to be true to thefacts, and in harmony with the tone, of the eventful period of "TheNorman Conquest. "

The origin of these tales has been mentioned in the prefaces to theearlier volumes, but may be briefly repeated for those who have notseen the former "Chronicles. " The writer was for many years thechaplain of a large school, and it was his desire to make theleisure hours of Sunday bright and happy, in the absence of thesports and pastimes of weekdays. 

The expedient which best solved the difficulty was the narration oforiginal tales, embodying the most striking incidents in thehistory of the Church and of the nation, or descriptive of thelives of our Christian forefathers under circumstances ofdifficulty and trial. 

One series of these tales, of which the first was Aemilius, a taleof the Decian and Valerian persecutions, was based on the historyof the Early Church; the second series, on early English history, and entitled "The Chronicles of Aescendune. "

The first of these Chronicles described the days of St. Dunstan, and illustrated the story of Edwy and Elgiva; the second, the laterDanish invasions, and the struggle between the Ironside and Canute;the third is in the hands of the reader. 

The leading events in each tale are historical, and the writer hasstriven most earnestly not to tamper with the facts of history; hehas but attempted to place his youthful readers, to the best of hispower, in the midst of the exciting scenes of earlier days--to makethe young of the Victorian era live in the days when the Danesharried the shires of Old England, or the Anglo-Saxon power andglory collapsed, for the time, under the iron grasp of the NormanConqueror. 

Sad and terrible were those latter days to the English of everydegree, and although we cannot doubt that the England of thepresent day is greatly the better for the admixture of Normanblood, nor forget that the modern English are the descendants ofvictor and vanquished alike, --yet our sympathy must be with ourAnglo-Saxon forefathers, in their crushing humiliation and bondage. 

The forcible words of Thierry, in summing up the results of theConquest, may well be brought before the reader. He tells us thatwe must not imagine a change of government, or the triumph of onecompetitor over the other, but the intrusion of a whole people intothe bosom of another people, broken up by the invaders, thescattered community being only admitted into the new social orderas personal property--"ad cripti glebae, " to quote the verylanguage of the ancient acts; so that many, even of princelydescent, sank into the ranks of peasants and artificers--nay, ofthralls and bondsmen--compelled to till the land they once owned. 

We must imagine, he adds, two nations on the surface of the samecountry: the Normans, rich and free from taxes; the English (forthe term Saxon is an anachronism), poor, dependent, and oppressedwith burdens; the one living in vast mansions or embattled castles, the other in thatched cabins or half-ruined huts; the one peopleidle, happy, doing nought but fight or hunt, the other, men ofsorrow and toil--labourers and mechanics; on the one side, luxuryand insolence; on the other, misery and envy, --not the envy of thepoor at the sight of the riches of others, but of the despoiled inpresence of the spoilers. 

These countries touched each other in every point, and yet weremore distinct than if the sea rolled between them. Each had itslanguage: in the abbeys and castles they only spoke French; in thehuts and cabins, the old English. 

No words can describe the insolence and disdain of the conquerors, which is feebly pictured in the Etienne de Malville of the presenttale. The very name of which the descendants of these Normans grewproud, and which they adorned by their deeds on many a field ofbattle--the English name--was used as a term of the utmostcontempt. "Do you think me an Englishman?" was the inquiry ofoutraged pride. 

Not only Normans, but Frenchmen, Bretons--nay, Continentals of allnations, flocked into England as into an uninhabited country, slewand took possession. 

"Ignoble grooms, " says an old chronicler, "did as they pleased withthe best and noblest, and left them nought to wish for but death. These licentious knaves were amazed at themselves; they went madwith pride and astonishment, at beholding themselves sopowerful--at having servants richer than their own fathers had been{i}. " Whatever they willed they deemed permissible to do; theyshed blood at random, tore the bread from the very mouths of thefamished people, and took everything--money, goods, lands {ii}. Such was the fate which befell the once happy Anglo-Saxons. 

And it was not till after a hundred and forty years of slavery, that the separation of England from Normandy, in the days of thecowardly and cruel King John, and the signing of Magna Carta, gaveany real relief to the oppressed; while it was later still, nottill after the days of Simon de Montfort, when resistance to newforeigners had welded Norman and English into one, that the severedraces became really united, as Englishmen alike. Then the greatestof the Plantagenets, Edward the First, the pupil of the man he slewat Evesham, was proud to call himself an Englishman--the firsttruly English king since the days of the hapless Harold; and one ofwhom, in spite of the misrepresentations of Scottish historians andnovelists, English boys may be justly proud: his noble legislationwas the foundation of that modern English jurisprudence, in whichall are alike in the eyes of the law. 

Not long after came the terrible "hundred years war, " whereinEnglishmen, led by the descendants of their Norman and Frenchconquerors, retaliated upon Normandy and France the woes they hadthemselves endured. Crecy, Poitiers, and Agincourt avengedHastings; the siege of Rouen under Henry the Fifth was a strangeNemesis. During that century the state of France was almost as sadas that of England during the earlier period; it was but a fieldfor English youth to learn the arts of warfare at the expense ofthe wretched inhabitants. 

But these events, sad or glorious, as the reader, according to hisage, may consider them, were long subsequent to the date of ourtale; they may, however, well be before the mind of the youthfulstudent as he sighs over the woes of the Conquest. 

Two remarks which the writer has made in the prefaces to the formerChronicles he will venture to repeat, as essential to the subjectin each case. 

He has not, as is so common with authors who treat of this period, clothed the words of his speakers in an antique phraseology. Hefeels sure that men and boys spoke a language as free and easy inthe times in question as our compatriots do now. We cannot presentthe Anglo-Saxon or Norman French they really used, and to load thework with words culled from Chaucer would be simply an anachronism;hence he has freely translated the speech of his characters intothe modern vernacular. 

Secondly, he always calls the Anglo-Saxons as they calledthemselves, "English;" the idea prevalent some time since, andwhich even finds its place in the matchless story of Ivanhoe, or inthat striking novelette by Charles Mackay, "The Camp of Refuge, "that they called themselves or were called "Saxons, " is now utterlyexploded among historians. It is true the Welsh, the Picts, andScots called them by that designation, and do still; {iii} butthey had but one name for themselves, as the pages of theAnglo-Saxon Chronicle make manifest--"Englishmen. " Nor did theirNorman conquerors affect to call them by any other title, althoughin their mouths the honoured appellation was, as we have said, buta term of reproach {iv}. 

The author has chosen his two heroes, Wilfred and Etienne, ifheroes they can be called, as types of the English and Norman youthof the period, alike in their merits and in their vices. Theeffects of adversity on the one, and of success and dominant prideon the other--happily finally subdued in each case beneath theCross on Calvary--form the chief attempt at "character painting" inthe tale. 

It is not without a feeling of regret that he sends forth from hishands the last of these "Chronicles, " and bids farewell to the realand imaginary characters who have seemed to form a part of hisworld, almost as if he could grasp their hands or look into theirfaces. 

They are interwoven, too, with many treasured remembrances of pastdays, of the listening crowd of boys, now scattered through theworld, and lost to the sight of the narrator, but who once by theireager interest encouraged the speaker, and at whose request theearliest of these tales was written. Happy indeed would he be, could he hope the written page would arouse the same interest, which the spoken narrative undoubtedly created, or the tales hadnever been published. 

And now the writer must leave his tale to speak for itself, onlytaking this opportunity of assuring old friends, whose remembrancesof a vanished past may be quickened by the story, how dear thememory of those days is to him; and to show this, however feebly, he begs leave to dedicate this tale to those who first heard it, onsuccessive Sunday evenings, in the old schoolroom of All Saints'School, Bloxham. 

A. D. C. 

CHAPTER I. THE ANGLO-SAXON HALL. 

It was the evening of Thursday, the fifth of October, in year ofgrace one thousand and sixty and six. 

The setting sun was slowly sinking towards a dense bank of clouds, but as yet he gladdened the woods and hills around the old hall ofAescendune with his departing light. 

The watchman on the tower gazed upon a fair scene outspread beforehim; at his feet rolled the river, broad and deep, spanned by arude wooden bridge; behind him rose the hills, crowned with forest;on his right hand lay the lowly habitations of the tenantry, thefarmhouses of the churls, the yet humbler dwellings of the thrallsor tillers of the soil; the barns and stables were filled with theproduce of a goodly harvest; the meadows full of sheep and oxen--ascene of rich pastoral beauty. 

On his left hand a road led to the northeast, following at firstthe upward course of the river, until it left the stream andpenetrated into the thick woodland. 

Just as the orb of day was descending into the dense bank of cloudafore mentioned, the watchman marked the sheen of spear and lance, gilded by the departing rays, where the road left the forest. Immediately he blew the huge curved horn which he carried at hisbelt; and at the blast the inhabitants of the castle and villagepoured forth; loud shouts of joy rent the air--the deeperexclamations of the aged, the glad huzzas of children--and allhastened along the road to greet the coming warriors. 

For well they knew that a glorious victory had gladdened the armsof old England; that at Stamford Bridge the proud Danes andNorwegians had sustained a crushing defeat, and been driven to seekrefuge in their ships, and that these warriors, now approaching, were their own sons, husbands, or fathers, who had gone forth withEdmund, Thane of Aescendune, to fight under the royal banner ofHarold, the hero king. 

Who shall describe the meeting, the glad embraces, thehalf-delirious joy with which those home-bred soldiers werewelcomed? No hirelings they, who fought for mere glory, or lust ofgold, but husbands, fathers of families--men who had left theploughshare and pruning hook to fight for hearth and altar. 

"Home again"--home, saved from the fire and sword of the Northman, of whom tradition told so many dread stories--stories well known atAescendune, where a young son of the then thane fifty years agonehad died a martyr's death, pierced through and through by arrows, shot slowly to death because he would not save himself by denyinghis Lord {v}. 

At that dismal period the whole district had been devastated withfire and sword, and there were old men amongst the crowd who wellremembered the destruction of the former hall and village by theferocious Danes. And now God had heard their litanies: "From thefury of the Northmen, good Lord deliver us, " and had averted thescourge through the stout battle-axes and valiant swords of thesewarrior peasants and their noble leaders, such as Edmund, son ofAlfgar. 

Amidst all this joy the Lady Winifred of Aescendune stood upon thesteps of the great hall to receive her lord, fair as the lily, atrue Englishwoman, a loving wife and tender mother. 

And by her, one on each side, stood her two children, Wilfred andEdith. He was an English boy of the primitive type, with his brownhair, his sunburnt yet handsome features, the fruit of country airand woodland exercise; she, the daughter, a timid, retiring girl, her best type the lily, the image of her mother. 

And now the noble rider, the thane and father, descended from hiswar steed, and threw himself into the arms of the faithful partnerof his joys and sorrows, who awaited his embrace; there was amoment of almost reverential silence as he pressed her to his manlybreast, and then arose a cry which made the welkin ring:

"Long life to Edmund and Winifred of Aescendune!"

The bonfires blazed and illuminated the night; the bells (therewere three at S. Wilfred's priory hard by) rang with somewhatdissonant clamour; strains of music, which would seem very roughnow, greeted the ears; but none the less hearty was the joy. 

"The comet--what do you say of the comet now?" said one. 

"That it boded ill to the Northmen, " was the reply of hisneighbour. 

They referred to that baleful visitor, the comet of 1066, which hadturned night into day with its lurid and ghastly light, so that thevery waves of the sea seemed molten in its beams, while the beastsof the field howled as if they scented the coming banquet of fleshafar off. Well might they stand aghast who gazed upon this awfulportent, which had seemed to set the southern heavens on fire. 

The banquet was spread in the great hall, and the returned warriorssupped with their lord ere they retired to gladden their ownfamilies. Little was said till the desire for eating and drinkingwas appeased. But the minstrels sang many a song of the glories ofthe English race, particularly of the thanes of Aescendune, and ofthe best and noblest warrior amongst them--Alfgar, the companion ofthe Ironside, the father of the present earl, who had been borne tohis grave full of years and honour amidst the tears of his people, in the very last year of the Confessor. 

But when the boards were removed, the thanks rendered to the Godwho had given all, the huge fire replenished, the wine and meadhanded round, then Edmund the Thane rose amidst the expectantsilence of his retainers. 

"The health of Harold, our noble king, elected to that post by thesuffrages of all true Englishmen! Nobler title no king on earth mayclaim. "

It was drunk with acclamation. 

"The memory of our brethren who went forth with us from Aescendune, and have left their bones at Stamford Bridge. Weep not for them, they have fallen in no unjust war, but for hearth and altar, fortheir country and their God; and this I swear, that while I rule atAescendune, their souls shall never lack a mass at St. Wilfred'saltar, nor their widows and orphans food and shelter. "

This toast was drunk in solemn silence, and Edmund continued:

"Our toils are not yet over; we have one more battle to fight, andthat may serve to free us from further need of fighting for therest of our lives. William the Norman landed with sixty thousandmen in Sussex, as many of you already know, while we were inNorthumbria, or I trow he had never landed at all. The day aftertomorrow we don our harness again to meet this new foe, but it willbe child's play compared with that which is past. Shall we, whohave conquered the awful Harold Hardrada, the victor of a hundredfights, fear these puny Frenchmen? They have come in a large fleet;a fishing boat will be too roomy to take them back; their boneswill whiten and enrich the fields of Sussex for generations. "

"The day after tomorrow!--start again the day after tomorrow, oh, my lord!" said a gentle, pleading voice. 

"It must be so, my love; but why doubt that the God who has alreadygiven us such an earnest of victory will protect us still, andpreserve us to each other?"

All the charm of the banquet was gone to the devoted wife, butyoung Wilfred pressed to his father's side. 

"Thou wilt take me this time, father. "

"Why, my boy, thou art barely fifteen, not old enough or strongenough yet to cope with men. "

"But these Normans are hardly men. "

"I fear me too much for thy tender age. "

"Oh, father, let me go. "

"Nay, thy mother needs thy care. "

"But I must begin some day, and what day better than this? I canfight by thy side. "

"There is really little danger, my wife, " he said, in reply to thepleading looks of the mother; "I would not take him to meet theDanes, but there is less danger in these dainty Frenchmen. Thegrandson of Alfgar should be encouraged, not restrained, when heseeks to play the man, even as we repress not, but stimulate thefirst feeble attempts of the young falcon to strike its prey. "

The Lady Winifred said no more at the time, for the duties of ahost demanded her lord's care. The moon was high in the heavens erethe last song was sung, the last tale told, and the guestsdismissed with these parting words:

"And now, my merry men all, your own homes claim your presence. Oneday ye may safely give to rest; the day after tomorrow we marchagain; for Harold will complete his levies on the 10th, and we mustnot be behind. Goodnight! Saints and angels guard your well-deservedrest. "

The brief period of rest passed rapidly away, and the last nightcame--the last before departure for the fatal field of Senlac. Oh, how little did the Englishmen who left their homes with suchconfidence dream of the fatal collapse of their fame and glorywhich awaited them! They fell into the fatal error of underestimatingtheir foe. Had it been otherwise, a host had assembled which had crushedthe foreign invader; whereas there were few thanes in the midlands, andscarce any in the northern shires, who thought it worth while to followHarold to Sussex. 

So there were many who cried, "We have defended the northern shoresand beaten the Danes; let the men of Sussex take their turn withthese puny Frenchmen; we will turn out fast enough if they bebeaten. "

Alas! it was too late to "turn out" when the only Englishman whosegenius equalled that of William lay dead on the fatal field, andthere was no king in Israel. 

Amidst the general confidence begotten of the victory at StamfordBridge there were some upon whom the dread shadow of the future hadfallen, and who realised the crisis; foremost amongst these was thepatriot king himself. He knew the foe, and was perhaps the only manin the country who did; he knew that civilisation had onlysharpened the genius of the descendants of Rollo, without abatingone jot of their prowess; that they were more terrible now thanwhen they ravaged Normandy, two centuries earlier. 

Yet he flinched not from the struggle. 

And amidst all the confidence of her dependants, some such shadowseemed to have fallen on the Lady Winifred. An unaccountablepresentiment of evil weighed upon her spirits. She could not leaveher husband one moment while he was yet spared to her; ever andanon she was surprised into tender words of endearment, foreign tothe general tenor of her daily life, which partook of the reserveof an unemotional age. 

She begged hard that Wilfred might remain at home, but onlyprevailed so far as to obtain a promise that he should not actuallyenter the battle, and with this she was forced to rest content, tothe great delight of the boy. 

That last night--how brief it seemed! How frequent the repetitionof the same loving words! How fervent the aspiration for the day oftheir happy reunion, the danger over!--how chilling theunexpressed, unspoken doubt, whether it would ever take place! Yetit seemed folly to doubt, after Stamford Bridge. 

The supper, ordinarily, in those times, the social meal of the day, was comparatively a silent one. The very tones of the harp seemedmodulated in a minor key, contrasting strongly with the jubilantnotes of the previous night; and at an early hour, the husband andwife retired to their bower, to sit long in the narrow embrasure ofthe window, looking out on the familiar moonlit scene, her head onhis breast, ere they retired to rest. 

"Dear heart, thou seemest dull tonight, and yet thou wert not sowhen we parted for the last fight. Thou didst thy best then tocheer thy lord. "

"I know not why it is, but a chill foreboding seems to distress myspirits now, my Edmund; it must be mere weakness, but I feel as ifI should never sit by thy dear side again. "

"We are in God's hands, my dear one, and must trust all to Him. Igo forth at the call of duty, and thou couldst not bid me to stayat home that men may call me 'niddering. '"

"Nay, nay, my lord, forgive thy wife's weakness; but why takeWilfred too?"

"He will be in no danger; he shall tarry with old Guthlac by thestuff. There will be many present like him, and whatever may chanceto me or others, there can be no danger to them, for victory mustfollow our Harold. Hadst thou seen him at the Bridge thou couldstnot doubt; he is the Ironside alive again, and as great as ageneral as a warrior. 

"And now, dearest, a faint heart is faithlessness to God; let uscommit ourselves in prayer to Him, and sleep together in peace. "

The eastern sky was aglow with the coming dawn when they arose. Soon all was bustle in the precincts, the neighing of horses, theclatter of arms; then came the hasty meal, the long lingeringfarewell; and the husband and father rode away with his faithfulretainers; his boy, full of spirits, by his side, waving his plumedcap to mother and sister as they watched the retiring band untillost in the distance. 

They retired, the Lady Winifred and her daughter Edith, to thesummit of the solitary tower, which arose over the entrance gate ofthe hall; there, with eyes fast filling with tears, they watchedthe departing band as it entered into the forest, then gorgeouswith all the tints of autumn, the golden tints of the ash and elm, the reddish-brown of the beech--all combining to make a picture, exceeding even the tender hues of spring in beauty. 

But all this loveliness was the beauty of decay, the prelude to thefall of the leaf; the forests were but arrayed in their richestgarb for the coming death of winter. 

Into these forests, prophetic in their hues of decay, glided thebrilliant train of Edmund, the last English lord of Aescendune. 

Farewell, noble hearts! Happier far ye who go forth to die for yourcountry than they who shall live to witness her captivity. 

CHAPTER II. THE BLACK AND DARK NIGHT. 

It was the evening of Saturday, the 14th of October, in the year ofgrace 1066. 

All was over; the standard--the royal standard of Harold--had gonedown in blood, and England's sun had set for generations on thefatal field of Senlac or Hastings. 

The orb of day had gone down gloomily; had it but gone down onehour earlier, all might yet have been well; it but lingered tobehold the foe in possession of the hill where the last gallantEnglishmen died with Harold, not one who fought around the standardsurviving their king. 

The wind had arisen, and was howling in fitful gusts across theensanguined plain of the dead; dark night gathered over the gloomyslopes, conquered at such lavish waste of human life--dark, but notsilent; for in every direction arose the moans of the wounded anddying. 

On the fatal hill, where the harvest of death had been thickest, the Conqueror had caused his ducal pavilion to be reared, justwhere Harold's standard had stood, and where the ruined altar ofBattle Abbey stands now. They had cleared away the bodies to makeroom for the tent, but the ground was sodden with the blood of bothEnglishman and Norman. 

The sounds of revelry issued from beneath those gorgeous hangings, and mocked the plaintive cries of the sufferers around. 

"O Earth, Earth, such are thy rulers!" exclaimed a solemn voice. "To gratify one man's ambition, this scene disfigures thy surface, and mocks the image of God in man. "

So spake a good monk, Norman although he was, who had followedGeoffrey, Bishop of Coutances, into England as his chaplain, selected because he could speak the English tongue--that warriorprelate, who in conjunction with Odo of Bayeux blessed theConqueror's banners, and ministered in things sacred to the "pious"invaders. 

He wandered, this good brother, from one dying sinner to another, absolving the penitent, and ministering to the parched lips of manya sufferer. His own long brown garment was stiff at the extremitieswith gore, but he heeded it not. 

And at last, when he came to a heap of slain just where the Normanshad first hewn their way through the English entrenchments, afterthe sham retreat had drawn away so many of their defenders, he wasattracted by the sound of convulsive weeping. 

There, kneeling beside the body of an English warrior, he saw a boyof some fourteen years, sobbing as if his young heart would break, while he addressed the slain one with many a plaintive cry. 

"Father, wake; speak but once more to me; thou canst not be dead. Oh my father, only once more speak to thy son. "

"Alas! my poor boy, he will speak no more until the earth gives upher dead, and refuses to cover her slain; but we will comfort hissoul with masses and prayers. How didst thou come hither, my poorchild?"

"I followed him to the battle, and he bade me tarry by the stuff;but when all was lost Guthlac ran away, and I came hither to diewith him if need should be. Oh my father, would God I had died forthee. "

"Father, good father, what clamour is this?" said a deep voice, "some English lad mourning a sire?"

"Even so, my Lord of Blois. The poor child mourns his father. "

"There be many mourners now. William Malet, with a lady whom Haroldloved, and two good monks of Waltham, have just found the body ofthe perjured usurper. The face was so mangled, that no man mightknow him, but she recognised him by a mark on his body. So theyhave carried it away by the duke's command to bury it by the shorewhich he strove so vainly to guard. "

"Oh may I but bear his body home to my poor mother, " moaned thelad. 

"We will ask the Conqueror to grant thy petition, poor mourner, "said the sympathising monk. 

"William will not refuse his prayer, father, if thy superior, theBishop of Coutances, urges it; he is all-powerful just now, " saidEustace of Blois. "The poor boy shall plead himself. Come, my lad, to the pavilion; there shalt thou ask for and obtain the poor boonthou cravest. "

The unhappy Wilfred--for our readers have of course recognised theyoung heir of Aescendune--repressed his sobs, strove to wipe awayhis tears, as if he felt them unmanly, and followed his conductors, the knight and the monk, towards the ducal tent. 

There William, attended by all his chief officers--by Odo of Bayeuxand Geoffrey of Coutances, by Hugh de Bigod and Robert de Mortain, and some few others of his mightiest nobles, was taking the eveningmeal, served by a few young pages, themselves the sons of nobles orknights, who learnt the duties of chivalry by beginning at thelowest grade, if to wait on the Conqueror could be so considered. 

Speaking to the sentinel, the good chaplain was allowed to enter, and whisper low in the ear of the bishop. 

"I can refuse thee nought after thy good service, " said the courtlyprelate. "Thou say'st the poor boy has a boon to crave--the body ofhis sire, and begs through me--I will out, and speak to him. "

"Thy name, my son?" said Geoffrey to Wilfred. 

"Wilfred, son of the Thane of Aescendune, in Mercia. "

"Hast thou been in the battle?"

"Only since all was over, or I had died by his side. "

"The saints have preserved thee for better things than to die in acause accursed by the Church. Nay, my son, I blame thee not, thouart too young to know better. "

And truly the boy's face and manner, winning though suffused withtears, might have softened a harder heart than beat beneath therochet of the Bishop of Coutances, warrior prelate though he was. 

So, without any further delay, he led the boy into the presence ofthe mighty Conqueror. 

"Who is this stripling? an English lad, my lord of Coutances?"

"He has come to beg permission to carry away the body of his sire. Bend thy knee, my lad, and salute thy future king. "

"Nay, thy present one; coronation will but put the seal onaccomplished facts, " said Eustace. 

But young though Wilfred was, he had his father's spirit in him, and spoke in broken sentences. 

"My lord, " he said, "I cannot own thee as my king. My father wouldnot have me abjure all he taught me before his body is yet cold. Ibut ask thee as a kind enemy, who wars not with the dead, to giveme leave to remove him from this fatal spot--to take him home. Thouwilt not deny an English lad this poor boon, mighty duke as thouart. "

William understood English well, and was touched by the boyishspirit of the address, by the absence of fear. 

"Thou dost not fear me then?" he said. 

"He who lies dead on yon field for his country's sake taught me todespise fear. "

"Thou art verily a bold youth, and were there many like thee, England might yet be hard to win. A noble father must have begottenso brave a son. "

Then turning to his guests:

"But I hope yet, " he added, "to win the hearts of such as he. Theyloved Canute, although he conquered them. Am I less a foreignerthan he? and may not I win their love as he did?"

"Begin then thy reign with an act of clemency, my royal son, " saidthe bishop. 

"I do; the lad shall have the protection he needs, and theassistance of our people, so far as our power yet extends. "

The tears started once more into Wilfred's eyes. 

"I thank thee, my Lord Duke, for my dead father's sake, and for myliving mother, and will pray the saints to forgive thee thebloodshed of this day. "

It was a curious ending to his speech, especially as the bloodshedwas supposed to be on account of the saints, over whose bones theill-fated Harold had taken his famous oath; but William had respectfor courage and outspoken truthfulness, and more than once promotedmen to high office in Church or State, who had withstood him in theface. 

He only added, "When we meet again, my son, thou mayst judge thyking differently. "

Wilfred left the ducal tent; the authority of Count Eustacespeedily procured the assistance of some Norman camp followers, andthe body was reverently removed from the heap of slain, and placedupon a litter. Wilfred slept in the tent of Eustace, and in themorning commenced his homeward journey, with the funeral cortege. 

It is unnecessary to enter further into the details of that mostsad journey. Suffice it to say that he was able to transfer theprecious burden from Norman to English hands, and that he arrivedhome in safety, whither Guthlac had preceded him, with the tidingsthat all save himself had perished alike. 

Therefore the return of Wilfred was like that of one dead and aliveagain, lost and found; and the poor widow felt she had yetsomething besides her daughter Edith to live for. 

The immediate effects of the conquest were not felt for some fewweeks in the central parts of Mercia, and nought interfered withthe solemn function customary at funerals in those ages. 

The second morning after the return of Wilfred was fixed for theburial of the deceased thane, in the priory church which his fatherhad built in the place of an earlier structure burnt by the Danesin 1006. 

It was a noble pile for those early days, built chiefly of stone, which was fast superseding wood as a material for churches, dedicated to St. Wilfred. The lofty roof, the long choir beyond thetransept, gave magnificence to the fabric, which was surroundedwithout by the cloisters of the priory, of which it was the centralfeature. 

In the south transept--for it was a cruciform church--was a chapeldedicated especially to St. Cuthbert, where the ashes of thedeceased thane's forefathers reposed in peace beneath the pavement. There lay Ella of Aescendune, murdered by a Dane named Ragnar; histwo sons, Elfric, who died young, and Alfred, who succeeded to theinheritance. There, as in a shrine, the martyr Bertric reposed, who, like St. Edmund, had died by the arrows of the heathen Danes, there the once warlike Alfgar, the father of our thane, rested inpeace, his lady Ethelgiva by his side {vi}. 

The body lay in the great hall, where he had so recently feastedhis retainers after the return from Stamford Bridge. Six largetapers burned around it, and watchers were there both by day andnight. 

There his people crowded to gaze upon the sternly composed featuresfor the last time; there knelt in prayer his disconsolate widow, her son and daughter: they scarcely ever left the hallowed remainsuntil the hour came when, amidst the lamentations of the wholepopulation, the body of the gallant Edmund was borne to the tomb inthat chapel of St. Cuthbert, where those gallant ancestors whosestory we have told in former chronicles awaited him--"earth toearth, and dust to dust. "

It was a touching procession. The body was borne by the chieftenants yet living, and surrounded by chanting monks, whose solemn"Domine refugium nostrum" fell with awful yet consoling effect uponthe ears of the multitude. The churls and thralls, sadly thinned bythe sword, followed behind their lady and her two children, Wilfredand Edith. 

They placed the bier before the high altar while the requiem masswas sung, six monks kneeling beside it, three on each side, withlighted tapers. Then the coffin was sprinkled with hallowed water, perfumed with sweet incense, and borne to its last resting place inthe chapel of St. Cuthbert, where they laid him by the side of hisfather, Alfgar the Dane. 

"Ego sum resurrectio et vita, dixit Dominus--I am the Resurrectionand the Life, saith the Lord. "

CHAPTER III. THE WEDDING OF THE HAWK AND THE DOVE. 

It was a feature peculiar to the Norman Conquest, that while itsreal injustice and disregard of moral right could hardly besurpassed in the annals of warfare, the conquerors strove to giveto every act of violence and wrong the technical sanction of lawand the appearance of equity. 

This was easily done: first, by assuming that William was thelawful successor of Edward the Confessor, and that all who hadopposed him were therefore in the position of conquered rebels; andsecondly, since the Pope had excommunicated Harold, and sanctionedthe invasion, by treating all his aiders and abettors as hereticsor schismatics. 

Generally these harsh doctrines were pushed to their legitimateconsequences in cruel wrong inflicted upon an innocent people, andthe Anglo-Saxon thanes and nobles who survived the first years ofconquest were reduced to serfdom or beggary; but there wereexceptions. William doubtless intended at first to govern justly, and strove to unite the two nations--English and Norman; therefore, when the occasion offered, he bade his knights and barons whoaspired to an English estate marry the widows or daughters of thedispossessed thanes, and so reconcile the conflicting interests. Hence the blood of the old Anglo-Saxon lords flows in many a familyproud of its unblemished descent from the horde of pirates androbbers, whom a century and a half in France had turned into thepolished Normans. 

Alas! the varnish was often only skin deep. 

"Scratch the Norman, you will find the Dane, " said the oldproverb--none the less ruthless and cruel because of the gloss of asuperficial civilisation. 

Within a few weeks after the fatal day of Senlac, all resistance onthe part of the disunited English, left without a recognisedleader, became hopeless; and William was crowned on Christmas Dayat Westminster Abbey, which on the previous feast of the Epiphany, in the same year, as we reckon time, had witnessed the coronationof his hapless rival. There he swore to be a just ruler to Englishand Normans alike, and, doubtless, at the time he was sincere; buthistory records how he kept his oath, and the course of our storywill illustrate it. 

The lands of all who fought on Harold's side at Hastings wereannounced to be forfeited; hence the widow and son of Edmund wereliable to be ejected from their home and possessions at Aescendune. 

But the conduct of Wilfred on the night after the battle had wonhim friends, and they pleaded for the youngster whose gallantbearing had made an impression on the mighty Conqueror himself, whofelt a passing interest in the brave boy. 

Still he would only interpose to stay the execution of the unjustlaw, and to keep off the greedy Norman nobles, who were alreadyprowling around the fair manor, on one condition: the lady ofAescendune must marry a Norman knight, recommended by himself; inwhich case, the right of succession after the death of hisstepfather should rest with Wilfred, who by that time woulddoubtless have become Norman in all but lineage--so thought theDuke. 

At first poor Lady Winifred utterly refused to consent; but whenthe prior of St. Wilfred reminded her that, in that case, she wouldlose all power of protecting her tenantry--the widows and orphansof those who had died around her husband, and that by refusal ofthe terms she threw away Wilfred's inheritance, and consignedherself and children to beggary--then she wavered, and after many apainful scene gave way, and consented to become the bride of Hugode Malville, the earliest applicant for her hand and estate, whenthe year of mourning for her lost Edmund should have elapsed. 

"I may give my hand, " she said, "but can never give my heart. "

The good Bishop of Coutances saw that the preliminaries were fairlyarranged, for Hugo de Malville came from his diocese, where, if thetruth be told, he had not borne an exemplary character, and thebishop would fain have found a better father for the young Wilfred;only the Conqueror was peremptory, and would brook no interferencewith his arrangements. 

Therefore, all the good prelate could do was to see that themarriage contract was fairly drawn up by clerkly hands--thatWilfred stood next in succession. There was need of this, for Hugohad a son of the same age, a hopeful youth, named Etienne, the onlybeing on earth whom he was known to love. 

This lad was named next in order of succession to Wilfred, failingissue from the new marriage. 

The morning sun was shining brightly one October day, in the yearof grace 1067, on the old moated manor of Aescendune, on its clearriver and its deep woods, now bright with all the gorgeous tints ofautumn. 

All the good people of that well-known neighbourhood--well-known wemean to the readers of the former Chronicles--were gatheredtogether in crowds on the green between the castle and thevenerable priory of St. Wilfred, founded, as related in the firstof these veritable family legends, by Offa of Aescendune. 

Many a group of friends and kinsfolk had formed itself, some ineager but not loud discussion, in which the guttural tones of thatEnglish, so unlike our own, yet its direct progenitor in language, contrasted sharply with an occasional shout in Norman French fromsome marshal of the ceremonies, bent on clearing the course for thepassage of the coming procession. 

A deep gloom sat on many a brow--on nearly every aged one; for manyof the youngsters were merry enough. 

From the main archway of the old hall issued the bridalprocession--whence the funeral of Edmund had but emerged one yearbefore: she, surrounded by such friends and neighbours as yet livedand were permitted to hold their lands up to this time in peace, while he came from a neighbouring castle, newly erected, where hehad spent the night with great pomp and state, preceded by heraldswith their trumpets, and surrounded by all the knightly robbers whohad been already successful in grasping manors and estates roundAescendune. 

The Bishop of Coutances, vested in white stole, received them atthe door of the priory church, attended by the English prior. 

"Hugo, " said he, "wilt thou receive Winifred, here present, as thywedded wife, according to the rites of our Holy Mother the Church?"

"I will, " he replied, in firm tones. 

"Winifred, wilt thou receive Hugo, here present, as thy weddedhusband, according to the rites of our Holy Mother the Church?"

She faltered, trembled, then said: "I will, " but all present musthave marked her hesitation. 

The bishop continued:

"I join you in matrimony in the name of the Father, Son, and HolyGhost. "

Then he sprinkled them both with hallowed water, and afterwardsblessed the ring, praying that she who should wear it might ever befaithful to her spouse, and that they might live in the peace ofGod and in mutual charity. 

Hugo placed the ring on her cold, shuddering finger, she tremblinglike an aspen leaf; after which the bishop led the way to the highaltar, where the customary mass "pro sponso et sponsa" was said. 

Forth they now issued, the heralds first with their trumpets; thenthe men-at-arms with all the pomp of Norman array; then theprincipal tenants of the estate, looking more like prisoners thanguests; then another troop of Norman men-at-arms; then each on hisown horse, his squire by his side; the neighbouring barons, who hadalready built their castles and strengthened themselves in theland; then, preceded and attended by pages in sumptuous tunics oflinen, fringed and girded with cloth of gold, the happy pair, he onhis war steed, she on her white palfrey--he dark as the raven, shefair as the lily. 

Wilfred and Etienne were walking side by side in the procession, and it was impossible to help being struck by the contrast in theirappearance--the one supple and lithe in every limb, with dark, restless eyes, and quick, nervous temperament; the other, theEnglish boy, with his brown hair, his sunburnt, yet handsomefeatures--the fruit of country air and exercise--far stouter andsturdier than his foreign rival. 

They were expected, of course, to be very friendly; but any keenobserver would have noted a certain air of distrust which showeditself from time to time in their glances, in spite of the awkwardadvances they made to each other. 

How could it be otherwise? Could they forget the deadly feudbetween their races? Could they forget that each was a claimant ofthe lands of Aescendune--the one by birth, the other by the rightof conquest?

And now the bridal train reached the gates of the Hall amidst theplaudits of the Normans and the deep silence of the Englishmen--manyof whom would sooner far have seen the fair Winifred in her gravethan the wife of Hugo de Malville. 

"What thinkest thou, Sexwulf, of this most outlandish wedding?"

"What can I think, Ulf, but that the good widow has lost her sensesthrough grief at the death of her lord, the noble Edmund, elsewould the dove never mate the black crow. "

"Yea, she was pale as death as she entered the church. "

"Well she may be; she liketh not the match, only she would save theestates for her boy's sake. "

"Will she be able to save them?"

"So the Conqueror hath promised. Wilfred, our young lord, is toinherit if he live; and if he die, then that dark young Frenchlad--a true cub of the old wolf. "

"If he live. Well, I would not wager much upon his chance of a longlife in that case. "

"Nor I; but we must not say so, if we value our ears, or our neckseven. "

Long and loud was the revelry in the castle of Aescendune thatnight; as it is written in the old ballad of Imogene:

"The tables groaned with the weight of the feast, And many and noble were the guests. "

But no spectral form sat beside the bride, although there were notwanting those who half imagined the dead Edmund might appear--rousedeven from the grave, to see the seat he had occupied so many years inhonour and worth, filled by this dark-browed Norman stranger. 

"Let us drink, " said the courtly bishop, "to the health andhappiness of Norman lord and English lady, and may their union be atype of the union betwixt the two people, who, forgetting that theymet as worthy foes at Senlac, may live as brethren under thenoblest king in Christendom. "

The toast was drunk with acclamations; even the English gueststhought they meant it in the delirium of the jovial scene, andfancied for a moment that Englishman and Norman might yet live inpeace. 

"Is it not sweet?" said the good prior to one of the Englishguests. "It reminds me of the happy time when it is said the wolfshall lie down with the lamb. "

"Methinks the lamb is likely in this case to lie down inside thewolf, especially if he be a Norman wolf. "

But the speaker, whose attendance was compulsory, or he had notbeen there, had few sympathisers at the moment. 

"Let us hope for the best. Sir Hugo will not, cannot forget thesolemn covenant he has made today, to love and to cherish, tilldeath part him and his bride. "

"I hardly think, good father, that day is far off, judging by herlooks. "

The wax tapers cast a sweet, soft light over the pale, sad featuresof Winifred of Aescendune, daughter of Herstan {vii} ofClifftown, on the Thames, who had but lately, full of years, goneto his rest, spared the sad days of the Conquest--days utterlyunanticipated by those who died while Edward the Confessor yetreigned in peace, ere Harold visited the Norman court and sworeover the holy bones. 

She was but fulfilling a sad duty--at least she thought so--as sheplayed her ill-omened part, sacrificing herself for her boy and heronly daughter Edith. For what was the alternative? Was it not to goforth as fugitives and vagabonds on the face of the earth--a preyto every foreign noble--leaving her own dear people of Aescenduneto the wolf, without intercessor or protector. 

And thus it came to pass that Winifred of Aescendune married Hugode Malville. 

CHAPTER IV. THE NORMAN PAGES. 

In the days of chivalry the first step towards the degree ofknighthood was that of page. Boys of noble birth, about theirtwelfth year, were generally transferred from the home of theirchildhood to the castle of some gallant baron to learn the customsof war and peace at his hand, and to acquire habits of good orderand discipline. These lads fared harder by far than modern boys doat our great schools; they slept on harder couches, rose earlier, and had less dainty food. They were forced to pay implicitobedience to their superiors; modesty in demeanour, as becomingtheir age, was strictly required before their elders; and they hadto perform many offices which would now be deemed menial. 

First they learned how to manage their horses with ease anddexterity; next how to use the sword, the bow, and the lance. Theyhad to attend upon their lords in hunting--the rules of which, likethose of mimic war, had to be carefully studied. The various blastsof the horn, indicating when the hounds were slipped, when the preywas flying, and when it stood at bay, had to be acquired, as alsothe various tracks of the wild animals--the fox, the wolf, thebear, the wild boar. Nights and days were frequently spent in thepathless woods, and the face of the country had to be carefullystudied, while pluck and address were acquired by the necessity ofpromptitude when the wild beast stood at bay. 

And when the deer or hart was slain they had to "brittle, " or breakhim up, with all precision, and during the banquet they hadfrequently to carve the haunch or chine, and to do it with somegracefulness. 

All these arts were being acquired at the castle of Aescendune byEtienne de Malville, Louis de Marmontier, Pierre de Morlaix, andWilfred of Aescendune, all of the age of fifteen or sixteen, butmore advanced physically than boys of such years would be now; and, sooth to say, the boys had a stern preceptor in Hugo de Malville. 

They slept in a common dormitory in one of the towers, on bedsresembling boxes, stuffed with straw, with the skins of the wolf orbear for coverlets. They sprang out when the morning horn blew thereveille. First they attended the early mass in St. Wilfred'smonastic church, said at daybreak--for the Normans were very exactin such duties--after which they fenced, rode, or wrestled, and inmimic war gained an appetite for breakfast. 

They ate dried meats, as a rule, with their cakes of bread, andwashed them down with thin wine or mead, much diluted, and then theforest was generally the rendezvous. 

On winter evenings, or when the weather was very bad, the chaplainwas expected to teach them a little reading or writing in Latin orNorman French--never in English; and this was almost all thelearning they acquired, in the modern sense of the word. 

But they knew a hundred things modern boys know nothing at allabout, and every muscle and nerve was braced to be steady and true, whether for fight or sport. Our young pages could find their way inthe deep woods by observing the moss on the trees, or the sides onwhich the oaks or elms threw their branches the most freely; andwhen benighted they could sleep with patience on a couch ofwithered leaves, and not suffer with a cold in the head the nextday. They feared neither wolf nor bear, nor, for that matter, anything save disgrace. 

The imputation of cowardice, or of any mean vice, such as lying, was only to be avenged by bloodshed. No gentleman could bear it andretain his claim to the name. But there were higher dutiesinculcated wheresoever the obligations of chivalry were fullycarried out: the duty of succouring the distressed, or redressingwrong--of devotion to God and His Church, and hatred of the deviland his works. 

Alas! how often one aspect of chivalry alone, and that the worst, was found to exist; the ideal was too high for fallen nature. Ouryouthful readers will be able to judge which aspect was uppermostat Aescendune under its first Norman lords. 

Nought was changed in the outward aspect of the scene, save that astern Norman castle, with its dungeons and towers, was rising inthe place of the old hall, doomed to destruction because it was illadapted for defensive warfare. 

Such defect had hardly been appreciated in the days of the oldEnglish thane, for England had enjoyed half a century ofcomparative peace, and her people had begun to build like those whosat at peace beneath their own "vine and fig tree, " ere the Normansbrought the stern realities of war into the unhappy land, or ratherof serfdom, oppression, and slavery, only varied by convulsivestruggles for liberty--always, alas! destined to be made in vain. 

The four pages were one day wandering in the outskirts of theforest, clothed in light hunting dresses--tunics, confined by broadbelts and edged with fur; while leggings protected the feet andankles from thorns. They each had hunting spears and bows, whichwere borne by young thralls, with sheaves of arrows strung to theirbacks, while they held dogs by leashes of leather. 

He who bore the air of the leader of the party was tall and dark, of slender build, but with all those characteristics which denotedthe conquering race; the fearless eye, the haughty air of thoseborn to command. A second, our readers would have recognised as atypical English boy; his nut-brown hair and blue eyes contrastedstrongly with the features of his companions, so marked then werethose differences which have long since vanished--vanished, or atleast have become so shared amongst the English people, that nonecan say which is of Anglo-Saxon, which of Norman blood, by the castof the face. 

And this English lad, whose dress in no wise distinguished him fromhis companions, was evidently ill at ease amongst them; from timeto time he reddened as Etienne, Pierre, or Louis called the unhappythralls "English swine, " "young porkers, " or the like, and bestowedupon them far more kicks than coins. 

"You forget, Etienne, that I am English. "

"Nay, my brother Wilfred, thou wilt not allow me to do that, but ofcourse in thy case 'noblesse oblige. '"

These last words were uttered with a most evident sneer, and theother lads laughed aloud; whereupon the English lad reddened, thenhis fists clenched, and a looker-on would have expected animmediate outbreak, when suddenly a change passed over hisfeatures, as if he were making a violent effort at self composure. 

"Thou hast dropped an arrow, thou young porker, " cried Etienne, thewhile he struck a violent blow with his switch across the face andeyes of one of his attendants; "dost thou think there are so few ofthy fellow swine to shoot, that arrows are useless in these woods!Ah! look at that sight there, and take timely warning. "

The sight in question was a gallows, from which rotted, pendant, the corpse of an unhappy Englishman, hanged for killing a deer. 

"If every oak in Aescendune woods bore such acorns, civilised folkmight soon be happy. "

Wilfred uttered a deep malediction, which he could not suppress, and, leaving the party, disappeared from sight in the woods. 

One of the Norman lads looked after him with some little appearanceof sympathy, and when he had gone, said:

"Is it like gentlemen to torment each other thus?"

"Not each other, certainly!"

"He is your brother in a way, the son of your stepmother, the ladyof Aescendune. "

"He is in a way, but some brothers would be better out of the waythan in it, besides--why does he not show fight? A Norman wouldwith half the provocation. "

"You could not fight with him, " said Louis de Marmontier, who wasthe youngest of the pages who were learning "chivalry" at thecastle of Aescendune, in company with Etienne and Wilfred, underthe fostering care of the baron. 

"I don't know, " said the fierce young Norman, and, breaking off theconversation, switched savagely at the head of a thistle close athand, which he neatly beheaded. 

The others quite understood the action and the bitterness withwhich he spoke, for they knew that he considered himself defraudedof the lands of Aescendune by the arrangements Bishop Geoffrey hadeffected in favour of Wilfred. 

Meanwhile, plunging into a thicket, and crossing a brook, Wilfredarrived by a shorter route first at the hall, and made his way tohis mother's bower, situated in a portion of the ancient buildingnot yet destroyed, although doomed to make way for Normanimprovements. 

The lady of Aescendune sat lonely in her bower; her features werepale, and she seemed all too sad for one so highly born, and sogood a friend to the suffering and the poor; her gaze was like thatof one whose thoughts are far away--perhaps they had strayed intoParadise in search of him whose loss was daily making earth morelike a desert to her. 

Wilfred came and stood beside her, and her hand played with hisflowing hair until she felt that he was sobbing by her side. 

"What is the matter, my dear boy?"

"Matter! I cannot bear it any longer. I must break the promise thouhast forced me to give. "

"Break thy promise, Wilfred? What would thy sainted father say, didhe hear thee? And how dost thou know that he does not hear?"

"If he were here he would exact no such promise, I am sure; hewould not at least make me appear as a coward in outlandish eyes, and cringe before these proud Frenchmen. "

Wilfred used the word Frenchmen with the greatest scorn. He knewthat the Normans scorned the name as much as they did the nameEnglishmen, of which their descendants lived to be so proud. 

What was this promise which bound the poor lad as in a chain ofiron?

Not on any account to let himself be drawn into a quarrel withEtienne. 

"Thy father would feel as I do, dear son, were he in our place. Dost thou not see that we poor English only hold our own bysufferance, and that any pretext upon which they could seize wouldbe used ruthlessly against us? Yes, thy death might be the resultof any ill-timed quarrel, and thou mightest leave thy mother alone. Nay, dear, dear son, at least while thy mother lives. "

"Oh, how can I?"

"Bear as a Christian, then, if thou canst not as an Englishman. Thetime will not be long that I shall live to implore thee. "

"Nay, dear mother, surely thou art not ailing. "

"Sick unto death, Wilfred, I fear; nay, but for thee I should say, I hope; for shall I not then rejoin thy dear father in a land wherewar and violence are unknown? But for thy sake, dear son, I wouldfain live. "

Poor Wilfred was sobbing by her side, overcome by the blank visionthus opening before him. What would the world be to him, left aloneamidst fierce and hateful foreigners, who had slain his father, andwould willingly slay him?

"Mother, I cannot live without you. If you die--" and he could sayno more, for it shamed his manhood to weep, as he would have said, "like a girl. "

Poor lad, we must excuse him. 

"Now, my dear Wilfred, wilt thou not renew thy promise, and prayGod for help to keep it?"

"Yes, by God's help, at least while you live; but dost thou thinkthou art so ill, dear mother?--it is but fancy. "

"Nay, I feel I am daily, hourly, drawing nearer my end, as if thelamp of life were burning more and more dimly. Morning aftermorning I rise weaker from my bed, and mortal strength seems slowlyand surely forsaking me. But it will be but a short parting; thoumust pray that we may live for ever together. God will grant it forHis dear Son's sake. "

And the mother and son knelt down to pray. 

It was too true, the English lady of Aescendune was slowlydeclining--passing away, drawing nearer daily to the bright landwhere her lost Edmund had gone before. 

It was a complaint which no one understood, although a Jewishphysician, whom her husband in his anxiety consulted, prescribed amedicine which he said would ensure her recovery in a few weeks. This medicine the baron--for to such rank had Hugo de Malville beenraised, on his accession to the lands of Aescendune--this medicinehe would always administer with his own hand. Sometimes Wilfred wasstanding by, and noticed that, dropped in water, it diffused atfirst a sapphire hue, but that upon exposure to the air, that ofthe ruby succeeded. 

Oh, those days of anxiety and grief--those days when the lovedpatient was so manifestly loosing her hold upon life, althoughsometimes there would come a tantalising change for the better, andbring back hopes never to be realised. 

The boyish reader will easily imagine what Wilfred had to bear allthis time from his Norman companions, from whose society there wasno escape--with whom he had to share not only the very few hoursallotted to study, but those of recreation also. Study, indeed, meant chiefly the use and practice of warlike weapons, the learningof the technical terms of chivalry, and the acquirement, it may be, of sufficient letters to spell through a challenge. 

So thoroughly was war the Norman instinct, that every occupation oflife was more or less connected with it; and the only recreationwhich varied the hours of fencing, jousting, tilting, etc. , was thekindred excitement of the chase, pursued with the greatest avidityamongst the wooded hills around Aescendune. 

Wilfred was not backward either in mimic war or in love of thechase; but he was growing taciturn and sullen, scarcely everspeaking, save when spoken to, and even in the latter case hegenerally replied with brief and curt words. 

Hence it may be easily guessed that he was not popular. 

For this he cared little; all his leisure was spent by the bedsideof his dying mother, whom he felt he was so soon about to lose, andwhen with her and his sister Edith he felt that home--the home ofhis happy childhood--was not yet a mere remembrance of the vanishedpast. 

But the sad day, so long foreseen, at length arrived. 

She was in her chamber, with her son and daughter--the three weretogether for the last time on earth. They had been talking of thehappy days when the husband and father was yet alive, before thefatal day of Senlac. Alone with her children, she felt far more atpeace than usual; it seemed, she said, like the dear old times. 

But this evening the presentiment of the coming end seemed strongupon her, and she spoke to her darling boy of the duties whichwould devolve upon him when she was gone, bidding him be obedientand loyal to his Norman stepfather, that he might have the morepower to protect the poor oppressed people of Aescendune, and toshield his dear sister from harm in a world of wrong and violence. She bade him look forward to a better world, where parents andchildren, separated by death, would meet together never to part, and to live as a Christian man should, that he might not lose sodear a hope. The sun was slowly sinking in the west, amidstgorgeous clouds, and she gazed into the glowing depths, as if shesaw the gate of Paradise therein. 

It was but a few moments, while they yet lingered in conversation, that her children observed a deadly paleness, a strange gray hue, come over her face; suddenly she extended her arms, and fell backupon her couch. 

Wilfred ran for help. Even the Norman servants loved theirmistress, and hurried to her chamber; baron, priest, all werethere; she lay as if insensible, but when Father Elphege, theprior, arrived, and began the litany for the dying, she raised herhead and strove to follow. 

That morning she had received the Holy Communion at his hands; andof the familiar rites prescribed by the Church of those days forthe comfort of the dying, only the last anointing, after theexample of Him, whose body was anointed for His burial, remained, and with humble faith she received the holy rite. 

This done, she made signs for her children to approach; she threwher arms fondly around them in turn, but could not speak. 

The priest bade them all kneel down, and he recommenced the litanyfor the dying. Soon he came to the solemn words:

"Per Crucem et Passionem Tuam, Libera eam Domine {viii}. "

She strove to make the holy sign of our redemption, and in makingit, yielded her chaste soul to the hands of her merciful Father andloving Redeemer. She had gone to rejoin her own true love, and herpoor children were orphans in a world of violence and wrong. 

They laid her by the side of Edmund, and the same solemn rites wehave described before were yet once more repeated. There were many, many true mourners, all the poor English who felt that herintercession alone had interposed between them and a cruellord--and the very foreigners themselves, whom her meekness andgentle beauty had strangely touched--all mourned the lily ofAescendune. 

But her children!--Who shall describe the sense of desolation whichfell upon them as they stood by the open grave?

"Comfort them, O Father of the fatherless, " prayed the good prior;"comfort them and defend them with Thy favourable kindness as witha shield. "

CHAPTER V. A FRAY IN THE GREENWOOD. 

After the last sad rites were paid to the Lady Winifred, a deepgloom fell upon Wilfred, and his sorrow was so great that it wonrespect from his Norman companions, at least for a time. 

He was indeed alone, for the baron had sent his sister Edith to aconvent for her better education, as he said, and as Wilfred hadnone of his own kith and kin about him, he avoided all company, save when the routine of each day forced him into the society ofhis fellow pages. 

Such was the case one fine morning in early spring, a few monthsafter the loss of his mother. 

The four pages were in the tilt yard, where there stood a woodenfigure, called a "quintain, " which turned round upon an axis, andheld a wooden sword in one hand and a buckler in the other. 

It was the duty of each of the athletes to mount his horse, andstrike the buckler full in the centre with his lance, while ridingby at full speed, under certain penalties, which will soon beperceived. 

Etienne rode first, and acquitted himself with remarkabledexterity; after him Wilfred was invited by the maitre d'armes tomake the trial, but he was comparatively unaccustomed to the game. 

"Let Pierre or Louis try next, " said he. 

The two boys, thus called upon, went through the trial fairly, striking the very centre of the shield, as befitted them. And thenour Wilfred could not refuse to make the attempt. He rode, but hishorse swerved just before meeting the mock warrior; he struck theshield, therefore, on one side, whereupon the figure wheeled round, and, striking him with the wooden sword, hurled him from his horseon to the sward, amidst the laughter of his companions. 

He rose, not very much hurt in body, but sadly out of temper, and, unable to bear the jeers of his companions, and their sarcasticcompliments on his "graceful horsemanship, " he left the yard. 

He was trying very hard to learn such feats, and yet could not gainthe dexterity for these novel exercises; and, poor boy, he wasquite weary of being laughed at, so he went and wandered pensivelyabout in the forest. 

He had, indeed, to chew the cud of bitter reflection, for hisposition was not at all a happy one. Few lads could have more tobear--cutting sarcasm, biting contempt, not openly or coarselyexpressed, but always implied plainly enough--constant abuse of hisnation, and even of his own immediate ancestors, on whose fairdomains these Norman intruders were fattening. 

"Oh! it is too hard to bear, " thought the poor lad. 

And then he saw the unfortunate thralls of his father, ground downby the tyranny of these Norman lords and their soldiery, forced todraw stone and timber, like beasts of burden, for the purpose ofbuilding towers and dungeons for their oppressors, urged on withthe lash if they faltered. 

Since the death of their good lady, all this had been, of course, much worse. 

And then, those forest laws, so vilely cruel. Wilfred saw men blindwith one eye, or wanting a hand; and why? Because they had killed ahare or wounded a deer; for it would have been a hanging matter tokill the red hart. 

Meanwhile he was growing in mind and body; he had now passed hisseventeenth birthday, and was beginning to think himself a man; butwhere were the vassals whose leader and chieftain he was born tobe?--where?

The people of Aescendune were diminishing daily--the English peoplethereof, we should say, for the places of those who fled theirhomes, and went no one knew whither, were filled by Normans, French, Bretons, or other like "cattle, " as Wilfred called them inhis wrath. 

Everywhere he heard the same "jabbering" tongue, that NormanFrench--French with a Danish accent, and he liked it little enough. Good old English was becoming rare; the strangers compared it tothe grunting of swine or the lowing of cattle, in their utter scornof the aborigines. 

Were the descendants of Hengist, Horsa, Ella, Cerdic, Ercenwin, Ida, Uffa, and Cridda to bear this? and more especially was he, Wilfred, the grandson of the heroic Alfgar, whose praises as thecompanion in arms of the Ironside had been sung by a hundredminstrels, and told again and again at the winter's fire in thecastle hall--was he to bear this contumely? He could not muchlonger. 

And then that scowling, dark, frowning, old Baron--there was aworld of deadly mischief in his dark eye, which looked like lighttwinkling at the bottom of a black well. Once when Etienne wasuttering some polished sarcasm at Wilfred's expense, the Englishlad caught the father's look, and there was something in it whichpuzzled him for a day or two. 

Wilfred knew the baron did not like him, and felt that the hatredwas all the more deadly for never being expressed. He sometimesthought that his stepfather wished him to quarrel with Etienne, inthe full belief that Norman skill must prevail, in case of acombat. 

Single combat. Well, the pages were always talking about it. Etienne knew a brave knight who took his stand on a bridge, horseand all complete, and when any one came by of equal rank, thisstrange bridge warden had two questions to ask; first:

"Wilt thou acknowledge the Lady Adeliza of Coutances to be the mostpeerless beauty in the world?"

Supposing the newcomer not to be in love, and to be willing toadmit the superiority of the fair charmer, then to him the bridgewarden further added:

"Wilt thou admit that I am a better knight than thou--better withhorse, sword, and lance?"

If the newcomer said "Yes, " he might pass without further toll; ifnot he must fight, yea, even to the death. And this our Normanpages thought the grandest thing in chivalry. 

As yet they had kept from such direct insult as would necessitatean appeal to sword or lance in Wilfred's case, which, indeed, pagescould not resort to without the permission of their feudalsuperiors; but how long would this last?

The promise the poor lad had given to his beloved and lost motherhad made him patient for a time; but his patience had been tried tothe uttermost. 

He looked on the woods which had once echoed to his father's horn:for miles and miles they extended in trackless mazes of underwood, swamp, and brake; and report already credited them with being thehaunt of outlaws innumerable. 

"Where were all the fugitives from Aescendune?" thought ourWilfred; "did the woods conceal them?"

Well, if so, the day might come when he would be glad to join them. 

While he was thus musing, the sun rose high in the heavens, and heheard the horns summon the hunters--he heard the loud baying of thehounds, but he heeded not--he loathed society that day, andsatisfying his hunger with a crust of bread, obtained at the hut ofa thrall, he wandered deeper into the forest. 

The day was hot, and he grew tired. He lay down at the foot of atree, and at length slept. 

How long that slumber lasted he knew not, but he dreamt a strangeand gruesome dream. He thought his ancestors--the whole line ofthem--passed before him in succession, all going into the depths ofthe wood, and that as each spectral form passed it looked at himwith sorrow and pointed into the forest. 

At length, in his dream, his father came and stood by him, andpointed to the woods likewise. 

Meanwhile a lurid light was rising in the woods behind him, and asense of imminent danger grew on the sleeper when strange outcriesarose from the wood. 

He was on the border land, twixt sleeping and waking, and theoutcries were not all imaginary. There was the voice of one whobesought for mercy, and the laughter and scornful tones of thosewho refused it; and these, at least, were real, for they awoke thesleeper. 

The cry which aroused young Wilfred from his sleep was uttered in atone of distress, which at once appealed to his manhood for aid. 

And it was a familiar voice--that of his own foster brother, theson of his old nurse, with whom, in the innocent days of childhood, he had sported and romped again and again; for distinctions of rankwere far less regarded amongst the old English than amongst theNormans--they were "English all. "

The poor peasant lad had been so unfortunate as to bring down ahare with a heavy stick. The animal had risen just before him; theweapon was ready; the temptation too great. Forgetful of all butthe impulse of the moment, he had flung the stick, and the harefell. He was just rushing to seize his prize, when the three Normanpages came suddenly on the scene. 

"Here is a young English lout, killing a hare, " shouted Etienne;"lay hold of him. "

And before the astonished Eadwin could fly, the son of his lordfulfilled his own command, and seized the culprit by the collar. 

"How didst thou dare, thou false thief, to kill one of our hares?Dost thou not know the penalty?"

The unhappy lad stammered out faint excuses, in broken English; "hehad not meant to do it--the thing rose up so suddenly"--and thelike. But in the first place his captors did not understand hislanguage sufficiently to make out the excuses, neither were they inthe mood to receive any. 

"What is the law?" said Etienne; "does it not say that he who slaysa hare shall lose the hand that did the deed; and here is a poachertaken red handed. Louis, where is thy hunting knife?"

"We need not trouble to take him to the castle; off with his hand, and let him go. "

Their hunting knives, with which they were accustomed to "break up"the deer, were in their girdles, and, shame to say, the other twoyouths at once assented to Etienne's proposal to execute the lawthemselves. 

So they dragged their intended victim to a stump, and Etienneprepared to execute the cruel operation which he had witnessed toooften not to know how to do it. 

Poor Eadwin appealed in vain for mercy. They were laughing at hisfright, and indeed there was so little sympathy between Norman lordand English thrall, that pity found no place to enter into therelations between them: it was the old Roman and his slave overagain. 

But an unexpected deliverer was at hand. 

Just as the young "noble" was about to execute the threat; when thepoor wrist was already extended by force on a rude stump; when theknife was already drawn from its sheath, Wilfred appeared on thescene, and, in a tone the Norman lads started to hear from him, exclaimed:

"Let him go; touch him if you dare; he is my foster brother; mythrall, if anybody's. "

"Like cleaves to like, " said Etienne, sarcastically; "but, my fairbrother, thou wilt hardly interfere with the due course of thelaw. "

"Law! the law of butchers and worse than butchers--devils. Let himgo. "

"Hadst thou not better try to rescue him? Thou hast not yet foundan opportunity to show thy prowess. "

Wilfred lost all control, sprang at Etienne, struck him in adownright English fashion between the eyes, and knocked him down. The knife fell from his hand, and Wilfred seized it before theother youths could recover from their astonishment, and flung itinto a pond close at hand. 

Etienne rose up. 

Now my young readers will probably anticipate a bout at fisticuffs;but no such vulgar a combat commended itself to the proud youngNorman, even thus suddenly humiliated; neither did he, under thesevery trying circumstances, lose his self command. 

Yet his hatred was none the less, nor did he cherish a less deadlydesign. 

"Let the young brute go, " said he, as he arose, pointing to Eadwin. "There is something more important to be settled now than thequestion whether the young porker shall retain his cloven hoof ornot. Wilfred, dost thou know thou hast struck a gentleman?"

"I have struck a young butcher. "

"Thanks; churls fight with words; knights, and would-be knights, with swords. Draw, then, and defend thyself; Pierre and Louis willsee fair play. "

"Nay, " said the other two lads with one voice, "it were a sin andshame to fight thus, and we should have our knighthood deferred foryears did we permit it. Pages may not fight to the death withoutthe permission of their liege lord. The baron must givepermission. "

"Wilfred, dost thou accept my challenge? I honour thy base blood inmaking it. "

"My ancestors were as noble as thine; nay, they ruled here whilethine were but pirates and cutthroats. I do accept it. "

"Let us separate, then; we meet here at daybreak tomorrow. "

"But the permission of our lord?"

"I will answer for that, " replied his hopeful son. 

The party separated: Wilfred took his foster brother, who had notmade the least attempt to escape from the scene, trusting to thelove of his young lord for protection, and no sooner were theyalone than the poor lad overwhelmed his deliverer with thanks, inwhich tears were not unmixed, because he knew that a price had yetto be paid, and that his beloved master was in danger. 

"Nay, nay, Eadwin, I shall do very well--if not, there is not muchleft to live for now--only you must take care of yourself, or theymay avenge themselves on you; indeed, when the baron hears thetale, I doubt not that he will send for you, and then I may not beable to save you--you must fly. "

"Not till I know--"

"Yes, this very night--thou knowest the Deadman's Swamp?"

"Well. "

"The Normans could never find thee there, and thou and I havethreaded its recesses a hundred times; go to the hollow tree wherewe have slept before now in our hunting days. I will seek theetomorrow, if I live. If I do not appear before midday, you hadbetter seek our people, whom these tyrants have driven to thegreenwoods. "

"I know where to find them, but you will come; why not fly to thewoods with me now?"

"Honour prevents. And after all, you had better say goodbye at onceto those at home, and be off: perhaps I had better say goodbye forthee--it will be safest. "

A few more parting instructions, and they separated; the youngthrall actually kneeling and kissing his young lord's hand withthat devoted love nought save such obligations could give. 

Wilfred was returning to the castle, when he met Pierre, who wasevidently seeking him. 

"Wilfred, " he said, "I have come to offer you my services fortomorrow; you will want the offices of a friend. "

"Art thou my friend?"

"Yes, since I see thou art not a coward. While I saw thee sufferinginsult after insult without ever resenting them, I thought theecraven, and could not speak thee fair; now thou art as one of us. "

"Thou art not like other Normans, then. "

"I am not Norman, but Breton, and perhaps we do not love theNormans over much in Brittany; at least, I can feel for one in thyposition. "

"Thanks, " was all that Wilfred could stammer out. 

These were almost the first kind words he had heard since hismother's death, save in those stolen moments when he had been aloneamidst his English thralls and churls, and they had been but few. 

"Thou art not so skilled in fencing as Etienne; I should advise anhour or two in the tilt yard, and I can tell thee of some of hisfeints, which are not a little dangerous. "

"Thanks, I shall not have too much time. "

"Dost thou think the baron will give leave?"

"Yes; he hates me in his heart. Were I the better swordsman, hemight not consent. "

"I agree with thee--wert thou dead, Etienne would be heir ofAescendune. At all events, thou wilt go to confession and get thysoul in order--betake thyself to thy holy gear--men fight none theworse for a clear conscience. And I would ask the intercession ofSt. Michael--men speak well of him in Brittany, and tell how hefought a combat a outrance with Satan, wherein the latter came offnone the better man. "

"I shall see Father Elphege tonight--we are not heathen, weEnglish. "

"Ah! here comes Louis. Well, what news dost thou bring?"

"Good ones. Our lord permits the fight. You should have seen howstark and stern he looked when he saw his son's eyes. Wilfred, thouhast a fist like a smith. Wilt thou do as well with the sword?"

"Tomorrow will show. "

"Well, it is quite right of thee to fight for thine own serfs; Iwould have fought for mine at Marmontier--none should have comebetween me and them. And I am glad we did not hurt the poor knave. Etienne will be a hard lord for thy people, if anything happens tothee. "

Oh, how the memory of his mother and her counsels came before thepoor orphan. 

Still, how could he help it? He had done rightly, he felt sure; andhe knew that his father would say so were hecums alive. 

"And so would my grandfather, " thought he, "once the friend of theIronside, of whose wondrous exploits he often told me in olden daysaround our winter fire. Would his spirit were with me now, and alittle of his skill in arms. "

And thus musing, he arrived at the castle and betook himself, withPierre, to the tilt yard. Louis went off to seek Etienne, whosesecond he was to be. 

CHAPTER VI. A REVELATION. 

The night was growing dark when Wilfred approached the priory, withthe intention of seeking Father Elphege, and putting, as Pierre hadsaid, "his spiritual gear in order. "

As we have remarked in other pages, men then attached no notion ofsin to the mere act of fighting--there could not be a duty clearerto Christians of that strange epoch than to fight with each otherwhensoever the exigencies of society demanded--the very institutionof knighthood was bound up with the idea. 

So he had no anticipation that the good father would say, "Don'tfight. "

But when he approached the great door of the priory, with thevenerable figure of the patron saint bending over the archway, amessenger--a lay brother--issued forth. 

It was almost dark, but the man recognised Wilfred. 

"Is it thou, Wilfred of Aescendune, in the flesh?"

"I am he. "

"Then I am glad to see thee, for thus my limbs are saved the toilof seeking thee, and my rheumatics make me dread the night air. "

"Seeking me?"

"Yes, verily; the good prior desireth thee earnestly, and adjuredme to fetch thee without delay; and lo! Saint Cuthbert hath sentthee. "

What could the prior want of him? thought the lad; had he heard ofthe quarrel, through young Eadwin, and did he disapprove of it?

At all events, he would be saved the trouble of many words; and heentered. 

He passed along the cloister, with its ceiling of carved wood andits rude wooden crucifix at the end thereof; he looked out at thelittle green square of grass, enclosed by the quadrangle, whereinreposed in peace the monks of former generations. Once the thoughtflashed over him, that a similar little grassy hillock might, ere afew hours were over, be raised above his own earthly remains; butthat did not shake his purpose. 

He ascended a spiral staircase and entered the prior's own cell. 

"What, Wilfred! and so soon? Sooth to say, my messenger hath sped. "

"He met me just outside the gate, father. "

"By the blessing of heaven, my son. "

"But why hast thou sent for me, and why this haste?"

"A dying man wishes to see thee--nay, do not start! he has a sadconfession to make--one it will harrow thy blood to hear, and hecannot die in peace without thy forgiveness. "

"My forgiveness! How has he injured me? He is a Norman, I suppose?"

"Nay, he belongeth not to the proud race of our oppressors; he isan old serf of thy house. Dost thou remember Beorn the woodman?"

"Who slew the deer and sold them in secret, and when the deed wasdiscovered, fled?"

"The same; it is he. "

"But what harm hath he done so great that he should come here toask forgiveness? 'Twas a small matter; at least, it seems so now. "

"My son, that is not the matter he hath to confess. "

"What is it, then?"

"Prepare thyself, my dear child; now be composed; you must resignyourself to God's will. "

"Tell me, father, and end this suspense. What is amiss?"

"Nay, he must do that; I wanted to prepare thee; but tis about thymother. "

Wilfred turned pale at once and trembled, for the one passion whichdivided his soul with hatred to the Normans was love for the memoryof his parents. What had the man got to say about his mother?

"But this is not constancy and firmness--thou quakest like an aspenleaf. "

"Tell me, was aught amiss in my mother's death?"

"Didst thou ever suspect it?"

"Yes, but I put the thought away, as though it came from Satan. "

"Well, poor child, thou wilt know now, and God help thee to bear itrightly. "

Trembling and astonished, Wilfred followed the prior into anadjoining cell, where, propped up by cushions, lay the attenuatedform of a dying man--the death sweat already on his brow, standingthereon in beads--the limbs rigid as a recent convulsion had leftthem. 

Any one conversant in the signs which immediately precede deathcould have told that he had but a short time to live. The goodmonk, who was supporting him and breathing words of Christian hopeinto his ears, left him as the prior and Wilfred entered. 

The prior took the monk's place, and supported the head of thepenitent. 

"Look, " he said, as he raised him upon his arm, "Wilfred ofAescendune, the son of thy late lord. "

The poor wretch groaned--such a deep hollow groan. 

"Canst thou forgive me?" he said. 

"Forgive thee what?"

"Tell him all, my son, and ease thy burdened mind. "

The thrall then spake, in words interrupted by gasps and sighs, which we must needs omit as we piece his narrative together for thebenefit of our readers. 

"It is five years since I fled thy father's face, fearing hiswrath, for I had slain his red deer and sold them for filthy lucre. Woe is me! I had better have trusted to his mercy and borne myfitting punishment; but, as Satan tempted me, I fled to the greatcity, where men are crowded together thick as bees in swarmingtime, to hide myself amongst many. There I was like to starve, andnone gave me to eat, when a Jew who saw my distress, took pity onme and gave me shelter. 

"His name was Abraham of Toledo, a city far off over the salt sea, whence he had come to our English shores in the hope of gain; andhe was mighty in magic arts and in compounding of deadly drugs toslay, or medicines to make alive. I became his servant, for I hadnought else to do, and I blew his forge when he mixed strangemetals, swept his chamber, mixed his medicines as ordered, and didall an ignorant man might do at his master's bidding. "

"The wretch! he should be burnt, " said the prior, who, like mostEnglishmen of his day, confounded all such researches with theblack art; "didst thou ever see the devil there?"

"I did, indeed!"--the prior started--"but it was a Norman fiend, and his name Hugo of Aescendune. "

"How!" Wilfred exclaimed, as he started violently. 

"Silence, dear son, thou shalt soon hear, " said Father Elphege. "Summon thy courage. "

"One evening I was mixing some drugs in my master's laboratory, ina recess hidden from the rest of the room by a curtain, whichhappened to be drawn, when my master entered the room in companywith a stranger. 

"'Here, then, is the drug you seek; but it will be very costly--menmust pay dear for vengeance, ' said Abraham of Toledo. 

"'It may not be vengeance, but an obstacle which I wish to removefrom my path. '

"'That liquid was distilled by myself from many strange plants infar-off Araby; I may never replace it, and it is worth many piecesof gold. '

"'Thou shalt have them if thou wilt swear, thou dog of a Jew, thatit possesses all the qualities thou hast said. If it fails, look tothyself; I am not one to be played with. '

"'The victim who takes but one drop daily shall decline and diewithin the half of a year; in half that time if the dose bedoubled; a quarter if quadrupled. '

"'And no one shall detect the cause?'

"'Call the most learned physicians ye Christians have (dolts arethey all), and they shall call it a natural death--consumption--sogradually shall the patient wear away. '

"'I will trust thee; here is the gold. '

"I had seen the man's face through the curtain; but no sooner washe gone than my master descended the stairs, calling for me. Imanaged to reach him without raising his suspicion, and he pointedout the figure of his visitor receding in the distant gloom of thestreet. 

"'Follow and learn who he is. '

"I followed and dogged him to his lodging--it was the present lordof Aescendune. 

"I knew of his marriage--I felt sure whom he wanted to destroy; yetI did not dare show myself at Aescendune, even to save so innocenta life--the life of so sweet and good a lady as she had ever been. But at length disease--an incurable disease--seized me, and thedread of approaching death and judgment has brought me to tell whatit freezes my heart to say--all too late to save, but not perhapsto avenge--I tell thee thy mother was poisoned, O Wilfred ofAescendune!"

"Tell me what would be the signs of the drug?"

"If dropped in water, it would, although colourless, impart a bluetinge to the liquid. "

Wilfred hid his face in his hands and sobbed aloud. 

"Dost thou forgive me?" said the dying thrall. 

"Thou mightest have saved her, yet I do forgive thee. "

"I might; it was my sin, and she was my liege lady, the gentlestand kindest. "

"Thou art forgiven; but oh! my father! who shall do justice on themurderer, the poisoner?"

"That is thy task; the son must avenge his mother's blood, and dojustice on the murderer. Listen, Wilfred: Dost thou remember BishopGeoffrey of Coutances?"

"Well, " said the poor boy, "he married them; but he, too, is aNorman--they are all alike. "

"Nay, there be wise and good men amongst them, and this bishop isone. Thou shalt seek him, for he is now in Oxford: thou shalt startthis very night, and tomorrow thou mayest reach him. I will givethee the written confession of this most unhappy but penitentBeorn, and the bishop will hear thee, and justice shall yet bedone. But thou must depart at once, or he will have left the city. I will give thee food, and my palfrey shall be at thy service in anhour's time. And now, my child, while the food is preparing, go andpray at thy mother's tomb, and ask for grace to seek justice, notrevenge; for it is not fitting the murderer should lord it longerover thy people and thee!"

And in another minute the unhappy lad was prostrate before hismother's tomb: all other thoughts had gone from him--Etienne, Pierre, and the rest were forgotten--he was absorbed in the thoughtof his parent's wrongs, and in the awful responsibility thatknowledge had thrust upon him {ix}. 

CHAPTER VII. FRUSTRATED. 

Far to the south of the demesne of Aescendune stretched a wildexpanse of woodland, giving shelter to numberless beasts of chase, and well known to our young hero, Wilfred. 

It was traversed by one of those vestiges of old times, the Romanroads, and along this ancient trackway the poor lad, eager as theavenger of blood in old times, spurred the good prior's palfrey, which had never borne so impatient a rider before. 

Onward, through the starry night, now on the open heath, now buriedin the deep shadow of ancient trees, now in the darkness of thevalley, then on the upland: here, startling the timid deer; there, startled himself, as the solitary wolf, not yet extinct in thoseancient forests, glared at him from bush or brake--so Wilfred rodeonward. 

It was summer time, and the sun rose early; welcome was its lightto our traveller, who rode on, trusting soon to reach a monastichouse in the neighbourhood of Banbury, where a few poor Englishmonks, not yet dispossessed by the Norman intruders, served God intheir vocation, according to their light, and offered hospitalityto the wayfarer. 

To these poor monks Wilfred had been commended by the good prior ofAescendune, and with them he purposed to rest all day, for it wasnot safe to travel before nightfall without a Norman passport. ForNorman riders, soldiers of fortune, infested all the highways, andthey would certainly require Wilfred, or any other Englishtraveller, to show cause for being on the road, and, in default ofsuch cause, would render very rough usage. 

It was now drawing near the third hour of the day, and Wilfred hadalready spied his resting place from the summit of a hill. In spiteof his woes, too, he wanted his breakfast, and was alreadyspeculating on the state of the monastic larder, when the roadentered a small wood. 

It was not a straight road at all, and the rider could not see ahundred yards before him, when suddenly a troop of horse came rounda curve at a smart trot, and were upon him before he could escapetheir notice. 

"Whom have we here?" exclaimed the leader. 

Wilfred knew him; it was that same Count Eustace de Blois, who hadrescued him from danger on the field of Senlac, and taken him tothe tent of the Conqueror. 

His first impulse was to tell Count Eustace everything and to claimhis protection. Then he remembered that this Eustace was the friendof his stepfather, and the distrust--not to say hatred--he wasbeginning to feel to all Normans overcame, unhappily it may be, thefirst generous impulse of confidence. 

"It is I, Wilfred of Aescendune, " he coldly replied. 

"So I see, " said the Norman, "and marvel to meet thee alone andunattended on the highway, so far from home. Thou hast thy father'spermission?"

"I have no father, " said Wilfred, in a tone which at once betrayedthat something was amiss. 

"Stepfather, of course, I would say, and I judge from thy replythat all is not well. Wilt thou not tell me what is wrong?"

"My errand is urgent, and I only crave permission to continue myroad in peace. "

"You are more likely to continue it in pieces, when so many outlawsand cutthroats are about, and my duty will not suffer thee to gofarther till I know that thou hast thy father's, that is, thebaron's permission. "

Wilfred's only reply was to set spurs to his horse, and to try toescape by flight from his troublesome interrogator; but although hedid succeed in clearing the party, his poor palfrey was tired, andthe Norman horses were fresh, so the attempt was made in vain; hewas pursued and brought back to Eustace de Blois. 

"Why didst thou attempt to escape?" said that noble, grimly. "Ifear that thou art playing the truant--against thine own interests, and must take thee with me whither I am bound, which happeneth tobe Aescendune. "

"Nay, I pray thee suffer me to proceed; life and death hang upon myerrand. "

"Confide in me then, and tell me all. "

But Wilfred could not; in his then frame of mind, he could notconfide the story of his mother's woes to a Norman--to his feveredmind one of the intruders was as bad as another--as well bring acomplaint before one wolf that another wolf had eaten a lamb. 

"I cannot, " was his reply; "it would be useless if I did. "

"Why? I have befriended thee once. "

"Art thou not a Norman?"

"Ah! I see where the shoe pinches, " replied Eustace; "thou hastfound some traitors who have been instilling rebellion into thyyouthful ears. Well, if they are found, they shall ere long lacktongues wherewith to prate, and for the present thou must returnhome with me. Wilt thou go as a freeman or as a prisoner?"

"You have the power and must use it. "

"Wilt thou promise not to attempt an escape?"

"No. "

"Then I must perforce pass a band from one leg to another, beneaththe belly of thy steed, or thou mayst leave thy tired palfrey andride behind me with a strap binding thee to my belt. Which dostthou choose?"

"Do as it pleaseth thee. "

There was a sad, heart-broken tone in Wilfred's voice, in spite ofthe defiance of his words, which interested the Norman count, whowas not, as we have before seen, all steel; and during the journeywhich Wilfred made as a captive, Eustace made sundry attempts towin the poor youth's confidence, but all in vain. 

Riding all day, Wilfred retraced in this ignominious manner theroad he had so eagerly traversed under the veil of night; and atlength, towards sunset, they came in sight of the priory, thebridge, and the castle of Aescendune. 

"I think I may cut these bonds now, and thou needest not be seen toreturn in the guise of a captive. Once more, tell me all; I will bethy mediator with thy father. "

"Father!" repeated Wilfred with an expression indicative ofsomething deeper yet than scorn or hatred, but he said no more. 

The blast of trumpets from the approaching troop aroused theinmates of the castle, and they flocked to their battlements tobehold the pennon of Eustace de Blois, familiar to them on many ahard-fought field of old. 

Immediately there was bustling and saddling, and a troop of horseissued over the drawbridge to greet the coming guest. Foremostamongst them was the grim stepfather, and by his side rode Etienne. 

Imagine their surprise when they recognised Wilfred in the train oftheir visitor; we can hardly paint fitly the scornful looks ofEtienne, or the grimness of the stepfather. 

But there was etiquette to be consulted--a most important elementin the days of chivalry--and no question was asked until all thecustomary salutations had been made. 

"I see my son Wilfred has been the first to welcome thee; may I askwhere he met thee on the road?" asked Hugo, of Eustace. 

"Many a long mile from here; I will tell thee more anon. "

"Did he return of his own free will?" thought the baron, butpoliteness forced him to wait his guest's own time for the dialoguewhich he felt awaited him. 

Meanwhile Etienne had regaled Wilfred with a succession of scornfulglances, which, strange to say, did not affect the lattermuch--deeper emotions had swallowed up the minor ones, and he coulddisdain the imputation of cowardice, although he could not but feelthat his attempted flight would be ascribed by every one to fear ofthe combat, which had been offered to, and accepted by him, andfrom which he could not otherwise have saved himself. 

They dismounted within the courtyard, and Hugo made a certaincommunication to the seneschal. The latter came up to Wilfred as hestood listlessly in the crowd, the object of many a scornfulglance. 

"The baron, your father, bids you to follow me. "

The old retainer led the way up a staircase. On the third floorthere was a chamber with a small loophole to serve as window, through which nothing larger than a cat could pass. There wasfurniture--a rough table and chair, a rude bed, and mattress ofstraw. 

"You are to remain here until my lord comes to release you. "

The prisoner entered the chamber, and threw himself wearily on thebed, the door slammed with a heavy sound behind him, the steps ofthe gaoler (was he any better?) died away in the distance, and allwas still, save a faint murmur from the courtyard below, or fromthe great hall, where the banquet was even now served. 

Hours passed away, and a light step was heard approaching--it wascertainly not the baron's. Soon a voice was heard through thecrevices of the rough planks which formed the door. 

"Wilfred, art thou here?"

"I am. Is it thou, Pierre?"

"It is. Why didst thou flee the combat? Thou hast disgracedthyself, and me, too, as thy friend. "

"I cannot tell thee. "

"Was it not fear, then?"

"It was not. "

"Then at least vouchsafe some explanation, that I may justify theeto the others. "

"I cannot. "

"Thou wilt not. "

"If thou wilt have it so. "

"Farewell, then; I can be no friend to a coward. "

And the speaker departed: Wilfred counted his steps as he went downthe stairs. One pang of boyish pride--wounded pride--but it wassoon lost in the deeper woe. 

A few more minutes and the warder brought the lad his supper. Heate it, and then, wearied out--he had had no rest during theprevious night as the reader is aware, and had been in the saddlefor twenty hours--wearied out, he slept. 

And while he slept the door softly opened, and the baron entered. At the first glance he saw the lad was fast asleep, as his heavyand regular breathing indicated. He did not awake him, but gazedupon the features of the boy he had so deeply injured, with anexpression wherein there was no lingering remorse, but simply adeep and deadly hatred. At length he was about to awake thesleeper, when he saw the end of a packet of parchment protrude fromthe breast of the tunic. The baron drew it softly out. 

It was the letter of Father Elphege to the Bishop of Coutances. 

The baron was scholar enough to read it--few Normans were so, andfewer English nobles; but he was an exception. He read and knewall; he read, and blanched a deadly white as he did so; his kneesshook together, and a cold sweat covered his face. 

It was known, then; to how many? Probably only to the prior andWilfred, for it was but a dying confession of yesterday, as hegathered from the letter. 

A sudden resolution came upon him; he did not awake the sleeper, but retired to digest it at his ease in the security of his ownchamber. 

It was but little sleep the baron took that night. Hour after hourthe sentinel heard him pacing to and fro. Had any one seen him, hewould have judged that Hugo was passing through a terrible mentalconflict. 

"No, I cannot do it, " he said, as if to some unseen prompter. 

"It is the only way; crush all thine enemies at once, let not evena dog survive to bark at thee. "

"But what would the world say?"

"The world need not know, if thou contrivest well. "

"But such secrets will out--a bird of the air would carry thematter, if none else did. "

"Such are the bogies with which nurses frighten children. Art thounot a man and a Norman?"

"But the poor monks--if they were but soldiers. "

"The less crime if they perish--they are fitter to die; and theyare but English swine, like their neighbours, of whom thou hastslain so many. "

So, through the long hours did the Prince of Darkness commune withhis destined prey. There are periods of temptation which none knowin their intensity, save such as have by long habit encouraged theEvil One to tempt them--who have swallowed bait after bait, untilthey can digest a very large hook at last. 

At length, just as the dawn was reddening the skies, the baronthrew himself upon his pallet and slept, not the sleep of theinnocent, for his features moved convulsively again and again, andsometimes it seemed as if he were contending with some fearfuladversary in his dreams. 

But no angel of good stood near his couch; long since had continualindulgence in evil driven his guardian away, and Satan had all hisown way. 

The sounds of life and activity were many about the castle, andstill Hugo arose not, until the third or fourth hour. Then heswallowed hastily a cup of generous Gascon wine, and a crust oftoasted bread, steeped in the liquor; after which he mounted hisfavourite steed, a high horse of great spirit, not to sayviciousness, which none save himself cared to ride, and gallopedfuriously for hours through the forest, startling the timid deerand her fawn from many a brake. 

It was evening when he returned: Wilfred had not yet been released. 

Count Eustace had departed, not until he had sought an interviewwith Wilfred, in his prison chamber, which turned out to be afruitless one; for, terrified although he was at the loss of hisletter, the youth kept his secret. 

It was a pity that he did so. Many a sad page yet to be writtenmight have been saved. But was it unnatural that the poor orphanshould feel an invincible reluctance to claim Norman aid? yet theBishop of Coutances was Norman. 

At length, supper being ready, Hugo came in and took his usualplace at the head of the high table. All trace of his mentalstruggles was gone. 

"Bring my son Wilfred down to the hall. "

The attendants hasted, and soon reappeared with the English heir ofAescendune. 

He was calm and composed--that unhappy youth; he looked the baronstraight in the face, he did not honour Etienne or any one elsewith a single glance; but waited to be questioned. 

"Wilfred of Aescendune, " said his stepfather, "why didst thouabsent thyself yesterday, and traverse dangerous roads withoutpermission?"

No answer. 

"Didst thou fly because thou fearedst the combat, which thine ownunmannerly insolence had brought upon thee?"

"No. "

It was the only word Wilfred spoke, and that with emphasis. Etiennesneered. 

"Perhaps thou mightest not have fled hadst thou known that thecombat would have been a mere form. I had instructed the marshal ofthe lists to prevent deadly results. "

Again Etienne cast a look at his companions, which seemed to givethe lie to these words. 

"Wilt thou promise to make no further attempt to leave the demesnewithout permission if thou art released from superveillance?"

"No, " once more. 

"Then I will no longer retain the charge of thee. Thou shalt go anddo penance at the priory of thy sainted namesake, till thou dostcome to a better mind. I will send thee after supper, and givefitting charge to Father Elphege. "

Wilfred was forced to sit down during the meal, but he ate nothing. 

When it was ended, the baron called old Osbert the seneschal andgave his instructions. They led the youth away; he did not returnthe baron's half-ironical salutation, but departed with his guardsin silence. 

High was the wassail in the castle that night, and many casks ofwine were broached; at length all sought their couches and sleptheavily. 

But in the middle of the night many sleepers were aroused by thecry of FIRE! yet so heavy with wine were they, that few arose; hutmost heard it as a man hears some sound in his sleep, which he halfsuspects to belong to dreamland, and turns again to his pillow. 

Imagine the surprise with which such men (including Etienne, Pierre, and the other late companions of the unhappy Wilfred)learned that the monastery had caught fire accidentally in thenight, and that so sudden had been the conflagration that none hadescaped. 

None! No; so far as men could discover. The priory built by Offa ofAescendune was a heap of smoking embers, and monks were there none, neither had any heard aught of the English heir of Aescendune. 

The poor English who yet remained in the village were weeping overtheir lost friends, and the very Norman men-at-arms were hushed inthe presence of their sorrow. 

The shades of evening fell upon the desolate ruins, but nought hadoccurred to alleviate the calamity: all seemed to have perishedunaided in the suddenness of their destruction--a thingimprobable--unheard of--yet so it was. 

All seemed over--the English brethren and their guest blotted outfrom the earth. And none looked more contented than Baron Hugo. 

CHAPTER VIII. VAE VICTIS. 

If the Conqueror had really intended to govern the English justly, like his great predecessor Canute, circumstances over which he hadsmall control were against him; when he committed himself to anunjust war of aggression against an unoffending people, for ifHarold had given him offence, England had given none, he enteredupon a course of evil in which he could not pause. 

Canute was a heathen during his darkest and bloodiest days; when hebecame a Christian, his worst deeds lay behind him, and the wholecourse of his reign was a progress from evil to good, the scenebrightening each day. This, our Second Chronicle sufficientlyillustrates. 

But William had no such excuse; he bore a high reputation forpiety--as piety was understood in his day, before the invasion ofEngland--he was, says a contemporary author, "a diligent student ofScripture, a devout communicant, and a model to prelates andjudges. "

But after ambition led him to stain his soul with the blood shed atSenlac, his career was one upon which the clouds gathered morethickly each day; his Norman followers clamoured for their promisedrewards, and he yielded to this temptation, and spoiled Englishmen, thane after thane, to satisfy this greed, until the once wealthylords of the soil were driven to beg their bread, or to work asslaves on the land they had once owned. 

Early in 1067 William returned to celebrate his triumph inNormandy, and while he was absent the government of the conqueredcountry was committed to his half brother, Odo, Bishop of Bayeux, and William Fitz-Osborne. These rulers heard no cry for redress onthe part of the poor English, scorned their complaints, andrepulsed them with severity, as if they wished by provokingrebellion to justify further confiscations and exactions; in short, they made it impossible for the Conqueror to pursue his policy ofconciliation. Rebellions arose and were stifled in fire and blood, and henceforth there was simply a reign of terror for theconquered; on one side insolence and pride, on the other, miseryand despair. 

Many of the English fled to the woods for refuge, and were hunteddown, when their tyrants could accomplish their wishes, like beastsof prey, stigmatised with the title of "robbers" or "outlaws. "Such, as we have seen, was the case at Aescendune; and after thesupposed death of Wilfred, no bounds were set to the cruelties andoppressions of Hugo and his satellites; their dungeons were full, their torture chamber in constant use, so long as there wereEnglishmen to suffer oppression and wrong. 

Autumn, the autumn of 1068, came with all its wealth of goldenstore; the crops were safely housed in the barns, the orchards wereladen with fruit, the woods had put on those brilliant hues withwhich they prepare for the sleep of winter--never so fair as whenthey assume the garb of decay. 

Wilfred of Aescendune was gone. His tragical fate had arousedlittle sympathy amongst his Norman companions, hardened as theywere by familiarity with scenes of violence; the burning of theabbey and the fiery fate of its inmates had been but a nine days'wonder. Etienne and his fellow pages spoke of their lost companionwith little regard to the maxim, "nihil nisi bonum de mortuis, " andseemed, indeed, to think that he was well out of the way. 

There were few English left to mourn him: the baron would trustnone in the castle, and the churls and thralls of the village hadperished or taken refuge in the greenwoods, which lay, like a seaof verdure, to the north of the domain of Aescendune, where it wasshrewdly suspected they might be found, enjoying the freedom of theforests, and making free with the red deer. 

It was a primeval forest, wherein were trees which had witnessedold Druids, silver knife in hand, cutting the mistletoe, or whichhad stood in the vigour of youth when Caesar's legionaries hadhunted those same Druids to their last retreats. Giant oaks casttheir huge limbs abroad, and entwined in matrimonial love with thesilver beech; timid deer with their fawns wantoned in the shadebeneath, or wild swine munched the acorns. Here were slow sedgystreams, now illumined, as by a ray of light, when some monster ofthe inland waters flashed along after his scaly prey, or stirred bya sudden plunge as the otter sprang from the bank. Sometimes thebrock took an airing abroad, and the wolf came to look after hisinterests and see what he could snatch. 

While, in the upper regions, amidst that sea of leaves, wholetribes of birds, long since vanished from England, carried on theiraerial business, and now and then the eagle made a swoop amongstthem, and then there was a grand scattering. 

Many a lonely pool there was, where the kingfisher had never seenthe face of man; many a bushel, not to say waggon load, of nutsrotted for want of modern schoolboys to gather them; many an acreof blackberries wasted their sweetness on the desert air. 

Now and then came the horn of the hunter, waking up the echoes, then the loud murmur of hounds, then the rush and clamour of thechase swept by, and all was quiet again, even as it is said to bein the solitudes of the Black Forest, when the Wild Huntsman haspassed. 

But there was a lonelier and yet wilder region, where the sound ofthe hunter's horn only penetrated in faint vibrations from the fardistance. 

This region was a deep and entangled morass, which had only beenexplored by the veteran hunter of former days, or by the huntedoutlaw of the present. Streams had overflown their banks, the waterhad stagnated, rank foliage had arisen, and giant trees rotted inswamp and slime. 

The Normans had never penetrated into this wilderness of slimydesolation, although, of course, they had again and again reachedits borders and found bogs of bottomless depth, quagmires whichwould suck one out of sight in a few minutes, and at nightfalllegions of evil spirits, as they thought them--for after dark thesesloughs were alive with Jack-o'-lanterns, which men believed to bethe souls of unbaptized infants. 

In former Chronicles we have described the old hall of Aescendune, as it stood in Anglo-Saxon days; it was then rather a home, a kindof "moated grange, " than a fortress. 

But when Hugo the Norman took possession, he could not endure tolive in a house incapable of standing a regular siege. And well hemight have such feelings, when he remembered that he lived in themidst of a subject population, to whom his tyranny had rendered himand his men-at-arms hateful. 

So he sent at once for Ralph of Evreux, a skilful architect, whoseline lay in the raising of castles and such like, who knew how todig the dungeon and embattle the keep, and into his hands hecommitted the rebuilding of the castle of Aescendune. 

All was bustle and activity. The poor thralls of the estate were"worked to death;" stone had to be brought from an immensedistance, for wood might burn if subjected to fiery arrows; themoat was deepened and water let in from the river; towers wereplaced at each angle, furnished with loopholes for archers; andover the entrance was a ponderous arch, with grate for raining downfiery missiles, and portcullis to bar all approach to the innerquadrangle, which was comparatively unchanged. 

In short, the whole place was so thoroughly strengthened, that thecruel baron might laugh to scorn any attempts of the unhappyEnglish to storm it, should they ever reach such a pitch of daring. 

Below the castle walls the new priory was rapidly rising from theruins of the olden structure. It was to be dedicated to St. Denys--for the Normans did not believe in any English saints--andthen it was to be inhabited by a colony of monks from the dioceseof Coutances-outre-mer. 

This was to take place in order to please Bishop Geoffrey, who hadmade some inconvenient inquiries into the circumstances connectedwith the burning of the old abbey and the death of Wilfred. 

But no awkward circumstances came to light; if there had been anyfoul play, the actors therein kept their own counsel. 

An incident which happened about this time caused no littlecomment. 

It was an October evening; the inmates of the castle (now properlyso called) were assembled at supper in the great hall, after a longday's hunting of the wild boar. 

In the middle of the meal, Pierre de Morlaix, who had tarried inthe forest, entered, looking as pale as a ghost and very excited inmanner, as if some extraordinary event had upset the balance of hismind. It was not without a very apparent effort that, rememberingthe composure of demeanour exacted by the feudal system from allpages, he repressed his excitement and took his usual place. 

The baron, however, had marked his discomposure, and was curious toknow its cause. 

"Is aught amiss, Pierre?" he asked. 

Pierre stammered, hesitated, then replied that there was nothingamiss, only that he believed he had seen a ghost, or something verymuch like one. 

Dead silence fell on all, for the belief in ghosts was universal inthat age, as also in witchcraft and sorcery. 

"A ghost, silly boy; what ghost? Thy fancy hath converted somewhite cow into a spectre, in the uncertain light of the evening. "

"Nay, I saw him too plainly. "

"Saw whom?"

"Wilfred. "

There was a pause--a dead pause, indeed; the baron changed colourand appeared to attempt to hide the perturbation of his spirit. 

"Speak out, my son, " said the chaplain, "such things are sometimespermitted by Heaven. "

"Father, I was leaving the woods by the path which opens upon thesummit of the hill, above the blasted oak, when I saw Wilfred, aswhen alive, standing on the summit, gazing upon the castle. He wasbetween me and the evening light, so, although it was getting dark, I could not mistake him. He was deadly pale, and there was a lookon his face I had never seen in life as he turned round and facedme. "

"Well! didst thou speak?"

"I dared not; my limbs shook and the hair of my headarose--fearfulness and trembling seized hold of me. "

Etienne sneered just a little, yet probably he would not havebehaved better, only he might not have owned his fear. 

"Well, did he disappear?"

"I looked again, and I thought he retreated into the woods, for hewas gone. "

"Did he seem to see you?"

"He did not speak. "

"Well, " said the chaplain, "we will say a mass for him tomorrow, toquiet his disturbed spirit, and he will, perhaps, vex us no more, poor lad. "

Etienne and Louis were very anxious to hear all the details ofPierre's ghostly encounter, and questioned him very closely. Theformer vowed he would have challenged the spectre; he did not fearWilfred living, nor would he fear him dead. 

The whole conversation at the castle hearth that night was aboutghosts, demons, witches, warlocks, vampires, werewolves, andsuch-like; and about two hours before midnight our young Normanswent to bed pleasantly terrified. 

It was All Saints' Day, the day appointed for the consecration ofthe new Priory of St. Deny's. The monks from Coutances had arrived. The bishop of that diocese, already known to our readers, hadreached Aescendune to perform the ceremony, by permission of theBishop of Worcester, the sainted Wulfstan, in whose jurisdictionthe priory lay; and there was a grand gathering of Norman baronsand their retainers. 

Strange it was that the same Epistle and Gospel which still servein the English Prayer Book for that day should have been read inthe ears of the Norman warriors--that they should have heard theBeatitudes in the Gospel:

"Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God:Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy:"

--and then gone forth to work out their own righteousness in themanner peculiar to their nation. Well, perhaps there are notwanting similar examples of inconsistency in the nineteenthcentury. 

So, with all the pomp of ecclesiastical ceremony, with gorgeousvestments, lighted tapers, and clouds of incense, the new buildingwas dedicated to God. 

And then, while the preparations for the evening banquet in thehall were being made by the menials of the kitchen, the guests hada grand tournament on the open mead in front of the castle, wherethey did not study how to perform works of mercy. 

We have not space to tell who won the prizes in this famous passageof arms--who was unhorsed--whom the fair ladies crowned--save thatthe young Etienne (now in his eighteenth year) distinguishedhimself in every trial of skill or courage, unhorsed three youthssuccessively who opposed him, bore off the suspended ring--whileriding at full speed--on the top of his lance, and received thegarland from the hands of the fair Countess of Warwick, whopresided as Queen of the Jousts, amidst the applause of allpresent, who declared that so brave and knightly a youth ought tohave his spurs at once. 

He looked, indeed, handsome and brave, that typical Norman youth, as he advanced with becoming modesty to kneel and receive the tokenof his valour and success; his gallant demeanour and brighteyes--albeit he was somewhat olive in complexion--did greatexecution amongst the ladies, and they congratulated Hugo ofMalville and Aescendune upon his hopeful son and heir. No onethought of poor Wilfred, save perhaps to reflect that he was wellout of the way. 

The bishop and his clergy departed to the priory, but the greaternumber of the laity remained for the evening banquet at the hall, served with all the magnificence for which the Normans were sorenowned, while the prior and his brethren entertained theecclesiastics at a more sober repast. 

The hall was filled by an assemblage of lords and ladies, arrayedin such gorgeous apparel that it would need a far better millinerthan the writer to describe it; all the colours of the rainbow werethere, and the men had their share of the gaudy hues as well as thewomen. Hugo was quite a sight, as he sat upon a dais, at the headof the table, with his hopeful son--the hero of the day--on hisright. 

And then the viands--there was venison dressed a dozen differentways, beef and mutton, chine and haunch of the wild boar:peacocks--feathers and all, the feathers not roasted but stuck intheir proper places after the poor bird left the oven--verybeautiful, but very tough was this piece de resistance. There wereall sorts of gravies, all kinds of soups. 

Then the fish--the turbot, the salmon, and the perch, chub, trout, and eel from the inland streams. Pike had not yet appeared in ourwaters--they were a later importation--and other fish were moreplentiful in consequence. 

Then the pastry--the castles in pie crust, with fruity warriors toman their battlements--how should aught but cook describe themproperly?

For awhile there was no conversation, save an occasionalinterjectional exclamation--"How good this fish!" "How tender thisfowl!" Wines of Gascony and Burgundy were circulating freely, andwere as usual brightening the eyes, quickening the tongue, andstimulating the palate. 

But when appetite was satisfied, then began the buzz ofconversation to arise, then the gleemen tuned their harps to singthe praises of Norman warriors; nor did the toasts linger, nor wasthe drinking of many healths absent. 

Amongst the singers--men of many songs--those of wealth and rankoccasionally took turn; but there was no brighter voice or sweetersong than that of Louis de Marmontier, the third of our trio ofpages. He had distinguished himself that day in the lists, following closely in the steps of Etienne, and now he seemed likelyto win the prize for minstrelsy, as he sang the song of Rollo, accompanying himself with thrilling chords on the harp, whosestrings had never uttered sweeter notes. 

All at once, just when the attention of every one was fixed on thesinger, a startling interruption occurred, and the strings ceasedto vibrate. 

A man, whose head was streaming with blood, whose features werepale and ghastly, and who seemed scarcely able to support hisfainting limbs, was approaching the high dais, upon which reclinedhis lord. 

The song ceased--the cry was heard--"Help! my lord; they areburning Yew Tree Farm, and I only am escaped to tell thee. "

Suddenly he trembled, staggered, and fell. They raised him up, buthe was gone, his tale half untold. An arrow had pierced his breast, and he had spent his dying strength in a desperate attempt to reachhis lord. 

What had happened?

The horn was at this moment heard from the battlements, and itsburden was "FIRE. "

Hugo turned pale, in spite of his prowess, then cried out--"Tohorse! to horse!"

So crying, he rushed from the table, mounted his favourite steed, and, followed by such as could keep pace with him--there were notmany--rode in the direction of the blaze, which was illuminatingthe northern sky. 

Onward! onward! ride the Normans! Onward through bush or brake, orcopse, or quagmire. Onward, till the clearing is reached, where theEnglish Lords of Aescendune built Yew Farm. 

When they arrived at the spot, Hugo and his Normans paused inastonishment. 

For there, in the midst of the clearing, the farm buildings, oneand all, stood enveloped in flames. It was plain, at first sight, that they must have been set on fire in many places at once, for inno other way could the flames have taken such complete and uniformhold. 

But where were the inhabitants?

Not a living soul appeared, and the intense heat of the flamesforbade closer observation. 

And as they stood and gazed helplessly upon the conflagration, theremembrance of the burning of the Monastery came to many minds, andthey wondered at the similarity of the circumstances. 

"Was this the hand of God?"

At length roof after roof fell in with hideous din. The Normanswaited about the spot and explored the neighbourhood, hoping tofind, lighted by the lurid flame of the fire, that Roger and hislabourers had found shelter somewhere. They searched in vain--theyfound no one. 

Slowly and sadly the party returned homewards to attend to theirduties but early next morning the baron and a chosen band rode tothe scene again. 

Thick clouds of smoke ascended to the skies; a pungent smelloverpowered all the sweet odours of the forest; blackened beams andstones, cracked and shivered by the heat, lay all around. 

What had caused the fire? Could it have been accidental?

They soon decided that it could not. 

Two things seemed conclusive on this point--the first, thesimultaneous outbreak in all parts of the buildings; the second, the fact that no one had escaped, save the man who bore the news, and died, his story but half told. 

But what had been the fate of the rest? Had they been shut in thebuildings, and so left to die as the flames reached them?

The terrible conviction that such had been the case became general;but at the same time the similarity of the circumstances with thoseunder which the Monastery had been burnt would necessitate a likeconclusion in that case also; and if so, who had then been theincendiary?

There were those amongst the retainers of Baron Hugo who could haveanswered this question, but they were all puzzled concerning thelatter conflagration, for they knew of no gathering of theirconquered foes, and they imagined they were acquainted with everynook of the forest, save the impenetrable morass in its centre. 

On the morrow there was to have been a great hunt; but instead ofthe chase of beasts, the more exciting one of men was nowsubstituted--the "murderers" should be hunted out, cost what itmight--"The vermin should be extirpated. "

The majority of the guests had departed the previous night, butmany yet remained, the guests of Hugo, and with some of the wisestand most valiant of these he was taking counsel the followingmorning how best to track the outlaws, who had dared to commit thisinsolent deed, when Etienne appeared to announce that several oftheir people had not returned home from the fire, and amongst themhis own fellow page, the minstrel of the previous night, Louis deMarmontier. 

"We will find them; perchance they yet linger there. Bid a troop ofhorse be ready. "

They mounted, rode, arrived on the scene, and found no one there. Then they separated in all directions, two or three in each group, to find their missing comrades. 

Etienne and Pierre, with a dozen men at arms--for the baron wouldnot let them go forth less strongly attended--were eager in thesearch, for they loved their companion, and were very anxious abouthis safety. 

Midway between the castle and the burnt farm, slightly out of thetrack, was a huge oak, and around it a slight space clear ofundergrowth. A brook ran close by--a stream of sweet sparklingwater--and Etienne rode thither to give the horses drink, when, ashe approached, he saw the form of a youth leaning down, as ifdrinking, and thought he knew the dress. 

He approached eagerly. Yes, it was Louis; but he did not stir. Etienne dismounted and discovered the fact he had alreadyanticipated: his young companion was dead: an arrow, evidently shotclose at hand, had pierced his chest. The poor lad had but slightdefensive armour--a light cuirass thrown on at the first alarm. 

He had fallen and been left for dead, but had evidently afterwardsdragged himself to the brook, in the agony of thirst, and had diedwhile attempting to drink. 

They placed the body reverently on the moss at the foot of thetree, and for a time were silent. The remembrance of his activityand gaiety on the previous day, and of his sweet minstrelsy on thevery eve of his voice being hushed for ever, came sadly to theirminds. At length Etienne broke the silence. 

"Draw forth the arrow, " he said. 

They drew it forth and gave it him, bloodstained as it was: helooked closely upon it. 

"This is an arrow from the same quiver as that which killedGislebert; it is of English make, such as those clumsy louts use. "

It was indeed a heavy, broad shaft, quite unlike the slender, tapering arrows of Norman workmanship, adapted for a long flight, in days when a furlong was considered a boy's distance. 

"Our own serfs turn upon us. Well, they will rue it ere long; ashort shrift and a long rope will be their portion. "

"Ah! I remember noticing such in the quiver of the young thrallEadwin, " said Pierre--"he whose hand you sought to cut off forpoaching. "

They said no more on that occasion, but pursued in silence thetrain of thought suggested. 

It was a strange gathering that night at the castle; for corpseafter corpse was borne in from the woods to receive Christianburial at the priory, all killed by arrows, and those arrows--whichthe slayers had not troubled to remove, as if they disdainedreprisals--all of the clumsy sort used by the "aborigines"

CHAPTER IX. A HUNT IN THE WOODS. 

The winter of the year 1068 was setting in with great severity, sharp winds from the north and east had already stripped the fadedleaves from the trees of the forest, and the heavens werefrequently veiled by dark masses of cloud, from whence fast-fallingsnow ever and anon descended. 

The winter opened drearily for the inhabitants of Aescendune, forthe "mystery of the forest" was yet unsolved; none knew whencethose incendiaries had issued who had given Yew Farm, with all itsinmates, to the vengeful flames; but that this latter conflagrationwas in some way connected with the earlier destruction of St. Wilfred's Priory seemed not unlikely to most men. 

Hugo de Malville cum Aescendune was not the man to sit calmly onthe battlements of his newly-built towers and survey thedestruction of his property, although he was not free from aterrible dread that his sins were finding him out, at which timeshe was like a haunted man who sees spectres, invisible to the worldaround. 

Well did he surmise from whom the deadly provocation came, the lossof his farm, the death of a noble lad committed to his care; not tomention the loss of some common men, who could easily be replaced:for there were ever fresh swarms of Normans, French, and Bretonspouring into poor old England, as though it were some newlydiscovered and uninhabited land. 

The aggressors, he doubted not, were the outlaws his tyranny haddriven to the forests, the forerunners of the Robin Hoods andLittle Johns of later days, whose exploits against the Norman raceawoke the enthusiasm of so many minstrels and ballad makers{x}. 

But all his efforts were in vain: neither men nor dogs could trackthe fugitives, although all the woods were explored, save only thatimpassable Dismal Swamp, where all seemed rottenness and slime, andwhere it could scarcely be imagined aught human could live. 

Day after day the vengeful baron ranged the woods with his dogs andmen-at-arms, but all in vain. 

Neither would Etienne forbear his woodland sports, although thestragglers in the forest were constantly cut off by their unseenfoe; but in his hunts, accompanied by Pierre, his sole survivingcompanion, he sought more eagerly for the tracks of men than ofbeasts, and vowed he would some day avenge poor Louis. 

Brave although the Normans were, they hesitated to remain in theoutlying cottages and farms which were yet untouched by thedestroyer, and therefore, by their lord's permission, concentratedtheir forces in and around the castle, where they kept diligentwatch, as men who held their lives in their hands, and shunned thewoods after nightfall. 

For night after night the fatal fires blazed, now at one extremityof the domain, now at another, until there threatened to be verylittle left to burn, unless some prompt and decisive measures weretaken; but superstitious fears united with natural ones to assistthe unseen enemy, by paralysing the courage of the hithertoinvincible Norman. 

This state of things could be endured no longer; and the baron sentembassies to the neighbouring barons to beg their aid against acombination of outlaws united against law and society, who hadburnt his farms and slain his retainers, and whom, owing to hislimited numbers, he had yet failed to exterminate. 

The Normans clung together; hence their power--as the weakness ofthe poor English was disunion--and favourable replies beingreceived, a day was appointed for a general search to be made inthe forest by the barons living near its borders. 

It came at last--a day in November, when the sun seemed making alast effort to prevail against coming winter. The wind was freshand bracing, and nature appeared bright and cheerful, on thatlong-to-be-remembered morning. 

Early in the morn, just after sunrise, Bernard de Torci, Gilbertd'Aubyn, Eustace de Senville, and a large body of their retainers, arrived at the castle. They found the men of Aescendune prepared toreceive them, and the leaders entered the council chamber of theirhost. 

There they perfected their plans--the forest was divided intoportions, and a district assigned to each leader to be subdividedand thoroughly explored. All human tracks were to be followed up bythe help of the hounds, and prisoners, when taken, to be sent, under guard, to the castle, there to be rigorously examined, ifnecessary by torture. 

The only part of the scheme presenting any real difficulty was themorass in the centre of the forest, already known to our readers. Hugo believed it impenetrable, and that no human being could livewithin its area; but he sent for his chief huntsman, and examinedhim before his fellow nobles. 

He found that old Ralph regarded the Dismal Swamp, as they calledthe morass, as utterly uninhabitable and impassable; he had neverheard any sounds of life from within; he thought the place haunted;it abounded in quagmires, and corpse lights and baleful fires wereseen on its waters at night. 

The man was dismissed, and it was decided, that the borders of themorass should be explored, although with little hope of finding anytrace of the foe; but should such be found, it was not to beneglected, the more especially if the search were conductedelsewhere in vain. 

The northern part of the forest fell to Hugo's share, and wassubdivided by him between his chief retainers. Every nook was to beinvestigated, and signals were arranged whereby all the hunterscould be assembled together in case of need. 

The work was a very arduous one, for the portion assigned to theretainers of Aescendune alone, occupied a circuit of some fifteenmiles, bounded on the east by a stream which ran into the Avon, onthe north by a well-defined range of wooded hills. 

This was the most important section of all, for what faintindications had been gained of the whereabouts of the foe, allpointed in this direction. 

The men-at-arms were divided into five distinct bands, lightlyarmed, because of the distance they had to travel, and Etienneclaimed and obtained the command of one party. 

However, the baron, while he had no doubt of his son's valour, grievously doubted his discretion, and added to the party Ralph, his chief forester, strictly charging Etienne in any difficulty tobe guided by his advice--directions which the young heir receivedwith a toss of the head, which spoke volumes for his submission. 

They entered the forest--a gallant array, each party numberingabout twenty, and there were nearly twenty of such bands; but whenthey divided and again subdivided, and each took their differentroutes, they appeared lost in the vastness of the forest, and in avery few minutes every band was so isolated that they heard nosounds indicating that any save themselves were in the wood. 

We will leave all other parties to their fate, and confine ourattention to that commanded by Etienne, which, indeed, was destinedto surpass all the others in the results accomplished, and in theirinfluence on the future destinies of all the personages in ourhistory. 

They proceeded fully five miles from home before their real taskbegan. Perhaps the reader will wonder how they could know their owndestined region in so pathless a wilderness, but it was part of thetraining they had received as hunters to find their way in thelonely woods; and there were signs innumerable which told themwhere they were, and in what direction they were going. Etiennealone, could guide his men while day lasted, as well as a pilotcould steer a ship in a well-known archipelago, and in Ralph he hada tower of strength. 

Every landmark was known--the course of every stream; each tree, bythe direction in which it threw its boughs and by the mosses at thefoot of its trunk, told the points of the compass. 

Yet there were probably, in so large an extent of country, manywild glens and deep fastnesses hitherto untraversed, and these hadto be discovered and explored. 

Straight through the territory assigned to them marched our littleband; keen-nosed dogs went first, secured by leashes, that the gamethey continually aroused might not lead them astray; men followedwho, like American Indians, looked for "trails" in every softsurface of ground, and along the banks of each stream of sweetwater, where men might come to drink, but by noon they hadtraversed the whole extent of their territory in a straight line, and discovered nothing. Once, indeed, they thought they were on thescent of man; but they had crossed the trail of a wild boar andcould not restrain themselves from following it up, the scent wasso fresh, and herein they wasted much time, but succeeded inkilling their boar; and Etienne at once proposed that, since it wasmidday, they should light a fire and dine upon its flesh. 

The forester, old Ralph, objected that the smoke would reveal theirpresence, and frustrate the object of their expedition; but theyoung noble replied so rudely that the old man withdrew hisobjection. 

The fire was kindled, the smoke arose high above the tree tops inthe clear atmosphere, and soon the poor boar was dissected, and thechoicest parts of his flesh held on spits. 'Twas somewhat fresh, but none the worse, thought the roasters, for that. 

The glade in which they were seated, through which the little brookfoamed and tumbled, was surrounded by magnificent old oaks, somewith hollow trunks, others with branches gnarled and twisted in athousand fantastic shapes, some yet retained a portion of theirleaves--brown and sere, one or two were enveloped with ivy, andhere and there the mistletoe could be seen, thick and verdant. Itwas a spot the Druids must have delighted to haunt in the timesgone by, and one a painter might like to hap upon now in hiswoodland strolls. 

Some fallen logs were close by the stream, and upon these one partyplaced the viands, or seated their own comely forms, while otherspiled fresh sticks upon the fire, and held out the fizzing meat onspits--full of enjoyment of the hour, and utterly careless ofdanger. 

Pierre was seated on one of the fallen trees; Etienne was playingwith the dogs, now only two in number, when the elder of themlifted its nose in the air, and then began to growl ominously. 

"The dog begins to be uneasy, " said old Ralph. 

"Another wild boar, probably. "

"Had we not better appoint a sentinel or two? we might be taken bysurprise in this glade. "

"Ralph, where hast thou left thy manhood? Art thou afraid of theseshadows?"

"They were not shadows who burnt our farms. "

"I wish they had some substance, then we might get hold of them. "

"May I appoint men to keep watch?"

"It is not necessary, " replied Etienne, quite wilfully, for he haddetermined not to be advised. 

The meal was now prepared, and the whole party gathered round thefire, arranging the logs so as to form seats. They were soon eatingwith the zest of men who have had the advantage of forest air, whenthey were disturbed by another growl from the older dog. 

Ralph looked uneasily round. 

"He smells another boar, but one is enough for our dinner, " saidEtienne, and they turned again to their meal. 

Suddenly one of their number, a woodman named Gilbert, leapt upwith a wild cry, and then fell down in their midst dead. 

An arrow had pierced his heart. 

The Normans rose aghast at this sudden intrusion of death, andgazed wildly around. 

But all was yet silent, no war cry followed this deadly act ofhostility--the woods seemed asleep. 

"To cover, " cried Ralph the forester, assuming instinctively thecommand; "let your own arrows be ready for these lurking cowards. "

And the Normans, sheltering themselves behind the trunks of thetrees, stood, their arrows fitted to the string, to await the onsetthey momentarily expected. 

But it did not take place, and after a trying pause of someminutes, Etienne, who had quite recovered his audacity, and who wasa little nettled at being, as it were, superseded in the commandfor the moment, shouted:

"Keep your eyes open and search the cover, the miscreants haveprobably fled, but we may put the dogs on the track. "

The obedient vassals obeyed, not without some hesitation, for theyfelt that the moment of exposure might be that of death. Still theywere forced to undergo the risk, and they searched the immediateneighbourhood, omitting no precautions that experience in woodlandwarfare suggested. 

But all their search was in vain. 

"Shall we blow the horn and summon further assistance?" said Ralph. 

"No, we shall but recall the other parties from their duties, " saidEtienne, not wisely, for the cause was sufficient--they were atleast in the neighbourhood of the foe whom all panted to discover;but he was angry with the old forester, and would receive nosuggestion. 

The dogs, although they ran hither and thither, their noses to theground, seemed as much in fault as the men, and after an hour hadpassed in this vain attempt to track the invisible foe, Etiennegave orders to abandon the spot and resume their appointed task, for they had yet to explore a square mile or two of forest--thosenearest the morass. 

But here Ralph ventured a remonstrance; the day was far spent, theyhad but an hour or two of daylight, and there were heavy clouds inthe northeast, which seemed to indicate a snowstorm; he thought"they had better return towards home as fast as they could, andfinish their work on the morrow. "

"If thou fearest for thyself, I give thee leave to return, old man;for me, I will stay here till my duty is accomplished, and so willall who value their fealty. "

"It is the first time one of thy house has ever thus spoken to me, my young lord. "

"Let it be the last time then, " said the proud youth; "it dependsbut upon thyself; and now lead the way--our path is westward. Examine the ground closely; we know we are in the neighbourhood ofthe foe. "

They obeyed, and an hour passed away without any further alarm, when the dogs recommenced their warning growls. 

The men appeared terrified: they knew what had followed thosewarnings before, and their light jerkins of untanned leather werenot proof against arrows. They directed their keenest glances intothe forest. 

The tall trees rose like the pillars of a cathedral, supporting thefretwork of branches on every side; here and there some monarch ofthe woods had fallen, and was now covered over with ivy; but noother shelter seemed at hand which might conceal a foe, save somelittle undergrowth here and there. 

But the most serious thing was the hour; the day was fastdeclining; the clouds which floated above them were fast assumingthose roseate tints which they receive from the setting sun; whilebehind them vast masses, which looked black by contrast with theglowing west, were slowly obscuring the heavens, and the winds wereheard moaning more and more loudly as each minute passed. 

There was hardly a member of the band who did not share Ralph'suneasiness, and who would not have given much to find himself safein the castle; but their wilful young leader was still unmoved--itmust be owned that his courage bordered on foolhardiness. 

At length the darkness came, as with a rush, upon them; the blackclouds were overhead; some feathery flakes of snow blew aboutthem--precursors of the coming storm. Their work was stillunaccomplished, but Etienne at length heeded the murmurs of theparty, and calling them together, for they had dispersed to lookafter the signs they hoped to find, said:

"I fear we must leave our work unfinished--we can see no longer, and may as well return home. "

"My lord, would it please thee to number the party? we should betwenty. "

"Count them thyself, " he said. 

"Fifteen. "

"We left one behind us where we rested, but where are the rest?"said Ralph. 

"It is useless to search for them now--it is so dark, the hour islate--we must return tomorrow. "

"Perhaps, " said the old forester, sorrowfully, "but we are in aforest infested by these English fiends, perhaps by real demons. There are many who affirm as much, and there is not a man here whomight not profitably give up a year of his life to be just fivemiles nearer home. "

The old man took the office of guide upon himself, naturally, asthe most experienced in woodcraft, and for a mile or two led withconfidence; but at length the darkness became intense, and theguide paused. 

The night was indeed terrible; it was as black as ink--they couldscarce see the uplifted hand when held before the face; while, toadd to their discomfort, the snow, now they had changed theircourse, blew into their faces; the wind had risen and moaned inhollow gusts amidst the tree tops. Its wailings seemed likeprognostications of coming evil. 

It was at this juncture Ralph was forced to confess he could nolonger feel certain of the track. 

"Let us trust to the dogs, " said he; "they have an instinct betterthan our reason. Let them have long leashes, and go as freely aspossible; we shall easily follow them, and, please God, shall reachhome in time. "

"There is a better guide, " replied Etienne, as they all suddenlysaw a solitary light, as from a man carrying a torch, arise beforethem in the darkness, and glide gently on into the depths of theforest. 

CHAPTER X. EVEN THE TIGER LOVES ITS CUB. 

We must once more use the privilege of an author, and transport ourreaders from the distant forest to Aescendune, speedily as theGenius of the Lamp transported the palace of Aladdin. 

The November evening was setting in drearily, the fast-fadinggleams of daylight were disappearing amidst thickly-fallingsnow--it was the hour when tired mortals shut doors and windows, turn instinctively to the cheerful hearth, and while they hear thewind roar without, thank God they are sheltered from its blasts;and perhaps think with some pity of poor homeless wanderers, inpathless forests, or on dismal moors. 

Troop after troop, the wearied and dispirited Normans returned fromtheir fruitless chase, till all were safely housed, save oneunhappy band. First came the wicked old baron himself, with all histwenty retainers, safe and sound, then Bernard de Torci, who hadwon to himself an English wife and the manor of Wylmcotte; thenGilbert D'Aubyn of Bearleigh. One after another the troops came infrom the outer darkness, white with snow, and shook their mantlesand jerkins in the guard chamber within the entrance archway, afterwhich their leaders repaired to the bathroom--for, in their way, the Norman warriors were luxurious--and afterwards, perfumed andanointed, donned the festal robes in which they hoped to dazzle theeyes of the fair, if such were to be found in the Castle ofAescendune. 

The hour appointed for the banquet was the first hour of thenight--six in the evening we should now call it--and the Majordomosought his lord. 

He found him risen from the bath and vested in flowing robes ofrichest texture, with an ermine mantle around his shoulders. 

"The banquet is ready, my lord, but the guests have not allarrived. "

"Has my son returned?"

"He has not come back yet, my lord. Shall I delay the banquet?"

"Are all the others in?"

"Sir Eustace de Senville has not yet come from the forest. "

"Let it be delayed half an hour. "

The old servant shook his head--the roast meats were done to aturn, and he feared the reputation of the ten cooks, who had toiledthe long afternoon before the fires, might suffer. 

The baron paced impatiently up and down his chamber. 

There is some redeeming feature in the hearts of the worst of us:even Lady Macbeth could not herself slay King Duncan, "he looked solike her father, " and the one weak point in the armour of proof--ofselfishness, we should say--which encrusted Hugo de Malville, washis love for his son. 

Etienne was to him as the apple of his eye; and little wonder--thequalities which, we doubt not, nay, we trust, disfigure thatamiable youth in the minds of our gentle readers--his pride, hiscarelessness for the bodily or mental sufferings of others--allthese things were nought to the Norman noble, he loved to see hisson stark and fierce, and smiled as he heard of deeds which bettermen would have sternly refused to condone. 

He almost longed for war--for some rebellion on the part of theEnglish--that Etienne might flesh his sword and win his spurs, and, as we see, that wish, at least, was gratified. 

But it was this very love for his own son which had made the oldbaron so unloving a stepfather to Wilfred, in whom he could onlysee the rival of his boy, and both mother and son were obstacles tobe removed--the old sinner did not sin for himself, it must beconfessed. 

Half an hour passed. Sir Eustace, the last who arrived that night, came in, and the baron, to the great relief of the cooks, descendedto the hall. 

Still he was far too proud and jealous of his dignity to show hisanxiety in voice or mien. He descended calmly to the banquet, thechaplain blessed the food, and the tired and hungry nobles fell toat the high table, while their retainers feasted below. 

It was a bright and dazzling scene: at the head of the hall sat theBaron and his chief guests upon a platform. Above it hung trophiesof war or the chase--arms borne in many a conflict, swords, spears, arrows--to each of which some legend was attached; the antlers ofthe giant stag, the tusk of the wild boar, the head and bill ofsome long-necked heron. 

Below, at right angles to the high table, were three other tables, not fixtures, but composed of boards spread over trestles, andcovered with coarse white cloths. At these sat the retainers, themen whose rank did not entitle them to sit at the high table, tothe number of some three hundred--there was not an Englishmanamongst them. 

All day long the cooks and their menials had groaned before thehuge fires, where they roasted deer, sheep, oxen, swine, and thelike, and now they bore the joints in procession around the tables, and the guests cut off--with the knives which hung at theirgirdles, and which, perchance, had been more than once stained bythe blood of their foes--such portion of the meat as they fancied, transferred it to their trenchers, and ate it without the aid offorks; nevertheless there were napkins whereon to wipe their handswhen they had done. 

The leaders sat at the high table--the leaders of each of thenumerous bands which had scoured the forest; one, and only one, wasabsent, and he was, as our readers know, Etienne, son of Hugo. 

Naught was said until hunger and thirst were appeased--until basinswere brought round with scented water, in which our lords washedtheir fingers, and after waving them gracefully in the air, driedthem with the delicate napkins with which they were girded: andrich wines were poured into goblets of gold and silver; then Hugoasked, from his seat upon the dais:

"What success has gladdened our arms today? Doubtless some of ourknights have news for us. "

"I have seen no foe, save the wild boar and a stray wolf, althoughI have tramped the forest from the rising to the setting sun, " saidSir Bernard. 

"Nor I, " "nor I, " said one after the other around the table. 

The old man, Eustace de Senville, was silent till all had spoken;then, like Nestor of old, wise, and qualified by age to act ascounsellor, he let fall his weighty words, which fell from his lipslike the flakes of thick falling snow without. 

"My lot hath been different, " he said; "it fell to me to explorethe quarter of the forest next to that assigned to the son of ourhost. We had already completed our task, and were on the point ofreturning homewards, for the sun was already low, when we heard theblast of a horn appealing to us for aid. "

"From what quarter?" said the baron. 

"That assigned to your son. We at once hastened to render help, and, after some fruitless search, heard the horn once more, and, guided by its sound, reached a spot where the groans of one in painfell upon our ear, amidst the increasing darkness of the forest. Wefound the victim, his horn by his side, dead--pierced through by anarrow. The life had been ebbing when, hearing our signals, he hadstriven with his last breath to summon us that he might not diealone, and, indeed, his face looked as one who had died in awfulfear with some gruesome sight before his eyes. "

"To what party did he belong?"

"He wore the badge of Aescendune, he was short of stature, oneshoulder somewhat higher than the other, and he wore this belt, which we have brought home in hopes he may be known thereby. "

The baron took the belt, with hands which shook in spite of all hisefforts at composure, and knew it to belong to one Torquelle, whohad been in attendance on his son. 

"Etienne hath found foes, " he said in a voice which he strove torender calm. 

"A light snow had begun to fall, " continued the speaker, "the sunwas already very low, and it was dusk in the woods, when our dogsbegan to growl. Dimly in the shade we saw three or four beingscreeping forward, as if studying the ground carefully. We watchedthem with fear, doubting if they were of this world. "

"Why?"

"They had horns, and tails, and huge ears. "

"They say the wood is haunted by wood demons. "

"Then thou wert afraid to follow?"

"We dare fight men, we fear none who breathe; but we shrink fromSatan and his hosts. Still we sent a flight of arrows, and theyvanished. "

"Was the distance near enough to do execution?"

"Scarcely, had they been men; it mattered not if they were whatthey appeared to be. "

Strange to say, the idea that the foe had been masquerading for thepurpose of frightening them, never struck our Normans. 

"When they had gone, we approached the spot, " continued the agedknight of Senville, "and found foot marks in the snow, which, fromthe previous fall, lay lightly on the ground, for the storm oftonight had hardly set in. There were marks of one of our parties, and we saw by torchlight strange footprints, as if they had beentracked by two or three daring foes--we thought we distinguishedhoof marks. "

A terrible silence fell upon the whole assembly, as the idea thatthey had been contending with demons, and not with mortals, fellupon them, and perhaps the bravest would have hesitated to enterthe forest that night, however dire the need. 

The baron knew this; yet when supper was over, when the hour ofretiring to rest had arrived, and still there were no signs of hisson, he selected a band of trusty warriors, who, in spite of thestory of the demons, which Eustace's men had made known throughoutthe castle, would not be untrue to their lord. 

And with these men, while all the rest slept, he penetrated theforest, and with torches and horns made night hideous, until coldand fatigue drove him home, his heart heavier than before, hisdesire unaccomplished. 

He threw himself upon his couch, only to be haunted by dreadfuldreams, in which he saw his son surrounded by the demons of SirEustace's tale, and in every other variety of danger or distress, like the constantly shifting scenes of a modern theatre. 

And in all these dreams the "Dismal Swamp" played a prominent part. 

Day broke at last, cold but bright; the first beams of the sungladdened the castle, reflected keenly from the white ground, thetrees hung with frozen snow, which had broken many branches to theground--the winter seemed to have come in good earnest. 

Early in the day, a hundred men, well armed and mounted, led by thebaron, again entered the forest. They reached, in due course, thepart of the wood assigned to Etienne on the previous day. 

The snow had effaced all tracks, but Sir Eustace speedily found thespot where he had left the dead man, and there was the corpse, stiff and frozen, but it was evident that the knight's descriptiongiven the previous evening was all too correct. The man had died ingreat horror and anguish; the arrow yet remained in his body. Itwas, as in the earlier cases, one of English make--a clumsy shaft, unlike the polished Norman workmanship. 

"We must search the whole district, " said the baron; "but we hadbetter keep together. "

Every one shared this opinion. 

It was the unknown danger that troubled them, the thought thatsupernatural powers were arrayed against them, that the English hadcalled the fiends to their aid, which terrified these hardenedwarriors. 

If the English had, indeed, sought by ghostly disguise to affrighttheir foes, they had well succeeded. 

It was late in the morning before the glade was reached where ourparty had rested, and the body of the man first slain wasdiscovered, and the whole band gathered around it. 

Like the others, he had fallen by an English arrow. 

The fear that all their friends had thus fallen became general, andexpressed itself in their countenances. The baron was livid. 

There was no possibility of tracing the party, the snow had coveredthe footsteps; but evidence was soon found in the fragments offood--the remains of the carcase of the wild boar--to show thatthis had been the midday rest, and that here the very beginning ofhostilities had taken place. 

They returned thence to the spot where Torquelle was slain. Fearand trembling seized many of the baron's warriors as they gazedupon those distorted features--fear, mingled with dread--somysterious were the circumstances. They buried the body as decentlyas time permitted, and continued their course until they came uponanother corpse slain in like manner. 

Horror increased: at every stage the baron feared to find the deadbody of his son. They still pursued the same line: it led to theedge of the Dismal Swamp, and there it ended. 

They stood gazing upon that desolate wilderness. 

"No human being could penetrate there, " said Sir Bernard. 

"Try. "

Hugo advanced, dismounting for the purpose, but sank almostdirectly in a quagmire covered with snow, and was drawn out withdifficulty. 

"No, the place is enchanted. "

"Guarded by fiends. "

"Listen. "

Cries as of men and dogs came across the waste. 

"They are the demons of the pit, who would lead us into thequagmires. "

"They sound like human voices. "

"Come what will, if hard frost will but freeze the ground, we willsearch the place, " said the baron. "Come, my men, we can do nomore; let us return--it is near nightfall. "

This welcome order was obeyed by all the Normans with the greatestalacrity, for they dreaded the approach of night, and the terrorsof the forest, which had already proved so fatal to theircompanions. 

No further mishap befell them; weary and footsore they reached thecastle, but the heaviest heart amongst them was that of Hugo. 

CHAPTER XI. ALIVE--OR DEAD?

The reader will remember that we left Etienne of Aescendune cumMalville and his band in a most critical moment--lost in awilderness full of enemies of unknown number and uncertainposition; but with a gleam of comfort in the shape of a light whichhad arisen out of the gloom before them. 

"It is one of the rascals carrying a torch. Let loose the dogs; ifthey but seize him, we can extort the whole truth; then we shallknow what to do. "

Ralph immediately slipped the older and fiercer hound, and tried toset him on the destined prey; but to his astonishment the beastbounded forward but a few yards, then returned with its tailbetween its legs and whined piteously. 

"Are we all bewitched?" exclaimed Etienne. 

"Witches and warlocks are said to abound in these woods, and manyother works of Satan also. "

"The light goes steadily onwards: it is a man carrying a torch; letus follow him up. "

They followed rapidly, the torch going smoothly on before them, when all at once the whole party fell into a miry slough up totheir waists. 

The deceitful light danced about in a joyous manner, as if it weremocking them, and then went out and left them all in utterdarkness, struggling vainly in the mud and slime. 

"Where are we?" said Pierre, piteously. 

"In the Dismal Swamp, " said Ralph. 

"Amongst toads and snakes, " cried another. 

At this moment half-a-dozen lights appeared in various directions. 

"Good heavens, the place is alive with marsh fires. "

"They are what the English call Jack-o'-lanterns. "

"They are ignes fatui, " said Pierre. 

"They are the souls of unbaptized babies, " said Ralph. "Let us tryto return to the firm ground we have left. "

More easily said than done. Our unfortunate Normans struggledvainly in the darkness and in the mire, uttering piteousexclamations--cold and frozen, and mocked ever and anon by someblazing light. Many a vow did they make to our Lady of Sorrows, andto St. Erroutt, St. Gervaise, St. Denys, and every other Normansaint, till somebody suggested that the English saints might knowmore about the morass, and they condescended to appeal to St. Chad(mighty in those parts), beseeching his help in their distress. 

Suddenly a piercing cry told that one was being swallowed up insome quicksand; but they could give no aid, and only shudder inhelplessness. 

At that moment Etienne caught hold of the loose leash by which oneof the dogs was secured. 

"Let us follow the dogs, " he said; "they always scent out firmground. "

There was now, happily for them, more light; it had long sinceceased to snow, and the stars came out brightly. 

"See, " said Pierre, "the moon is rising; we shall have it quitelight soon. "

"Would it had risen earlier, " croaked Ralph. 

The dogs, their noses to the ground, went on bravely, winding inand out between quagmire and rotting herbage. Had the light beenbrighter, our Normans would have perceived the impressions ofnumerous footmarks of men on the path they were taking--the dogswere at last on the scent they had sought all day, whether for wealor for woe. 

At length the path suddenly ascended a bank, and the light throughthe tree tops showed that they were approaching a clearing. 

They ascended cautiously, and from the summit of the short ascentlooked out upon an elevated tableland in the midst of the morass. Before them, encircled by a little brook, which shortly afterwardsswelled the waters of the morass, stood a large rustic dwelling, overgrown with ivy; and not far distant rose many houses orhuts--in fact, to their no small amazement, they beheld a village, and one, too, that no individual amongst them had ever seen orheard of before. 

"'Tis the very nest of vipers we have sought all day, " saidEtienne. 

"And have found to our undoing, " lamented Ralph. 

"See, there is light behind that shutter, I will creep up and lookin, " said Etienne; "rest you all here. "

There was no glass in common use in those days, and, save when hornwas employed, people--the poor at least--had to choose, even in thedaytime, between darkness and warmth; for when they let in thelight, they let in the weather. 

Looking through the chinks in the shutters, Etienne gazed inside. 

It was the farmhouse occupied by a former lord, Elfwyn ofAescendune, during the Danish invasions, as recorded in a formerChronicle, and was larger and more commodious than usual in thosedays. There were several smaller houses, or rather huts, around;but if they had inmates, they were all silent--perhaps asleep, forthe hour was late. 

Beside a fire, kindled beneath a large open chimney, such as werethen in use in the bettermost houses--for the poor were contentwith a hole in the roof--sat a youth of some sixteen years of age, busily attending to a large pot over the fire, from which, fromtime to time, savoury fumes ascended, the odour of which gladdenedeven the olfactory organs of our young Norman aristocrat. 

Etienne knew him: it was Eadwin, the son of Wilfred's old nurse, for whom he had an ancient grudge, which he at once resolved togratify. 

He summoned Ralph and the rest who had escaped the morass--theywere only ten in number, the others had succumbed to the horrors ofthat fearful night. 

Yet even so, the impulses of pride and cruelty were not subdued inthe heart of Etienne, son of Hugo. 

"The English robbers have left their haunt for a time; doubtlessthey were the fellows who passed us in the forest, and there is butone boy left in charge, of whom I know something; we will seize himand learn the truth. "

"Suppose they come back while we tarry here?"

"We will set a watch to warn us in good time. "

Etienne stepped lightly to the door; it was actually unbarred, sosecure did the English feel in this hitherto inaccessible retreat, and his hand was on the shoulder of his intended victim before hehad taken the alarm. He turned round and started violently as herecognised his ancient enemies, then made a vain attempt to gainthe door, which was immediately and easily frustrated. 

"Nay, thou young oaf, thou canst not escape. Dost thou not know thyown lords? Thou art a runaway thrall, and thy life is forfeited;but if thou wilt but use thy tongue, thou mayest perchance save itand escape lightly. Tell me--Who are the people who live here? Whois their leader? How many there be? Where they are now?"

The young dweller in the woods had by this time recovered his selfpossession. He was a mere lad, yet endued with manly courage whichfitted him to endure nobly for the sake of those whom he loved. 

"Thou art not my true lord, and never wast; neither will I answerthy questions, though thou slay me. "

"Then thou mayst prepare for death. "

"They live who may avenge me. "

"We will chance that. Stand yonder, against the wall, stretch outthine arms, or they shall be stretched for thee. 

"Tie him, my men, to that post--" pointing, as he spoke, to one ofthe uprights which supported the roof, and which was partiallydetached from the wooden wall--"and extend his arms to the posts oneither side. "

Conscious that resistance was hopeless, Eadwin submitted quietly tobe bound, listening nevertheless so eagerly for sounds from withoutthat Ralph marked his strained attention; Etienne was intent uponhis designed cruelty. 

"Once more, wilt thou answer me?" he said. 

"No, " said his victim, quietly and firmly. 

"Then thou must suffer. Thou shalt die as thy St. Edmund did--fitdeath it was, too, for a beggarly English saint. I ask thee for thelast time. "

No reply. Etienne bade the men stand aside, and then, taking hisstand at the other end of the room, which may have been twenty feetlong, took accurate aim and shot an arrow through the muscle of theright arm. 

"Wilt thou speak?"

Beads of sweat stood upon the brow; but the lips found strength yetto answer--once more the bolt flew, and the left arm was pierced inturn. 

"Wilt thou answer my questions now?

"The rebels and fools, thy countrymen, have been amusing themselvesby shooting at us all day; methinks the tables are turned now. "

He shot again and wounded his victim in the shoulder. The wholeframe trembled; the lips moved, as if in prayer. 

"Let me shoot this time, " said Pierre, "if he will not answer. "

"Take the bow then; hit the other shoulder. "

Pierre took very accurate aim, and shot right through the heart. One convulsive throb, and the body hang by the cords dead, and pastthe reach of suffering. 

"Thou fool!" said Etienne, forgetting his customary courtesy to hisequals, "thou hast spoilt all--we may never learn the truth now. "

"He was too brave a lad to be tortured, " said Pierre, upon whom thepatient courage of the sufferer had made a very deep impression, "so I gave him the coup de grace. "

"My lord, had we not better depart? These English may return at anymoment; tomorrow we may come with all the force at our command. "

"We will sup first at all events. That soup smells good; it willput a little warmth into our bodies, and it is worth a little riskto have the chance of drying our clothes at this fire. "

So they left the body of poor Eadwin where it had fallen, and beingnow spent with hunger, they poured the soup into basins and ate itgreedily. 

Suddenly the door was burst open, the room was filled with theirfoes--uplifted weapons, deadly blows, cries, curses in English andFrench--in short, such a melee ensued that it passes all our powerto describe it. The fire was kicked over the place--blood hissed asit ran over the floor and met the hot embers--the torches werespeedily extinguished or converted into weapons--men rolled overand over in deadly strife, seeking where to plant the dagger orknife--they throttled each other, or dashed hostile heads againstthe floor--they tore the hair or beard as they struck beneath, notwith the fist, but the knife--on rolled the strife--the verybuilding shook--till there was a sudden lull, and in a few moreminutes it was peace. 

A dozen Englishmen stood upright amidst prostrate corpses, manystreaming with blood; while many bodies lay on the floor, eight ofwhich were discovered, when the lights were rekindled, to beNormans. 

Only one Norman yet lived, and he was wounded--it was Pierre. 

The young Breton lay on the ground, grievously wounded in severalplaces, yet not mortally--and fully conscious--when he heard aneager voice inquire in a tone of authority:

"What is the meaning of all this? How did they cross the morass?Are many of our people hurt?"

He looked up; the voice startled him. Well it might--it was to hima voice from the grave. 

There, in the doorway, living and well, strong and well-liking, inthe glare of torchlight, stood his former companion, Wilfred ofAescendune. 

Their eyes met, and they gazed fixedly, yes, and proudly, upon eachother; but the glance of Wilfred softened first. He saw before himthe only one of his former companions who had ever given him afriendly word, whom misapprehension alone had estranged from him, which he (Wilfred) had refused to remove. 

"We meet again, Pierre de Morlaix. "

"Thou art not dead, then. How didst thou escape? Who burnt themonastery?"

"Art thou so demented as to ask me? Dost thou think English torchesfired an English house of God? Times are changed now, and thouseest me surrounded by the vassals of my father's house, who own nolord but their natural chieftain. But where is Etienne? We havewatched your party all day, and know that the young tyrant wastheir leader. Is he amongst the dead?"

"Look for thyself. "

No. Etienne was not amongst the dead. How, then, had he escaped?

"Search the premises--search the woods--stop the paths across themorass--men and dogs, all of you. Better all the rest had escaped:he shall never, never live to be lord of Aescendune. "

And Wilfred vanished to give orders out of doors. 

An hour had passed away; the dead had been removed, the English tobe decently buried--for there was an old church built by Elfwyn ofAescendune, during the Danish wars {xi}, and around it lay thegraves of those who had died in troublous times; there Englishpriests were still found to serve at the altar; Norman tyranny didnot spare the English Church any more than the English nobility. 

But the Norman dead were simply carried to a quagmire of bottomlessdepth which absorbed the bodies, and furnished a convenient thoughdreadful grave. 

And in this division of the slain, young Eadwin, pierced with fourwounds, was found; and the arrows, yet remaining, showed at oncethat he had not fallen in fair strife. 

The search for Etienne, still unsuccessful, was being eagerlypursued, when Wilfred returned, bent on questioning Pierre, andbeheld the dead body of Eadwin. 

He was deeply moved, for he had loved the poor lad, his fosterbrother, well, and could not easily restrain his emotion, but sosoon as he was master of himself, the desire for vengeancesuperseded softer emotions, and he ordered the wounded Pierre to bebrought before him. 

He had no difficulty in learning the truth. Pierre, now upon hismettle, somewhat sorrowfully said that as the young thrall wouldnot answer his lord when bidden, Etienne had endeavoured to compelhim. 

"Thou hadst, then, no part in it?"

"I gave the coup de grace. "

"Then thou hast sealed thine own fate: it is folly to extend mercyto those who never show it. "

"I have not asked it of thee--of the associate of murderers andoutlaws. "

The sun rose clear and bright after that eventful night--the stormwas over--its rising beams fell upon a company of archers drawn upin the English encampment--upon a young warrior doomed to die, whostood bravely before them. The gray-haired priest who had preparedhim for death--the only favour shown him--bade him a last farewell;the bows twanged, and the same arrows which had transfixed theflesh of Eadwin pierced the heart of Pierre de Morlaix. 

CHAPTER XII. THE ENIGMA SOLVED. 

We owe our readers some apology for having so long trifled withtheir patience concerning the fate of Wilfred, and we trust theyare somewhat anxious to hear how he escaped the flames on thatfatal night when the monastery was burnt. 

When good Father Alphege heard that the boy had returned undercaptivity, for whose safety he was so anxious, he sent at onceanother messenger to the good Bishop Geoffrey, imploring his aidfor the orphan. 

But the monastery was already watched and neither letter normessenger was ever heard of again. 

Imagine the good Father's astonishment when the following night hereceived Wilfred safe and sound from the hands of Hugo, to dopenance. 

"Wilfred, my dear boy, tell me all. What has become of the letter Ientrusted you with?"

"It was taken from me in my sleep. Write another; oh father, let mestart again at once!"

"The roads are all beset, my dear child, as I have heard today. Ihave already sent a messenger, but tremble for his safety. "

"What can I do to avenge my mother--my dear mother?"

"Wait, my child, only for a little while; God is too just to letsuch crime remain unpunished. "

"Why was not his arm outstretched to save? Oh, my father, I shallbecome an infidel if this villain escapes unpunished!"

"Only wait; one day is with Him as a thousand years. "

"But I shall not live a thousand years; I must see the day myself. "

"Nay, dear child, thou art not thyself; this is wicked. Go into thechurch and pray for the grace of patience. "

"I cannot pray--I must act. "

"Go and pray, my son. Come to me again in half an hour; I haveinquiries to make which touch thy safety. I would fain know why thebaron sent thee here, since he knoweth all; it would seem the lastthing he would be likely to do. "

The good prior soon found by personal observation that themonastery was watched, and had been so since Wilfred entered it, and saw at once that did he start again the lad would never reachhis journey's end, and that suspicion would be thrown upon him andhis brethren. 

He did not hesitate long; he had no doubt that Wilfred's life wassomehow threatened, and resolved to secure his safety. He sent fora certain brother Kenelm, a monk in priestly orders, who had longbeen entrusted with a delicate duty. 

"How are our poor brethren in the woods, my brother?"

"They are faring well; there is no lack of venison, and their corncrops are ripening for harvest. The land, thou knowest, hath beencultivated for many years. "

"It is providential that the Normans have never discovered thatlittle Zoar, which may remain unknown until their tyranny beoverpast; for surely God will not quite forget this poor people, sinners although we have all been. "

"The morass grows wider and deeper every year; the course of thebrooks which form it has been quite choked, and their waters buttend to increase the desolation around. "

"Couldst thou find thy way there this very night?"

"Surely, if there were need. "

"There is great need. The young thane, Wilfred, is in danger--thereis some plot against his life. What it is I know not, but our poorhouse has been watched ever since he has been here. Come to thewindow and look; I have blown out the light; now look--dost thounot see a man under the shade of the beech, near the entrancegate?"

"Verily I do, father. "

"And now come with me (leading him along a passage); look throughthis window. "

"Yes, there is another. Why do they watch?"

"That the young Wilfred may not escape; they think we shall sendhim off again, as they know I did before. "

"How do they know, father?"

"They have read my letter to the bishop. "

"Then why have they sent him here? I am quite bewildered. "

"That he may be sent again, entrapped, or slain, and failing that, I know not what they will do. But we will outwit them; thou shalttake him this very night to his poor thralls who dwell in theswamp. They will rejoice to see him, and will live or die for him, as seemeth best. "

"But since we are watched, how shall we escape?"

"By the river. It is very dark: thou must unmoor the boat and floatdown the stream for a full mile, without noise of oars, then enterthe forest and place the precious boy in safety. "

"It shall be done, father. "

"And quickly. Here he comes--supper, and then thou must say thycompline on the river: thou wilt go while all the rest are in thechapel, and mayst join us in spirit. "

The good prior then went to the church, through the great cloister. The poor lad he loved was praying and weeping. 

"Wilfred, " said the prior, "dost thou feel better now? Hast thoupoured out thy soul before thy Heavenly Father?"

"Better? yes, a little better now, father. "

"Come with me to the refectory. "

They left the church. 

"Now eat a good meal. "

"I cannot eat--it chokes me, father. "

"Thou must, my dear son; it is a duty, for thou must travel fartonight. "

"Thank God. "

"But it is not to Oxford, my son; thou wouldst not outlive thenight. It is that very journey they want thee to essay. "

"Why?"

"That they may slay thee by the way. "

"I may have my father's sword, which hangs over his tomb, may Inot?"

"Silly boy, what could one do against a score? Nay, thou must goand hide for the present in the forest--thou rememberest 'Elfwyn'sGrange'?"

"Where my great grandfather hid from the Danes? Yes, many a timehave I gone there to shoot wild fowl, while my poor father wasalive. "

"And thou knowest the buildings in the midst of the firm ground?"

"Well. "

"Thou hast never told thy Norman companions about them?"

"Never! they one and all think the morass a mere desert, acontinuous swamp. "

"So much the better, my dear son, for more than half the poor folkwho have deserted the village are there, and Father Kenelm willtake thee to them, for he knoweth the way, ministering to themweekly as he does. "

"But why may I not stay here?"

"I dare not keep thee, dear child; I fear some plot against thylife; nay, the morass is the only safe place for thee till we cancommunicate with the bishop, who has once befriended thee and maydo so again. "

"Oh father, let it not be long!"

"That is in God's hands; abide patiently and wait thou on the Lord, and He shall make thy path plain. Now eat; I will not say one wordmore till thou art full. "

Poor Wilfred did his best, and ate the last meal he was ever to eatunder that fated roof. The good fathers never suspected the realdesign of their remorseless enemy. 

The supper over, beneath those beams which were soon to fallblazing upon their fated inmates, the lad bid a last farewell tothe good prior, to whom he had transferred the affection he oncefelt for his dear parents. He fell on his shoulder, he wept, embraced, and parted. The good prior wept, too. They never metagain. 

"Take care of the precious lad, Father Kenelm; remember thou hastthe hope of Aescendune with thee. "

They entered the little "punt" very quietly. The night was warm, but fortunately obscure. They unmoored, and dropped down the streamin perfect silence, listening to the bell as it tolled forcompline. 

At length they reached the place the prior had indicated. They leftthe boat, and entered the forest in safety, utterly undiscovered--here, only Father Kenelm's accurate knowledge of the place could have availedthem in the darkness. 

In three hours they had traversed ten woodland miles, and drew nearthe quagmires. The path became fearfully intricate, and Wilfred wasstartled by the marsh fires, while Father Kenelm began to pray forthe poor souls--he somehow supposed them to be, or to represent, poor silly wandering souls--the while the night owl sang a dismalchorus to his ditty. They followed a devious winding road--in andout--with much care, the father holding Wilfred's hand all thetime, until they emerged and found themselves ascending between twosteep banks. It was a narrow valley, through which a brook pouredits waters into the desolation beneath. 

At the summit they stopped and rested for a few minutes. It wasnot, as may be imagined, very high; but beneath lay the wholeextent of the Dismal Swamp. It was after midnight. 

"What can that brightness in the sky portend, my child? There mustbe some dreadful fire; and, alas! it looks as if in theneighbourhood of Aescendune!"

"I hope it is the castle. "

The poor monk was very much alarmed; he feared it might be themonastery, and the reader knows he was right. 

Now the heavens were lit up with intense brightness, now it fadedagain. It was long before they left the summit and the view of thereddened sky. 

"May it not be the northern lights?"

"Nay, my son, it is south of us, and they never look quite likethis. I fear me mischief is abroad, and shall not be happy till Iget me home again tomorrow. "

Poor Father Kenelm, the woods were now his sole home. 

At length, as the brightness disappeared, they continued along thebrook, until they reached a wide extent of flat meadow groundtraversed by the stream, separated by low hills from the morass. 

In the centre of the valley, if such it may be called, the brookdivided, enclosing about an acre of ground, ere its streams metagain, hurrying down to the morass. Deep and rapid as it was, itscourse had been but short; a copious spring burst from the groundnot half a mile above, whence streams issuing different ways helpedto form the slimy waste which girt in this little island of firmland. 

There, in the ground enclosed by the divided stream, was the homeonce inhabited by the ancestors of our young hero. The monk knockedloudly at the door--no watch was kept--the marsh was theirprotection. 

The dogs began to bark, and one or two which were loose came up, half disposed to make war upon the travellers, but they soonrecognised the monk. Lights were seen, the doors opened, two orthree sunburnt faces appeared in the doorway. 

"Sexwulf, I bring you a guest; look at him--dost thou know him?"

"It is our young lord!"

Late though it was, the whole household was soon in uproar--thewelcome was grand--and it was all the good father could do toprevent their arousing the whole village, to hear the joyful newsthat their young lord--rescued from Norman tyranny, which had eventhreatened his life--was there, relying on their protection, andthat they, esteemed by the world as outlaws, were his chosenguardians. They felt indeed, now, that they were not outlaws, butpatriots fighting against successful tyrants--the foes of theircountry; even as the brave Hereward (so they had heard) wasfighting in the Camp of Refuge, amongst the fens of East Anglia. 

And for Wilfred, the representative of a house which had ruled themfor centuries, the son of their lamented lord, who had died sobravely at Senlac, they would one and all, if necessary, lay downtheir lives. 

On the morrow, at eventide, Father Kenelm returned from Aescendune, horror struck, and brought the news of the burning of the abbey andthe lamentable fate of his brethren. 

There was not an Englishman whose heart was not moved withindignation and pity, nor one who failed to lay the burden of thedeed where our readers have long since, we doubt not, laid it--onthe head of Hugo. 

Hence those terrible reprisals our pages have recorded--hence nomercy was shown to the merciless; and the war between the baron andhis revolted dependants became one of extermination. 

Every day brought accessions to their number; they were incommunication with similar centres of disaffection in all parts ofthe midlands; and they confidently hoped for the day when theNormans should be expelled, and England be England again. 

So Wilfred regarded his banishment in the forest as a temporary oneat the best, and no longer looked for the aid of Normans, lay orecclesiastical, to avenge his mother's wrongs and his own; he wouldvindicate them by the strong hand. 

He was now eighteen years of age, practised in all manly sports andwarlike exercises, braced by daily use to support fatigue in mindand body, and every day rendered him more qualified to be theleader of his own people in the desperate warfare which lay betweenthem and their rights. 

He shared their hardships, fared as they did, exposed himself asfar as they would permit him to every peril, and was modest enough(unlike his Norman rival) to be guided by the advice of his elders, the wisest of his late father's retainers. 

One fault--and one the youthful reader will, we fear, look verylightly upon--was gaining upon him--a deep and deadly hatred toeverything Norman. It was even rumoured that, like Hannibal of old, he had vowed an undying hostility to the foes of his country andhis house; if so, our pages will show how he kept his word. 

In this feeling Father Kenelm, who now ministered wholly to thespiritual necessities of the dwellers in the Dismal Swamp, strovefeebly to restrain him; but Wilfred was rapidly outgrowing allrestraint, and perhaps the good father, who after all was human, and the sole survivor of a happy and united brotherhood, did notfeel very deeply shocked by the hatred manifested to the destroyersof his brethren. 

Yet he pleaded for Pierre de Morlaix on the eventful night recordedin our last chapter; but the cruel death of Eadwin at the hands ofthe invaders rendered his prayers useless. The whole feeling of thelittle community was with Wilfred in the matter; besides, theywanted no prisoners, and dared not set one free to disclose thesecret of their refuge. 

But we must resume the thread of our story, for our readers aredoubtless profoundly interested in the fate of Etienne, the rivalheir, and we must apologise for having kept them so long insuspense. 

CHAPTER XIII. "COALS OF FIRE {xii}. "

The unhappy youth, whose recklessness and folly had led to theentire destruction of the troop confided to his care, was now theirsole survivor. 

In that hour, when all was lost, at the close of the deadlystruggle in the house, he had crawled through the door, ere thelights were rekindled which had been extinguished in the frenzy ofthe conflict, and sought refuge in flight: not so much, it must beowned, because he feared death (although youth naturally clings tolife), as because he longed to live for vengeance, and to carry thesecret of the "Dismal Swamp" to Aescendune. 

He was bleeding, bruised, scarcely able to move without pain--allhis energy seemed exhausted in the supreme effort which had savedhim, at least for the time; but it was again very dark, thickclouds charged with snow once more obscured the moon, and the coverof the trees was before him, which he sought, determined rather toperish in the morass than to become the sport of his triumphantfoes. 

He had gained the desired shelter, and had paused to rest himselfand consider what to do next, when he felt something living comeinto contact with his legs. He started, as well he might under thecircumstances, when he saw to his great relief that it was one ofthe dogs which had accompanied his party throughout the day, andhope sprang up in his breast. The hound might perhaps lead him backthrough the morass. 

At that moment, the arrival of Wilfred with a large body of freshenemies took place, and Etienne was yet within hearing when hisrival stood in the doorway and cried aloud:

"Etienne, son of Hugo, has been here and escaped; hunt him down, men and dogs; he can hardly have passed the morass; we must not lethim live to become a murderer like his father. "

The voice sounded like a summons from the dead. Etienne turnedpale; then the blood coursed rapidly through his veins, as he sawby the light of the moon, which emerged just then from a cloud, hishated rival, standing in front of the farmhouse--alive, and for thetime victorious. 

Now all was clear. Wilfred was the cause of the calamities whichhad fallen upon them, and the leader of the outlaws; and Etienne, who, to do him justice, never suspected the true author of thecrime, doubted not that his rival had fired the monastery toconceal his flight. 

He felt an intense desire that he might grapple with his young foein the death struggle. Willingly would he have accepted such adecision between their rival claims; but he was alone, wounded, exhausted, a faithful dog his sole friend. He felt that the day ofvengeance must be postponed. 

He spoke to the poor hound, and succeeded in making it comprehendthat he wanted "to go home. " With that canine sagacity whichapproaches very near to reason, the dog at once sought for the pathby which they had entered the morass, found it, and ran forwardeagerly. Etienne entered it, trembling with hope, when the dogstopped, growled, and came back to its lord. The steps of many feetwere heard approaching. 

"The place swarms with foes, " muttered the hunter, who had becomein his turn the hunted. 

A crash in the bush behind, and a huge English mastiff rushed uponEtienne. His Norman sleuth hound threw himself upon the assailantof his master, and a terrific struggle ensued. Etienne did not darewait to see its conclusion or help his canine protector, for thenoise of the conflict was drawing all the English there; but hestruggled back to the open, and ran along the inner edge of thewood, hoping to find another track through the morass. 

Suddenly he stumbled upon a swift little stream flowing down a bankinto the desert of slime. He felt at once that it must rise fromthe chain of hills behind, and that by following it he might getout of the swamp; it was all too like a mountain current to haveits origin in the level, and he determined to follow it. 

Besides, if he walked up the stream, he would baffle the Englishdogs, for water leaves no scent; in short, collecting all hisenergies, he strode rapidly up the brook. 

But his strength was not equal to a sustained effort; theexcitement of the night had been too much for him; and after he hadtraversed about a mile, he sat down to rest on the bank, and fellinto a dead faint. 

The first beams of the rising sun had illuminated the horizon, thevery time at which poor Pierre was led forth to die, when an agedEnglishwoman, coming down to draw water at the spring, espied thefainting youth. 

She advanced to his side, and seemed moved by compassion as shegazed upon the wounded, bloodstained form. 

"How young he is, poor lad. Ought I to help him? Yes, it must beright to do so. How the cry of hounds and men comes up the glen!"

"Wake up, wake up!" she cried, and sprinkled water upon his face. 

He rose up as if from a deep sleep. 

"Mother, what is it?"

"Come with me; I will give thee shelter. "

His senses returned sufficiently for him both to comprehend hermeaning and his own danger, and he followed mechanically. Justabove, the waters of the stream, dammed up for the moment, hadformed a little pond, surrounded by trees, save on one side, wherewas a little garden of herbs, and in its centre, close by thestream, stood a humble cot. 

It was built of timber; posts had been driven at intervals into theground, willow twigs had been woven in and out, the intersticesfilled with the clay which was abundant at the edge of thepond--and so a weather-proof structure had been built. There was nochimney, only a hole in the roof for the smoke to escape, above theplace for the fire. 

Within, the floor was strewn with rushes; there was a table, two orthree rough chairs made of willow, a few household implements. 

At one extremity a curtain, made of skins of wolf or deer, wasdrawn across the room, beyond which was a couch, a kind of boxfilled with rushes and leaves, over which lay a blanket andcoverlets, of a softer material than one would have expected tofind in a peasant's hut of the period. 

Many other little articles seemed to have been destined for aprouder dwelling; but all besides betokened decent poverty. All wasclean, and there could be little danger of hunger in thesettlement, while the woods were full of game, and their littlefields were fruitful with corn. 

Into this abode the old dame led her guest. 

"Thou art Norman, " she said. 

"I am the son of the lord of Aescendune. If thou canst aid me toescape my foes, thou shalt name thy own reward. "

"Not all the gold thou hast would tempt me to aid thee; but thelove of One who died for us both forbids me to give thee up todeath. Thou art too young, poor youth, to be answerable for thyfather's sins. "

A proud speech was on his lips, but prudence prevailed, and theworthy cub of the old wolf determined to wear sheep's clothing tillhis claws were grown again. 

"The saints reward thee, " he said, "since no other reward thou wilthave. "

He could say no more, but staggered into her hut, his strengthquite gone. 

Nearer and nearer drew the cry of hounds and men. 

"Save me if thou canst, " he said. 

She took him behind the curtain, made him lie down on the couch, which was her own, and covered him completely over with a coverlet. Then she charged him to lie quiet, whatever happened, and shut thedoor of her hut. 

By and by it burst open, and Wilfred stood in the doorway. 

"Mother, hast thou seen any one pass this way? The Normans havebeen in the hamlet: we have slain all but one, and he, the worst ofall, has escaped us. "

"Canst thou not spare even one poor life?"

"Nay, it is Etienne, son of the old fiend Hugo; besides, once safeoff, he would betray our secret before we are ready for action. "

"I cannot help thee in thy chase; thou knowest how I hate andshrink from bloodshed, as did thy sainted mother. "

"Yes, but they did not shrink from poisoning her--they whom shewould not have harmed to save her own life. "

"God will avenge--leave all to Him. "

"Nay, mother, we waste time; if thou hast not seen him, we go. "

"Hast thou seen my Eadwin? He is generally here with the lark?"

Wilfred's face changed; he stammered out some evasive reply, anddashed out to join the men and hounds, who were quite at fault;they had lost the scent far below, where Etienne entered the brook, and were diligently investigating, one by one, all the tracks thatled from the morass. 

Etienne had heard all, and his heart smote him. From the languageused, the words he had heard, he felt that this old woman must bethe foster mother of his rival, and, if so, the mother of that veryEadwin he had so cruelly put to death the previous night; he quiteunderstood Wilfred's evasive reply. 

His heart smote him, and he repented of this cruelty, at least: hedreaded the moment when his preserver must learn the truth. Wouldshe then give him up?

What, too, did Wilfred mean by his allusion to poison? Had he anygrounds for such suspicion? Poison was not an unknown agent amongstthe Normans. The great Duke himself had been suspected (doubtlesswrongfully) of removing Conan of Brittany by its means. 

But fatigue overcame him, and he slept. And during that sleepsymptoms of fever began to show themselves. He began to talk in hisdreams--"There goes a fire--avoid it, it is an evil spirit--shootarrows at it. Make it tell the secret--now we shall know about theswamp. Here is a fiend throttling me--oh, its awful eyes, theyblaze like two marsh fires. No, tie him to the wall; he shall tellthe truth or die. What are you giving me to drink?--it is blood, blood. You have poisoned me--I burn, burn--my veins are full ofboiling lead--my heart a boiling cauldron. See, there are the marshfiends--they are carrying away Louis and Pierre--their tails are aswhips--ah, an arrow through each of their arms will stop them. Where is my armour?--a hunting dress won't stop their darts, orsave one from their claws. Oh, father, help me--save me from thegoblins. "

In this incoherent way he talked for hours, and the old dameshuddered as he confused the real tragedy of the previous nightwith imaginary terrors. Oh, how awful were his ravings to her, whenat last she learned the truth. Yet in those very ravings he showedthat remorse was at his heart. 

She wept as she sat by his bed--wept over the son he had slain. Thedetails of that tragedy were, however, studiously concealed fromher by Wilfred's sedulous care; yet she knew Etienne had been theleader of the hostile troop, in conflict with whom she supposed herEadwin to have fallen in fair open fight; for she was led tounderstand he had been slain in the terrific struggle in the house. 

"The only son of his mother, and she was a widow. "

Father Kenelm came and read to her the story of the widow's son atNain, from King Alfred's Anglo-Saxon version of the Gospels. Noteven to him did she confide the secret, or tell who was separatedfrom the good priest only by a curtain--an instinct told her it wasright to tend and save--she would trust nothing else. 

But in spite of this resolution the good father discovered it all;for while he read the sweet story of old, he heard a cry in NormanFrench. 

"Keep off the fiend--the hobgoblin--he has got burningarrows--snakes! snakes! there are snakes in the bed!"

"What means this, good mother?"

"Oh, thou wilt not betray him. "

"Hast thou a fugitive there? Methinks I know the voice. Can it bethe son of the wicked baron?"

"He is not answerable for his father's sin; oh, do not betrayhim--he is mad with fever. "

"Dost thou mean to release him, should he get well? Methinks itwere better that he should die. "

"With all his sins upon his head? May the saints forbid. "

"At least were he but absolved after due contrition, and thouknowest that thou hast little cause to love him. "

"His death cannot give me back my boy, " and she wept once more. 

"Nay, it cannot; but if thou dost save him, it shall be under asolemn pledge never to betray the place of our retreat. I willmyself swear him upon the Holy Gospels. But woe to him should ouryoung lord Wilfred discover him; I verily believe he would die thedeath of St. Edmund {xiii}. "

"Canst thou not teach poor Wilfred mercy--thou art his pastor andteacher?"

"He grows fiercer daily, and chafes at all restraint. Remember whathe has suffered. "

"The greater the merit, could he but forgive. You will keep mysecret, father?"

"I will: let me see him. "

Father Kenelm went behind the curtain and watched the sufferer. Etienne glared at him with lacklustre eyes, but knew him not, andcontinued his inarticulate ravings. His forgiving nurse moistenedhis lips from time to time with water, and by him was a decoctionof cooling herbs, with which she assuaged his parching thirst. 

"Thou art a true follower of Him who prayed for His murderers, "said Father Kenelm. "The Man of Sorrows comfort thee. "

CHAPTER XIV. THE GUIDE. 

Rarely had a spring occurred so dry as that of 1069. With thebeginning of March dry winds set in from the east, no rain fell, and the watercourses shrank to summer proportions. 

All that winter Hugo de Malville had mourned in hopeless grief theloss of his boy--his only child; but at length grief deepened intoone bitter thirst--a thirst for revenge. 

That the Dismal Swamp protected the objects of his hatred from hissword he felt well assured; and had the frost been keen enough torender the marshes penetrable, he would have risked all in adesperate attempt to root out the vermin, as he called the poornatives, from the woods. 

But frost alternated with thaw, and snow with rain, and no attemptwas likely to be attended with success; so he waited and addedcompound interest to his thirst for vengeance. 

At length set in the dry and fierce winds of which we have spoken, and he felt secure of his prey at last; so preparations were atonce made for a grand battle in the marshes. 

The keen winds continued, and the scouts reported that the swampwas drier than they had ever seen it before. At length Aprilarrived, and with its earliest days--days of bright sunshine--itwas decided to delay no longer, but to explore the marshes with thewhole force of the barony, strengthened by recruits from thecastles of the neighbouring Norman nobles who willingly lent theiraid, and hastened to share the sport dearest of all to the Normanmind. 

But one thing was necessary to secure success--a guide, and how toprocure one was the riddle which puzzled Hugo, both by day andnight. 

No Norman could help them; but might not some Englishmen serve, notas willing tools, but under the compulsion of force and the dreadof torture?

There were no English in the domains of the baron; all had fledinto the forest who were yet alive. There were, it is true, nativewoodmen in other parts of the wilderness; but they were not vassalsof Hugo, and one and all had repeatedly disclaimed knowledge ofthat part of the forest which was to be explored. 

In his perplexity Hugo offered great rewards to anyone who woulddiscover any of the former people of Aescendune and bring thembefore him. 

Leaving Hugo and his friends to concert their murderous plans, wemust invite the reader to accompany us once more to freedom's home, the Dismal Swamp. 

A council was being held at this selfsame time, which materiallyassisted the schemes of the baron, although not greatly to hisultimate gratification. 

It was held around the fire in the same farmhouse in which poorEadwin had met his death, and which had now become the headquartersof the outlaws whom Norman tyranny had made. 

Wilfred, young although he was, presided--for was he not therepresentative of the ancient lords of Aescendune, and thosegathered around him the descendants of the men whom his fathers hadoften led to victory?

On his right sat Haga, the oldest retainer of his house, a man whoat the beginning of the century had actually fought with Alfgaragainst the Danes; on his left, Boom, the ancient forester of theAescendune woods--as moderns would say, "the head keeper. "

And there were Sexwulf and Ulf, Tosti and Elfwold, Ernulph andOrdgar, Oslac and Osgood, Wulfsy and Ringulph, Frithgist andWulfgar--men whose names sounded rough and uncouth in Norman ears, but were familiar enough to the natives. 

The whole party having assembled, Wilfred, as a consequence of hisrank, spoke first and opened the debate. 

"We have all come together tonight, Englishmen and friends, toconsider what we shall do in a very grave crisis--the gravest whichhas yet occurred since we fled to this refuge from the Normantyrant Hugo--whom may the saints confound. The thrall, Oslac, imperilling his life for our sake, has been to Aescendune, andbrings us back certain information that there is a great gatheringof men and horse to explore the swamp, for they guess shrewdly thatwe are hidden here, and they know now who burnt their farms andslew their men in the woods--thus making them afraid, the cowards, to venture therein save in large parties. 

"But since the old bear has lost his cub, his thirst for vengeanceincites him to stake all upon one grand attempt to penetrate ourfastnesses, and the dryness of the season seems to him to make itpossible. "

"Our pools and sloughs are never quite dry--they are bottomless, "said Beorn, "and you might stow away the castle of Aescendune insome of them, and 'twould sink out of sight. "

"But it is our object to foil his good intentions towards us:sooner or later we must fight him, and why not now? Haga, myfather, thou art the oldest and wisest here present; speak, and wewill be guided by thy counsel. "

"Let the Norman come, " said the sage solemnly; "he shall perish inhis pride. "

"In what manner shall he die?"

"By the death meet for the sacrilegious destroyer of the priory--byfire--it is God's will, revealed to me in visions of the night. "

"Fire? how?" cried several; then one common idea seemed to strikethem all. 

"The reeds. Once entangled in the marshes, we might fire them allround. "

"But how shall we get him to enter the marshes where the dry rushesare thickest?"

"There is a bed of rushes and weeds half a mile across, around theheron's pool, and it is now so dry just there, that it would bearthe accursed foe, horses, and armour, could they be enticed tofollow the path which traverses it. "

"Who shall entice them and prevail?" said Beorn. 

"Will any of our men risk their own lives and volunteer as guidesto the Normans? They are seeking guides everywhere. "

There was a dead silence. At length a man arose--Ordgar, son ofHaga. 

"I will take my life in my hand to deliver my people from thetyranny of this Norman wolf. "

"God bless thee, my son, " said his aged sire; "thou art the lightof mine eyes, but I can risk thee in thy country's cause and thecause of the House of Aescendune. "

"It is a holy cause, " said Father Kenelm, who was present: "God'sarm is bared for vengeance--the blood of my martyred brethren criesaloud from beneath the altar. "

"And thou wilt say a mass for us?"

"It is my duty, since I may not fight with carnal weapons. "

"But, Ordgar, how dost thou propose to act?"

"They are scouring the woods daily, in search of some of us poorEnglish, whom they may force by torture to be their guides. I willthrow myself in their way. "

"They will not harm thee, my son; they are too eager for a guidewho knows the paths through the swamp. "

"But thou must not appear too willing, " said Beorn. 

"Trust me for that; I will not promise to serve them till I have atleast seen their torture chamber. "

"Ordgar, thou dost indeed show a spirit worthy of an Englishman;and while such live, I shall never despair of my country, " said theyouthful chieftain. "Should God restore me to the halls of myfathers, none shall be more honoured of his lord than thou; andshouldest thou fall, fear not but that English bards will be foundto sing thy praises. "

A few days later Hugo was scouring the forest like a wolf in searchof his prey. His men-at-arms were scattered through the woods, seeking for tracks of men. Huge dogs attended them, who wereencouraged to explore every thicket. 

They were near the Dismal Swamp. 

All at once a dog gave the peculiar whine which indicated that hehad found scent, and immediately afterwards started forward, hisnose to the ground, followed by two or three others. 

The men-at-arms followed, and Hugo amongst his retainers. 

Suddenly they broke into open view of the chase--a man was seenrunning before them for his life. 

The dogs gave tongue and followed him so swiftly that it was withdifficulty he could escape their fangs by climbing a tree. 

It was a poor refuge--dogs and Normans were speedily at the foot. 

"Come down, fellow, " said Hugo, sternly, "unless thou desirest tobe brought down by an arrow. "

"Mercy, mercy, " cried the fugitive. 

"What dost thou fear? If thou art a true man no harm shall befallthee. We are not robbers. "

The Englishman, for such he was, descended, and was at once securedand bound to prevent his escape. 

"Now, fellow, " said Hugo, "who art thou? Whose vassal art thou?"

"My name is Ordgar, son of Haga. "

"Haga, formerly a thrall of my estate?"

"The same. "

"Where is thy accursed sire?"

"I cannot betray my father. "

"This is the very man we want!" said Hugo; "bring him along. Thetorture will soon help him to find a tongue. Surely the saints haveheard our prayers and given him to us. "

A quaint idea of sanctity, that of Hugo. 

They dragged the intended victim forward through the woods. Once ortwice he appeared to make desperate efforts to escape, but we neednot say made them in vain. 

We must shift the scene to the torture chamber. 

Imagine a long dark room, below the level of the ground, underneaththe keep; stone flags below, a vaulted ceiling above; dimly lightedby torches fixed in sconces in the wall; a curtain covering arecess; in front, a chair for Hugo and a table for a scribe, withink horn and parchment. 

Around the table were gathered Hugo himself, his guests Raoul deBroc, Tustain de Wylmcote, Ralph de Bearleigh, his seneschal, chamberlain, and other confidential officers of his household, andfour strong brawny men-at-arms--sufficient to manage the prisonerwith ease. 

Ordgar, son of Haga, stood alone at the foot of the table, beforeall this hostile array. 

"Villain, " said Hugo (the name only imported serf), "thy name?"

"I have told thee, Ordgar, son of Haga. "

"Thou art a vassal of Aescendune?"

"I was. "

"And art: my rights over thee cease not. "

"I do not acknowledge thee as my lord. "

"Thou mayst think better of it anon. Now thou wilt please answer myquestions. 

"Scribe, take down his replies. "

"He will not fill much parchment. "

"We shall see. 

"Where hast thou been hiding from thy lawful master?"

"I have not been hiding from my lawful lord. "

"Fool, dost thou bandy words with me? Answer. "

"In the woods, then. "

"What woods?"

"The forests around thee. "

"Dost thou know the Dismal Swamp?"

"Well. "

"Hast thou been hiding there?"

"Yes. "

"How many of thy comrades are in hiding at that place?"

"I may not tell thee. "

"Behold. Tormentor, remove the curtain. "

The curtain was drawn back, and revealed a strange assortment ofthose implements by which man, worse than the beast of the field, has sinned against his fellow. There were the rack, the brazierwith its red-hot pincers, the thumbscrew, and, in short, instruments--happily unknown now--in the greatest variety; allintended to wring the truth from crime, or worse, the self-condemningfalsehood from the lips of helpless innocence {xiv}. 

"Wilt thou answer?"

"I will not betray the innocent. "

"Seize him, tormentors. "

'Twas said and done, and after a short and furious struggle, thevictim was laid on the rack. 

"Turn. "

The tormentors, clad in leathern jerkins, hideous with masks tohide their brutal faces, turned the handles which worked pulleysand drew the victim's limbs out of joint. 

"Hold--enough--I will confess. "

"Release him. "

"What dost thou ask me?"

"How many are there in the Dismal Swamp?"

"Maybe a hundred. "

"Thou art trifling with me; I see we must put thee on the rackagain. "

"Nay, thou wouldst force me to deceive thee; there cannot be manymore. "

"Who is their leader?"

"Haga, son of Ernulph. "

"Thy father?"

The victim seemed resolved to say no more. 

"Place him on the rack again. "

But the fortitude of the captive did not seem equal to the lastsupreme trial. 

"Hold!" he cried, "I will confess all. "

He owned that his father Haga was the leader of the outlaws, andbeing interrogated eagerly by the baron about Etienne, stated thatthe latter was detained as a prisoner in the Swamp, in case theyshould need a hostage. 

"God be thanked!" said Hugo. 

He could yet take that holy name on his murderous lips, and soothto say he did feel gratitude. 

The next step was to persuade Ordgar to guide the Normans throughthe Dismal Swamp to the English settlement. A fresh application ofthe torture seemed needed to secure this desirable end, but thevictim yielded when the pain was about to be renewed--yielded tothe weakness of his own flesh, combined with a promise from thebaron that his father should not only be spared, but restored tothe little farm he had, formerly occupied at Aescendune, under thelast English thane. 

In short, the bargain was concluded, and Ordgar, son of Haga, became the promised guide of the foes of his country. 

CHAPTER XV. RESTORED TO LIFE. 

Day after day Etienne de Malville tossed upon the couch in the hutof the woman whom he had so cruelly bereaved, struggling againstthe throes of fever. In his ravings he was prone to dwell upon allthe scenes of horror he had recently passed through, and yet someProvidence, intervening, kept from his lips the one revelationwhich might have endangered his safety--that he was himself themurderer of the son of his preserver. 

Sometimes Father Kenelm visited the hut, and although in his hearthe deeply regretted that Etienne had not shared the fate of hiscompanions, yet he was too much a Christian to frustrate the gooddeed of poor old Hilda, by revealing the secret of his existence. 

At length, some weeks after the commencement of his illness, afterdays of parching thirst and delirious dreams, Etienne woke onemorning, conscious, and gazed dreamily about him. 

The crisis had passed; he was no longer in danger from the fever, and his senses were clear of the terrible and shadowy impressionswhich had hung about him like a gigantic nightmare. 

"Where am I? Who are you?"

"He is conscious, father, " said the old woman. "What does he say?"for Etienne spoke in Norman French. 

"Thou hast been in great danger, my son, and this good woman hathsaved thee and sheltered thee from thy foes. "

"Thanks, good mother. "

There was a tone of deep feeling in his voice as he said thesewords--"but what has passed? I have a confused remembrance ofhunting and being hunted, in a midnight forest, and of a deadlycombat in a dark chamber, from which I seemed to wake to findmyself here. "

"Thy destiny has, indeed, been nearly accomplished, and that thouart the survivor of the party with which thou didst invade theDismal Swamp is owing to this widow woman, " said the good father inthe patient's own tongue. 

Etienne fell back on his pillow and seemed trying to unravel thetangled thoughts which perplexed him. Once more the dame came andbrought him a cooling drink. He drank it, thanked her, and fellback with a sigh. 

Yes, it all came to him now, as clear as the strong daylight--andwith it came remorse. He had cruelly slain young Eadwin, and themother of the murdered lad--for he knew her--had rescued him fromwhat his conscience told him would have been a deserved fate, atleast at the hands of the English. 

There are crises in all men's lives--and this was one in the lifeof Etienne--when they choose good or evil. 

And from that time, new impressions had power over him. He lay indeep remorse, knowing that he still owed his life to theforbearance, and more than forbearance, with which he had beentreated. 

"If thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink: forin so doing thou shalt heap coals of fire on his head. "

Etienne now felt these coals of fire. 

He was not all pride and cruelty. His education had made him whathe was, and probably, under the same circumstances, with such afather and the training of a Norman castle, many of my youngreaders who have detested his arrogance would have been like him, more or less. 

"Their lot forbids, nor circumscribes alone, Their growing virtues, but their crimes confines. "

But now the generosity which lay hidden deep in his heart wasawakened; the holy teachings which, in his childhood he had heardat his mother's knee--a mother who, had she lived, might haveinfluenced his whole conduct--came back to him. There were manypious mothers, after all, in Normandy. Pity they had not bettersons. 

"Forgive us our trespasses. "

The daily ministrations of the poor childless widow, whom he hadmade childless, were a noble commentary on these words. 

"Mother, " he said, one day, "forgive me--I have much to beforgiven--I cannot tell thee all. "

"Nay, thou needst not; thou art forgiven for the love of Him whohas forgiven us all. "

For a long time yet he lingered a prisoner on his couch; for feverhad so weakened him that he could hardly support his own weight. 

But at length convalescence set in, and his strength returned; buthe could only take exercise--which was now necessary to hiscomplete recovery--when Father Kenelm was at hand to act as ascout, and warn him to retire in the case of the approach of anyEnglishman; for although he had adopted the English dress, yet hiscomplexion and manner would have betrayed him to any observer closeat hand. 

At length came the day of deliverance. 

It was a day in early April. The east winds of March had dried theearth, the sun had now some power, and the trees were bursting intoleaf in every direction. It was one of those first days of earlysummer, which are so delicious from their rarity, and seem torender this earth a paradise for the time being. 

The convalescent was out of doors, inhaling the sweet breeze, inthe immediate proximity of the hut, when the good father appeared. 

"My son, " he said, "dost thou feel strong enough to travel?"

"I do, indeed, father, " said the youth, his heart bounding withdelight; "but may I go, and without any ransom?"

"Surely; we have not preserved thy life from love of filthy lucre. "

"I feel that father, in my very heart; but hast thou no pledge todemand? Dost thou trust all to my gratitude?"

"Thou wilt never fight against the poor fugitives here, my son?"

"Nor betray the path to their retreat" added Etienne. 

"That is already known, " said the father. 

"Known! then war is at hand. "

"It is, and I would remove thee, lest harm should befall thee. Thouwilt travel hence with me at once. "

"Before we start I would fain be shriven by thee, for I havegrievously sinned, and to whom can I more fitly make my shrift? sothat he who has ministered to the body may in turn minister to thesoul. "

"There is joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, " said thegood monk, greatly moved, "and right gladly will I discharge mineoffice towards thee. "

The hour had come for Etienne to depart. He had bidden farewell tothe faithful Hilda. His last words were--"Thou hast lost one son, mother, but found another; if Etienne de Malville lives, thou shaltbe recompensed one day. "

The two pedestrians left the hut and, keeping close along theborder of the marsh, under the shadow of the trees, came at last tothe little isthmus which joined the firm ground within the marsh, to a chain of woody hills. 

The ground was so covered with vegetation and undergrowth that itwas difficult to advance, save by one narrow path; but Etienne sawat once that in this direction the settlement could be assaulted atany time of the year with every chance of success. 

The monk must have been aware also that he was betraying the secretof this approach to a Norman; but strangely enough, he did not seemto trouble about it at this juncture. 

"Father, " said Etienne, "I would fain ask thee one question beforewe part. "

"Speak on, my son. "

"I would fain know, father, what murderous hand gave thy abbey tothe flames--a deed abhorred by all good men, whether Normans orEnglish. "

"Thou dost not know then?"

"Surely not, father. "

"I may not tell thee whom all suspect; it is better for thy peaceof mind that it should remain a mystery till God solve the riddle. "

"Thou mayst not tell how Wilfred escaped either, " added Etienne, who in his heart thought that the outlaws had fired the place andreleased him from his imposed penance. 

"On all these points my lips are sealed. Perhaps in God's own timethou wilt learn the truth. "

"Then I may not act as a mediator between my father and hisfugitive vassals?"

"Not under present circumstances. There is a dark mystery, whichGod in His mercy hides from thee. "

They had now gained a slight elevation, and could see the tops ofthe trees below them for miles, including a portion of the swamp. 

"Father, how full the woods are of smoke: look, it is rolling ingreat billows over the tree tops. Surely the woods are on fire. "

"I have heard that in foreign countries the woods are so dry insummer that they burn easily, and that people caught in the forestshave great difficulty in saving their lives; but it is not so here, the reeds and flags of the marshes alone are on fire. "

"Methinks I hear the shouts of men who strive for mastery, " and ashe spoke, the fire of the warrior kindled in his eyes. 

"Thou mayst not join them if such be the case; thou wilt keep thypromise, my son. "

"Yes, " said the tamed tiger cub, with a sigh; "yet I would fainknow what my father is doing. Let us go on. "

Two more hours of forest travelling carried them far from the soundof the conflict and they gained the outskirts of the forest. Entering some nicely cultivated meadows, they came in sight of asmall Norman priory, which Etienne had visited in earlier days, when out on woodland expeditions; for it was miles from Aescendune, and the way lay through the forest. 

"Farewell my son, I must leave thee here. They are thy countrymenin yonder cell, and will gladly entertain thee. "

"Thy blessing, my father. "

"It is thine, my son. Do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly withthy God, and He will bless thee. "

Etienne sat on the trunk of a fallen tree, for he was very tired, and watched the departing figure of Father Kenelm. His eyes weredim, for he felt very much touched, for the time at least. 

But he was now restored to life and liberty, and no bird in thesky, no deer on the mountain, felt more blithe and happy than hesoon began to feel. 

There is an old adage about the Evil One. It is said he became sickand wanted to be a monk, but when he became well--well--Was thisthe case with Etienne?

Time will show: for the present we leave him blowing the hornsuspended at the gate of St. Ouen's priory. 

CHAPTER XVI. RETRIBUTION. 

"Raro antecedentem scelestumDeseruit pede Poena claudo. "

It was midday, and the sun was pouring the full power of hisnoontide beams on the wilderness of reeds and flags whichoverspread the southern side of the Dismal Swamp, reposing on thetreacherous surface of bog, quagmire, and quicksand. 

Signs of life there were none, save when the bittern rose from itsnest, amidst the long reeds or sedgy grass, or the moor fowl flewover the surface of the inky water, which here and there collectedinto pools. The feeble hum of insects filled the air, but all elsewas peace and solitude. 

Save that there was a sign of life on the farther side of theSwamp--a solitary figure half concealed by bushes, stood watchingon a promontory of firm land, looking anxiously--from his slightelevation over the surface of the fen. 

He was an aged man, who had seen some ninety summers; his longbeard descended below the girdle which confined his brown tunic atthe waist. It was Haga, the father of Ordgar. 

"My eyes are not what they were, and I see no sign as yet. Ah, herecomes little Siward!"

A boy of some twelve years approached him very silently, as if someserious business was about to be transacted, of such nature as tosubdue boyish loquacity. 

"Come hither, Siward, my grandchild, and lend me thine eyes andears, for mine are now dulled by age. Dost thou hear aught?"

"I hear the bittern boom, and the woodpecker tap, but that is all. "

"Sit down by my side, and watch with me; the time is at hand. "

"Will my father be with them?"

"He will, my child. "

"And he will come home safely to us, when all is over?"

"That is as God wills, dear child; his life belongs to his country. Thou mayst pray for him, " he added, as he saw tears rise to theeyes of the boy. 

"I do, " said the child. 

They sat awhile in perfect silence, when at last the boy appearedto listen intently. 

"Grandfather, " he said, "I hear the sound of many feet. "

"Art quite sure?"

"Yes, and now I see men advancing from the shade of yonder thicketof beech. "

"And I see them too; go and warn Tosti, Sexwulf, Ulf and Frithgift, and be sure that thou keepest out of the fen thyself. "

"Only thou wilt bring father back home with thee?"

"By God's help, my child. "

At this moment a numerous and warlike band of Normans emerged fromthe woods, in full view, and paused on the edge of the Swamp. 

"Now they come forth to their doom. The Lord hath delivered theminto our hands, " said Haga. 

Foremost amongst them the old man recognised his son Ordgar; hisarms were bound, and a cord attached to the thongs which confinedthem, held by a man-at-arms. 

We will transport ourselves to the other side of the Swamp. 

Hugo sat there on his steed, in the full panoply of warlike pride, throbbing with the desire of vengeance, and with the hope ofrecovering his son--whom he was destined never to see again; forjustice, although her pace may seem tardy, seldom fails to overtakeevildoers, even in this world; and he who, as men thought, hadslain others by fire, was destined to perish by the same avengingelement. 

But no shadow of coming events was there to disturb his equanimity;all seemed to promise the gratification of his fondest wishes, andhe was in the highest spirits. 

And now he bade them bring Ordgar forward, and the guide--his feetfree, but his arms bound--stood before him. 

"Thou hast said that thou knowest the road through the Swamp?"

"I do. "

"Lead on, then, and beware of treachery; for if there be any doubt, even a doubt, of thy faith, thou diest. "

"Fear not; my faith is pledged--it shall be kept. "

Pledged, yes: but to whom?

The Normans failed to see the "double entendre" of this reply. Their claim was but the omnipotence of torture. 

The thrall led the way to a spot where the earth bore marks offootsteps; here it was evident men had recently entered the mazewhich stretched before them. 

Hugo pressed forward and took the cord himself. 

"Now, " he said, "Normans, follow me. Lead on, thrall; remember thyfarm at Aescendune, and thy forfeit life. "

Onward, infatuated as the Egyptians when they passed between thesuspended walls of the Red Sea, the band followed their leader intothe maze; the path was narrow, the reeds were tall, and soon theytowered above the heads of the rash invaders. 

High bulrushes, tall flags; thick, sedgy vegetation beneath; theground, firm enough below at first, soon became quaking and feltstrangely elastic under their feet. The marsh was here of greatwidth, and shortly they had advanced a considerable distance fromfirm ground, and were in the midst of the Swamp. 

And here the path became more and more difficult. Sometimes onlyone could pass at once; nor could they see distinctly where theywere going. The sun, too, which might have guided them as to thedirection of their march, was temporarily clouded. 

"Dog, " said Hugo to the captive guide, "if thou misleadest us thoushalt die. "

"A man can die but once. "

"Thou art a bold villain, " said the baron, raising his sword. 

"Slay me, and who will guide thee through the marsh?"

"True; do thy duty and fear nought. "

"I will do my duty. "

All this passed while they were slowly advancing, and the strangepart of it was this, that they did not seem to get to the end oftheir toil. Little did they suspect that they were wandering in apath which knew no end, save the bottom of the quagmire. 

And now the marks of the feet, which had hitherto appeared plainbefore Hugo as he rode, were seen no more; nor could the baron tellthe precise spot when they faded from sight; they had becomefainter and fainter, and then had vanished. 

"Dog, where are the footmarks? thou art wandering from the road. "

"We shall soon find them again. "

"Are we nearly over the Swamp?"

"Thou wilt see firm land soon. "

The baron grasped the cord tightly. 

Onward they wandered, and still naught but rushes and flags, sedgesand dried reeds, met their gaze, until a promontory of firmground--a rock of deep red sandstone--rose from the mire, abovetheir heads--distant, it might be, a bow shot. 

The baron uttered a sigh of relief, when his horse stumbled; thepoor brute strove to recover his footing, and sank deeper into thetreacherous quicksand. Over went the Baron, over his horse's head. 

Ordgar snatched at the cord; it escaped Hugo's grasp; the guide wasamidst the reeds, and in one moment he had made his escape; thereeds parted, waved again, higher than the head of the fugitive, and the baron saw him no more; only a mocking laugh arose toaugment the rage of the baffled tyrant. 

But that rage was speedily changed to terror, for, as the baronrose, his feet sank beneath him, and he felt as if some unseen handhad grasped them in the tenacity of the quicksand, just as a faintcloud of smoke rolled by overhead. 

Meanwhile the men in the rear were pressing on, and the foremostadvanced to help their leader and his struggling steed; but all whodid so were soon in the mire in like fashion, sinking deeper witheach struggle. 

Oh, how awful that sucking, clasping feeling beneath the surface ofthe earth, that gradual sinking out of sight--a process lastingperhaps for hours. But hours were not given to Baron Hugo; for atthis moment the awful cry of "Fire!" "Fire!" was heard on allsides, and a loud mocking shout of laughter from hundreds of unseenenemies, now safe on the firm ground beyond the Swamp, was theanswer. 

A cloud of thick smoke rolled over the reeds, and cries of distressand anguish arose yet more loudly. 

"Death to the incendiary! let him who burnt the monks of St. Wilfred die by fire himself as is meet!"

The latter cry arose from the borders of the Swamp, hidden fromsight by thick eddying billows of smoke. 

A flashing sheet of flame, then another--clouds of thick smokerolling above--the crackling of flame, devouring the dryherbage--stifling heat, yet more unendurable each moment--suffocationimpending as the air became thicker and denser. 

Held by the quicksand, and sinking deeper and deeper--only raisedabove the ground from the middle of the body; so Hugo awaited hisjust fate--and felt it just. 

"Oh for an hour to repent! oh for a priest! My sins have found meout. "

A sudden gust of wind opened a passage through the smoke, andrevealed in the lurid light of the flames--Wilfred of Aescendune!

For a moment the baron thought himself dead, and at the judgmentseat; then as he saw his supposed victim standing in safety, afaroff on the high rock, and pointing out the scene, with awe yetexultation on his youthful face, he grasped, as in a moment, thewhole secret of the forces which had been arrayed against him, andtasted an agony bitterer than that of death. 

"All is lost, " he cried. 

His courage now gave way; he proffered fabulous rewards to any whowould save him; but none could help; nay, all were in likedistress. His brain reeled--the flames approached--nearer--nearer. 

It was an awful scene. The marsh was a raging furnace. The exultingcries of the English mingled with the groans of their sufferingfoes. Pity there was none--the remembrance of the burnt priory hadextinguished that sweet virtue. 

Ah! who shall tell of the terrible hatred, the thirst of blood, which war--begotten of man's fellest passions--had created in thehearts of the oppressed? Who would not pray for peace on earth, good will towards men {xv}?

CHAPTER XVII. THE ENGLISH HEIR TAKES POSSESSION. 

The castle and village of Aescendune lay in deep silence allthrough this eventful day; it was in early spring, and the air wasbalmy, the sun bright, the birds sang their sweetest songs, thehedgerows and trees put forth their fresh green buds, and allnature seemed instinct with life. 

Only a few gray-headed servitors were left to guard the precinctsof the castle, for no attack was apprehended from the marauders ofthe forest, as the Normans styled the English; and every one whocould bear arms had left to swell the final triumph of Hugo. 

Noontide came, and found the little band, of some score aged men, intent upon their midday meal. This accomplished, they reclined invarious easy positions, around the battlements, or on thegreensward without, while some had even penetrated into the forestin their eagerness to hear the first news of the extermination ofthe English, which none doubted was close at hand. 

Towards the evening, one of them, who lay reclining on a mossy bankbeneath a spreading beech, on a slight eminence, observed a greatsmoke rising above the tree tops in the distance. 

"Doubtless, " thought he, "they are smoking the vermin out, orburning the houses and barns--of which we have heard--within thecircle of the Deadly Swamp. "

But as the smoke increased more and more, a certain vague feelingof anxiety gained possession of him, and he longed for moreaccurate means of observation. 

"Would I were not so old!

"Oh, young Tristam, " he cried, as he observed a Norman boy, son ofone of the men-at-arms--a lad of about twelve years of age--"comehere!"

"What does all that smoke mean?" cried the lad; "are they burningthe encampment of the rebels, or has the forest caught fire? it isdry enough. "

"No doubt they are burning the huts of those rebels and outlaws inthe Swamp; but, Tristam, thou art young; canst thou not run overthrough the woods? The hill, whereon the pine lately struck bylightning stands, will command a distant view of the Swamp; thenreturn, and tell me all. "

The boy started like a greyhound, and ran through the woods witheagerness. 

"A fine stripling, that; the saints grant his arms may turn out asgood as his legs, " growled out old Raoul; and so he waited withsuch patience as he could command. 

An hour passed, and the old man was dozing, when the boy returned. 

"Wake up, old man, " he said, "I bring news. "

"News--what news? Are they all burnt--slain--captives?"

"I know not; only the Dismal Swamp is a mass of flame, and all thereeds and flags are burning merrily; 'tis such a bonfire!"

"I believe the lad would clap his hands at a bonfire, if his owngrandmother were burning therein as a witch. How dost thou knowwhether this is for us or against us?"

"How can I tell?" said the lad, more seriously. 

"Perchance our people had not all crossed, and the English fired itto secure their own safety. But how could they have foreseen ourexpedition?"

His anxiety was not of long duration, for an object was seenemerging from the shadow of the woods, and making by the base ofthe little hill towards Aescendune. 

"What cheer?" cried the old man, "hither!"

And as he spoke the stranger turned his head, hearing the familiarsounds, and ascended the hill slowly, and with pain. 

He presented a dismal object; his hair and beard had been scorchedin some intense fire, and his clothes blackened and burnt. 

The two Normans, old man and boy, stood up aghast. 

"What! is it thou, Owen of Bayeux?"

"I was that man a few hours agone. I doubt what I am now. "

"What hast thou suffered, then? Where are the baron and his men?"

"Burnt in the Dismal Swamp?"

"Burnt?"

"Yes, burnt; I speak good French do I not?"

"Owen, Owen, " cried the old Raoul, "do not mistake thy friends forfoes! tell us what dreadful event has happened, to disturb thyreason. "

"Would it were but disturbed! Oh that I should have lived to seethis day!"

"Tell us, " cried young Tristam, "tell us, Owen. "

"A fate was on us, as on the Egyptians of old; only they perishedby water, we by fire. "

"But how?"

"Ordgar the guide, whom we thought we had secured so opportunely, led us into the marshes and left us therein; and while we werethere, the English fired the reeds and bulrushes on all sides. "

"And the baron?"

"He and all have perished; I only have escaped to tell thee. Whereare the rest who were left behind?"

"Here they are, " cried Tristam, as a group of old warriorsapproached. 

"Come, Roger, Jocelyn, Jolliffe--come hear the news, " cried theboy. "Oh, come and hear them; can they be true? All burnt? alldead?"

The horror-struck Normans soon learnt the fatal truth from Owen ofBayeux, and all their stoical fortitude was shaken. 

"I was one of the last on the track, and saved only by a merechance, or the grace of St. Owen, my patron. I had dropped myquiver of arrows, and had gone back a few steps to fetch it; theybrought me to the edge of the reedy marsh, and I was justreturning, having found the quiver, when I heard a cry, followed byechoes as from a chain of sentinels all round the marsh--'Fire thereeds!' I ran back to the main land, climbed a tree which stoodhandy, and saw the marsh burst into fire in a hundred spots. It waslighted all round, while our men were in the midst. A chain ofenemies surrounded it. I did my best to warn our lord or to diewith him. I penetrated the marsh a little distance, when the flamesbeat me back--man can't fight fire. "

"Let us go to the castle, take what we can carry, and fly, " saidRaoul; "they will be here soon, if they have destroyed our men; andthere will be no safety nearer than Warwick for us. "

"Can we abandon our post?" asked one. 

"Not till we are sure all is lost, " said another. 

"Tristam, thou must remain here and watch, and warn us if anyapproach. "

"But how long shall I stay?" sobbed the alarmed boy. 

"Nay, he is too young, " cried the fugitive from the marsh;"besides, it is needless. I know they are all coming upon us--theyare thousands strong instead of hundreds, as that liar, the guide, stated. We must fly ourselves, for the time, and bid the monks, thewomen, and children to fly also. "

"Shall we burn the castle, lest it fall into their hands as astronghold?"

"Nay, that were to give up all; we shall return thither again, andthat soon; leave it open for them. The Norman lion will prove morethan a match for the English wolf in the long run. "

"Onward, then--home--home. "

And the dispirited men returned to the castle. 

It was manifestly useless to attempt to defend the place; all thatcould be done was to save their lives, and such "portable property"as could be removed on the instant. 

So the old men only returned to warn their astonished comrades, andthen gathering such household goods as they most valued, theyloaded the horses and oxen which remained, and journeyed to bearthe news to Warwick. 

But before they went, Tristam was sent to warn the prior and hisconfreres at the priory of St. Denys that danger was at hand. 

"I care not, " said that valiant prior of the Church Militant, "though as many Englishmen were in the woods as leaves on thetrees; they shall be excommunicated if they interfere with us; ourweapons are not carnal. "

So the Norman Prior and his monks shut their gates and remained, while through the forest road the men-at-arms escorted all thewomen and children of the village, the interlopers who had takenthe place of the banished English, towards the town of Warwick, andits famous castle, where Henry de Beauchamp had recently beenappointed governor by the Conqueror, the first Norman Earl ofWarwick, and the ancestor of a famous line of warriors. We havealready met his countess at Aescendune, on the occasion of thededication of the new priory. 

The Normans had all left the castle and village before sunset, leaving the gates open and the drawbridge down, as they expresslysaid that the English might be under no temptation to devastate aplace which must soon be in their hands again. 

The castle lay empty and deserted for an hour or two; the cattle, too many to be removed, began to low and bleat because they missedtheir customary attention; only in the Priory of St. Denys didthings go on as usual; there the bells rang out for vespers andcompline, and the foreign brethren went on their way as if theevents of the day had no importance for them. 

It was already nightfall, when the forests gave up hundreds ofarmed men from their dark shade, who poured down like a torrentupon Aescendune, and directed their course towards the castle, where they were somewhat astonished to find the drawbridge down, the gates open. 

At first they paused as if they feared treachery, but Wilfredstepped forward and stood in the gateway. 

Turning round he addressed the multitude. 

"Men of Aescendune, bear me witness that, in the name of my fathersand ancestors, I, their heir, take possession of mine inheritance. "

A loud burst of cheers greeted these words, and the English, following their young lord into the castle, found it utterlydeserted. 

No words can describe the glee with which they paraded thebattlements, and flung out the ancient banner of the house ofAescendune to the winds, from the summit of the keep, after whichthey penetrated chamber after chamber, with almost childishcuriosity, so new was the idea of such a building to theirimaginations. 

But it was with sensations of chilling horror that they exploredits dungeons beneath the very foundations of the towers. Some werecells for solitary confinement, of the shape of a tomb and not muchlarger, the stone doors of which shut with a gloomy solemnsound--the knell of hope to the captive. 

And then they came to the torture chamber, of which they hadalready heard from Ordgar, son of Haga, and saw the seat ofjudgment, so often occupied by him who had now passed to his dreadaccount; they beheld the rack, the brazier, the thumbscrew, andshuddered. 

"I am sick, " said the English heir; "take away these accursedthings; burn what will burn, and throw the rest in the river;should our grandchildren find them, they may well ask what theywere made for. "

Meanwhile the monks at the new priory were calmly awaiting theirfate with a courage worthy of a better cause. They heard the joyfulshouts of the English as they took possession of the castle, without flinching; they rang their bells loudly and defiantly, forthe compline service at the third hour of the night (9 P. M. ) Thislast act of audacity was too much; the natives surrounded the newpriory, beat at its doors, rang the bell at the gate, blew theirhorns, and made a noise which baffles description, while theyproceeded to batter down the gates. 

But not until the service was concluded, when the gate only hung byone hinge, did the prior appear. 

"Who are ye, " he cried, "who molest the house of God, and those whoserve Him within?"

"A pious fox"--"a holy fox"--"smoke them out"--"set the place onfire"--"let them taste the fate which befell better men on thisspot!"

"In whose name, " said the undismayed prior, "do ye summon me?"

"In the name of the descendant of him who first founded thispriory--of Wilfred, thane of Aescendune. "

"Ye mock us; he is dead. "

"Nay, he lives, " said a voice, and our youthful hero appeared onthe scene, and addressed the astonished monk. 

"Prior, go forth from the house thou and thy brethren have usurped, and make way for the true owners. By my side stands the solesurvivor of the brethren whom Hugo de Malville slaughtered, FatherKenelm, a Benedictine like thyself. Admit him; he will tell theeall. "

"Since it may be no better, he shall come in. If I open the gatesfor him, ye will not take advantage?"

"Stand back, " cried Wilfred, "let the holy monk enter alone. "

And, shortly after, Father Kenelm stood in the chapter house, andexplained all to the astonished Norman brethren. He told the storyof the destruction of their predecessors, and pointed out thedanger of resisting the now triumphant English, who felt themselvesthe avengers of their slaughtered ministers and friends, the formermonks of St. Wilfred. 

"It is well, " said the other; "we will go forth; thou speakest withjustice, as brother to brother, and whatever befall thy companions, this shall be counted in thy favour if I have a tongue to speak. "

So the Norman prior and his monks took their way unharmed to thenearest house of their order. 

It was night and dark clouds of smoke rolled heavenward, blottingout the fair stars from sight. Silence dread and awful reigned overthe Dismal Swamp, the scene of strife and suffering; the verybeasts fled the spot, nor could the birds of night linger in theheated air. 

But at Aescendune all was tumult and joy. The English had advancedagainst an undefended stronghold, and Wilfred was at last, as hisfathers had been, Lord of Aescendune. 

There was a banquet that night in the castle hall. In the old daysof Roman triumphs, a man was placed behind the seat of theconquering general as he sat in the intoxication of success, andamidst the adulation of the multitude ever and anon whispered--"Memento to moriturum. "

So also there was an unseen attendant behind the chair of Wilfred. In vain he strove to drive it away; the future would thrust itselfupon him. 

He had slaked his vengeance to the uttermost and had no remorse: hehad avenged father, mother--the spiritual guides of his youth;still he had once heard, even from them--"Vengeance is mine: I willrepay saith the Lord. "

"Sing, bards, " he cried out; "has no minstrel a new strain?"

They exerted themselves to the utmost; and Wilfred, determined torise to the occasion, threw off his sadness, ceased to speculate asto the chances of the insurrection {xvi}; that night, at least, he would give to joy--he would encourage his people who loved himso faithfully by rejoicing with them. 

So the song and the banquet lasted until the midnight hour, and thecastle of Hugo echoed the old forgotten songs of the glories ofAnglo-Saxon England. 

CHAPTER XVIII. AT THE ABBEY OF ABINGDON. 

Upon the banks of the Isis, about eight miles above its junctionwith the Tame, stood the ancient town of Abingdon, which had grownup around the famous monastic foundation of Ina, King of Wessex{xvii}. 

The river divides, at this point, into three branches, encirclingtwo islands {xviii}; partly on the southern bank, and partly onthe nearest of these islands, stood the mighty Abbey, one of thelargest and most renowned of the Benedictine houses of England. 

And on the other island the Conqueror himself had built a countryseat whither he often retired, as convenient headquarters, whenceto enjoy the pleasures of the chase in the vale of White Horse, famous in the annals of the Anglo-Saxon race for Alfred's greatvictory over the Danes. 

Few, alas, of the old English inhabitants lingered in the town, save as bondsmen; few of the old English brethren, save as drudges. 

For had they not alike incurred the wrath of the victor? Had notthe chief vassals of the abbey led their men forth to fight underthe hapless Harold?--nevermore, alas! to return--and had not themonks blessed their banner and sanctified their patriotic zeal?

And since, on the one hand, William claimed to be the lawfulsovereign, and, on the other, the Pope had blessed the invaders, itwas clear that the Godrics and Thurkills who had committed theircause to God before the wonder-working black cross of St. Mary'sAltar, were but rebels, and that the monks who had blessed themwere schismatics. 

Hence the Normans in their hour of victory had cleared out laymenand monks alike, root and branch, and the French tongue hadsuperseded the good old Anglo-Saxon dialect in the district. 

It was a fine May evening, and the country was lovely in thefoliage of early summer. 

A boat was descending the Isis, rowed by six stout rowers; it wasevidently from Oxenford, for the men bore the badges of RobertD'Oyly, the Norman lord of that city, who had just built the towerwhich yet stands, gray and old, beside the mound raised on Isisbanks by Ethelfleda, lady of Mercia, daughter of the great Alfred, and sister of Edward the Elder. 

In the stern of the boat sat Etienne de Malville. 

He had journeyed first to Warwick, where he met the fugitives fromAescendune, and heard their story; burning with revenge, he hadsought the aid of Henry de Beauchamp, the Norman governor of thecity; but that worthy, seeing the whole countryside in rebellion, bade Etienne repair to the king for further aid, while he himselfshut his gates, provisioned his castle, and promised to hold outagainst the whole force of the Midlands, until the royal bannercame to scatter the rebels, like chaff before the winds. 

Then Etienne repaired to Oxenford, where he was the guest of thenew governor, Robert D'Oyly, for the night, who sent him on by boatto meet the king at Abingdon, whither William was daily expected toarrive to keep Ascensiontide, for he was still observant of suchduties. 

The servitors, seeing a boat arrive thus manned, were sensible atonce it must contain a traveller or pilgrim of some importance--probably the latter; for, as we have already hinted, they had awonder-working relic, in the shape of a cross, said to have beengiven to the abbey by the Empress Helena, and to contain a fragmentof the true cross itself. 

True, it had failed to prosper the poor English, who knelt beforeit, ere they went to die at Senlac; but of course that was becausethe Pope was against them, and had suspended the flow of spiritualbenediction. 

At least, so said the Normans, and they extolled the Black Cross asmuch as their predecessors. 

"Pax vobiscum, domine, " said the chamberlain, who happened to be atthe quay; "thou art come, doubtless, to bewail thy sins before thecross of St. Mary's Abbey?"

"When my leisure permits, reverendissime pater; at present I seekan immediate audience of the abbot, for whom I bear sad news. "

"He is riding to meet the king. Listen, dost thou not hear thetrumpets?--that blast tells of their return together. "

"Wilt thou grant me a chamber, that I may don meet apparel for thepresence?"

"It is my duty; but of thy grace--tell me whom I entertain. "

"The Lord of Aescendune, and patron of your branch house there. "

The chamberlain bowed low, and turned to lead his guest within theprecincts. The rowers cried "largesse, " and the young noble threwthem a handful of coin. 

Soon Etienne was alone in a comfortable cell, and was attiring hisperson, a duty a Norman seldom neglected; nor did he despise theluxury of a bath, to the scorn of the un-laving natives. The Normanwas the gentleman of the period, alike in etiquette, attire, andfood. 

And likewise, some of the most beautiful of the animal creation arethe fiercest carnivora. 

The abbot had put off his riding attire; he had clothed his feet indainty slippers instead of sandals, and had thrown a soft robearound his monastic garb--contrasting strongly with the sternattire prescribed by St. Benedict, and he was about to descend tothe hall, when the chamberlain in person told him of the arrival ofEtienne. 

"Bid him share our poor meal; we will hear no bad news till we havebroken our fast; they sit ill on an empty stomach. "

The chamberlain retired. 

And there at the guest table in the refectory sat Etienne, andmarvelled to see how well the ascetics fared. Yet there wasrefinement in their dishes; and there was little or no excess; theydrank the light wines of France, not the heavier ale and mead oftheir predecessors. 

The Latin grace said, they fell to. The joints of meat were passedround, the game, the fish, and each used his fingers in the placeof forks, and then washed them in the finger glasses, which hadsome purpose then to serve, ere they waved them in the air, andthen wiped them on delicate napkins. 

The meal over, the abbot retired to his chamber, a pleasant room, overlooking the river, and there he took his seat in a cosy chairnear the Gothic window, and sent for the visitor. 

Etienne appeared; bent with the grace of youth, kissed the abbot'shand, and then standing before him, with all due modesty, waited tobe addressed. 

Such etiquette was exacted of those who had not yet won theirspurs. 

The abbot gave him a short benediction, a brief "Dens te custodiatfili, " and quickly added, "I am told thou hast news for me of ourlittle patrimony at Aescendune. "

"The wolves have ravaged it, father; our own pious brethren areejected; English swine root in its precincts. "

The abbot coloured. 

"Who has dared to do this impiety?" he thundered. 

"The English rebels and outlaws, who have long lain hidden in thewoods, led by the son of the rebel lord who fell at Senlac. "

"The brethren--are they safe?"

"They are on their journey hither; the saints have protectedthem--no thanks to the English. "

"And how dared the stripling thou namest to do such deeds; wherewas thy father, the Baron?"

"He was foully slain in an ambush:" and Etienne, who strove to keepcool, could not restrain a strange quivering of the lips. 

"Come, tell me all, my son; God comfort thee. "

Etienne began his tale, and the reader will easily guess thatWilfred's character fared very badly at his hands--that without anywilful falsehood, of which indeed this proud young Norman wasincapable, so distorted a version of the facts known to our readerswas presented, that the abbot shuddered at the daring bloodthirstinessand impiety of one so young as this English lad. 

"It is enough--thou shalt have audience with the king at once. Ican obtain it for thee; God's justice shall not ever sleep, andWilliam is His chosen instrument. Hark!"

The compline bell began to ring. 

"William attends the service tonight. I will crave an audience forthee; meanwhile, compose thy thoughts for God's holy house. Come, my son, this is the way to the chapel. "

If the reader has visited the old colleges in Oxford or Cambridge, he will easily conceive a fair idea of the general appearance ofthe abbey of Abingdon. 

There were the same quadrangles (vulgarly called "quads"), the samecloisters, open to the air, but sheltered from sun and rain; whichfind their fairest modern example, perhaps, in Magdalene College, Oxen. The cells of the monks resembled in size and position therooms of the undergraduates at the olden colleges, although theywere far less luxuriously furnished. 

Nor was the element of learning wanting. The Benedictines wereindeed the scholars of Europe, and some hundred boys were educated, free of cost, at Abingdon--the cloisters in summer serving as theirclassrooms. And let me tell my schoolboy readers, the fare and thediscipline were alike very hard. 

But the chapel in great abbeys--like the one we are writingabout--resembled a cathedral rather than a college chapel. And hewho has the general plan of a cathedral in his mind can easilyimagine the abbey church of St. Mary's at Abingdon. 

The choir was devoted to the monks alone; the nave and aislesapportioned to the laity; the side chapels contained altarsdedicated to special saints, and occasional services. 

Such was the building into which Etienne de Malville entered, notwithout religious awe, as the pealing organ--then recentlyintroduced by the Normans--rolled its volume of sound through thevaulted aisles. 

The monks were all in the choir, which was lighted by torches andtapers. In the nave a few laity of the town were scattered--here aknight or soldier, there a mechanic. 

Suddenly, as Etienne took his place, the tread of many armed heelsbroke the silence, and penetrated up the aisle. 

The sound ceased; those who caused it were already in their chosenplaces, and the monks had begun the Psalms, when Etienne heard apeculiarly stern and deep voice near at hand taking up the sacredwords of Israel's royal singer, with which the worshipper seemedfamiliar. 

Then, for the first time, he perceived that the Conqueror--themightiest of earth's warriors--was he from whom the voiceproceeded, kneeling without state in the midst of his subjects, lords and vassals, to join in the late evening service of thechurch {xix}. 

CHAPTER XIX. AN INTERVIEW WITH THE CONQUEROR. 

The mighty Conqueror of England was the central figure of the agein which he lived--the greatest soldier of an age of soldiers, andnot less statesman than warrior. 

Born to a life of warfare, the Conquest had been but theculminating point of a career spent in the tented field--but onthat one event he staked his all. 

For had he been vanquished at Senlac there was no hope of flight;the English commanded the sea, while his suzerain of France, everon the watch to regain those Norman dominions which Rollo had won, would have taken instant advantage of the loss of its militaryleaders to re-annex Normandy to the French crown, and must havesucceeded. 

Had William fallen in England the Norman name and glory would haveperished at Hastings. 

Doubtless, he felt how great was the stake he had placed at thehazard of the die, and having won it, he used it as his own. 

Yet he was not all of stone. The Anglo-Saxon chronicler says ofhim--"He was mild to those good men who loved God, although sternbeyond measure to those who resisted his will. "

Hence the power which men like Lanfranc or Anselm had over him; andit must be added that his life was exemplary as a privateindividual, his honour unsullied, his purity unstained. 

Stern was the race of which he was the head and the ruling spirit. Well does the old chronicler, Henry of Huntingdon, say:

"God had chosen the Normans to humble the English nation, becauseHe perceived that they were more fierce than any other people. "

And we modern English must remember that we are the descendants ofold English and Normans combined. They came to "high mettle" theblood of our race, and when the conquerors and the conquered weremoulded into one people, the result was the Englishmen who wonCrecy and Agincourt against overwhelming odds, whose very name wasa terror to continental soldiery, as Froissart abundantlytestifies. 

Grieve as we may over the tyranny and wrong of the Conquest, England would never have been so great without it as she afterwardsbecame. 

Etienne knelt in the abbey chapel until the last worshippers hadgone out, when a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and a gentlevoice said:

"The King awaits thee, my son, in the abbot's audience chamber. "

In spite of his boldness, Etienne felt a strange tremor as hepassed through the cloisters and approached the dreaded monarch. 

But he himself belonged to the same stern race, and when thefolding doors opened, and he saw the King seated in the abbot'schair, he had perfectly recovered his composure. With winning gracehe bent the knee before his liege, and gazed into that face whosefrown was death. 

But it was not frowning now; the expression was almost paternal, for the Conqueror loved a gallant youth. 

"Rise up, my son, " he said; "the holy father here tells me you bearstirring news. "

"My liege, he hath spoken rightly. I have to tell of rebellion andsacrilege; our English vassals have risen against us, and my bravefather has fallen by their hands; our castle is in their holding, and they have driven the brethren of St. Benedict homeless fromtheir monastery. "

"And who has dared this deed?"

"Wilfred, son of the rebel who fell at Senlac. "

"Wilfred of Aescendune! I remember the stripling when he sought hisfather's corpse on the battlefield, but had heard that he had losthis life in the fire which consumed the monastery. "

"Nay, sire, he had fled to the rebels, and we doubt not now that heand the outlaws, with whom he found a home, fired the monastery, themselves, to cover his flight. "

"Tell me, then, what could have driven him to so violent a course, and tell me truly; for some cause there must have been. "

It must be remembered that, at this period, William had not givenup all hope of reconciling the English to his rule. 

"I know no cause, sire, save--"

"Save what?" said he sternly, for Etienne hesitated. 

"My liege, the lad, whom your royal will made the heir to the landsmy father had won by his services on the field of battle, neverlost his sympathy with the rebel rout around, or all had perhapsbeen well; he struck me in defence of a churl whom I found stealinggame, and I challenged him to fight. "

"And did he shirk the contest? I should not have thought it ofhim. "

"He ran away, sire, and was brought back; was sent to the monasteryby my father for a time of penance as a punishment; the same nightthe building was burnt by the outlaws, as we have every reason tothink by his connivance, since he joined them and became theirhead, while we all thought him dead. "

"And how didst thou learn he yet lived?"

"By his actions; the outlaws under his command burnt our farms, slew our men in the woods, and not our common men only, whose lossmight better be borne, but they murdered a noble youth, my fellowpage, entrusted to my father's care, Louis de Marmontier; andfinally, by the help of a false guide, they entrapped my father andhis retainers into a marsh, which they set on fire, and allperished. "

Etienne spoke these words with deep emotion, but still firmly anddistinctly. 

"Fear not, my son, thy father's death shall be avenged, or my swordhas lost its power. Weep not for the dead--women weep, men avengewrongs on the wrongdoer; but tell me, art thou certain of thesefacts? didst thou or any one else see this Wilfred at the head ofthe outlaws?"

"My liege, I saw him myself; I penetrated their fastnesses in theforest, and but narrowly escaped with life. "

"And saw Wilfred of Aescendune?"

"Distinctly, my liege, almost face to face, in command of therebels. "

"And then, what happened after the death of thy father?"

"They issued from the woods, seized the castle--the few defendersleft had fled to Warwick--and then summoned the whole neighbourhoodto arms. The bale fires were blazing on every hill. The Count ofWarwick bid me tell you, my liege, that he will hold his castletill aid arrives, but that he is powerless to check the wave ofinsurrection which is spreading over the country far and wide. "

"It is well; our banner shall be unfurled and these English shallfeel the lion's wrath, which they have provoked. Tomorrow isAscension Day--the truce of God--on Friday we march. Meanwhile Icommend thee to the abbot's hospitality; he will bring thee to thebanquet tomorrow after the High Mass. Remember, a true warriorshould be as devout in church as fearless in the field. "

Etienne left the presence, assured that the death of his fatherwould be speedily avenged, and slept more soundly that night thanhe had since the fatal fire in the marshes. He loved his father, and it must be remembered that he knew not that father's crimes. Not for one moment did he suspect that he had been concerned in theburning of the monastery, nor did he dream that there had beenaught in the death of the Lady of Aescendune save the hand ofnature. 

The one absorbing passion of his life at this moment was hatred ofhis successful rival--not so much as his rival, but as the murdererof his father. 

All the Norman inhabitants of the neighbourhood crowded the abbeychurch on the morrow, and were present at the Mass of the day; thepoor English were there in small numbers; they could not worshipdevoutly in company with their oppressors, but frequented littlevillage sanctuaries, too poverty stricken to invite Normancupidity, where, on that very account, the poor clerics of Englishrace might still minister to their scattered flocks, and preach tothem in the language Alfred had dignified by his writings, butwhich the Normans compared to the "grunting of swine. "

And the service in the church over, how grand was the company whichmet in the banqueting hall of the palace on the island!

The Conqueror sat at the head of the board; on his right hand theCount d'Harcourt, head of an old Norman family, which stillretained many traces of its Danish descent, and was as littleFrench-like as Normans of that date could be; De le Pole, progenitor of a fated house, well-known in English history; De laVere, the ancestor of future Earls of Oxford; Arundel, whobequeathed his name to a town on the Sussex coast, where hisdescendants yet flourish; Clyfford, unknowing of the fate whichawaited his descendants in days of roseate hue; FitzMaurice, a nameto become renowned in Irish story; Gascoyne, ancestor of a judgewhose daring justice should immortalise his name; Hastings, whosedescendant fell the victim of the Boar of Gloucester in later days;Maltravers, whose name was destined to be defiled at BerkeleyCastle in Plantagenet times; Peverel, a name now familiar throughthe magic pen of Scott; Talbot, whose progeny, in times when theNormans' children had become the English of the English, burnt theill-fated "Maid" at Rouen {xx}. 

There was a bishop present who blessed the meats, but Etienne couldhave spared the presence of Geoffrey of Coutances, whom he knew asthe friend of Wilfred, and the author of many inconvenient (and, asEtienne thought, impertinent) inquiries about that youngunfortunate, after the burning of the old priory. 

Who shall describe the splendour of that feast? We will not attemptit, nor will we try to analyse the feelings of the country youth sosuddenly introduced into so brilliant an assembly. 

But amidst the intoxication of the scene his mind continuallywandered to the sombre forests, the blackened marsh, the DismalSwamp, and his desolated home; and he would almost have given hisvery soul to stand face to face, foot to foot, with his youthfulrival, sword in hand, with none to interfere between them, and soto end the long suspense. 

While some such dream was floating before his imagination, and itsdetails were painted vivid as life upon the retina of the mind, aquiet voice, but one not without some authority, whispered in hisears:

"My son, I would fain ask thee of a youth in whom I am somewhatinterested, and who is, I am told, yet alive, risen, as it were, from the dead--Wilfred of Aescendune. "

Etienne's face would have made a fine study for a painter, as heencountered the gaze of Geoffrey, Bishop of Coutances. 

The bishop drew the youth gently into a deep embrasure, where acurtain before the opening veiled a window seat, for the feast wasnow over, and the guests were mingling in general conversation. 

"Father, " said Etienne "am I, whom he has made an orphan, a fitwitness?"

"My son, " said Geoffrey, "I respect an orphan's feelings, yet injustice to the lad whom, as thou sayest, I once befriended, I mustask a few questions. He appeared to me naturally affectionate andingenuous--one who would love those who treated him well, but whowould grievously resent scorn and contempt; tell me honestly, didstthou receive him as a brother, as thou wert bound to do, considering the alliance between thy father and his mother, ordidst thou regard him simply as thy rival?"

Etienne hesitated. 

"My son, thou cravest knighthood; the true knight is bound to speakthe truth. "

"I own, father, that I felt him my rival. "

"And never thought of him as a brother?"

"Never. "

"Then, naturally, this led to injurious words and contemptuousdeeds?"

"I cannot deny it; nor do I now regret it, knowing what he is. "

"Perchance, my son, thou hast had much to do with making him whathe is. One more thing: of course Wilfred would naturally sympathisewith the old retainers of his father. Tell me, didst thou everill-use them in his sight?"

"I may have done so sometimes. But, my lord, you, who at the headof an army, recently sanctioned the mutilation of the rebels inDorsetshire--"

"My child, peace and war are different things, and in the latter, men are compelled to do that, from which in days of peace theywould shrink, only that timely severity may prevent furtherbloodshed, and so save many Christian lives. But I am speaking ofwhat thou didst to thine own father's vassals in time ofpeace--didst thou ill-treat them before thy English brother?"

"I may have been sharp sometimes, and used the ashen twig freely. "

"Only the ashen twig? My son, tell me all the story about the'young poaching churl' who was the cause of such deadly enmitybetween you. "

Etienne told it with reluctance. 

"Pray was the lad in any manner dear to Wilfred?"

"He was his foster brother, " said Etienne, covering his face asconscience smote him, for he remembered the death of Eadwin, andthe way in which the mother of the murdered boy had returned goodfor evil. 

"Then, my son, thou canst not acquit thyself of blame. "

"But even if I were in fault so far, father, the terrible eventswhich have occurred since do not lie at my door--the burning of themonastery, the death of my poor father. "

"Only so far as this, that all might have been prevented hadst thoureceived Wilfred as a brother, for thou didst drive him to thewoods--according to thine own account. But depend upon it, there ismore behind. A brave youth like Wilfred would not have fled simplyfor fear of the combat, nor would one who loved his own people, asyour story proves, have connived at the burning of an Englishmonastery--monks and all. Nay, my son, the mystery is not solvedyet; in God's own time it will be, and depend upon it, there willbe much to forgive on both sides. Think of this when thou repeatestthy paternoster tonight; for the present we will close thisconference. "

CHAPTER XX. THE MESSENGER FROM THE CAMP OF REFUGE. 

A fortnight only had passed since the scenes described in our lastchapter, and we must again take our readers to Aescendune. 

It was the hour of the evening meal in the castle hall where solately Hugo sat in his pride, and in his place sat his youthfulrival, Wilfred. 

Scarcely of age, the vicissitudes of his life had made a man of himbefore his time, and a stranger would have credited him with manymore years than he really possessed. His face was bronzed with thesun, and his features had assumed all the appearance of earlymanhood, while there was a gravity in his expression befitting aborn leader of men, such as his warlike grandfather, Alfgar, hadbeen in the old Danish wars sixty years earlier. 

The accustomed features of an English feast, as distinct from aNorman banquet, have been dwelt upon too often in these Chroniclesto need recapitulation here, and we shall only beg our readers tosuppose the eating over, the wine and mead handed round, and thebusiness of the evening begun. 

The hall was crowded; all the ancient vassals of the house ofAescendune, who yet survived, were present, and many new faces. Bythe side of Wilfred sat a distinguished guest, an East Anglian, towhom all present paid much attention. 

The occasion was one of much gravity; only that evening messengershad arrived, bringing the serious announcement that William themighty Conqueror, with a force said to be numerous as the leaves ofthe trees, was at hand, and the gathering had been assembled todiscuss the measures expedient in the common danger. 

There was deep silence; the summer twilight alone illumined thegrave faces of the English guests and vassals of Aescendune, asWilfred arose to address them. 

"Englishmen and brethren, " he began, "we have not invited you allto share our evening meal on an occasion of idle ceremony--many ofyou have heard the news I have to tell, and more will anticipatethem. The usurper, the bloodstained oppressor of our race is athand; he rests this night at Warwick, with a force far exceedingany that we can gather to meet him; their lances might uphold theskies, their arrows darken the heavens. All the robber barons ofnote are there; the butcher priest Ode, who smote with the mace atHastings, because he might not shed blood, the fierce Lord ofOxford, the half Danish Harcourt, Arundel, Talbot, Maltravers, Peveril, Morton--all swell the train which has advanced to thedestruction of our faint hope of liberty in the Midlands, our trustthat at least old Mercia may defy the despoiler. "

"Let us die, then, like brave men, " was the cry of many, "since wecannot live as freemen. "

"And shed our blood in vain, leaving the victory to the oppressors!Nay, we must live for another Senlac, which shall reverse the doomof the former. Leofric of Deeping, our guest from East Anglia, willtell you of one who yet defies Norman tyranny, with whom we mayunite, under whose banner victory may yet bless the old flag ofEngland. "

Leofric rose, amidst cheers and demonstrations of applause, somewhat tempered by the gravity of the occasion; nay, a fewfaint-hearted churls said, "Let us hear what he has to proposebefore we cheer him. "

"Has the name of Hereward, Lord of Brunn, yet reached your ears?"

A general shout of approbation replied, "Yes!"

"He it was who, while yet but a stripling, stirred up the people ofDover to drive the proud Eustace out of their town, in good KingEdward's time, when he slew with his own hands a French knight. Hefought by the side of our Harold when he tamed Griffith, thewildcat of Wales. He was in Flanders, to our great loss, when theNormans invaded England, and there he heard, with grief, of thedeath of our Harold and the slaughter at Senlac. Now, hearing thatmany brave men yet defy the tyrant in the Isle of Ely, protected byits bogs and marshes, he has accepted the invitation of the AbbotThurstan, and has hastened to return home and place himself attheir head. Three years have passed since Hastings, and yet Englandis unconquered; the Normans concentrate their force against Ely invain; Crowland, Spalding, and many other places are recovered, andthe Danes promise their assistance to deliver those who were theirbrethren under Canute from Norman tyranny. 

"Therefore, in the name of the Lord of Brunn and the Abbot Thurstanof Ely, I invite you to repair thither, to take part in the greatstruggle so nobly begun for the deliverance of England from thehateful yoke. "

There was a dead silence, broken at last by a voice:

"But might we not first strike a blow for our own poor homes?"

"That blow shall be struck in time, and in time not far off; butnow it would be a waste, and a sinful waste of English blood, justwhen every man is wanted. What can ye do against ten thousandNormans, out here in the open country? or what good can ye hope todo in the woods? Nay, come to the Camp of Refuge, the last retreatof England's noblest sons; there is the noble Archbishop Stigand, the faithful English prelate, who dared to defy the Conqueror tohis face; there the Bishops of Lincoln, Winchester, Durham, andLindisfarne, whose fair palaces are usurped by Norman intruders;there the patriotic Abbots of Glastonbury and St. Albans; therenobles, thanes--all who yet dare to hope for England's salvation;and thence shall the tide of victory return after the ebb, andsweep the Bastard and his Norman dogs into the sea. England shallbe England again, yea, to the latest generations. "

Cheer upon cheer arose from the company; it was evident that theenvoy had gained his point. Wilfred now stood up. 

"There are but two courses open to us, men of Aescendune--to returnto our haunts in the woods, to be hunted out in the next dry seasonlike vermin; the other, to repair to the Camp of Refuge. I, forone, have decided; I will no longer hide in the Dismal Swamp like abrock--I will accept the invitation of Abbot Thurstan, and live ordie by the side of the brave Hereward. "

"And I, " "and I, " "and I. "

"We cannot all go, " said Wilfred; "some must remain to escort ourwomen and children to the woods, and to defend them there, if needbe, till the tide of victory, of which our guest has told us, reaches these parts. This task befits the oldest men amongst us;but let each man make his choice this evening, for by midnight allshould be settled, and we who go should be on our way to the east. "

"And are we to leave Aescendune to the foe?"

"Nay, this accursed monument of Norman tyranny, this castle shallfall, the flames shall consume it this night, and we will giveevery house, barn, and stable to the flames also. The Normans shallfind poor lodgings for man and beast when they come tomorrow. Etienne, son of the murderer Hugo, shall enter upon a desolateheritage, and feed his horses with cinders. 

"Haga, oldest retainer of our house, wilt thou take the command ofthose who remain? let them be thy children. "

"I accept the charge, " said the old man, and bowed his head. 

"Now, who will remain with him in the woods, and who will go withme? Let those who would ride to the Camp of Refuge hold up theirhands on high. "

"Ulf, Sexwulf, Tosti, Wulfgar, Ordgar, "--and so Wilfred went oncounting all the younger and more impetuous spirits on his side, his heart swelling with pardonable pride, as he thought he shouldnot go alone, or as a mere fugitive, to the help of the patrioticHereward. 

But the aged men hung their heads; most of them had kindred--some awife, some children, and even amongst the younger there were thosewhose love to an aged parent kept them back; the ties of familywere ever strong in the English heart. 

So there were, after all, only about a hundred gallant youths, whoelected to make the dangerous ride across the heart of England, Norman infested, with their young chieftain. 

"A hundred such men will be a welcome addition to our numbers; fewthanes have joined us more worthily attended, " said Leofric. 

The meeting now broke up. 

Great was the confusion in the village that night, and sad thepartings between friends and kinsfolk. All the beasts of burdenwere put in requisition; only a hundred of the choicest steedsreserved for the brave band who were to accompany their belovedlord to the Camp. 

By midnight these steeds were laden, and all was ready for theexodus. 

Then a dozen stern men bore brands of fire through the village, andsoon every house burst into flames. 

It was sad to see their homes burning; it seemed almost a crime toapply the torch; but each man thought it better far, than to leavethem for Normans to dwell in. 

And soon a brighter blaze startled the neighbourhood--the castlecast its broad banner of flame to the heavens, and thick clouds ofsmoke blotted out the stars. Then the priory, the short-livedpriory, followed the lead of the castle, and the valley was lightas in broad day, while the river seemed to run with blood as itreflected the blaze. 

And by the light two parties left the village in oppositedirections--the last farewells were spoken. Into the woods--gloomyand desolate, dimly lighted up by the glare, which filled theheavens, along the river, glowing as it reflected the blaze--intothe woods the two different parties took their way. 

The one was led by Wilfred, and Leofric as guide, the other byHaga. And so the forest swallowed them up, and Aescendune knew themno more. 

The fire burnt on, but none were there to heed it; tower andrampart came crashing down into the red ruins, but a few affrightedbirds were the only living witnesses of the doom of the proudbuilding, which Hugo had erected as the badge of the slavery of hisEnglish vassals. 

Crash! crash! and the answer came from the priory; down fell thecastle towers, down fell the priory bell turrets. Norman count andNorman monk were alike homeless. 

The morning sun rose brightly upon the devastation, the birdsresumed their matin songs, for it was a lovely morning in June; butas yet no human footfall broke the oppressive silence. 

It was the early hour of summer sunrise, and the distant sound of aconvent bell varied the monotony of the scene, as it called thefaithful to prayer. A sudden sound, as of many riders ridingbriskly, and a band of lances--the avant garde of a mightyarmy--drew rein at the verge of the yawning and smoking furnacewhich had been the castle. There they paused abruptly, and one whoseemed almost overwhelmed by surprise and disappointment, gazed asif stupefied upon the wreck of his fortunes. 

It was Etienne of Aescendune cum Malville. 

As we have seen, the conflagration was yet at its heights whenWilfred of Aescendune and his hundred men left the scene, and tooktheir road to the east, along the reddened waters of the river. 

It was not without the deepest sorrow, that the English heir thusabandoned his inheritance, but necessity left no choice; it wasplain that the force arrayed against him rendered resistancehopeless, and it was far better to go where his sword was likely tobe of use in the struggle for freedom than to hide in the woods, ashe said, "like a brock, until the dogs hunt it out. "

And he had hope, too, that when it was discovered that he and hisbravest men had fled eastward, pursuit would be attracted in thatdirection, and the poor fugitives in the woods left unmolested, atleast for the present. 

As they rode rapidly and silently along, they saw in the distance, with what bitter feelings may be imagined, the Norman castle ofWarwick, where at that moment the Conqueror himself was reposing, and where the Norman heir was perhaps counting the hours, untildaylight should arouse him to go and seize upon his inheritance. Onward they rode, conducted with the greatest skill and success bytheir guide from the Camp of Refuge, Leofric of Deeping, whoentertained them by the way, when circumstances permitted, by manya story about Hereward and his merry men, each one of whom he saidwas a match for three Normans, while Hereward would not turn hisback upon seven at once. 

When the east grew red with the coming light they were traversingan immense tract of wild forest land, bright with the gorse, thenin flower, and tenanted only by myriads of rabbits; here they cameupon a grassy dell, with plenty of good grazing for their horses, and a clear stream running through the bottom. 

"We shall scarce find a better place than this to rest, " said theirguide; "I know the spot well. When a boy my grandfather lived inthat ruined farmhouse which you can see peeping through the trees;I remember I was just tall enough to look over yon wall. "

"Is it in English hands now?" said Wilfred, anxiously. 

"It is desolate--waste--ruined. The Normans butchered the inmateslong since, God knows why, save that they gave shelter to someproscribed fugitives, who were being hunted like wild beasts. Theywere not my own kinsfolk; by God's blessing my grandparents diedwhile Edward was yet alive. I often feel grateful that they did notlive to see these evil days. "

They hobbled the horses, and took their own repast by the side ofthe stream. Each man had brought rations for two days with him, andthere was no lack. 

Then, after carefully setting sentinels in each direction, theyslept under the shade of the trees. The moss was a delicious couch, the day was warm, and the murmur of the little stream, united tothe hum of the insects, lulled them to sleep. 

It was not till after midday that Wilfred awoke. He found Leofricalready on foot, stretching himself after his nap. 

"I am going to look at the old place, " said he; "it stimulates myfeeling of hatred to the Normans. Will you come with me and seetheir work?"

They crossed two or three fields lying fallow--indeed, no hand ofman had been busy there for more than a year; soon they came uponthe blackened ruins of a house, of which, however, some portionshad escaped the general conflagration; upon which Leofric observed:

"This was the work of Ivo Taille-Bois {xxi}, a Normanwoodcutter, whom the duke has manufactured into a noble, and set totyrannise over free-born Englishmen. Like a fiend he ever loves todo evil, and when there is neither man, woman, nor child todestroy, he will lame cattle, drive them into the water, breaktheir backs, or otherwise destroy them. "

"But does not William ever administer justice, according to theoath he swore at his coronation?"

"Not when the case is Englishman against Norman; then theseforeigners stick together like the scales on the dragon's back, oneoverlapping the other. But we must waste no more time; it is justpossible, although unlikely, owing to the unfrequented route wehave taken, that your old enemy may be upon our track, with fivehundred Norman horse to back him. "

They rejoined their comrades, and all were soon again in thesaddle--horses and men alike refreshed by the halt; with greatknowledge of the country their guide led them by unfrequentedroutes towards the fenny country; in the distance they beheld thenewly rising castles, and heard from time to time an occasionaltrumpet; more frequently they passed ruined villages, burnt housesand farms, and saw on every side the evidence of the ferocity oftheir conquerors. 

Nightfall came and still they continued their route; Leofricenlivening the way with many a tale of the exploits of the greathero, whom he looked upon with confidence as the future delivererof England. 

At length they left the woods and entered, just as the east wasbrightening, into the level plains and marshes of East Anglia, andhere for the first time had reason to think they were pursued. 

Looking back towards the deep shades of the woods they had left, they caught sight of a dark moving mass, which seemed pursuingthem; but even as they looked its movements became uncertain, andappeared to halt. 

"The cowards fear to pursue us farther; they have a wholesome dreadof Hereward and his merry men, and we may embark in peace: we arenear an old manor house belonging to our great captain, and therewe may leave the horses in safety, satisfied no Norman will getthem--such is the terror of his name; then we will all take boatfor Ely. "

The morning, the second of their journey, was already breakingacross a vast expanse of water and fenland, and the dawn wasempurpling the skies and making the waters glow like burnishedmetal; so beautiful was the scene that it seemed a happy omen toour tired wanderers. 

The face of the country was level as the sea itself; no hillockvaried the monotony of the surface; but here and there some sailglistened in the glowing light; and afar off Leofric pointed outthe towers of Ely Abbey, white and distinct in the rays of therising sun, which, just then, rose grandly out of the waters. 

They left their horses at the manor house, which was garrisoned byHereward's retainers, and broke their fast, gladdened by anenthusiastic reception; hope was not yet dead here. 

Afterwards, they all embarked in large flat-bottomed boats, whichwere sluggishly impelled, by oar and sail, towards the distanttowers of Ely. 

The sweet fresh breeze, the cheerful warmth of the sun, soothed ourtravellers, wearied with their long night ride; the monotonoussplash of the oars assisted to lull them into sleep, oblivious ofpast fatigue. Wilfred awoke to find himself approaching the wharfof Ely. 

And here our narrative must perforce leave him for the space of twoyears, sharing the fortunes of the famous Hereward, until the fallof the last refuge of English liberty: the events of those twoyears are matters of history {xxii}. 

CHAPTER XXI. TWO DOCUMENTS. 

Two years had passed away since his last visit, and Geoffrey, Bishop of Coutances, was again a visitor in England, this time theguest of the new primate of the conquered country, ArchbishopLanfranc, a native of Pavia, and formerly abbot of the famedmonastery of Bec in Normandy, to whom the king had been greatlyindebted for his services as negotiator with the Court of Rome, while the conquest was in deliberation. 

He was a man of deep learning and great personal piety, yet notwithout some of the faults of the race, under whose auspices he hadcome to England. Still, in spite of his deep prejudices, he wasoften, as we shall see in these pages, the protector of theoppressed English. 

Lanfranc was seated with his episcopal brother in the embrasure ofa deep window, looking out upon the cathedral close of Canterbury. 

"It was sad, indeed, my brother, " said the archbishop. "I scarcelyhave known a sadder day than that of my installation. The cathedralwhich thou seest slowly rising from its ruins yonder, had beendestroyed by fire, with all its ornaments, charters, and titledeeds. One would think that the heathen Danes had once moreoverspread the land, instead of our own Christian countrymen. "

"And yet we two are answerable to some extent for this conquest. Without thee it had never been; thou didst gain the sanction of thePope and then preach it as a crusade. I followed the army toHastings, absolved the troops, and blessed its banners on the dayof the great victory. "

"Heaven grant we may not have done wrong; but the sheep arescattered abroad, as when a wolf entereth the fold. "

"Thou mayest yet be the means of reconciling the conquerors and theconquered--the Church is their natural mediator. "

"God helping me, I will do justice between them; but the task is aheavy one--it is hard, nay, terrible, to stand against the will ofthis Conqueror. "

"For this cause, perhaps, thou, who fearest not the face of man, art chosen of Heaven. "

A low knock at the door interrupted them. 

"Enter, " cried Lanfranc; and a monk of the Benedictine order, whodischarged the duty of chamberlain, appeared. 

"A brother of our order craves an audience. "

It must be remembered that Lanfranc was the abbot of a Benedictinemonastery ere he was called to Canterbury {xxiii}. 

"Is he English or Norman? Hath he told thee his errand?"

"English. He hath travelled far, and says that his errand is one oflife or death. "

"Let him enter, " said the primate. 

A man in a faded Benedictine habit, evidently spent with travel, appeared at the door. His beard was of long growth, his hair wasuncombed, and his whole appearance that of a man who had passedthrough perils of no small difficulty and danger. 

Lanfranc gazed fixedly at him, and seemed to strive to read hischaracter in his face. 

"Pax tibi, frater; I perceive thou art of our order. At whatmonastery hast thou made thy profession?"

"At the priory of St. Wilfred, Aescendune, " said Father Kenelm, forit was he, as he bent the knee to the primate. 

"A pious and learned home, doubtless, but its fame has not reachedmy ears. "

"But it has mine, " said Geoffrey, who started and listened withgreat attention. 

"It was founded and enriched by Offa, thane of that domain, in theyear of grace 940, and burnt in the second year of our misery, nowthree years agone. In its place stood for a short time the prioryof St. Denys. "

"Thou mayest well say 'stood, '" interrupted Geoffrey, "for I hearthat it has also been destroyed by fire. "

"By fire also?" said the astonished Lanfranc. 

"It is a sad and tragical story, " replied Geoffrey, "and it wouldweary you and sadden me to relate it now. Bloodshed and all thehorrors of midnight rapine and warfare are mingled in it, and thereis a deep mystery yet unsolved. Tell me, my brother, wert thou aninmate of St. Wilfred's priory when it was so mysteriouslydestroyed?"

"I was. "

"And how didst thou escape?"

"Our prior, the sainted Elphege, despatched me to some of our poorflock, who had taken refuge in the woods, that I might commit onedeeply loved to their care. "

"His name?"

"Wilfred of Aescendune. It is on his behalf that I have sought hisgrace the new archbishop, led by his reputation for charity andjustice, but hardly expecting to meet any one here who knew thestory of our misfortunes and wrongs. "

"Thou wilt wonder less, perhaps, if thou lookest at me a littlemore closely. Dost thou not remember Geoffrey, Bishop of Coutances, who married Winifred of Aescendune to Hugo de Malville?"

"I do, indeed; and marvel, my lord, " said he, "that I recognisedthee not at once; I bear a letter for thee written by hands longsince ashes--by our good Prior Elphege, the night before themonastery was burned. "

"Tell me, my brother, " said Geoffrey, as he took the letter, "dostthou know who burnt the monastery?"

"I do. "

"Who, then? All the world names the youth thou didst save. "

"Who would accuse the lamb of devouring the wolf? Hugo, sometimebaron of Aescendune, did the accursed deed. "

"Canst thou prove it?"

"When thou hast read the letter, I have yet another document forthee. I had brought both here to submit to my lord of Canterbury. "

It was startling to watch Geoffrey as he read the parchment, thevery hairs of his head seemed to erect themselves, and his colourchanged from pale to red, from red to pale again. 

"My brother, " said Lanfranc, "what dost thou read which sodisturbeth thee?"

"Read it thyself, " said he, giving the letter which he had finishedto the primate. "It purports to be the copy of a letter addressedto me three years ago, when I was at Oxenford, but which neverreached me. Oh, what a story of damnable guilt! Tell me, man, wheredidst thou obtain this?"

"I saw the original written by him, whose name it bears at thefoot, and at his request took this copy, which he has attested byhis name, for I was the chief calligrapher of the house of St. Wilfred. It was his last act and deed on earth: within a few hourshe perished in the flames which consumed our poor dwelling. "

Here Father Kenelm, not without emotion, handed a second parchmentto Geoffrey. 

"And this?" said he of Coutances, interrogatively. 

"Is the confession of a dying Norman, which he has attested by hismark, for he could not write his name. I heard his last confession, when, to remove the stain of guilt from the innocent, he made mewrite this statement, and signed it as best he could. "

"How didst thou get hold of this, brother?" said the Bishop ofCoutances, feeling himself, to use the expression of the writer, "sick with horror. "

"Thou hast heard, my lord, of the destruction of Baron Hugo in theDismal Swamp?"

"Surely; I was at Abingdon when his son Etienne brought the news. "

"Only one who entered that swamp, so far as I know, escaped. Halfburnt, he dragged himself out, on our side, from the awfulconflagration, and hid himself till eventide in the woods, suffering greatly. 

"That day I had guided young Etienne de Malville from hisconcealment in our midst, to liberty and safety, and as I returnedI heard the groans of a man in severe pain, but which seemed a longdistance away, borne on the night winds which swept the forest. Guided by the sound, I found Guy, son of Roger, and tended him as Ihad tended the son of the wicked baron. He lingered a few days, andthen died of his injuries, leaving me this confession, as his lastact and deed, with full liberty to divulge it when a fitting dayshould arrive. "

"But why hast thou not done so before?"

"Because it was not needed; nor could I leave my refuge in thewoods, where I had my own little flock to attend to, the few poorsheep saved from the Norman wolf. Pardon me, for ye are Normans. "

"We are Benedictines, " said Lanfranc, reprovingly; "English orNormans, the children of our father Benedict are brethren, even asthere is neither Jew nor Gentile, bond nor free, in Christ. "

"But why hast thou now come?" said Geoffrey. 

"Hast thou not heard that the Camp of Refuge has fallen?"

"And what then?"

"Wilfred of Aescendune was a refugee therein. "

"And is he taken?"

"He was sent, together with Egelwin, Bishop of Durham, as prisonerto Abingdon, and will be brought to trial, when William arrivesthere next week, and, unless thou savest him, will undoubtedly diethe death. "

"He shall not die, " said Geoffrey, "if we can save him. Williammust acquit him if he hear all. "

"Acquit him, yes, " said Lanfranc, "of sacrilege and parricide; butnot, I fear, of the guilt of rebellion against his lawful king{xxiv}. "

"At least, if he must die, let him die freed from the supposedguilt of such awful sacrilege, and let men know to what kind offather King William committed the innocent English lad. "

"Most certainly: if we cannot save him from the consequences of hisrash appeal to the sword, we will yet save him from the cord, orworse, the stake, which might be thought the not inappropriatepenalty of the destruction of two successive houses of God byfire. "

"The stake! it is too horrible to think of!" said the monk; "thankGod I have not sought thee in vain. Forgive me, my lord, but thelad is very dear to me. "

"Nor is my own interest much less keen in him, " said Geoffrey. "Ifirst met him at Senlac, where he sought his father's corpse amidstthe slain, and since that time have watched his tragic career notwithout grief. "

"But one question remains, " spake Lanfranc. "The documents will bedisputed: how shall we prove them genuine?"

"There is much internal evidence; but may not some of the witnessesof the crimes be living? For instance, the Jew, Abraham of Toledo, he who sold the poisons to Hugo?" said Geoffrey. 

"He shall be sought for, " replied Lanfranc. "Meanwhile, FatherKenelm, thou art my guest, and I must at once commend you to thechamberlain, who will supply all your wants. You need food andrest. "

Bowing humbly--his heart full of gratitude--the good oldBenedictine followed the chamberlain, who appeared at the summonsof the primate, to more comfortable lodgings and better fare thanhe had known for years. 

CHAPTER XXII. THE CHAPTER HOUSE OF ABINGDON. 

On the morrow of Michaelmas, in the year of grace 1071, an imposinggroup of warriors and ecclesiastics was gathered in the chapterhouse of the ancient Abbey of Abingdon. 

The chamber in question was of rectangular form, but terminated atthe eastern end in an apse, where, beneath a column with radiatingarches, was the throne of the Lord Abbot. 

A stone seat encompassed the other three sides of the building, cushions interposing, however, between the person and the barestone beneath, as was meet. 

The walls were arcaded, so as to form stalls, and in the arcadeswere pictures of the Saints of the order, in glowing colours--St. Benedict occupying the place of honour. Nor was St. Dunstan, themost noted of English Benedictines, unrepresented. 

A light burned perpetually in the midst of this chamber, framed soas to image a tongue of fire, emblem of Him, whose inspiration wassought at the gatherings of the chapter for deliberation. 

Here novices were admitted and monastic punishment administered, while penitential chambers adjoined, to which offenders were takenafter sentence had been delivered. 

It was just after the chapter mass, and the fourth hour of the day. 

William sat in the abbot's chair; on his right band Lanfranchimself--for the Benedictine order was deeply interested in theinvestigation about to be made. The abbot and all the elderbrethren were present, and sat on the right or northern side of thebuilding. Next the abbot sat Geoffrey of Coutances; amidst thebrethren was Father Kenelm. 

But on the other side sat William's principal nobles and courtiers, to whom reference has been made in former chapters--De la Pole, Arundel, Clyfford, Fitz-Maurice, Hastings, Maltravers, Peverill, Talbot, Harcourt, and many others--some of then grey-headed--inarms. 

Odo of Bayeux and Fitz-Osborne were there likewise, as also Robertof Mortain and Pevensey. 

A large coffer, called "the trunk, " not unlike the box in whichprisoners appear in modern courts of justice, stood in the midst;and therein, pale with illness and worn by mental distress, yetstill undaunted in the spirit, stood Wilfred of Aescendune. 

Poor Wilfred! he needed all his courage, for he stood almost alone, a mere youth, amidst many enemies. At the most there were but threehearts present which beat with any sympathy for him. 

Lanfranc had, however, possessed the king with certain generalfacts, which disposed William to give the accused a patienthearing, and when his "starkness" was not roused, William could bejust. 

And so Wilfred, his face pale, his lips compressed, his handsclasped upon the desk before him, gazed into the face of this awfulConqueror, whose frown so few dared to meet--the very incarnationof brute force and mental daring combined. 

On his head was the crown of England, which he wore only on stateoccasions, four times yearly as a rule, at certain great festivals. One of these had just been held at Abingdon, and on this occasion, as we see, he again assumed it. The sceptre was borne beneath by apage who stood by his side. 

William's voice first broke the silence--a stern, deep voice. 

"Wilfred of Aescendune, we have chosen to hear thy defence inperson--if thou hast any defence becoming thee to make and us tohear. "

"Of what am I accused?" said the prisoner. 

It was noticed that he omitted the royal title. 

"Of rebellion, parricide, and sacrilege. "

"I admit that I have fought against the invaders of my country, andam nowise ashamed of it, " said the brave youth, in a tone which, without being defiant, was yet manly; "but I deny, as base andwicked lies, the other charges made against me. "

"Thou ownest thy rebellion?"

"I own that I have fought against thy people and thee; but I havenever sworn allegiance. Thou art not my rightful sovereign, andhence I do not acknowledge the guilt of rebellion. "

There was a general murmur of indignation, which William repressed. 

"Peace, my lords; peace, churchmen. We are not moved by a boy'srhetoric. The facts lie on the surface, and we need not enquirewhether one is truly a rebel who was taken red-handed in theso-called 'Camp of Refuge;' nor do we deign to discuss thoserights, which Christendom acknowledges, with our subjects. Thequestion is this: Does the youth simply merit the lighter doom of arebel, or the far heavier one of a parricide and a sacrilegiousincendiary?"

"Parricide!" exclaimed the indignant prisoner. "My father, morefortunate than I, died fighting against thee at Senlac. "

"Hugo of Aescendune and Malville was nevertheless thy father byadoption; and by the law of civilised nations, carried with thatadoption the rights and prerogatives of a sire. But we waste time. Herald, summon the accuser. "

"Etienne de Malville et Aescendune, enter!" cried the herald of thecourt. 

And Etienne appeared, dressed in sable mourning, and bowed beforethe throne. He was pale, too, if that sallow colour, whicholive-like complexions like his assume when wrought upon, can becalled pale. He cast upon Wilfred one glance of intense hatred, andthen, looking down respectfully, awaited the words of theConqueror. 

"Etienne de Malville, dost thou appear as the accuser of thisprisoner?"

"I do. "

"Take thine oath, then, upon the Holy Gospels, only to speak thetruth; my Lord Archbishop will administer it. "

Lanfranc administered the oath, much as it is done in courts ofjustice nowadays, but with peculiar solemnity of manner. 

Etienne repeated the words very solemnly and distinctly. No onedoubted, or could doubt, his sincerity. 

"Of what crimes dost thou accuse the prisoner?"

"Parricide, in that he hath compassed the death of his adoptivefather; sacrilege, in that he burnt the priory of St. Wilfred withall the monks therein, and later the Priory of St. Denys, fromwhich the inmates had happily escaped, and in support of thisaccusation I am ready to wager my body in the lists, if the King soallow. "

"We do not risk thy safety against one who is already proved guiltyof rebellion, and who is not of knightly rank like thyself. "

(Etienne had duly received knighthood after the taking of the Campof Refuge. )

"This is a question of evidence. State thy case. "

Etienne spake clearly and well; and as he told the story of thedestruction of the priory of St. Wilfred, of the subsequentappearance of our hero in the woods at the head of the outlaws, andthe later conflagrations, there were few who did not think that hehad proved his case, so far as it admitted of proof. 

"We will now hear thy story of the destruction of the priory, andthe manner in which thou didst escape from it, " said the Conquerorto Wilfred. 

Wilfred spoke good Norman French, thanks to his early education, incompany with Etienne and the other pages, after the Conquest. So hebegan his story lucidly, but not without some emotion, which hestrove in vain to suppress. 

"Normans, " he said, "I would not defend myself against this foulcharge to save my forfeit life, nor could I hope to save it. Yehave met like wolves to judge a stag, and since ye have taken fromme all that makes life dear, I refuse not to die; only I would diewith honour, and hence I strive, speaking but the words of truth, to remove the stain which my enemy there" (he turned and pointed atEtienne) "has cast upon my honour, for I am of a house that hasnever known shame, and would not disgrace it in my person. 

"I submitted to the father ye Normans gave me, and bore all thewrongs he and his heaped upon me, until the day when I discoveredin that father" (he pronounced the word with the deepest scorn)"the murderer of my own mother. "

A general burst of incredulity, followed by an indignant andscornful denial from Etienne. 

"Silence, " said a stern voice, "this is not a hostelry; theprisoner has the right of speech and the ear of the judge; only, Englishman, be careful what thou sayest. "

"I repeat the simple fact, my lord" (this was the only titleWilfred would give the King); "the baron, whom ye are pleasedsportively to call my father, poisoned my own mother. "

"Poisoned! poisoned! My liege, can this be endured?"

"Hear him to the end, and then, if he have spoken without proof, itwill be time to pronounce his aggravated sentence. SILENCE!"

Wilfred continued, and told the whole story as our readers know it, until his arrival at the Dismal Swamp. He described all that hadpassed so clearly that his foes became interested in spite ofthemselves, and listened. He did not charge Hugo with the burningof the priory, for he had no evidence to sustain the charge, beingonly aware that such was at hand to be produced by others; as hehad learnt from Father Kenelm, who had been granted admittance tohis cell. 

At length he finished in these words:

"And now I have told you all the truth, and if ye will not believeme, but prefer to think I betrayed those to death I loved sodearly, I cannot help myself; but if there be a God, and a judgmentday--as ye all profess to believe--I appeal to that God and thatday, knowing that my innocence will then be made clear. That Ifought with them who slew the baron I freely admit, and hold myselfjustified, as ye must, if ye believe my story; but I myselfprotected the monks of your kindred, albeit they had taken theplaces of better men than themselves, and not one was harmed; andwhen we fled, we burnt castle, priory, and village, withoutdistinction, that they might not shelter an enemy. This, too, Ihold to be lawful in war. 

"I know that Englishmen find scant justice at Norman hands, andthat ye will slay me as a rebel. Do so, and I will thank you; onlydefile not the memory--slay not the reputation as well as the body. If the house of Aescendune, which was planted in this land when yeNormans were but pagan Danes, is to perish, let it at least gounsullied to its grave. I have spoken. "

There was strong sensation. His speech had produced some reactionin his favour. 

"It is, as we said before, a question of evidence, " said the King. "Is any forthcoming on one side or the other? for as yet neitherparty has really shown who burnt the priory and the monks therein. We have only assumptions, and they are not facts. "

Lanfranc looked at the King, as if asking permission to speak. TheKing bent his head, and the Archbishop began, addressing Etienne:

"Amongst the followers of thy father, was there a warrior namedGuy, son of Roger, born at Malville?"

"There was. "

"Didst thou know him well?"

"Intimately. "

"What became of him?"

"He was lost when my father perished--faithful, doubtless, to thelast. "

"Didst thou ever see his mark as a witness to any charter, or thelike?"

"I did; instead of making a cross, he preferred to draw a bow. "

"Wouldst thou recognise it, then?"

"I should, indeed. "

"Then, " said the Archbishop, holding a parchment folded up so as toconceal all but the name and the mark of a bow beside it, "dostthou know this mark?"

"I do; it is the mark of Guy, the son of Roger. "

"Do ye all, " said Lanfranc, turning round, "hear his affirmation?"

"We do--"

"Then hear what the paper contains. "

I, Guy, son of Roger, born at Malville, being a dying man, andabout to meet my God, do make this, my last confession, for thesafety of my poor soul. 

In the summer of the year 1068, in the mouth of June, I, withtwenty other men, who have, so far as I know, perished by firs inthe Dismal Swamp, was summoned to wait upon the Baron of Aescendunein a private chamber. He told us that the honour of his housedepended upon us, and asked us whether we were willing to stand byhim in his necessity. He had selected us well. We were born on hisNorman estates, and trained up from childhood to do his will, andthat of the devil. We all promised to do whatever he should ask, and to keep the matter a secret. 

Then he told us that we were to burn the Priory of St. Wilfred atmidnight, and to allow none to escape. 

This we did, we took possession silently of every exit, piled upwood and straw, set it on fire on every side at once, andtransfixed all those who tried to break out with arrows or lances, and hurled them back into the flames. 

Long has my soul been sick with horror that I slew these holy men, and now that all who were my companions in this deed have perishedby God's just judgment--burnt alive even as they burned--I, willingto save my soul from the everlasting flame, do make this mypenitent confession, praying God to have mercy upon my soul. 

Given in the Dismal Swamp, in the month of June, 1068. 

CHAPTER XXIII. "GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY. "

A dead silence followed the reading of the dying confession of Guy, son of Roger. 

The mighty Conqueror looked around, as if he would read men'shearts. 

Etienne de Malville was flushed, and seemed ready to sink into theearth for shame, as though he himself were responsible for theguilt of his father. 

Wilfred of Aescendune, on the other hand, looked like one whoseinnocence was vindicated; there was an expression of joy on hisface--joy, however, so tempered by other feelings, that it couldnot be called exultation. 

"It is a forgery--a vile and shameful forgery, " cried Etienne. 

"Thou didst thyself recognise the mark, " said the king sternly. "Wepardon thine excitement, but do not forget the presence of thineelders. "

"Can I sit thus tamely, and hear my dead father accused of thevilest crimes?"

"Justice shall be done his memory--justice, neither more nor less, "said the Conqueror sternly. 

"I claim, then, my privilege to meet the accuser in knightlycombat. "

"The accuser is dead. Wilt thou go to purgatory to meet him? for wetrust his penitence has saved him from going farther and faringworse. Keep silence, and do not further interrupt the course ofjustice. We can pity thee, believing thee to be incapable of suchdeeds thyself. "

Then, turning to the court:

"Is there any other evidence, verbal or written, bearing upon thisquestion?"

"There is, my liege, " said Bishop Geoffrey. 

"What is it?"

"A letter addressed to me by the murdered prior of St. Wilfred'sPriory, who perished in the flames on the fatal night of which wehave heard so much. "

"Its date?"

"The night in Ascensiontide, three years agone, in which theprisoner left his stepfather's protection and made a vain attemptto reach me at Oxenford, striving to bear the missive of which thisis a copy. "

"And the original?"

"Fell into the possession of the late baron, his stepfather, afterEustace, Count of Blois, had borne the lad back again by force. "

"Hast thou satisfied thyself of the authenticity of the copy?"

"I have; it was attested by Prior Elphege himself, in the presenceof the Benedictine from whom I received it. "

"Then read the letter. "

And amidst breathless attention, Geoffrey read:

Elphege, prior of the house of St. Wilfred at Aescendune, to thenoble prelate Geoffrey, Bishop of Coutances, now resident atOxenford, sendeth greeting. 

It will not have escaped thy remembrance, most holy father in God, that on the fatal field of Senlac--fatal, that is, to mycountrymen, for I am not ashamed to call myself an Englishman--thoudidst favourably notice a youth, who sought and found his father'sdead body, by name Wilfred, son of Edmund of Aescendune. 

Nor wilt thou forget that thou didst intercede for the boy that hemight retain his ancestral possessions, which boon thou didst onlyobtain at the cost of his widowed mother's marriage with Hugo, Lordof Malville, outre mer. 

It was then settled that the two boys, Etienne de Melville andWilfred of Aescendune, thereby thrown together, should each inheritthe lands and honours of their respective sires; but that, shouldthe latter die, the united estates should fall to Etienne deMalville, did he still survive. 

In this arrangement, we naturally saw danger to our own preciouscharge--for our spiritual child he was--Wilfred of Aescendune. 

His mother died the year after the Conquest, and passed, as wethought, happily from a world of sin and sorrow. 

The boy, at first disconsolate with grief, recovered his health andspirits after awhile, and if allowed to live, might assuredly growto man's estate, and perpetuate his ancient line. 

If allowed, I say, for we have just received evidence that themother was poisoned, and we tremble with horror lest the boy shouldshare her fate. 

This evidence is in the form of a dying confession, which, at therequest of the poor penitent, we have written with pen and ink. 

When thou hast read it, for the love of God and of His saints, especially of our father Benedict, stretch forth thine hand andprotect the unhappy bearer, the youthful lord of Aescendune. 

We commend him with all confidence to thy care. 

Given at St. Wilfred's priory, in the octave of Ascension, 1068. 

"Hear ye the confession enclosed, " said Geoffrey. 

It is five years since I fled the face of my lord, Edmund ofAescendune, for I had slain his red deer, and sold them for filthylucre, and I feared to meet his face; so I fled to the great city, even London, where I was like to starve, till a Jew, who saw mydistress, took pity on me, and gave me shelter. 

His name was Abraham of Toledo, and he was mighty in magic arts, and in compounding of deadly drugs to slay, or medicines to keepalive. He made me his servant, and I, albeit a Christian man, soonlearned to do the bidding of the devil at his command. 

One day there came a Norman noble, and bought of my master aliquid, which would cause those who drank but one drop, daily, todie of deadly decline within the year. I heard the bargain made asI was compounding some drugs within a recess of my master'schamber. No sooner was the man gone than Abraham descended thestairs, calling for me. I managed to reach him without raising hissuspicions, when he bade me follow the retreating stranger, not yetout of sight in the gloom, and learn his name. I did so; it wasHugo de Malville, the new lord of Aescendune. 

I knew of his marriage, and felt sure whom he wanted to destroy;but I dared not show myself at home. At length an incurable diseaseseized me, and I determined to unburden my conscience, and draggedmyself here, only to learn that the sweet lady of Aescendune haddied within the year, with all the symptoms of rapid decline, andupon my sod I charge Hugo de Malville with the murder. 

Given in the infirmary of the house of St. Wilfred, in the month ofMay, 1068. 

This dying confession was made in our hearing this day. 

Elphege, Prior. 

Ceadda, Sub-Prior, Tuesday in Oct. , Asc. , in the year of grace, 1068. 

After a moment's silence, Odo of Bayeux, the Conqueror's halfbrother, and a hateful oppressor of the poor English, rose up:

"This letter does not afford any absolute proof of the guilt of ourdeparted brother in arms, Hugo of Aescendune. He may have boughtthe liquid; there is no proof he administered it--people die ofdecline daily. "

"May I produce and question a witness before the court, " saidGeoffrey, "in the absence of the prisoner?"

"Certainly, " replied William. 

A signal was given to an expectant usher of the court. Wilfred wasled out, and in a few moments two wardens entered in charge ofanother prisoner. 

He was tall and haggard; a long beard descended to his waist. Hispeculiar nose--the most marked characteristic of his race, long andbeak-shaped, yet not exactly aquiline--marked the Jew. He lookedanxiously around. 

"Thou art Abraham of Toledo?"

The Hebrew bowed submissively. 

"A compounder of poisons?"

"Say rather of medicines, lord; for the making of one is therule--of the other, the exception. "

"Thou dost not deny the accusation, which places thy life at themercy of the court?"

"I will own all, and throw myself on its mercy, trusting that therelief I have oft afforded in bodily anguish, maybe allowed toatone, in its measure, for any aid my fears may have driven me tolend to crime. "

"It is thine only chance, Jew, to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. "

"I am at your lordship's disposal. "

"Didst thou ever deal with Hugo, sometime lord of Malville. Andafterwards of Aescendune?"

"Once only. "

"On what occasion?"

"He sought a medicine. "

"A medicine?" said Geoffrey, sternly; "thou triflest. "

"Nay!--a poison, I would have said. "

"Of what specific nature?"

"To produce the symptoms of decline--the patient would sink anddie. "

"What was the appearance of the poison?"

"Dropped in water it diffused at first a sapphire hue, but afterexposure to the air the hue of the ruby succeeded. "

"Didst thou know the purpose for which he bought the drug?"

"My lord, I did not, nor do I know now; my humble occupations donot lead me amongst the mighty of the land, save when they seek myhumble shop. "

"Still thine offence, Jew, " said the stern voice of the Conqueror, "is a damnable one, and lendest itself readily to the purposes ofcrime. 

"Let the unbeliever be removed in custody. 

"My lord of Canterbury, he is a heretic--perchance a sorcerer; letthe Church see to him. "

And so the poor Jew was removed to his dungeon. 

"And now with your favour, " said Geoffrey, "I would ask a fewquestions of the prisoner, in your presence. "

"The permission is given, " said William. 

Wilfred was again conducted before the court. 

"Thou hast dared to brand thy late stepfather as the poisoner ofthy mother; wilt thou state any cause or justification thou mayesthave, over and above that indicated by the letter and confession wehave read?"

"I did not dream of such guilt before I heard that confession, months after the death of my mother. "

"Hadst thou ever seen medicine administered to her?"

"Frequently, by the baron her second husband himself. He called itthe elixir of life, and stated he had obtained it at a high price, from a noted Jewish physician. "

"What was its colour?"

"A drop only was let fall into water, which it tinged with agreenish hue, as of a sapphire. "

"Didst thou mark any peculiarity?"

"On one occasion, when, owing to very sudden sickness, the medicinewas not taken, my sister and I marked with surprise, that themedicine thus diluted had changed to a crimson colour. "

General sensation. Etienne hid his face in his mantle; thechurchman and nobles conferred together. William spoke:

"Thou hast thy lesson perfect, boy. Didst thou ever see this JewAbraham?"

"Never; or he had not lived to tell thee. "

"Then there is no possible collusion between the witnesses--Iappeal to thee, my lord of Coutances?"

"None; I will answer for it as a bishop. It was a providentialthought, which led me to interrogate the Jew respecting theappearance of the medicine, and one utterly unpremeditated. "

"Remove the prisoner, " said the king. 

While Wilfred was absent, William conferred with his lordsspiritual and temporal. This was no court wherein the popularelement found place; the whole issue of the trial lay with themighty chieftain--the rest were but his consultees. 

We will not record the deliberations, only their result. 

After half an hour had passed--a time of dread suspense to theprisoner--Wilfred was again summoned to the bar. 

William addressed him:

"We have duly considered thy case, Wilfred of Aescendune, and fullyacquit thee of the guilt of sacrilege, while we also admit thatthere were causes, which might go far to justify thy rebellionagainst thy stepfather, and to mitigate the guilt of armedresistance to thy king. 

"We are not met to judge thy stepfather; he has been called to ahigher and an unerring tribunal, and there we leave him, satisfiedthat the Judge of all the earth will do right. 

"For thee--the guilt of rebellion and of bearing arms against thyking for three whole years has to be expiated; but if thou artwilling to take the oath of allegiance on the spot, and bindthyself to discharge the duties of a subject to his king, we willconsider thy case favourably, and perchance restore thee, undercertain conditions, to thy ancestral possessions. Speak, whatsayest thou--dost thou hesitate?"

Every eye was fixed on the prisoner. 

He stood there, firm as a rock, and looked bravely into that facewhose frown so few could bear. 

"My lord of Normandy, " he said, "by birth I owe thee no allegiance, and I cannot acknowledge that thy masterful and bloody conquest ofan unoffending people has given thee any right to demand it. Icannot betray the cause for which my father bled and died, or allymyself to my mother's murderers. You have acquitted me of deeperguilt. I can now die for my country without shame. "

The Conqueror heard him patiently to the end. 

"Thou knowest, then, thine inevitable fate?"

"I accept it. Ye have robbed me of all which made life worthliving. "

"Thou must die, then: but we spare thee torture or mutilation. Prepare to meet the headsman within the castle yard, at the thirdsun-rising after this day--

"and, my lord of Coutances, since you have taken so much interestin this young English rebel, we charge thee with the welfare of hissoul. "

And the court broke up. 

CHAPTER XXIV. THE CASTLE OF OXFORD. 

"It is the crime and not the scaffold makesThe headsman's death a shame. "

Wilfred sat alone in an upper chamber of the donjon tower theConqueror had erected at Oxford, hard by the mound thrown up byEthelfleda, lady of the Mercians and daughter of Alfred. Forthither the king had caused him to be removed, unwilling to stainthe holy precincts of Abingdon with a deed of blood, and confidingfully in Robert d'Oyly, the governor of his new castle. 

The passage up the river had occupied two full hours, under thecare of trusty and able rowers; for the stream was swift in thosedays, before locks checked its course, as we have stated elsewhere. 

Under the woods of Newenham, past the old Anglo-Saxon churches ofSandford and Iffley, up the right-hand channel of the stream justbelow the city, and so to the landing place beneath the old tower{xxv}. 

William had given orders to treat our Wilfred with all possibleconsideration, and to allow him every indulgence, which did notmilitate against his safe keeping, for he admired, even while hefelt it necessary to slay. So he was not thrust into a dungeon, butconfined in an upper chamber, where a grated window, at a greatheight, afforded him a fair view of that world he was about toleave for ever. 

"Ah! if I were but in those woods, " sighed the prisoner to himself, "I would give these Normans some trouble to catch me again; but thepoor bird can only beat himself against the cruel bars of hiscage. "

He counted the hours. It was the evening of his condemnation; twowhole days, followed by a feverish night, and then when that nextsun arose--

Strange thoughts began to arise--what sort of axe would theyuse?--who would be there?--would they bind his eyes?--would he haveto kneel on the stones?--what kind of block would they use?

Little trifling details like these forced themselves upon him, evenas an artist represents each humble detail in a finished picture. 

Did he repent that he had refused life and Aescendune? No, he hatedthe Normans with too profound a hatred. 

Was he prepared to die? We are sorry to record that he shook offevery thought of the future. God had delivered the English into thehands of the Normans--his father and mother had been good religiouspeople, and what had they got by it? If there was a God, why weresuch cruelties allowed to exist unavenged? He and His saints mustbe asleep. Such were the wicked thoughts which arose, as we grieveto record, in poor Wilfred's mind. 

But now heavy steps were heard ascending the stairs, and soonLanfranc, conducted by the Norman governor, entered the cell. 

Against him Wilfred could not, in reason, feel the enmity he boreto all others of Norman race; it was owing to his exertions, and tothose of Geoffrey of Coutances, that he was about to die as apatriot, and not as a sacrilegious incendiary. 

It was the object of this worthy prelate to save the soul, where hehad failed to save the body, and to direct the thoughts of thecondemned one to Him, who Himself hung like a criminal betweenearth and heaven, that He might save all who would put their trustin Him. 

The great obstacle in Wilfred's mind was his inability to forgive. This his visitor soon perceived, and by the example of those dyingwords, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do, " hegently impressed upon the penitent the duty of forgiving those whohad wronged him--however deeply. 

"But how can I forgive the murderers of my mother?"

"Thou believest that mother is in Paradise?"

"Indeed I do. "

"Dost thou not wish to be with her at last?"

"As the hart desireth the water brooks. "

"Then ask thyself what she would have thee do. Canst thou hope forthe pardon of thine own grievous sins, unless thou dost firstforgive all who have offended thee?"

"I will try. See me again tomorrow, father. "

"I will do so: I remain at St. Frideswide's for--a day or two. "

Wilfred understood the hesitation. 

A different scene transpired simultaneously in the dungeons below, which, with their accustomed ruthless policy, the Normans hadhollowed out of the soil. 

The Jew, Abraham of Toledo, was resting uneasily, full offears--which experience too well justified--as to his personalsafety in this den of lions, when he also heard steps, this timedescending the stairs, and Geoffrey of Coutances was ushered in. 

"Leave the cell, " said the bishop to the gaoler, "but remain in thepassage. Close the door; I would speak with this penitent, as Itrust he will prove, in private. "

"Never fear, your holiness, " said the gaoler with somewhat unduefamiliarity; "I care little for a Jew's patter, and this fellowwill need a long shrift before they make a roast of him--for that, I suppose, will be the end of it. "

The door slammed. 

It was a miserable cell, composed of rough stones, lately puttogether, oozing with the moisture from the damp soil around, forthe river was close by and the dungeon beneath its level. 

"Art thou prepared to meet thy fitting end?"

"What crime have I committed to deserve death?"

"Thou hast knowingly and wilfully abetted, not one but manypoisoners, and the stake is the fitting doom for thee and them. "

"Oh! not the stake, God of Abraham. If ye must slay, at least sparethe agonising flames; but what mercy can we hope for, we faithfulchildren of Abraham, from Nazarenes?"

"What price art thou willing to pay for thy forfeit life, if thysentence is commuted to exile from this land?"

"Price? Canst thou mean it? I will fill thy chambers with gold. "

"I seek it not--albeit, " added the worthy bishop, "some were fitlybestowed on the poor--but that thou, whose former crime hastbrought a worthy youth to the block, shouldst undo the mischief asfar as thou art able. "

"But what can I do? who would heed me?"

"Dost thou not know of a drug, which shall throw the drinkerthereof into a trance, so like death that all shall believe himdead?"

"I do indeed. "

"And art thou sure of thy power to revive the sleeper from thisseeming death, after the lapse of days--after men have committedhim as a corpse to the tomb?"

"I can do so with facility if I have the necessary drugs; but I amstripped of all. Were I in London--"

"Hast thou no brethren in Oxenford?"

"Yea, verily, I remember Zacharias the Jew, who lives hard by theriver, in the parish of St. Ebba. "

"Canst thou trust him with thy life?"

"He is a brother. "

"Ye are better brothers than many Christians. I will send him tothee, and he shall supply thee with the necessary medicaments. Ifthe experiment succeed, and absolute secrecy be observed, I willcause thy sentence to be commuted to banishment, with theforfeiture of some portion of thine ill-gotten goods; otherwisethere remaineth but the stake. "

And Geoffrey of Coutances departed. 

An hour later, Zacharias of St. Ebba's parish entered; the twoconferred a long time--Zacharias departed--returned again--and inthe evening of the following day sought the bishop and placed apacket in his hand. 

It was the last night on which poor Wilfred was allowed by Normanmercy to live. The archbishop was with him. 

He was penitent and resigned; his last confession was made, and itwas arranged that on the morrow he should receive the HolyCommunion at St. George's Chapel, within the precincts, from thehands of Lanfranc, ere led forth to die, as now ordered, upon thatmound the visitor to Oxford still beholds, hard by that same donjontower. 

"I thank thee, father, " he said to Lanfranc--"I thank thee for thehope thou hast given me of meeting those I have lost, in a betterand brighter world. "

"Thou diest penitent for thy sins, and forgiving thy foes?"

"I do, indeed; it has been a struggle, but thou hast conquered. "

"Not I, but Divine grace;" and the mighty prelate turned aside tohide a tear. 

Another visitor was announced, and Geoffrey of Coutances drew near. 

"Thou art resigned, my Wilfred?"

"I am, by God's grace. "

"Yet thou lookest feeble and ill. Drink this tonic; it will givethee strength to play the man tomorrow. "

He emptied the contents of a phial into a small cup of water. Wilfred drank it up. 

"And now, my son, hast thou any message to leave behind thee?"

"When thou seest Etienne, tell him I forgive, as I trust heforgives also--we have much to pardon each other--and beg him to bea merciful lord to such poor English as yet dwell in Aescendune. "

"I will, indeed, and so second your last appeal that I doubt not toprevail. "

"And my sister--Hugo sent her, as he said, to be educated in theconvent of The Holy Trinity at Caen; convey her my last love, and alock of hair as a memento of her only brother. Poor Editha! shewill be alone now. Thou wilt care for her future fortunes; she hasa claim on the lands of Aescendune. Oh, Aescendune!--bright sky, verdant fields, deep forest glades, pleasant river--thou passest toNorman hands now. "

It was the last moment of weakness. 

"May I lie there beside my father?"

"Yes, thou shalt, " said Lanfranc. 

"After many years, " muttered Geoffrey to himself, for he had asecret, which he concealed from his more scrupulous brother. 

Lanfranc rose to depart. 

"Commend thyself to God in prayer; then sleep and dream ofParadise. I will be with thee ere the October dawn. "

And Lanfranc departed. 

"How dost thou feel, my son?" said Geoffrey. 

"Well, but strangely sleepy, as if control were leaving me and myframe not my own. Was it a strengthening dose thou gavest me?"

"One which will, perchance, save thee. Lie on this bed; now sleepif thou wilt--thou wilt arise the better for it. "

And in a few minutes, all anxiety forgotten, Wilfred slept--sleptheavily. Geoffrey watched him awhile, then departed. 

The morrow, and a great multitude of spectators had arrangedthemselves around the slopes of the mound, just before sunrise. 

On the tower itself stood Etienne de Malville, eager to see the endof his hated rival, and to make sure, by ocular evidence, of hisdeath. 

The morning was clear, after high dawn. The spectator on the towerlooked towards the eastern hills, over the valley of the Cherwell, to see the sun arise above the heights of Headington. 

It came at last--the signal of death: a huge arc of fire, changingrapidly into a semi-circle, and then into a globe. All the earthrejoiced around, but a shudder passed through the crowd. 

The headsman leaned upon his axe, but no procession yet approached. 

The sun was now a quarter of an hour high, when a murmur passedthrough the crowd that something had happened. At length the murmurdeepened into a report that Wilfred had been found dead in his bed. 

"Died, " said some, "by the judgment of God. "

"The better for him, " said others. 

And there were even those who murmured bitterly that they weredisappointed of the spectacle, which they had left their beds towitness. Such unfeeling selfishness is not without example inmodern times. 

Etienne left the roof, burning with indignation, suspecting sometrick to cheat him of his vengeance. 

"Come into this cell, " said the soft voice of Lanfranc. 

Etienne obeyed. 

There lay his young rival, cold and pale. Etienne doubted nolonger; death was too palpably stamped upon the face. 

"Canst thou forgive now?" said Lanfranc. "His last message was oneof forgiveness for thee. "

"I know not. An hour ago I thought no power on earth could make me;but we have each suffered wrongs. "

"Ye have. "

"I do forgive, then; requiescat in pace. "

"So shall it be well with thee before God, " said the good prelate. 

So Wilfred was buried in the vaults of St. Frideswide's church. TheArchbishop Lanfranc celebrated the funeral mass. It was noticedwith surprise that Bishop Geoffrey absented himself from thefunction and the subsequent burial rites. 

The week ended, as all weeks come to an end. Lanfranc had gone toCanterbury. The Conqueror, assured by trusty reporters of the deathof Wilfred, rejoiced that so satisfactory an accident had befallen, sparing all publicity and shame to one he could but admire, as heever admired pluck and devotion. 

Geoffrey alone remained a guest at a monastic foundation hard bySt. Frideswide's. 

The midnight bell has struck twelve--or, rather, has been strucktwelve times by the sexton, in the absence of machinery. 

All is silence and gloom in the church of St. Frideswide, and uponthe burial ground around. 

Three muffled figures stand in a recess of the cloisters. 

"This is the door, " said the sexton; "but, holy St. Frideswide, togo down there tonight!"

"Thou forgettest I am a bishop; I can lay spirits if they arise. "

The sexton stood at the open door--a group of the bishop'sretainers farther off--that iron door which never opened to inmatebefore. 

Geoffrey and the Jew advanced to the grave, amidst stone coffinsand recesses in the walls, where the dead lay, much as in thecatacombs. 

They stopped before a certain recess. 

There, swathed in woollen winding sheets, lay the mute form ofWilfred of Aescendune. 

"Let him see thee when he arises. The sight of this deathly placemay slay him. He will awake as from sleep. Take this sponge--bathewell the brow; how the aromatic odour fills the vaults!"

A minute--no result. Another. 

"Dog, hast thou deceived me and slain him? If so, thou shalt notescape. "

"Patience, " said the Jew. 

A heavy sigh escaped the sleeper. 

"Thank God, he lives, " said the bishop. 

"Where am I? Have I slept long?"

"With friends--all is well. 

"Cover his face; now bear him out to the air. "

. . . . . 

A barque was leaving the ancient port of Pevensey, bound for theeast. Two friends--one in the attire of a bishop, and a youth wholooked like a recent convalescent--stood on the deck. 

"Farewell to England--dear England, " said the younger. 

"Thou mayest revisit it after thou hast fulfilled thy desire topray at thy Saviour's tomb, and to tread the holy soil His sacredFeet have trodden; but it must be years hence. "

"My best prayers must be for thee. "

"Tut, tut, my child; thy adventures form an episode I love to thinkof. See, Beachy Head recedes; anon thou shalt see the towers ofCoutances Cathedral across the deep. "

CHAPTER XXV. IN THE FOREST OF LEBANON. 

Thirty years had passed away since the events recorded in our lastchapter, and the mighty Conqueror himself had gone to render anaccount of his stewardship to the Judge of all men. 

The thoughts and aspirations of all Christian people were nowattracted to far different subjects from the woes or wrongs of theEnglish nation. The Crusades had begun. Peter the Hermit had movedall Christendom by his fiery eloquence, and sent them to avenge thewrongs the pilgrims of the cross had sustained from Turkish hands, and to free the holy soil from the spawn of the false prophet. 

Since the Caliph Omar received the capitulation of Jerusalem, in637, and established therein the religion of Mahomed, no greatercalamity had ever befallen Christendom than the conquest of AsiaMinor, and subsequently Syria, by the Turks. 

The latter event, which occurred about nine years after the NormanConquest of England, transferred the government of Palestine, andthe custody of the holy places, from a race which, althoughMahometan, was yet tolerant, to a far fiercer and "anti-human"government The "unspeakable Turk" had appeared on the scene ofEuropean politics. 

For, under the milder rule of the Fatimite Caliphs, who reignedover Jerusalem from A. D. 969 to 1076, a peculiar quarter of theholy city had been assigned to the Christians; a fair tributesecured them protection, and the Sepulchre of Christ, with theother scenes identified with the Passion, were left in their hands. Greeks and Latins alike enjoyed freedom of worship, and crowds ofpilgrims flocked from all the western nations. 

Then appeared our Turks on the scene. They first ravished AsiaMinor from the weak grasp of the later Roman Empire, andestablished their capital and worship--the abomination ofdesolation--where the first great Christian council had drawn upthe Nicene Creed, that is, at Nicaea in Bithynia. 

Then, later on, under the Sultan Malek Shah, they attacked Syriaand Egypt, and the Holy Land passed under that blighting rule, which has ever since withered it in its grasp, with a few briefintervals. 

And now the scene changed: the pilgrims, who through innumerabledangers had reached the holy city, only entered it to become thevictims of contumely and savage insult, and often perished bybrutal violence before they reached their goal--the Holy Sepulchre. 

The very patriarch of Jerusalem was dragged by the hair and castinto a filthy dungeon, in order to exact a heavy ransom from thesympathy of his flock, and the tale of his sufferings harrowed allhearts. 

For twenty years all this was borne. 

At length came a pilgrim--then unknown to fame. He was a hermit, named Peter, and came from Picardy in France. He mingled his tearswith those of the patriarch, to whom he obtained access. 

"What can we do?" said the poor prelate. "The successors ofConstantine are no match for the fiery Turk. "

"I will rouse the martial nations of Europe in your cause, " was thereply. 

History tells how Peter the Hermit kept his word: how his fieryeloquence aroused and kindled all hearts; how Christendom sentforth her myriads, as under some potent spell. 

At the council of Clermont, in November 1095, took place thatfamous scene in the presence of Pope Urban, when the cry, "Godwills it, " thrilled from myriad lips, and became the watchword ofthe Crusaders. 

Men sold their estates for mere trifles; kings and dukes, likeRobert of Normandy, mortgaged their very crowns, that they mightfight in so holy a cause; and avaricious, cunning, and greedymonarchs, like Rufus, stayed at home and bought cheaply. 

And as with the monarch, so with the vassal; land was a drug in themarket, and horses and arms went up cent per cent. 

The principal leaders of the first great Crusade {xxvi} wereGodfrey de Bouillon (duke of the empire), Hugh of Vermandois, Robert of Normandy, Raymond of Toulouse, Bohemond and Tancred ofthe race of Robert Guiscard, the Norman conqueror of southernItaly. 

Under their leadership, Constantinople was reached in safety. Niceawas besieged, and taken from the Turkish Sultan, Soliman. 

Then they first met the Turks in battle array at Dorylaeum--anawful conflict which took place on the 4th of July 1097, in whichnearly four hundred thousand Moslems were arrayed against theCrusaders. 

The Sultan evacuated Asia Minor, and the expedition passed througha wasted land and deserted towns, without meeting a single enemy. 

Nine months they were delayed before the city of Antioch, fromOctober 1097 to June 1098, when the city was taken by storm. 

Then they were besieged themselves in that city, by nearly half amillion of Turks, and though reduced to the shadow of their formerstrength, they sallied forth and utterly defeated their besiegers, whose camp fell into their hands. Nothing could stand before theenthusiasm of the western warriors, who fancied they saw spectralforms of saints and martyrs fighting by their side. 

At length, all obstacles removed, in the month of May, in the lastyear of the eleventh century, they entered the Holy Land. 

On this sacred soil the action of our tale recommences. 

. . . . . 

It was a lovely evening in May, and the year was the last of theeleventh century. 

The sun had gone down about half an hour, but had left behind him aflood of golden light in the west, glorious to behold--so calm, sotransparent was that heavenly after glow, wherein deep ceruleanblue was flecked with the brightest crimson or the ruddiest gold. 

The moon had risen in the east, and was shining from a deepdark-blue background, which conveyed the idea of immeasurablespace, with a brilliancy which she seldom or never attains in ournorthern sky. 

A group of warriors had kindled a fire beneath the wide-spreadingbranches of an immense cedar tree, which had, perhaps, been plantedin the reign of Solomon to supply the loss of those cut down forthe temple by Hiram of Tyre. 

The landscape was a striking one. 

Above them, in the distance, opened a mighty gorge, through whichflowed the rushing waters of a mountain torrent, one of the sourcesof the Jordan, issuing from the snows of Hermon. 

Below, the country expanded into a gently undulating plain, studdedwith cedars, which resembled in no small degree the precincts ofsome old English park. 

Let us glance at the warriors, and we shall speedily learn thatthey are no natives of the soil. 

The armour they have laid aside, the coats of linked mail, withlong sleeves of similar material, the big triangular shields, plated gauntlets, and steel breastplates, sufficiently bespoketheir western nationality; but the red cross, conspicuous on theright sleeve, told that they were Crusaders. 

Their leader appeared to be a young knight who, one would think, had scarcely won his spurs, or had but recently done so; and hisretinue was limited to the customary attendance upon a single"lance, " a dozen men-at-arms, completely equipped, and twice thatnumber of light archers. 

Their horses were picketed at a slight distance, so that they mightgraze easily, and like their owners, were divested of theirarmour--for the steeds also were usually loaded with defensive mailcovering the more vital parts of their frames. 

The flesh of a deer was roasting at the general fire, and diffusinga savoury odour around, and all the members of the company wereintent upon rest and enjoyment. 

Apart from them stood their solitary sentinel, looking with dreamygaze over the fair landscape, and musing, perchance, of far-offEngland--of his distant love, or of wife and children, andwondering, very likely, whether, the war ended, he would live toreturn, with all the prestige of a warrior of the Cross, and tellof the marvels of Eastern climes to many a rustic audience. 

Amidst these musings a sound fell upon his ear, which at first hedid not recognise, but which rapidly assumed the character of thatrumbling, earth-shaking, thunder-like sound which a large body ofcavalry, approaching at a gallop, but yet afar off, would make. 

He strained his gaze along the desert wastes, beneath the spreadingbranches of many cedars; but as yet no sight met the eye to supportthe impressions made already upon the ear. 

It was not long, however, before the rapidly approaching soundsbecame too distinct to suffer him to hesitate, and he gave thealarm. 

The merry song ceased; the conversation dropped; and in the awfulstillness the senses of each man confirmed the report of thesentinel. 

"They may be friends, " said the young knight. 

"Friends are scarce in the desert, " said an aged man-at-arms, theNestor of the expedition; "permit us to arm, my lord. "

The word was given, and each man-at-arms hastened to his steed; thearchers--footmen--adjusted their bows, when a troop of wildhorsemen, approaching with the speed of the wind, became visible. 

They appeared to number a hundred men, so far as they could bediscerned and their force estimated amidst the dust which theycreated, and their ever-changing evolutions. Anon grim forms andwild faces appeared from the cloud; spears glanced in everydirection--now whirled around their heads, now thrown and caughtwith the dexterity of jugglers. 

They seemed to manage their horses less by the bridle than by theinflections of their bodies, so that they could spare, at need, both hands for combat--the one to hold the bucklers of rhinocerosskin or crocodile hide, the other to wield spear or scimitar. 

Turbans surrounded their heads, and light garments their bodies;but defensive armour had they none. 

"Let them come on, " said the young knight; "we would not give way, though the desert yielded twenty times such scum. "

But they knew too well their own inferiority in the charge toventure upon the steel of their mail-clad opponents. At about ahundred yards distance from their quarry they swerved, divided intotwo parties, and, riding to the right and left of their Christianopponents, discharged upon them such a storm of darts and arrowsthat the very air seemed darkened. 

"Charge, " shouted the young knight, "for God and the HolySepulchre. "

They charged, but might as well have ridden after the mirage of thedesert; the speed of the Arab horses seemed incredible, and theyeluded the charge as easily as a hare might elude that of atortoise. The Crusaders returned to their original station aroundthe cedar. 

They looked at each other. Ten bodies, dead or wounded, lay still, or writhing on the ground; for they had not had time to coverthemselves fully with their defensive armour, ere the storm ofarrows came down upon them, and most of the party were bleeding. 

"They are gone, " said the young knight. 

"Not they, my lord, " replied his Nestor; "a hungry wolf does not soeasily satisfy his craving with a mouthful--not they; they willcome again, and in such a fashion, I fear, as to try our strengthrarely. See, they are wheeling round. Let each man look well to hisarmour, steady his spear, guard himself well with shield. They maycharge this time, seeing our strength so sadly reduced. "

"Hourra! hourra!" rang over the desert, and once more the savagehorsemen came down like eagles swooping upon their prey. 

Again they divided; again they passed at a slight interval oftime--just enough to prevent their receiving, on either side, sucharrows from their own brethren as found no sheath in English shieldor flesh--passed like the wind, and the deadly cloud ofdeath-dealing darts came like the fatal simoon of the desert, upontheir helpless foe. 

Nay, not quite helpless; for at least a dozen Arab steeds roamedthe plain riderless. English archers, for they were from England, were English archers still. 

But in so unequal a strife numbers must have finally prevailed. 

It was impossible for the English to charge so impalpable anassailant; all they could do was to protect themselves, as far aspossible, by shield and coat of mail, while behind the livingrampart of steel-clad warriors, the archers returned arrow forarrow, so far as time and numbers suffered them. 

"Shall we not charge?" whispered more than once our boyish knightto the old warrior, who had fought thirty years before at Hastings, by whose advice his elders had instructed him to abide in case ofemergency. 

"Nay, were we separated, they would find out every joint in ourmail, and riddle us with arrows till we looked like porcupines, while they would never tarry to abide one honest blow of abattle-axe. Upon our archers depends our chance. "

It would be a waste of time to tell in detail how the assailantsagain and again repeated the same manoeuvre, until their Christianopponents were reduced to a handful, when at length the Turkschanged their tactics and suddenly charged with all their force. 

All would have been over with the Crusaders, crushed beneath theweight of numbers, in spite of their superior weapons, at closequarters. All seemed ended; the young knight, indeed, protected byhis excellent armour, still fought with all the valour of hisNorman race--fought like a paladin of romance--when--

A sudden cry, "Holy Cross to the rescue!" and a gallant band oflight horsemen charged the Infidels in the rear. 

The assailants became the assailed, and fled in all directions. 

"Rise up, sir knight--for knight you should be, " said a stern manlyvoice; and a warrior of noble mien, whose features were yet hiddenbehind his visor, raised the youthful hero from the ground. 

CHAPTER XXVI. "QUANTUM MUTATUS AB ILLO HECTORE. "

An hour had passed away since the conflict had ceased, and all wasagain peaceful and still. The Christian dead were buried; theMoslems yet dotted the plain with prostrate corpses, whose unclosedand glassy eyes met the gazer in every direction. 

Of these the Crusaders reckoned little, nor did the ghastlyspectacle at all disturb their rest. They sorrowed, indeed, fortheir own comrades; but when the parting prayers were breathed overtheir desert graves, they dismissed even them from their thoughts. 

"They have given their lives in a noble cause, and the saints willtake good care of them and make their beds in Paradise, " was thegeneral sentiment. 

And now the fire was rekindled, the wine skins passed round, thevenison steaks again placed on the glowing embers, and theyrefreshed the inner man, with appetites sharpened by theirdesperate exertions in the late struggle. 

Close by the side of the young knight sat their deliverer, whosefollowers mingled with the Englishmen around at one or other of thefires they had kindled. 

"A health, " said the young knight--"a health to our deliverer. Hadhe not come so opportunely to our rescue, we were now supping inParadise. 

"What name shall I give to our honoured guest?"

"Men call me the Knight of the Holy Sepulchre, but it is too prouda title to be borne by mortal man. "

"Art thou he, then, whose fame has filled our ears, of whomminstrels sing, who with a band of stout followers defied theMoslem's rage in these forest fastnesses, before even Peterpreached the word of God?"

"Thou hast exaggerated my merits, but be they many, or as I wouldsay few, I am he of whom they speak. "

"We are indeed honoured, thrice honoured, to be saved by thee; andthese thy followers--of what nation are they?"

"Of all countries which rejoice in the light of the True Faith, butthey were Varangians {xxvii}, of the household guard of theEmperor of the East, whose service I left, to avenge the injuriesof the pilgrim, and to clear him a path through these robber-infestedwastes. "

"And may I ask the country which is honoured by thy birth, thenation which claims thee as her worthiest son?"

"I have no nation, " said the knight; sadly; "for these thirty yearsI have been an exile from home. "

The young knight asked no further questions, fearing to probe somesecret wound. He gave the toast, and all drank it with cheers, which made the solitude ring. 

An indefinable interest centred in this knight: rumour made him anoble of the later empire, the "Acolyth" or commander of thatfamous band of guards, whom the policy of the Caesar gatheredaround the tottering throne of Constantinople--exiles from allnations, but especially from England--driven by various fortunesfrom home. Hereward--and before him Norwegian Harold, who perishedat Stamford Bridge--had served in their ranks. 

This knight, whose real name none knew, had been the first to takeup the sword in defence of the pilgrims, who sought the HolySepulchre, and who, on their passage southward, through thesesolitudes, were grievously maltreated by robbers, whom the TurkishGovernment--ever the same--protected, provided they paid the duetithe of their spoils to the Sultan. 

In their mountain solitudes, fame reported the knight to have hissecret retreat, whence no Turk nor Saracen could dislodge him, andwhence he often issued, the protector of the Christian, the dreadof his oppressor. 

He had thrown aside his visor. Time, and perhaps grief, had markedmany a wrinkle on his manly forehead; his hair and beard weregrizzled with time and exposure; his age might have been variouslyestimated: he seemed to bear the weight of half a century at theleast, but perhaps toil and trouble had dealt more severely withhim than time. 

"My son, " he said, as he marked the intent gaze of the youth, whowas excited by finding himself the companion of one so distinguishedby feats of arms, "I have told thee my own vain designation; now, let me be anon the catechist. Of what country art thou?"

"Hast thou heard of a fair island across the sea men call England?"

"Have I not?"

"That is then my home. "

"Thou art an Englishman? or do I not rather see one of the blood ofthe conquerors of that fair land. "

And here he suppressed what might have been a sigh. 

"I am indeed Norman by my father's side--a race none need blush toown, and received but recently knighthood from the hands of Robertof Normandy, after the battle of Dorylaeum; but by my mother's sideI am of English blood. "

"And thou blushest not to own it?"

"Why should I? Norman and English have long been peacefully unitedon my father's lands, and we know no distinction. "

"Such, I have heard, is not yet everywhere the case in thineisland; but thou hast not told me thy name. "

"Edward of Aescendune, son of Etienne, lord of Aescendune inEngland, and Malville in Normandy. "

The stranger started as if an arrow had suddenly pierced him. Theyoung knight looked on him with amazement. 

"A fit to which I am subject--it is nothing, " said he, regaininghis composure and drinking a goblet of wine. "May I ask thymother's name? Thou saidst she was English. "

"Edith, daughter of Edmund, the English lord of Aescendune, andWinifred his wife. "

The knight was still evidently unwell--a deadly pallor sat on hisface. 

"I fear me thou art hurt. "

"Nay, my son; one who like myself has lain for weeks in unwholesomecaverns, with but scanty fare sometimes, contracts a tendency tothis kind of seizure. It will pass away. "

"Art thou interested in England? Perhaps thyself English by birth?"

"I have said I have no country, " replied he, sadly. 

The young lord of Aescendune remembered his designation of himselfas an exile, and forbore to inquire, lest he should unawares renewsome ancient wound. 

The manner in which the knight addressed his young companion hadsomething in it of tender interest; his voice sounded like that ofone who spake with emotion forcibly suppressed. 

"Thy mother is yet living?" said he, with forced calmness. 

"She mourns our absence in the halls of Aescendune, yet she couldnot grudge us to the Cross, and methinks she finds consolation inmany a holy deed of mercy and charity. "

"Hast thou any brethren, or art thou her only child?"

"Nay, we are four in number--two boys and two girls. My brotherHugh is destined to be the future lord of Malville, and I, if Isurvive, shall inherit Aescendune. "

"Thy mother, my boy, must miss thee sadly. How bore she the pain ofseparation?"

"Religion came to her aid, and does still. I can fancy her eachmorning as she kneels before the altar of St. Wilfred, and weariesheaven with prayer for her absent lord and her boy, and perhapsthose prayers sent thee to my deliverance this night. "

"Thrice blessed they who have so pious a mother. The Priory of St. Wilfred didst thou say? Methinks he was an English saint. "

"It is the third building which has existed within the century onthe spot. The first was burnt in the troubles which followed theConquest; the second, dedicated to St. Denys, shared the same fate, and when the present priory was built, my father, who had broughthis English wife from the convent of the Holy Trinity at Caen, where she received her education, restored the old dedication, as Iimagine to give her pleasure. "

"Thy father, thou sayest, is with thee in this land?"

"He has gone forward with the host to the siege of the Holy City. Iwas wounded on that glorious day when we scattered half a millionfollowers of Mohammed, who had penned us within the walls ofAntioch; and he left me with this faithful squire, Osmund--an oldman who fought with my grandsire at Hastings--to tarry in the citytill I should be fit to travel. Now we are journeying southward inhaste, fearing we shall be too late for our share in the holy work. Dost thou not travel thitherward--thou of all men?"

"Even now I hasten, lest my unworthy eyes should fail to behold thedeliverance of that Holy Sepulchre whence my designation is taken. We will travel together, so will thy journey be safer, for theseTurks hang like carrion upon the skirts of the grand army. "

"Blithely do I accept thine offer. I would not willingly perish insome obscure skirmish when the gates of Jerusalem are as the gatesof heaven before me, and I shall present my preserver to my father. Are you ill again--I fear me--"

"It is nothing. Earthly feelings must not be permitted to minglewith our sacred call. "

"But I may introduce you to him?"

"When our work is done--thou mayest. The hill of Calvary will bethe fitting place, where--"

Here the knight paused, and was silent for awhile, then said--"Itis night, and night is the time for rest; we must sleep, my youngbrother in arms, if we would be fit for travel tomorrow. See, wealone are watchers; our companions are all wrapped in slumber--savethe sentinels, I will but assign the latter their posts and hours, and seek nature's greatest boon to man. "

Edward of Aescendune would fain have joined in this duty, but theolder soldier bade him rest, in a tone of gentle authority which hecould not resist. And the stern warrior drew the embers of thefire, so as to warm the feet of the youth, while he cast a mantleover him to protect him from the heavy dew. 

The Knight of the Holy Sepulchre departed upon his rounds, andassigned to the sentinels their posts, after which he returned andlay amidst the sleeping forms beneath the cedars, the branches ofwhich were ever and anon fitfully illumined as some brand fell andcaused a flame to arise. He gazed intently, nay, even fondly, uponthe ingenuous face of the sleeping youth. 

"How like his mother he is--what a load his simple tale has removedfrom my breast! God, I thank thee! the old house of my fathers yetlives in this boy--worthier far than I to represent it. "

CHAPTER XXVII. THE FRIENDS WHO ONCE WERE FOES. 

The remainder of the journey of Edward of Aescendune to the camp ofthe Crusaders before Jerusalem was uneventful. With such an escortas the Knight of the Holy Sepulchre and his well-known band, therewas little occasion to dread the onslaught of any of those troopsof Turks or Saracens, who hung on the skirts of the Crusadinghosts, to cut off the stragglers. 

They skirted the western shore of the Sea of Galilee, crossed theJordan at the fords below, and travelled southwards along itseastern bank. 

The reason of this detour was twofold. 

First, it was the route taken by the Saviour of mankind, on Hislast journey to the guilty city which crucified Him; and the Knightof the Holy Sepulchre felt a spiritual satisfaction in tracing thesteps of the Redeemer. 

Secondly, the direct route had been taken by the host, and, likelocusts, they had devoured all the provisions on the way, andscared from their track every edible beast. 

From time to time the elder knight pointed out some venerable ruinwhich tradition--ever active, if not always truthful--identified asa resting place of the Divine Wayfarer; but there was little doubtthat they crossed the Jordan at the same fords which had been inuse in those far-off days, shortly before they entered and passedthrough the city of ruins, which had once been Jericho. 

Then followed the ascent of the rocky way, familiar to the readersof the parable of the "Good Samaritan;" and let me remind myyounger friends that even in the days when there were few readersand fewer books, all the leading episodes of our Lord's life, including His miracles and parables, were oft-told tales{xxviii}. 

It was a day of feverish excitement when they drew near Bethany andthe Mount of Olives. All the followers of the young English knight, who had never been in Palestine before, looked forward to themoment when the Holy City would first meet their gaze with anintense expectation which even rendered them silent; only as theypressed onward they sometimes broke out into the Crusadinghymn--familiar to them as some popular song to modern soldiers. 

And this was the song:

"Coelestis urbs, HierusalemBeata pacis visio, "

It was hardly to be a vision of peace to them. 

At length they stood on the slope of the same hill where theRedeemer had wept over the guilty city; and--will my readersbelieve me?--many of these men of strife--familiar with war andbloodshed--did not restrain their tears of joy, as they forgottheir toils past, and dangers yet to come, ere they could enter theholy walls. 

This had been their longing expectation--this the goal of theirwearisome journey; they had oft doubted whether their eyes wouldever behold it--and now--It lay in all its wondrous beauty--beautifuleven then--before them; but, the banners of the false prophet floatedupon the Hill of Zion. 

Across the valley of the Kedron rose the Mosque of Omar, on thesite of the Temple of Solomon; farther to the left lay the fatalValley of Hinnom, once defiled by the fires of Moloch; but onneither of these sides lay the object of the greatest presentinterest--the Christian Host. 

Their attack was directed against the northern and western sides ofthe city, where the approach was far more easy. 

"There is the standard of Godfrey de Bouillon, on the first swellof Mount Calvary, " said the elder knight; "there on the left, wherethe Jewish rabble erst stoned St. Stephen, Tancred and Robert ofNormandy conduct the attack; there, between the citadel and thefoot of Mount Zion, floats the banner of Raymond of Toulouse. "

"And there, amidst the banners which surround the ducal lion ofNormandy, I see our own, " cried young Edward. "Oh! let us chargethrough that rabble and join them. "

"Thine is a spirit I love to see; come, it shall be done--St. George for merry England--Holy Sepulchre--en avant;" and the wholegalloped madly down the descent, first bringing the news of theirown arrival to a mixed crew of Saracens and Turks--an irregularcorps of observation which had got in their way. 

They cleft their way to the very centre, as a wedge driven by apowerful mallet cleaves its way to the heart of the tree. Thefollowers of Mohammed scattered in all directions, and then, likewasps, clustered around in hope to sting. 

Their fleet horses enabled them to keep near the Christian cavalry, and to annoy them by countless flights of arrows, darts, andspears, while, as usual, they avoided close contest, as a hunterwould avoid the hug of the bear. When they could not do so, it waswondrous to see how limbs flew about, and bodies were cleft to thevery chine before the ponderous battle-axes of Western Christendom. 

Still, it was with lessened numbers that our heroes fought theirway through, and had it not been that a body of Crusading cavalry, attracted by the tumult, came prancing down the hill to theirrescue, in all the pomp and panoply of mediaeval warfare, theymight have fared worse. 

There was a smart engagement when the succours arrived, ending inthe complete disappearance of all the Saracens and Turks from thescene, while the victors rode together to the camp, exchangingnews, as if such a small affair was not worth talking about. 

When they reached the camp, Edward of Aescendune exerted his powersof persuasion in vain to induce the Knight of the Holy Sepulchre toaccompany him to his father's tent, there to receive the paternalthanks. 

"When the city is taken, and the Holy Sepulchre free, and the army(bareheaded and barefooted) accomplishes its vow on Calvary--then, but not before--we shall meet--Etienne de Malville and--" hepaused, then continued, "and I shall meet once more. "

"Once more? have you ever met before?"

"We have, but long ago--let it pass, my son. God's blessing restupon thee and protect thee on the morrow, when thou wilt, I fear, have scant care for thyself. "

"It is for Jerusalem or Paradise. I shall rest in one or the otherby tomorrow night at this time. I leave which to God. "

"Good youth; the saints keep thee, dear boy, for thy fond mother'ssake. "

At that word mother, a tear stood in the warlike stripling's eye. An embrace fonder than seemed usual with the stern knight of manydeeds, and they parted. 

If our tale had not protracted itself to such an extravagant lengthalready, it would delight us to tell of the feats of valourperformed respectively, by the Knight of the Holy Sepulchre, byEtienne de Malville, and by Edward his son; but it must suffice tonarrate in as few words as may be, the oft-told history of thateventful day. 

On the fortieth day of the siege the city was carried by assault, and on Friday, at three in the afternoon, the day and even the hourof the death of the Son of God, Godfrey de Bouillon planted hisstandard on the walls, the first of the noble army of Crusaders. 

Thus, four hundred and sixty years after the conquest of ChristianJerusalem by the Mahometan, Caliph Omar, it was delivered from theyoke of the false prophet. 

Seventy thousand Moslems were slain by the sword; for three wholedays the massacre continued, until each worshipper of Mahomet hadbeen sought out amidst the hiding places of the city--full ofsecret nooks and corners--and put to death. 

And now, after this bloody sacrifice--the fruit of mistakenzeal--the Christians proceeded to accomplish their vow, with everymark of penitence. With bare heads and bleeding feet they mountedthe Via Dolorosa (the sorrowful way) and wept where the greatsacrifice had been offered for their sins. They literally bedewedthe sacred soil with their tears. 

So strange a union of fierceness and piety may well astonish us, but our office is to relate the facts. 

It was over, this strange but touching act of devotion, and thesacred hill was partially deserted. Here and there a group ofweeping penitents lingered, and on the spot where traditionasserted the cross to have been raised, many were seen yet waitingtheir turn to salute the ground reverently with their lips. 

Two knightly warriors, a father and a son, who had just performedthis act of devotion, arose together, and as they gained theirfeet, observed their immediate predecessor in the pious act, awaiting them, as if he wished to accost them. 

They were all, as we have seen, bareheaded, neither did they wearany armour or weapons--all resistance had ceased, and with it allwarfare, before the ceremony of the day had begun. 

"Father, " said young Edward, "it is my deliverer. "

The Knight of the Holy Sepulchre beckoned them to follow, andtogether they gained the outskirts of the crowd. 

Etienne de Malville has greatly changed since we last beheld him. In the place of the sprightly, impetuous youth, our readers mustimagine a warrior, past the middle age; one whose scanty hair wasalready deeply tinged with gray. Thirty years had left manywrinkles on his brow; but where impatience and fiery temper hadonce sat visible to all, age and experience had substitutedself-control and wisdom. 

"I have to thank thee, my valiant brother in arms, for the life ofmy son. To whom do I render my thanks? Well do I know thy fame asthe Knight of the Holy Sepulchre; but our vow accomplished, we maylay aside our incognitos and assume our names once more. "

"We may indeed, and I will utter the name of one--long sincenumbered with the dead in the records of men, and re-assume it uponthis sacred mount. "

Etienne gazed intently upon the open face, but no look ofrecognition followed. 

"I crave thy pardon, if I ought to recognise thee, yet truthcompels me to say I do not. "

"Nor can I wonder; didst thou recognise me, thou wouldst think me aghost permitted to revisit the land of the living--one whom thoudidst actually behold wrapped in the cere cloth of the tomb!--whosefuneral thou didst witness with thine own eyes! Yet he lives, andfeels sure that thou wilt not revoke, upon this holy hill, thatpardon from the living, thou didst bestow upon the seeming dead. "

Etienne trembled. 

"Art thou then? nay, it cannot be!"

"Etienne de Malville, I am Wilfred of Aescendune. "

For a moment Etienne turned pale, and gazed as if to make sure hedid not behold a ghost or a vampire--gazed like one startled out ofhis self possession, and the first emotion which succeeded wassheer incredulity; there was small trace of the once fair-hairedEnglish boy in the sunburnt, storm-beaten warrior of fifty toassist his memory. 

"Nay, my brother, it cannot be; thou art jesting;--not, at least, the Wilfred of Aescendune I once knew, and by whom I fear I dealtsomewhat hardly; he died, and was buried at Oxenford thirty yearsagone. I saw his dead body; I beheld his burial; I have joined inmasses for his soul; I have prayed for his repose; nay, it cannotbe!"

But when in few words, but words to the purpose, Wilfred explainedthe device of Geoffrey of Coutances--when he reminded Etienne offacts, which none but he could have known--conviction gradually, but firmly, seized the mind of his ancient enemy. 

"I believe that thou art he, " said the latter, with tremblingvoice; "believe, though I cannot yet realise the fact, and I thankGod. "

He extended his hand gravely, and Wilfred grasped it with equalsolemnity. 

"Thou art, then, my uncle Wilfred I have so long been taught tothink dead, for whom I have prayed many a time, for whom countlessmasses have been offered at St. Wilfred's shrine, " said youngEdward. 

"Thou hast not, then, been taught to hate me?"

"No, indeed, " said the boy; "why should I?"

"He knows nought of the quarrel between us, save what it is fittingthat Edith's child should know, " said Etienne. "It is well thatupon this holiest spot on earth, whence the Prince of Life utteredthe words which have floated through the ages--'Father, forgivethem, for they know not what they do'--that Etienne de Malville andWilfred of Aescendune should become friends. "

"It is, indeed. "

"I have long been conscious that thou wast not alone to blame--thatthou hast to forgive as well as I; but thou, like myself, hast longsince, I am sure, earned the right to breathe the prayer, 'Forgiveus our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us. '"

Once more they grasped hands--Etienne still like one in a dream. 

"Come now to my tent. There thou mayst tell me all the details ofthy story, and I will tell thee news, unless this boy, my son andthy nephew, has anticipated me, of those thou didst leave behindthirty years ago in England. Thy sister Edith is my beloved wife, and in this boy Norman and Englishman meet together, the merits ofeach combined, the faults obliterated, if a father may be trusted. "

And the friends, who once were foes, entered the tent of Etienne. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. AESCENDUNE ONCE MORE. 

"Last scene of all, Which ends this strange eventful history. "

Once more we must ask our readers to accompany us to Aescendune--itis for the last time--to witness the final scenes recorded in theseveracious Chronicles. 

Thirty-four years have passed since the battle of Hastings; and ourtale has now advanced to the autumn of the last year of theeleventh century. 

The face of the country is little altered since we last beheld it, so far as the works of God are concerned: the woods, His firsttemples, and the everlasting hills stand, as when Elfric and hisbrother hunted therein with Prince Edwy, or the sainted Bertricsuffered martyrdom in the recesses of the forest, at the hands ofthe ruthless Danes {xxix}. 

But the works of man are more transitory, and in them there is agreat change. The Norman castle rebuilt by Etienne stands whereerst stood the Anglo-Saxon hall; the new Priory of St. Wilfred'sresembles that of St. Denys in architecture, although it bears thename of the old English saint, to whose honour the first sacredpile, erected by Offa of Aescendune was dedicated; the houses whichdot the scene are of a more substantial character; stone issuperseding wood. Whatever were its darker features, the Normanconquest brought with it a more advanced civilisation, especiallyas expressed in architecture {xxx}. 

Within her bower, as the retiring apartments of the lady of thecastle were termed, sat Edith of Aescendune, not the first who hadborne that name. She had now passed middle age, and her years wouldsoon number half a century, yet time had dealt very kindly withher, and but few shades of grey appeared amidst her locks. Thetraces of a gentle grief were upon her, but men said she mournedfor the absence of her lord and her eldest son, and her thoughtsseemed far away from the embroidery at which she worked with hermaidens--an altar frontal for the priory church. 

She thought of the far East--of the sandy wastes of Syria. Or herfancy painted the holy city, with her dear ones as worshippers inits reconquered shrines. 

For she had not found an unkind lord in Etienne. The scenes whichhe had passed through, as related in the earlier pages of thisChronicle, had produced fruit for good, which Lanfranc (under whosespiritual guidance he placed himself) had zealously tended andfostered. 

He dared not think of his father, of whose guilt he could not butbe unwillingly convinced; nor was it true in his case:

"He who's convinced against his willIs but an unbeliever still. "

But there was one act of mercy of which he had been the object, which above all influenced and changed his heart towards theEnglish. And that was the Christian charity he had received fromthe aged Englishwoman, the nurse of Wilfred, whose son Eadwin hehad so cruelly slain in the Dismal Swamp. 

Acting under the advice of Lanfranc, he had sought and obtainedEdith in marriage, and had thereby, like Henry Beauclerc, unitedthe claims of conquerors and conquered in his person. He hadobtained from the king a promise of free pardon to all the refugeesyet in the Dismal Swamp, where it will be remembered the poorEnglish had fled, who were unfit to accompany Wilfred to the Campof Refuge, and had thereupon invited them all to rebuild their oldhomes and dwell in them. 

At first they would not trust him, but through the mediation ofFather Kenelm and of poor old Hilda, he succeeded in gaining theirconfidence, and he did not betray their trust. 

So Norman and Englishman were happily united at Aescendune, and inspite of some little difficulties, arising from the airs theconquerors could not help giving themselves, became more like onepeople daily; and in a few years, so many followed their lord'sexample, and intermarried with the English, captivated by thebeauty of the Anglo-Saxon maidens, that distinction of race becamespeedily abolished, and hence Aescendune was perhaps the happiestvillage in the distracted island. 

The priory was rebuilt, as well as the castle, and occupied byBenedictine monks of both races; but unlike most other monasteries, it had an English prior. Lanfranc had appointed Father Kenelm, atEtienne's earnest request, in gratitude for events in which thatgood father had borne his part in the Dismal Swamp. Thisappointment, more than aught else, reconciled the English to Normanrule. 

At first Edith feared her new lord, whom she had been compelled tomarry, remembering the sadness of her mother's married life; buthis persistent kindness won her heart; and after the birth of youngEdward, whom we have introduced to our readers, all restraint wasremoved, and they were as happy a pair as need be. 

Their children were taught to converse in both tongues--Old Englishand Norman French--and to treat all alike, the kinsfolk of fatheror of mother. 

Putting together the details given by Edward of Aescendune to theKnight of the Holy Sepulchre, and these few outlines of interveningevents, our readers will have little difficulty in understandingthe history of the thirty years. 

Within her bower (as we have said) was the lady of Aescendune. Seated in an embrasure of the lofty tower in which her rooms weresituate, her attention became fixed upon a horseman, who was ridingswiftly towards the castle from the direction of Warwick. 

"I wonder, " thought she, "whether this be a messenger from--" andthen she checked the thought, as though it must end in disappointment. 

For months she had not heard from the absent ones. She knewJerusalem was taken; but if any letters had been sent, they hadmiscarried--no unlikely circumstance in those days. 

The messenger reached the castle. 

Soon steps were heard ascending the stairs with such precipitatehaste, that the lady felt sure that some important tidings hadarrived. 

Young Hugh--an active, fresh-coloured boy, with his Father'sfeatures, tempered by the softer expression of his mother, perhaps--bounded into the room. 

"Oh, mother! lady mother!--letters from father, about him andEdward. The man below is old Tristam--you remember Tristam who wentto the wars. They have landed, landed, and are upon the road home. Oh! happy day. Tristam was sent forward. Read, --only read. "

She was as pale as death, and fainting from the sudden shock. Excess of joy has its dangers. 

Her two girls, Margaret and Hilda, had followed their brother, andtheir gentle care soon restored her: but the shock had been great. 

"Read, mother, --read, " said Hugh. 

The accomplishments of reading and writing--for they wereaccomplishments then--were possessed both by husband and wife. 

We will give but one paragraph in the letter:

We have landed safely at Southampton, my own Edith. God haspreserved us from many dangers, doubtless owing to thy many prayersat St. Wilfred's altar. Thou hast, I hope, received safely theletters I sent from Joppa last autumn, and knowest whom I ambringing home with me. How wonderful it all is, and with whatstrange feelings the exile must approach the home of his boyhood!But he is very composed and quiet in his manner, and we grow inmutual esteem daily. He declares that he will accept no part of hisancient inheritance, but that he finds his highest joy in thinkingthat, in his sister's children, the descendants of the ancient lineyet possess the land of their forefathers. 

"What can he mean? Whom is he bringing with him? Send for Tristam. Ah! I see there is the old prior at the gate--he is talking withhim;" and Hugh hurried down to fetch them up. 

They entered the room: our old friend, Father Kenelm, as hale anold man as one could well find at seventy-five years ofage--Wilfred's protector and friend, in the most critical momentsof his life--and Tristam--do our readers remember him?

"God bless you, my children, in joy as in sorrow, " was hissalutation. 

"How far are they off?"

"When will they be here?" and Tristam, who stood humbly at thedoor, found himself the object of universal attraction, and did notknow which to answer first. 

"Welcome, Tristam, welcome, " said his lady; "thou art the morningstar, the harbinger of my sun. How far hence are they?"

"They will be here by sunset, my lady. "

"I will go and meet them, " cried Hugh, and ran down stairs to gethis horse ready. 

"But whom is he bringing with him?"

"My child, " said Father Kenelm, "has he not told thee?"

"Nay, he speaks so mysteriously--read. "

Father Kenelm read. Then, looking up, he spoke with deep emotion. Tristam had told him all. 

"One long since dead to the world, and as many thought buried. Ialone knew of his existence, as a secret which I was absolutelyforbidden to disclose; and as many years had elapsed since I lastheard of him, I thought him dead--he who was once the hope ofAescendune. "

"End our suspense!"

"Thou hadst a brother once--a bright, laughing, fair-haired boy, whom thou didst love whilst father and mother lived. I speak ofevents long forgotten, save by me. "

"Nay, I have never forgotten him. Hast thou not often commemoratedhim amongst the faithful departed, at my request?"

"Only as one, whom the world might yet contain in the body, orwhose soul heaven might have received--I knew not which. Well, mylady, this thy brother yet lives. "

"Wilfred?"

"And is returning home with thy husband. "

"Wilfred alive!--nay, thou jestest. He died at Oxenford and wasburied there, nearly thirty years agone. "

"Geoffrey, then Bishop of Coutances, deceived the lad's enemies bya fictitious death and burial, but forbade the rescued youth toreturn home, or make his existence known, save to me. "

At this moment, the gleams, the parting beams, of the setting sunshone upon pennon and upon lance, issuing from the wood afar off. The multitude, who had assembled below, saw the sight, and rushedtumultuously forward to meet their kinsfolk. 

Hugh forgot the story about his uncle, ran down stairs, and joinedthe throng, who pressed over the bridge. 

Amidst the pomp of banners, the crash of trumpets, and the loudacclamations and cheers of the crowd, the Crusaders reached home, and entered the castle yard. 

Edith fell into the arms of her lord as he dismounted, then soughther son. She knew not to which to turn. 

A grave personage, who studied hard to maintain his composure, butwhose eyes were filled with tears, had also dismounted, and wasstanding by. 

"Edith, " cried Etienne, "behold our brother. "

And she fell upon his neck with a torrent of tears, as all the lifeof her childhood rushed upon her--"hours that were to memory dear. "

Only a few more lines are needed to dismiss the heroes andpersonages of our tale to rest. 

Wilfred spent a few happy days with his brother-in-law cheered bythe society of his sister and her children. 

Between him and Etienne all clouds had departed; they had learned, amidst the perils of the return journey, to appreciate each other, and wondered they had ever been such foes. 

Once only he visited the Dismal Swamp, the scene of such excitingevents in his earlier life. He found it an utter wilderness, not ahouse had been left standing; Etienne had wished to abolish thevery remembrance of the scenes in which, as his conscience toldhim, he had acted so ill a part, and when he had succeeded inpersuading the English to trust him, and return to Aescendune, hehad fired the little hamlet and reduced it to ashes. 

The brook murmured in solitude and silence, the birds sangundisturbed by the strife of men. 

The scene of Edwin's death from the arrows of Etienne's followerscould hardly be identified; but under the very tree where Pierrehad fallen in stern retaliation, Wilfred knelt, and besought pardonfor himself and rest for the soul which he had sent so hurriedlybefore the judgment seat. 

"Oh how much we had to forgive each other, Etienne and I, " he saidhalf aloud. 

These words caused him to raise his head, and look instinctivelyover the place where the light wind was bowing down the heads ofthe tall reeds and sedges, which grew where the fire, thatdestroyed Count Hugo and his band, had swept over theirpredecessors. 

These remembrances saddened him, he returned to the castle--theprey of conflicting emotions. 

But much did Wilfred marvel at the peace and concord that reignedin this happy village, in such contrast to the discord whichelsewhere marked the relations between Englishman and Norman, theconquered and the conquerors; and one day he ventured to remarkupon the happy change to his old rival and brother-in-law. 

"Come with me, " said Etienne, "and I will explain it all. "

He led Wilfred to the Priory Church, and they entered the hallowedpale, with its round Norman arches and lofty roof, where the verytread seemed an intrusion upon the silence, which spake of theeternal repose that shall be, after the storms of this troublesomeworld have their end. 

There is something in the Early Norman architecture which appearsto the writer awe-inspiring; the massive round column, the bold andsimple arch, have a more solemn effect upon his senses than theloveliest productions of the more florid and decorated period. 

Such a stern and simple structure was this Priory Church of St. Wilfred of Aescendune. 

It was the hour of nones, and the strains of the hymn of St. Ambrose, "Rerum Deus tenax vigor, " were pealing from theBenedictines in the choir: which has been thus paraphrased:

"O strength and stay, upholding all creation:Who ever dost Thyself unmoved abide, Yet, day by day, the light, in due gradation, From hour to hour, through all its changes guide. 

"Grant to life's day a calm unclouded ending, An eve untouched by shadow of decay, The brightness of a holy death bed, blendingWith dawning glories of the eternal day {xxxi}. "

His thoughts full of the ideas suggested by the solemn strain, Wilfred followed Etienne into the south transept. 

There, upon a plain altar tomb of stone lay the effigy of an agedmatron, her hands clasped in prayer, and beneath were the words:

HILDAIN PACEBEATI PACIFICI {xxxii}. 

The "rival heirs" stood by the tomb, their hands clasped, while thetears streamed down their cheeks. It was she indeed, who by hersimple obedience to the Divine law of love, which is the centralidea of the Gospel, had reconciled jarring hearts, and broughtabout, in Aescendune, the reign of peace and love. 

"I strove, " said Etienne, at last breaking the long silence, "to bea son to her, in place of the ill-fated boy whom I so cruelly slew;nor were my efforts in vain, or my repentance unaccepted. We builther a house, on the site of her ancient cottage, and when strifearose, we often submitted the matter to her judgment, and she, whohad been the foster mother of one lord, and the preserver fromdeath of the other, reconciled the followers of both. 

"When at last the hour came for her to commit her sweet soul toGod, I stood by her dying bed. 

"'Mother, ' said I, 'what can I do when thou art gone to show mylove for thy memory?'

"'Only go on as thou hast begun, ' she replied, 'be a father to allthy people, Englishman and Norman alike, and their prayers willsuccour thee at the judgment seat of God--I go into peace. '

"And she left peace behind her--"

Here Etienne could say no more, and the two "rival heirs" stood along time gazing upon the "cold marble and the sculptured stone, "while tears which were no disgrace to their manhood fell likegentle rain from heaven. 

Soon after this Wilfred had a long conference with Prior Kenelm. The result was, that he announced his intention of retiring fromthe world and ending his days in the cloister. His years had beenyears of strife and tumult--he would give the residue to God. 

So he entered the famous order of St. Benedict, and after the deathof Father Kenelm became the prior of the monastery dedicated to hispatron saint--founded by his own forefathers. 

His greatest joy was when surrounded by his nephews andnieces--yea, great-nephews and great-nieces, after the happymarriage of Edward of Aescendune to Lady Agatha of Wilmcote. 

Etienne and Edith lived blessed in each other's love to the end. The Norman estates fell to Hugh, the English ones to Edward, whonot unworthily represented both English and Norman lines--"a knightwithout fear and without reproach. "

The last years of our hero, Wilfred, were years of tranquilhappiness and serene joy, such as Milton wrote of in later ages, inthose lines of wondrous beauty:

"Let my due feet never failTo walk the cloisters hallowed pale, With storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim religions light, And let the pealing organ blowTo the foil-voiced choir below, Bring all heaven before mine eyes, Dissolve me into ecstasies. "

In the ruins of the abbey of St. Wilfred the spectator may notice across-legged knight, whose feet rest upon a vanquished lion. Hiswhole attitude is expressive of intense action; the muscles seemstrained in the effort to draw his sword and demolish a Turk, whilethe face expresses all that is noble in manly courage. 

Hard by lies a prior in his vestments, his hands meekly clasped. The colour has not yet quite faded, which embellished the statue;but the remarkable thing is the face. Even yet, in spite of thebroken and mouldering stone, there is a calmness of repose aboutthat face which is simply wonderful. 

It has been our task to call them both back to life--knight andprior, and to make them live in our pages. Pardon us, gentlereaders, for the imperfect way in which we have fulfilled it. 

Thus ends the Third and last Chronicle of Aescendune. 

i Ordericus Vitalis, lib. Iv. 523. 

ii William of Malmesbury. 

iii Sassenach equals Saxon. 

iv It seems strange how such a misconception could ever havearisen and coloured English literature to so great an extent, forif we turn to the pages of the contemporaneous historians, such asHenry of Huntingdon, William of Malmesbury, Florence of Worcester, Ordericus Vitalis--born within the century of the Conquest--we findthat they all describe the Anglo-Saxons as English, not Saxons. 

v See the Second Chronicle, chapter VI. 

vi Genealogy of Aescendune. 

The reader may be glad to have the genealogy of the family, in whomit has been the author's aim to interest him, placed clearly beforehim. The following table includes the chief names in the threeChronicles; the date of decease is given in each case. 

Offa, 940. * Oswald, 937. + Ragnar, 959. * Ella, 959. + Elfric, 960. + Alfred, 998, m. Alftrude. O Elfric, 975. O Elfwyn, 1036, m. Hilda. # Bertric, 1006. # Ethelgiva, 1064, m. Alfgar. @ Edmund, 1066, m. Winifred. - Wilfred, 1122. - Edith, 1124, m. Etienne, 1110. @ Elfleda, 1030. O Cuthbert, 1034 (Prior). O Bertha, 1030, m. Herstan. # Winifred, 1067. + Edgitha, 990. 

vii This Herstan figures largely in "Alfgar the Dane. " Hemarried Bertha, daughter of Alfred of Aescendune, the hero of the"First Chronicle. " See the genealogical table at the end of thebook. 

viii"By Thy Cross and Passion;Good Lord, deliver her. "

ix Poison amongst the Normans. 

It may be thought by many readers that the poisoner's art couldnever have flourished among so chivalrous a people as the Normans;but the contrary was the case; and there are several instances ofsuch foul murders in the pages of the old chroniclers, sufficientto justify the introduction of the scene in our story. 

At the plot called the Bridal of Norwich, A. D. 1075, Roger, Earl ofHereford, and Ralph, Earl of Norwich, did not scruple to accuseWilliam himself of the murder of Conan, Duke of Brittany, who, finding that the duke was on the point of withdrawing all histroops for the invasion of England, prepared to take advantage ofit by making a raid upon Normandy. It was said that William couldthink of no other means of meeting the difficulty, than by causingthe gauntlets and helmet of the unfortunate Conan to be poisoned byone of his chamberlains, who held lands in Normandy, and was underWilliam's influence. Conan, however, did not die till the 11th ofDecember, after the battle of Senlac, and the accusation is hard toreconcile with the general character of William. Ordericus relatesthat Walter, Count of Pontoise, and his wife, were murdered atFalaise, when prisoners, by poison "treacherously administered bytheir enemies, " A. D. 1064. 

x Anglo-Saxon Outlaws. 

The true secret of the sympathy of the English people with suchnoted outlaws as Robin Hood and Little John, and their companions, is, that they were made such by Norman tyranny, and maintainedtheir freedom in the greenwoods, when the usurping barons hadreduced the people elsewhere to slavery. Hence their exploits weresung by every minstrel, and received with enthusiasm. 

"History, " says Thierry, "has not understood these outlaws; it haspassed them over in silence, or else, adopting the legal acts ofthe time, it has branded them with names which deprive them of allinterest--such as 'rebels, ' 'robbers, ' 'banditti. '

"But let us not, " continues the historian, "be misled by theseodious titles; in all countries, subjugated by foreigners, theyhave been given by the victors to the brave men who took refuge inthe mountains and forests, abandoning the towns and cities to suchas were content to live in slavery. "

Such were our refugees in the Dismal Swamp. 

xi See "Alfgar the Dane. "

xii "If thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give himdrink: for in so doing thou shalt heap coals of fire on his head. "

xiii Martyrdom of St. Edmund, King of East Anglia. 

This saintly king fought against the Danes, under Hinguar andHubba, in defence of his country. Being defeated, he was takenprisoner by the enemy, who offered him his life, and restoration tohis kingdom, if he would renounce Christianity, and becometributary. Upon his refusal he was tied naked to a tree, cruellyscourged, and then shot slowly to death with arrows, calling uponthe name of Christ throughout his protracted martyrdom, Whodoubtless did not fail His servant in his hour of extreme need. 

The strangest part of the story has yet to be told. An old oak waspointed out as the tree of the martyrdom until very recent years. Sceptics, of course, doubted the fact; but when the tree was blowndown in a violent storm, a Danish arrowhead was found embedded inthe very centre of the trunk, grown over, and concealed for nearlya thousand years--the silent witness to the agonies of a martyr. The martyrdom took place A. D. 870, the year before Alfred ascendedthe throne. In the churches of Norfolk and Suffolk the picture ofSt. Edmund, pierced with arrows, is often seen on old rood screens. 

xiv Norman Torture Chamber. 

We read in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle of the barons in Stephen'sdays. 

"They greatly oppressed the wretched people by making them work attheir castles, and when the castles were finished they filled themwith devils and evil men. Then they took those whom they suspectedto have any goods, by night and by day, seizing both men and women, and they put them in prison for their gold and silver, and torturedthem with pains unspeakable. They hung some up by their feet, andsmoked them with foul smoke; some by their thumbs, or by the head, and they hung burning things on their feet. They put a knottedstring about their heads, and twisted it till it went into theirbrain. They put them into dungeons, wherein were adders and snakesand toads, and thus wore them out. Some they put into a crucethouse--that is, into a chest that was short and narrow, and notdeep, and they put sharp stones in it, and crushed the man thereinso that they broke all his limbs. There were hateful and grimthings called Sachenteges in many of the castles, and which two orthree men had enough to do to carry. The sachentege was made thus:it was fastened to a beam having a sharp iron to go round a man'sthroat and neck, so that he might noways sit, or lie, or sleep, butmust bear all the iron. Many thousands they exhausted with hunger. I cannot and I may not tell of all the wounds and all the torturesthey inflicted upon the wretched men of this land. "

This awful description of the cruelty of the Norman barons underthe grandson of the Conqueror may partially apply to the barons ofan earlier period, such as Hugo de Malville. 

xv Destruction of Norman Forces by Fire. 

We read that at the instigation of Ivo Taille-Bois (see Note), William had the weakness to employ a sorceress to curse the Englishin the Camp of Refuge, and by her spells to defeat those of thesupposed English magicians. She was placed in a wooden turret atthe head of the road, which the Conqueror was labouring to makeacross the fens, to get at the refugees; but Hereward, watching hisopportunity, set fire to the flags and reeds; the wind rapidlyspread the conflagration; and the witch, her guards, the turret, and the workmen, all alike perished in the flames, even as in ourstory, Hugo de Malville in the Dismal Swamp. 

xvi State of England in 1069. 

In order that the reader may the better comprehend the chanceswhich lay before the insurgents of this year, the third afterHastings, we will briefly summarise the state of affairs. 

At the close of the preceding year the Midlands, after severalspasmodic struggles, appeared prostrate and helpless at the feet ofthe Conqueror, who had taken advantage of the opportunity to buildstrong castles everywhere, and to garrison them with brave captainsand trusty soldiers. Warwick Castle was given to Henry de Beaumont, whose lady we have seen at Aescendune, at the dedication of thepriory, and the jousts which followed; Nottingham was held byWilliam Peverill; and similar measures were taken at York, Lincoln, Huntingdon, Oxford, Cambridge, and elsewhere. 

But ere all this was fully accomplished, the three sons of KingHarold--Godwin, Edmund and Magnus--who had been kindly received byDermot, King of Leinster in Ireland, reappeared in the southwest, and although, after some partial success, they were forced toretreat, yet they aroused anew the spirit of resistance to theNorman yoke, and kindled the expiring embers of patriotism. 

In the month of February 1069--at which period the city of York wasthe extreme limit of the Conquest--one Robert de Comyn was sent toreduce Durham and the banks of the Tyne to subjection. As heapproached the city, Egelwin the bishop met him, and begged him notto enter or there would be bloodshed; but he disdained the mildrequest, and, entering, his soldiers behaved with the utmostinsolence, and slew a few inoffensive men "pour encourager lesautres, " to intimidate the rest. The soldiers then encamped in thestreets of the town, and the general took up his quarters in thebishop's palace. 

When night came on, the gallant countrymen who dwelt on the Tynelit the beacon fires on all the hills; the country arose, and allhastened to Durham. By daybreak they had forced the gates, whichthe Normans defended; the soldiers then took refuge from the peoplethey had so cruelly insulted, in the Episcopal palace; thence theyhad the advantage with their arrows, until the English, unable tostorm the place, set it on fire, and burned the dwelling, withRobert de Comyn, who well deserved his fate, and all his men:twelve hundred horse, and a large number of foot soldiers andmilitary attendants, perished, and only two escaped. 

A larger body, sent to avenge them, halted between York and Durham, and, seized with an unwonted terror, refused to proceed; the goodpeople said that Saint Cuthbert had struck them motionless bysupernatural power to protect his shrine in Durham. 

This success stirred up the people of Yorkshire, who, later in theyear, besieged William Mallet in York, aided by a Danish forcewhich had landed on the coasts, and took it on the eighth day, whenall the garrison was slain--"three thousand men of France, " as theChronicles express it. The Earl Waltheof killed, with his ownbattle-axe, twenty Normans in their flight, and, chasing a hundredmore into the woody marshes, took advantage of the dry season, likeour friends at Aescendune, and burned them all with the wood. 

All over England the struggle spread. Hereward took the command atthe Camp of Refuge, in the Isle of Ely, and crippled the Normansaround. Somerset and Dorset rose again; the men of Chester and abody of Welshmen under "Edric the Wild" (sometimes called theForester), besieged Shrewsbury. The men of Cornwall attackedExeter, and a large body of insurgents collected at Stafford. 

It was in putting down the northern insurrection that Williamdevastated Yorkshire and Northumberland, with such severity thatthe country did not recover for centuries, while the victims tofamine, fire, and sword equalled a hundred thousand. Thesespasmodic insurrections were only the dying throes of Anglo-Saxonliberty. Everywhere they miscarried, and the Normans prevailed. 

xvii The readers of Alfgar the Dane will remember that we gavea brief account of this interesting spot in that chronicle. It wasthe town to which Edmund Ironside and Alfgar first repaired aftertheir escape from the Danes in the Isle of Wight. 

xviii On one of these islands now stands the mill, on the otherthe Nag's Head Inn; the site of the old abbey is chiefly occupiedby a brewery!

xix Monastic Offices. 

These were seven in number, besides the night hours. Lauds, beforedaybreak; Prime, 7 A. M. ; Terce, 9 A. M. ; Sext, noon; Nones, 3 P. M. ;Vespers, 6 P. M. ; and Compline, 9 P. M. These were in addition tomany daily celebrations of Mass. 

Our modern prayer-book Matins is an accumulation and abridgment ofMatins, Lauds, and Prime; our Evensong of Vespers and Compline. Terce, Sext, and Nones, which consisted mainly of portions of Psalm119, with varying Versicles and Collects, are unrepresented in ourAnglican office. 

If the older reader is curious to learn of what Compline consisted, he may be told that its main features were Psalms 4, 31, 91, and184; the hymn, Te Lucis ante Terminum, "Before the ending of theday. "--H. A. & M. 15; and the Collect, "Lighten our Darkness. "

xx Roll of the Conquerors. 

These names are taken from a charter, long preserved in BattleAbbey, and quoted in the notes to Thierry's Norman Conquest. Itgives a list of the principal warriors who fought at Hastings, whose names are afterwards found, much to their advantage, inDomesday Book. Many names now common, even amongst the poor, maketheir first appearance in England therein, besides the noble onesquoted in our text. We regret that our space does not allow us togive the roll, which is many columns in length. 

xxi Ivo Taille-Bois. 

This petty tyrant, of infamous memory, was the chief of the Angevinauxiliaries of William, who received as his reward the hand ofLucy, sister of the Earls Edwin and Morcar; and with her alsoreceived all the ancient domains of their family in theneighbourhood of the Camp of Refuge, which proximity did notaugment his prosperity. The ancient chronicler of the Abbey ofCroyland (Ingulf) says:

"All the people of that district honoured Ivo with the greatestattention, and supplicated him on bended knee, bestowed on him allthe honour they could, and the services they were bound to render;still he did not repay their confidence, but tortured and harassed, worried and annoyed, imprisoned and tormented them, every dayloading them with fresh burdens, till he drove them, by hiscruelty, to seek other and milder lords. Against the monastery andthe people of Croyland he raged with the utmost fury; he wouldchase their cattle with dogs, drown them in the lakes, mutilatethem in various ways, or break their backs or legs. "

It is pleasing to learn that he met some punishment for his evildeeds. Hereward took him prisoner, very ignominiously, and held hima captive for a long time, to the delight of the poor vassals; hefell under the displeasure of William Rufus, in 1089, as a partisanof Robert and was sent home to Anjou deprived of all his ill-gottenwealth. He was, however, allowed to return under Henry, and died ofparalysis in 1114 at his manor of Spalding, where, the oldchronicler pithily says, "he was buried amidst the loudly expressedexultation of all his neighbours. "

xxii The Camp of Refuge. 

There still exists, in the southeastern district of Lincolnshireand the northern part of Cambridgeshire, a vast extent of flatland, intersected in every direction by rivers and dykes, known asthe fen country. 

Eight centuries ago, before many attempts had been made to confinethe streams within their banks, this country resembled an inlandsea, interspersed with flat islands of firm ground. 

One portion of this country was called the "Isle of Ely;" anotherthe "Isle of Thorney;" another, partially drained by the monks, the"Isle of Croyland. "

In many parts half bog, it was quite impracticable for heavy-armedsoldiers, and hence it offered a refuge to bands of patriots fromall the neighbouring districts when worsted by the Normans. 

Hither came the true Englishman Stigand, sometime Archbishop ofCanterbury, and after the conquest of the north, Egelwin, Bishop ofDurham, who found both substantial entertainment at the board ofAbbot Thurstan, abbot of the great monastery of Ely, and one of thestoutest patriots of the day. 

At this time Hereward was living in Flanders; but hearing that hisfather was dead, that a Norman had seized his inheritance, and wasgrievously maltreating his aged mother, he returned home secretly, and, assembling a band of relations and retainers, expelled theintruder from his house after a sharp but brief conflict. 

But he could not hope to rest after such an exploit; therefore hewaged open war with the Normans around, and by his extraordinarybravery and good fortune soon attracted such universal attentionthat the patriots in the Camp of Refuge besought him to come and betheir leader. 

Here, for nearly three years, he defied all the efforts of William. His uncle Brand, Abbot of Peterborough, conferred on him the orderof knighthood, for which act William designed adequate punishment. The abbot would doubtless have been expelled, but death anticipatedthe Conqueror of England. To punish the monks, the King appointedthe fighting abbot, Turauld, as the successor of Brand, and inorder to conciliate this ruffian-for such he was-the monks ofPeterborough prepared their best cheer. But Hereward and his merrymen anticipated Turauld's arrival by an hour or two, ate up thedinner prepared for the Normans, and spoiled what the did not eat;carried away, for safe keeping at Ely, all the treasures of theabbey, and left an empty house for the intruder. 

Shortly afterwards, that worthy, together with Ivo Taille-Bois, concerted a plan for attacking the English. Hereward entrapped themboth, and kept them in captivity, much to the joy of the monks ofPeterborough, and the vassals of Ivo, as we have elsewhere noted. 

All the valour and nobility of Old England yet surviving, gatheredaround the great chieftain; thither came Edwin and Morcar, thebrothers-in-law of King Harold; and many an earl and knight, fearless as the warriors of the Round Table, fought beneath thebanner of Hereward, and banqueted while there was aught left toeat, at the board of the large-hearted Abbot Thurstan. 

The Danes, who had been summoned to the aid of the Englishpatriots, were bought off soon after their arrival by the gold ofWilliam, but still Hereward fought on. 

At length William stationed his fleet in the Wash, with orders toguard every outlet from the fens to the ocean; still he could notreach Hereward, who had retired, with his valiant men, to theirstronghold, situate in an expanse of water, which, in the narrowestpart, was at least two miles in breadth. Then the king undertook atremendous task-that of constructing a solid road through theinundated marshes, throwing bridges over the deeper channels, andbuilding a causeway elsewhere. But in the face of an active enemythis was no easy task; and so frequently were the Normans surprisedby Hereward that they believed he must be aided by sorcery, andemployed the "witch, " who perished by fire (as mentioned in anotherNote), to counteract his magic, with the result already described. 

But William was determined that the last refuge of English libertyshould fall, and, backed by all the resources of a kingdom, the endcame at last. The monks of Ely, starved out, deposed their abbot, the gallant Thurstan, and betrayed the secret approaches of thecamp to the Normans. 

In the gray dawn of an autumnal morning, in the year 1071, theNormans, guided through the labyrinth by the traitors-the guardshaving been decoyed from their posts-entered the camp. 

Hereward and his men fought like heroes, with all the courage ofdespair; they did all that men could do; but, assailed from allsides, many of the English lords, dismayed by the hopelesscharacter of the conflict, threw down their swords, and cried forquarter. But their brave chieftain-with a mere handful ofmen-disdaining to save their lives by submission, cut their waythrough the foe, and escaped across the marshes, after most doughtydeeds of valour, for the assault was led by William in person. 

For a long time Hereward maintained the hopeless struggle-for itwas now hopeless-till the king sent to offer him his favour, andrestoration to his paternal estates, on condition his acceptingaccomplished facts, and taking the oath of allegiance to theConqueror. Feeling that all hope of shaking off the Norman yoke waslost, Hereward laid down his arms and accepted "the king's peace. "

There are two accounts of his death; the one, which we hope istrue, that he ended his days in peace; the other, that his Normanneighbours fell upon him as he was sleeping in the open air; thathe awoke in time to defend himself, and slew fifteen men-at-armsand a Breton knight ere he succumbed to numbers-the chief of thetroop, named Asselin, swearing, as he cut the head from the corpse, that he had never seen so valiant a man. It was long a popularsaying amongst the English, and amongst the Normans that, had therebeen four such as he, the Conquest could not have been accomplished. 

The fate of those who submitted, or were taken in the Camp ofRefuge, was pitiable; many had their hands cut off, or their eyesput out, and with cruel mockery were set "free;" the leaders wereimprisoned in all parts of England. 

Egelwin, Bishop of Durham, was sent to Abingdon, where within a fewmonths he died of hunger, either voluntary or enforced; whileArchbishop Stigand was condemned to perpetual imprisonment. 

xxiii Lanfranc. 

This noted ecclesiastic was a native of Pavia; he was bred up tothe law, and, coming to France, established a school at Avranches, which was attended by pupils of the highest rank. 

On a journey to Rouen he was robbed and left bound in a wood, wheresome peasants found him, and brought him for shelter to the Abbeyof Bec, recently founded by Herluin. Here he felt himself called tothe monastic life, and became a monk at Bec, which sprang uprapidly under him into a school no less of literature than ofpiety, where William often retired to make spiritual retreats, andwhere an intimacy sprang up between them. He became successivelyPrior of Bec and abbot of William's new foundation of St. Stephen'sat Caen. His influence with the Pope procured the papal sanctionfor the invasion of England; and afterwards, in 1070, theArchbishopric of Canterbury was pressed upon him by William, whichhe held until his death in 1089, in the eighty-fourth year of hisage. 

In some respects he dealt harshly with the English clergy, andconnived at their wholesale deprivation. We must own, inextenuation, that their lives and conduct had not been such as todo honour to God, that they were said to be the most ignorantclergy in Europe; and that the sins of the nation under theirguidance were owned, even by the English, to have brought the heavyjudgment of the Conquest upon them. Otherwise, Lanfranc was aprotector of the oppressed, in which character he is introduced inthe tale. 

If Englishmen can only forgive him his share in the Conquest, fewArchbishops of Canterbury can be named more worthy of our respect. 

xxiv It must be remembered that Lanfranc was a firm believer inthe right of King William, in the supposed testament of Edward theConfessor; and in the right of Rome to dispose of disputed thrones. Good man though he was, he believed in all this rubbish, as trueEnglishmen must ever deem it. 

xxv Oxford in the Olden Time. 

The earliest authentic record in which Oxford finds a place is ofthe year 912, when we read in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle that KingEdward took possession of the city, when he took upon himself theresponsibility of defending the valley of the Thames against Danishincursions, upon the death of his sister's husband, Aethelred, Ealdorman of the Mercians, to whom the city had formerly belonged. 

Then, probably, was that mound thrown up which still existsopposite the old Norman tower of Robert D'Oyly; and from thatperiod the city gradually grew into importance, until it quitesuperseded the more ancient city, Dorchester. Which was situated atthe angle formed by the tributary river Tame, fifteen miles lowerdown the stream, even as Oxford occupied the similar angle formedby the Cherwell. 

The charge of Oxford, and the district around, was committed toRobert D'Oyly, afore-mentioned, who built the lofty tower oppositethe mound, deepened the ditches, enlarged the fortifications hefound already there; and, about the date of our tale, founded theChurch of St. George in the Castle. 

He had a ruinous city to preside over. Before the Conquest itcontained about three thousand inhabitants; but the number wasgreatly diminished, for out of seven hundred and twenty-one housesformerly inhabited, four hundred and seventy-eight were now lyingwaste. 

The University was yet a thing of the future. Mr. James Parker (inhis pamphlet, on the history of Oxford during the tenth andeleventh centuries, which he kindly presented to the writer. ) hasclearly shown that its supposed foundation by Alfred is a myth. Thepassage in Asser, commonly quoted in support of the statement, isan interpolation not older, perhaps, than the days of Edward III. During the twelfth century the town appears, from whatever causes, to have recovered from the effects of the Conquest, and from thatperiod its growth was rapid, until circumstances brought about thegrowth of a University honoured throughout the civilised world. 

xxvi An undisciplined mob had preceded them and perished on theroad. We have not space to write their history. 

xxvii The Varangians. 

Ordericus Vitalis, B. Iv. , says, "When the English had lost theirfreedom, they turned themselves eagerly to discover the means ofregaining their liberty. Some fled to Sweyn, King of Denmark, toexcite him to fight for the inheritance of his grandfather, Canute. Not a few fled into exile in other lands, either to escape theNorman rule, or in the hope of acquiring the means of renewing thestruggle at home. Some of these, in early manhood, penetrated intoa far distant land, and offered their services to the Emperor ofConstantinople, against whom (the Norman) Robert Guiscard hadarrayed all his forces. The English exiles were favourablyreceived, and opposed in battle to the Normans, who were far toostrong for the Greeks in personal combat. 

"The Emperor Alexius began to build a town for the English, alittle above Constantinople; but the troubles from the Normansincreasing, he soon recalled them to the capital, and intrusted thepalace, with all its treasures, to their keeping. This was the wayin which the English found their way to Ionia, where they stillremain, honoured by the Emperor and his people. "

xxviii Particularly those portions found in the Gospels for thedifferent Sundays in the Christian year, which even then (and longbefore) existed in nearly the same order as in our presentPrayer-book, and were read in the vernacular each Sunday at Mass. 

xxix See First and Second Chronicles. 

xxx Anglo-Saxon and Norman Churches. 

Originally, the churches of the Anglo-Saxons were built of wood, with perhaps a foundation of stone; but before the Conquest noblerbuildings were introduced. Thus, for instance, the church whichHarold built at Waltham was designed in the new style ofarchitecture, of which the earliest specimen in England wasEdward's Abbey Church at Westminster. Waltham was sumptuouslyadorned: the capitals and bases of the pillars were curiouslycarved; and the ornaments of the altar, vestments, hooks, furniture, most elaborate (see the tract De Inventione SanctaeCrucis, edited by Professor Stubbs). But with the advent of a morehighly civilised people, the churches generally shared in therevival of architecture, as the many massive remains, still extant, of that early period sufficiently testify. 

xxxi H. A. & M. 12. 

xxxii "Blessed are the peacemakers. "--St. Matthew v.