Most humiliating and distressing to us Saxon monks was the state of lax morality in which these foreign monks lived. One of the worst vices imported into England by the Normans was that of uncleanness, a vice practically unknown amongst Saxons, and looked upon by them with great abhorrence. This was an offence, too, which the hardy Norsemen regarded with loathing. Fierce and blood-thirsty as they were, seduction, adultery, and the violation of the sanctity of blood-relationship, they detested. Amongst the Normans, not only the wild troopers, but the monks also, lived loose, irregular lives; and the chief and vilest offender, in this respect, was our new Abbot. Many were the outrages perpetrated by this man. Night by night, under cover of the darkness, he issued from the Monastery with lascivious intent, often accompanying his outrages by crime and bloodshed if he met with opposition. In vain I sought the assistance of Alice, who entreated the Count, her father; but he was either powerless, or cynical and indifferent—probably both. Sometimes a fierce check was given to these scoundrels by a sudden outburst of rage and revenge on the part of the Saxons; but for the most part, the Saxons who meekly submitted to serfdom were the most abject of their race, being often so broken in spirit that they submitted to unfathomable indignities, rather than face the consequences of opposition. Indeed, any display of spirit, and any act of retaliation or revenge, was sure to be followed by the most cruel vindictiveness, and most sweeping punishment. I stay to note one act of retaliation done to our Abbot by Badger, on one occasion, when the Abbot was bent on carrying his unscrupulous violence to the cottage of one of the serfs. I note it because of its comicality, as well as its effectiveness in punishing the vicious priest.
Now the Abbot, though it will scarcely be believed, was, in spite of his turbulent wickedness, a most abjectly superstitious man, as indeed most ignorant and wicked people are. Of this fact Badger, who was a most observant and shrewd judge of character, quickly became aware; and, taking advantage of this weakness, he used it to teach the Abbot a most valuable and salutary lesson. One of the serfs had frequently made most doleful complaints to Badger of the violation of the sanctities of his home by this man. Now Badger most cordially hated the Abbot, as indeed any one who knew the man could not fail to do; and on the other hand, his sympathies, either openly or veiled, were always extended to his countrymen, and he frequently wrought substantial amelioration in their lot. Badger turned this matter over in his mind, and at last hit upon a plan which he conceived would have the desired effect if successfully carried out. So, making use of his old expedient, he decked himself most fantastically as the Saxon "Zernebock" or devil. He expended much skill and ingenuity in the manufacture of some wondrously grotesque apparel, introducing a pair of horns and a tail after the orthodox fashion. In addition to this, he had also decked out one of the most savage of his hounds in a most fantastic garb, and, so disguised and ludicrously tricked out, they sallied forth at eventime, intent on frustrating the Abbot's vile intentions. Having selected their place of ambush, they patiently lay in wait for the object of their enterprise, bent both on terrifying and worrying him into a relinquishment of his devilish purpose.
The night selected as fitting for Badger's enterprise was moonless and somewhat dark, especially so within the added shade of the forest. Having selected a suitable place, Badger lay quietly in wait until he heard the approaching footsteps of the Abbot; then he strode into the path with the hound by his side, and together they fronted the object of their quest. Great was the consternation of the Abbot when he confronted this awful apparition. His knees smote together, and his teeth chattered in his head, as the awful voice of the fiend accosted him in angry tones.
"Abbot, I know thy errand; I am the Saxon devil 'Zernebock,' and this is my Hel-hound. I have come to kill thee, and my hound will tear thee in pieces, for thy cup of wickedness is now full; I give thee, therefore, two minutes in which to prepare for death."
So saying, the fiend uplifted a mighty sword, which seemed to the Abbot to tower almost to the height of the trees. It was a wooden one, but the night was too dark for this to be perceived, even if the victim had not been too terror-stricken to note it.
In a terrible fright he fell on his knees and began to call upon all the saints to protect him, writhing and groaning piteously.
"Silence!" said the fiend in still more awful tones. "Thou must die! I have been waiting long for permission to slay thee! The saints will not protect thee any longer, for thou hast professed to be a holy man, and thou art bent this night on an errand of wickedness, and I have permission to kill thee at last. Thy life is now in my hands. Art thou ready?" again roared the fiend in savage tones, whilst the hound, seeing the threatening attitude of his master, waxed furious, snarling and growling savagely, and making many half-executed attempts to fly at the Abbot, which half a word of encouragement from the fiend would have completed. "Speak!" said the fiend, "thy time is now expired."
And the uplifted sword began most ominously to sway to and fro, as though about to fall.
"Have mercy on me, fiend!" screamed the Abbot, "and I will make a vow to thee that I will repent me of my sins, and I will cease from fleshly lusts! I will set about mortifying my flesh this very night! I vow to abstain from meats and strong drink for the space of twelve months if thou wilt have mercy on me."
"Silence when I bid thee!" again roared the fiend. "I know thee for a hypocrite, and thou wilt not abide thy vow. Art thou ready? Quick! bow thy head, so that I cut it off clean."
Quick as thought in this dire strait the Abbot sprang to his feet, and fled with miraculous energy for one so stout and pursy.
"Hist! hist!" said the fiend to his hound.
There was a fierce growl and a few long, slouching strides, and the hound grasped the Abbot's nether parts in his powerful jaws; and with a yell of pain his reverence fell prone upon his face, writhing, groaning, wriggling, and yelling, as though ten thousand fiends clutched him. But the hound clung to him like a vice, chawing his struggling prey the more lustily as he tried to shake him off. At last the fiend called off his hound; but at the same time he lifted his sword over the prostrate Abbot.
"It is no use thy attempting to fly; thy doom is come, and I am here to kill thee. Choose at once whether thou wilt be torn in pieces by my hound or slain by my fiery sword; there is no escape for thee."
"Have mercy, fiend!" groaned the Abbot piteously; "thy hound hath well-nigh killed me already. His teeth are red hot, as thou well knowest. I shall surely die now, after the savage manner he hath torn me. In mercy leave me the little time left me for repentance. Think of my poor soul."
"I am the foul fiend, and there is no mercy now for thee. Thy soul is forfeited and given into my hands; but what of thy body? decide quick! Shall I kill thee, or wilt thou be devoured by my hound?"
Just at that moment, however, the fiend was interrupted, for footsteps and voices were heard approaching, and presently a couple of troopers, attracted by the terrible howling of the Abbot, drew near. As they did so the fiend and his hound promptly disappeared in the wood.
As these troopers timidly and fearfully advanced to the spot, to their consternation they beheld the Abbot lying flat along, and bellowing like any bull of Bashan, and calling upon the saints to come to help him. At once he was recognised by the pair.
"Ho, your reverence! what is this? What ails you?"
"Now the saints be praised! the foul fiend is fled; the Blessed Virgin hath sent me help, but too tardily, for I am surely done for. The mischief is ended, and I shall surely die. Had ye tarried but one minute more, my poor body would have been devoured also."
"What is it, your reverence! Have you been attacked by wolves?"
"Alas! I have been set upon by the wolf of hell; I have met face to face in this very spot the foul fiend. 'Twas the Saxon devil Zernebock, for he spoke Saxon. He and his furious Hel-hound hath set upon me together. The fiend was about to kill me with his fiery sword when ye drew near so opportunely; and his hound hath torn me dreadfully. His teeth were red hot, and he spouted fire out of his fearful mouth. Can ye lift me up? for I hardly know whether he hath left me any legs to stand upon. Oh! not there! not there! did I not tell you he had torn me fearfully behind. Lift me by the shoulder, but do not touch me behind. Steady, ye maudlin villains! did I not tell ye to be steady?" he roared most savagely.
"I think your reverence had better let me go for help; my comrade will stand by ye till I come again," remarked one trooper.
"Stay ye where ye are, villain! Ye do not stir from me, either of ye, not a yard! If the fiend come again the other one will run also, and I shall be slain and devoured. Lift me up, ye lazy louts! ye are well able."
By dint of tugging and lifting, eventually they set the Abbot on his legs; but he could not bear to walk, neither could he bear to be carried; and he would not be left for a moment. Slowly he made an effort to shamble along, but every step was torture to him, and he swore at the two troopers as roundly as in his extremity he had prayed to the saints. It was a most painful and protracted home-coming to all of them; for the Abbot clutched his deliverers most tenaciously, terrified almost into frenzy if there was a rustle in the bushes, and conjured up visions of the fiend and his hound in every object that met his gaze; whilst all the while he vented upon the two his spleen and rage, sometimes for their clumsiness and want of sympathy, and at other times for their having been so long in coming to his aid.
With infinite trouble they at last reached the Abbey, and the Abbot was put to bed; but when there he was obliged to lie upon his stomach, for the hound had severely mauled him behind. Two of the monks were set apart to nurse him by night, and two by day. The rest of the monks were commanded to spend so many hours of each day in prayers and in invocations, whilst penances and fasting were imposed upon all.
In time, by dint of careful nursing, the Abbot was restored. But he could not so easily forget the painful lesson he had learnt; and as he still firmly believed that it was indeed the Saxon devil Zernebock and his Hel-hound that had set upon him, he never dared venture abroad after dark until he had banished the fiend from the adjacent woods.
Then ensued the most comical part of the whole affair. A procession of the monks to the place of adventure was organised. One headed the solemn procession bearing a crucifix on which our blessed Lord was impaled. Others followed next in order bearing the sacred relics, most of which had been brought from Normandy, and consisted of bones of eminent saints of the order, also a shred of the garment of our Saviour, the identical one for which the soldiers cast lots. One carried a front tooth of the apostle Peter, said to have been broken out at the last supper of our Lord; and another had a small vial containing a portion of the tears which Peter shed at the denial, when "he went out and wept bitterly"; the last had possession of a pair of straps or leathern thongs, said to have been used to fasten the sandals of the Apostle John when he dwelt in the lonely isle of Patmos. But most laughable it was to see Badger and several of the lay brothers of the monastery following behind, with large ewers containing holy water, with which the monks plentifully besprinkled the path and its surroundings; all the while chanting psalms and repeating prayers for the exorcism of the devil and all evil spirits that haunted the woods.
One can imagine the uncontrollable delight with which Badger assisted at this solemn function. And I confess when he told me the whole story I could not help but laugh most immoderately, though such levity scarcely became my office, especially when I remembered that our sacred things had been associated with so ridiculous an exploit. Though I can scarcely undertake to excuse the deception practised upon this occasion, yet it had a most salutary effect upon the Abbot, for seldom after that incident did he venture, under cover of the night, to prosecute his villainies; though, like most vile and wicked persons, he found other means of giving rein to his lusts, which were infamous and cruel.
The day appointed for Alice's ill-starred nuptials draws near with ill-omened celerity. Anxious consultations and meetings at the trysting-place with her Saxon lover become most frequent as the fatal day approaches. To-night, as she climbs the rough stone stairs which lead to the tower, her heart seems to grow lighter in the toilsome ascent. When she reaches the top night has already asserted its sway over the face of nature, and deep silence broods solemnly everywhere around. On the turret she paces to and fro in deep meditation, whilst occasionally she steps upon the stone platform and peers anxiously towards the adjacent wood, and waves her handkerchief. But the night is dark, and she knows not whether any one is there to heed her signal. Then she steps down and listens at the head of the stair for the sound of the welcome footsteps. Though this most serious and portentous crisis in her life is approaching, and dark-browed Fate seems from day to day to frown more darkly upon her path, and though she recognises most vividly the perilousness of the enterprise which Oswald is entering upon for her deliverance, yet to-night none but pleasant thoughts dance through her mind, and ever and anon also pleasant smiles persist in wreathing her countenance in sweet hopefulness, for she conjures up some pleasing dream of a possible escape from the dreaded union designed for her. But the wonderful secret of this hopeful spirit is this: her champion, the Saxon chieftain, will be here to-night. Here it must be confessed was the chief inspiration of those pleasant thoughts and pleasant smiles. When he was nigh fear and doubt and dismay never oppressed her. But alas! this buoyancy of hopefulness was just as surely followed by cruel depression of spirit, and a dread sense of loneliness and helplessness, when he was far away—when the hated presence of Vigneau was obtruded upon her especially. Worst of all, as the appointed time of marriage drew near, he presumed more and more to thrust himself upon her; and she must needs hide, as best she could, the feelings of abhorrence and deep loathing with which she regarded him. She had come to see the futility of resistance, and of manifesting dislike to him; for she had no hope that he would abate one jot of his determination to force the fulfilment of this marriage contract.
Presently, as she listens, a feeble grating sound strikes her ear, and she strains anxiously to hear further. Soon a distinct sound of movement in the winding stair is heard. She rushes to the spot where the steps reach the platform of the tower, and anxiously peers into the dark beneath. One moment more and Oswald clasps her to his heart.
"Ah, you lonely watcher," said he, tremulous with emotion. "How long have you been waiting here alone? are you not afraid to watch here in the darkness?"
"I am not afraid to-night, dearest. I am only a woman, you know, with a woman's weakness; but I have always fortitude enough to dare anything for you. Why should I be afraid of darkness, which is only God's coverlet, drawn with infinite gentleness over tired and sleeping nature?"
"Ah! there is a good angel watching over you, Alice dear, whether 'tis dark or light, and whether I am near or far. So be of good courage."
"I have faith in God, and I have faith in my Saxon lover; but alas! my heart fails me often as the fateful day draws nigh. Sometimes I am almost paralysed with fear, lest some cruel fate should, after all, doom me to a hated meeting of Vigneau at the altar; but I have a little friend which I keep sharp and bright, and there is a step beyond which I go no farther with him."
"Hush, dearest! such thoughts are cruel; that dreadful alternative you will never resort to. Vigneau, in his gross attempt to force your hand, in the face of earth and heaven, will rush upon a fate he recks not of, but which he richly merits. No more of this, dearest; this hour we will dedicate to more welcome topics. So a truce to all unpleasant thoughts. How does the question of questions wear apace? Have you become more reconciled to my project?"
"Dearest, do not think me foolish; but since you intimated your intention of appearing in the lists, I have been engaged in a little enterprise of my own. I have still my forebodings that you will be discovered if you venture to enter the lists of the tournament, without some more effectual disguise than you seem to possess. So, excuse me, I have been taxing my poor woman's wit in the matter. Would it be wrong to practise a little ruse upon my father, think you? I have a cousin, who, some years ago, joined the ranks of the king of Spain, and has gone to war with him against the Moors in the south. He is much commended by the king of Spain for his valour. If we could dare to convey to my father a message that this knight would be present at the festival, and take part in the joust and feat of arms, you yourself might then assume this disguise. You would, I think, pass easily for this valiant southern knight, providing you could arrive opportunely, so as to preclude as much as possible previous intercourse. Your followers also might be prepared to enact their part. It would disarm suspicion effectively, I think."
"Ah! to be sure, set love a-plotting and the thing is done at once."
"Nonsense! you jest with me. Now listen! I have already set about embroidering you handsome trappings for your horse, with quaint, southern devices, which I learnt under the tuition of the good sisters of the convent. Now, don't laugh, you think it a mad whim, I can see."
"Nay, nay! my Lady Suspicion," said Oswald, stooping and kissing her, and giving her a tighter squeeze. "I almost begin to fear you as I think of the dark plots you are capable of weaving. I never for a moment dreamed I had found such a subtle schemer. Now, go on; you have got your finger on the weak point in the plot. I certainly feared the ordeal of exposure on the field myself; and you have been taxing your 'poor woman's wit,' and have anticipated my one difficulty. Now for the rest, dearest."
"Come down with me to my room. All is perfectly quiet."
So together they descended the winding stair, and sought Alice's room. Here she and Jeannette had been deftly plying their fingers in embroidering most quaint devices upon the trappings of the horses of the knight and his esquire, and a couple of men-at-arms. Oswald's were most gorgeously embroidered with silk and gold, upon the finest Bayeaux cloth, by the fingers of Alice alone. Most beautiful and chaste was the workmanship, for she had lavished not only her skill, but her love in the equipment of her champion. The figures were so quaint, the design so original, and the whole so rich in quality, that no prince could hope to ride with more tasteful and imposing housings for his steed. Jeannette also had done her best, it can easily be imagined, to equip her valiant squire like his master.
Oswald took the garments in his hands.
"Well, dearest," said he, "no one will expect a boorish Saxon outlaw to appear like a Norman prince, that is certain; and I dare warrant no curious eyes will penetrate a disguise so complete as you are preparing. Love is not blind in this case, Alice dear, I avouch it; but it has the gift of prevision also. There remains but one condition to give point and consummation to this, and it is that your valiant cousin shall prove himself worthy of such a lady love. But, darling, can you answer this question,—if Vigneau should be overthrown ignominiously, will the spoils of war, the fair queen of this high festival, be the lawful prize of the victor? Now, beware! if you escape the toils of Vigneau, there is another ominous figure hovering near, who is ready to pounce down upon you and carry you off."
"So, I suppose, like an unhappy maiden, I may sing—
"Well, if only the 'fair queen' may have the option of choice, I think in that case the Norman cousin will have it. But do not cherish any vain hopes; I am sure that Vigneau will gulp down his humiliation, if he cannot avenge it; and there is no hope of his relinquishing any claims to myself, though I believe malignant hatred is the only feeling he cherishes towards me."
"It were an easy matter to sweep him out of the way; that would be an easy task; but here comes in a tax upon my conscience, for in spite of the fact that he richly merits it, to compass his overthrow in cold blood is abhorrent to my feelings. If I should worst him in the encounter, he will probably claim satisfaction, and if he does not, but persists in his determination to claim you as his bride, then, in accordance with the laws of chivalry, I also will claim your hand, and challenge him to mortal combat. So, honour and my conscience will be appeased. May Heaven nerve the arm that battles for the right!"
"I am afraid the complications will not end even if Heaven rid us of the Baron, for his brother at the Abbey is fully conversant with my father's ill-starred confidence."
"Well, enough, dearest; one step at once. Are there many knights expected in this tourney?"
"I scarcely think there will be many. My father is very half-hearted in the matter, and you may be sure he has no encouragement from myself. The fewer who are witness of my humiliation the better."
"Well, I am sure that so far as Vigneau is concerned, the feebler the opponents the better he will like it; I daresay, though, he counts upon an easy conquest in any case. Well, now, dearest, don't be discouraged; I must be away, but I shall look daily for the signal. May happier days soon dawn for you, and for this unhappy country. Au revoir, darling."
So saying, with a parting kiss Oswald sped him for the home on the hills.
"The age of chivalry is gone. That of sophisters, economists, and calculators has succeeded."—Burke.
The time had now come about on which De Montfort had promised his daughter to Vigneau. As was the wont invariably of the Normans, the ceremony must be preceded by the usual festivities, the most marked of which was the tournament, or feat of arms. During the reign of our late king Edward, this was one of the things in which the idle and dissolute Norman nobility who came over in swarms spent their time. To my very great sorrow and disappointment, the Saxon nobility copied only too slavishly this vain and foolish propensity, many of the Saxons being quite a match for the most skilful of the Normans. For some weeks before the marriage festivities were to begin, messengers had been sent out to the various Norman encampments situate within a reasonable distance; and many knights were expected to take part in the joust. The place which was selected for this spectacle was near to the castle, and well adapted for the humbler people, who never failed to gather in considerable numbers. The tournament would take place in a considerable hollow, with green hillsides and dense copses around, where a multitude might witness the wondrous pageantry and the struggle for the honours of the day. The central arena, where the knights were to contend, was a spacious enclosure, railed round to the height of about four feet, having two means of entrance and exit, one at each side, directly opposite each other, the one used as an entrance solely. There knights, squires, marshals, judges, etc., were to enter in all the panoply of war and glittering accoutrements. The other opening was used exclusively for purposes of exit. Here discomfited knights, disabled horses, and others who wished to retire might emerge. To the right of the main entrance was a raised platform, covered with rich tapestry, and capable of seating some fifty persons. Upon this platform was a dais, or raised central platform of small dimensions, on which the throne, an elegantly upholstered chair, was placed, and designed for the occupation of the "Queen of Beauty." The crowd were kept waiting considerably after the appointed time, in anticipation of an expected knight from over the sea; from whom a messenger had been sent, announcing his intention of taking part in this knightly fray. Eventually, however, Count de Montfort, amid a flourish of trumpets, issued from the gates of the castle, with his daughter leaning upon his arm, followed by two of her maids and a formidable retinue of invited guests, amongst whom was the Abbot Vigneau, and one or two other ecclesiastics, and a number of Norman guests. De Montfort escorted his daughter to the throne, and Jeannette occupied a seat to the right of her. Most fascinatingly lovely was Alice as she sat in the place of honour, with the victor's chaplet by her side. Pale, nervous, and anxious, but a veritable queen withal she looked—her lustrous dark eyes, and masses of dark wavy hair flowing in graceful undulations over her shoulders, and down to her girdle; her head crowned with a coronet of beautiful flowers, and one solitary gem in the centre. All eyes were upon her. Men of gentle blood marvelled at her surpassing loveliness. Norman men-at-arms and Saxon churls turned dazed and dreamy eyes towards her, with a persistent gaze as of fascination. Most of those present, whether gentle or simple, knew well the manner of man her betrothed was; for Vigneau was notorious in the camp and the cot for his gross villainy; and most knew, or surmised, that to-morrow's nuptial tie would be to her a most hateful tie, and a most unhappy union.
Jeannette sat close to her mistress; but no dark cloud frowned ominously over her as over her mistress. Volatile and mercurial to a degree, she never courted trouble, or recognised his unwelcome visage until it was thrust upon her; though, like most natures of a like temperament, when once fairly cornered, as we have seen, the collapse was pitiable and complete. There, however, she sat, perfectly self-possessed, with an irrepressible flutter of expectation in her heart and unfaltering confidence in her star, which was the wonderful and valorous Wulfhere, whom that day she should see companying with knights and men of renown. There was more than a wonted animation in her eye, and the roses on her cheek had taken a deeper and a rosier tint. All agog with the pleasing promptings of her fluttering little heart, she ran her eyes along the ranks of the common people who lined the enclosure, or stood together in groups, discussing the merits of the combatants who were to take part, and the spectacle which every one looked forward to with such zest. But Saxon and Norman alike of inferior station were to her contemptible; and as her eyes fell upon Paul Lazaire, who with despondent gaze looked at her, she could not restrain a saucy and coquettish smirk of laughter, which Paul, who thought she never looked half so lovely before, put a favourable construction upon, and was greatly comforted.
"Jeannette," said Alice, turning to her anxiously, "I fear the day will be disastrous, and the Saxon knight will be discovered. That would be most fearful; I don't think I could survive it."
"Don't be alarmed, my lady; I am not in the least. Wulfhere and the Earl will be a match for them all, I'm sure."
"But, Jeannette, what could a single knight do, contending with so many foes?"
"One knight truly would not do much; but you forget, my lady, that he is sure to be accompanied by his valiant squire."
"But a solitary esquire would not be of much use. If the Earl be discovered, he would be surrounded and cut to pieces."
"Never fear, my lady, you will see Wulfhere will protect him. He'll soon make an end of a score of this beer-drinking crew."
"Really, Jeannette," said Alice, smiling in spite of herself, "you have a good deal of faith in this Wulfhere."
"Why should I not? He is as pretty a man, and just as valiant as his leader, and I never intend to halt for want of faith, or starve for want of hope. Besides, don't you know there has been given to me an omen?—and I have noticed that they always come true if you have faith in them."
"Oh, indeed! Pray, what is the omen you have had, Jeannette?"
"Well, last night when I went to bed it was not quite dark, and I have a little window in my room which overlooks a certain spot in the wood which I shall not tell you about, for it is my tryste."
"Your tryste, Jeannette? I am afraid you will never cease your coquetry and foolishness. But your omen, Jeannette?"
"Well, I was telling you. It was not dark when I went to bed, so I sat down in front of this window which faces the place where the Saxon and I meet."
"The Saxon, Jeannette?"
"Yes, my lady, the Saxon Wulfhere. Well, in front of the window I told my beads for a full hour or more."
"Told your beads, Jeannette I Why, was that to Wulfhere, or to our Blessed Lady?"
"To our Lady, of course, though I was thinking about Wulfhere. But I said my aves and paters to our Blessed Lady most dutifully. Then, when I went to bed, I put my beads under my pillow as usual, and I soon fell asleep. Then I dreamed such a strange and wonderful dream. I dreamt that I was walking through the woods all alone, when I was startled by a horrid, howling noise behind me, and, turning round, I beheld a number of fierce wolves pursuing me. I ran for my life, but they ran faster than I did, and just as the first one was about to grasp me with its fearful teeth, who should come to my rescue but Wulfhere. I sprang into his arms, and just as he clasped me safely the wolves all turned tail and ran off into the wood as though they had been whipped, for they ran as fast as they could scamper, and howled fearfully. Then I saw there was a holy man with Wulfhere, with whitened beard, and bearing a crucifix with our Blessed Lord thereon. This holy man took my rosary from my hand, and he placed it around my neck. Then he took my hand and joined it with Wulfhere's. After this, Wulfhere kissed me and placed a ring on my finger, and I was his wife. Then the holy man placed his hands on us as we kneeled before him, and he gave us his blessing. But, wonderful to tell, in the morning when I awoke, I knew it had all taken place as I dreamed; for I found the rosary was indeed around my neck, though I am almost certain I put it under my pillow the night before. I also felt most distinctly Wulfhere's kiss upon my cheek; and, when I looked in the glass, sure enough there was a little rosy spot around this little dimple on my cheek where he kissed me."
Jeannette's invaluable optimism and unflagging hopefulness, though simple almost to the verge of childishness, did much to fortify Alice for the trying ordeal before her. In spite of her anxiety, she laughed outright at the recital of Jeannette's dream. Presently, at the sound of the trumpet the castle gates were again thrown open, and forth issued a gaily dressed cavalcade; heralds, marshals, judges, leading the way, and followed by eight or ten knights armed cap-à-pié, each one being attended by his esquire. Alice scrutinised closely each knight as they severally filed past her, and dipped the point of their lances in salutation.
"The Saxon is not here. Some accident, I fear, has happened," she tremulously whispered to Jeannette.
"Don't agitate yourself, my lady; they will not fail us. Wulfhere said I should see his face this day; but I was to be careful not to show my recognition of him, or I should probably betray them."
Now the scene presented an animated appearance, as the knights and their esquires ranged themselves on opposite sides of the enclosure, whilst the heralds, marshals, and judges rode between the ranks, examining the points of each combatant's lance, to see that each one was blunt, and such as was allowed by the laws of the tourney.
Meanwhile, Norman soldiers crowd round the enclosure, whilst here and there groups of Saxons are wedged amongst them. Some half-dozen Saxon churls have been stood together on the outskirts of the crowd for some time, engaged in eager conversation. A careful observer would perceive that, despite their cowed and woe-begone appearance, they have some common purpose in view. They each of them carry a quarter staff,—not a formidable weapon, it is true; but no formidable weapon would be permitted them. At one end of those staves they have deftly inserted stout steel goads, which no casual observer would detect. I was first attracted to this group, in particular, by having observed them obey certain signals given by their leader. But my eyes turned on all occasions naturally and sympathetically to the Saxon portion of the crowd; and the result of my diligent scrutiny of this little band was quickened by my discovery of the fact that the leader was none other than Badger. Presently they divide themselves into couples and take their stand equidistant from each other, along with the spectators who line the enclosure. Soon, by dint of pushing and wriggling, they force their way close to the railings' side.
Now, at a signal the trumpet again sounds, and a marshal rides into the centre of the arena, and reads the proclamation and rules of the tourney. Just at that moment, however, a piercing blast from a horn in the distance makes the greenwood ring again. Immediately from the leafy bower there emerges a knight tall of stature, and mail-clad from head to foot. On his shield he bears a device of the rising sun on a field vert, and as the rays of the midday sun smite upon his helmet and breast-plate, the refulgence thereof is as of molten gold. He rode a handsome charger, whose trappings and housings were richly embroidered and resplendent with many strange devices. In close attendance rode his squire, bearing his lance and shield; he also was of brawny and athletic build, like his master. He had on a helmet with harness of link mail. His face and hands, which were uncovered, seemed deeply tanned, as though they had been subjected to long exposure in some sunny clime. Behind the knight and his esquire there rode a couple of men-at-arms, bronzed and brown as the squire.
It was soon buzzed about amidst the crowd that this was the foreign knight for whose advent the tourney had been delayed a full hour. The knight and his squire were admitted into the enclosure at once; but the couple of men-at-arms stood without. There was a brief consultation with the stewards in the Norman tongue, and the explanations were evidently satisfactory, for the knight rode on. And as he passed the dais, where sat the Queen of Beauty, he dipped the point of his lance and bowed low.
The crimson flood mounted to Alice's face and neck, as she, with great nervousness, acknowledged the salute. This momentary flush, followed by, if possible, a still deeper pallor and greater agitation, did not escape the notice of our Abbot, who turned keen and scrutinising glances, first on the knight, and then on Alice. He was suspicions as usual. Could it be possible that there was some love entanglement between these two which boded evil to his brother the Baron? Hitherto, none had appeared in the lists, saving knights who would probably be easily overthrown by Vigneau. Though this was but a joust of courtesy, yet the ignominy of being unhorsed, he knew, would exasperate his brother into desperation. This knight of commanding stature, and of warlike appearance and renown, introduced an element of grave uncertainty into the day's contest. There was, further, the gravest suspicion that this stranger knight was imported on purpose to frustrate his brother's union with Alice, a union which, he knew, was cordially detested by both father and daughter. The Baron also, suspicious by disposition, with lowering brow glared upon the stranger from behind his visor, and hated him at sight.
Not that he feared being overthrown, for his self-confidence was unlimited. His great weight and personal strength and skill had borne him to victory in many a famous joust in times past, and he was contemptuous of any rival he might chance to meet. But a knight young, handsome, and well-appointed as this stranger, might yet, with De Montfort's connivance, wrest the prize from his grasp. He swore a deep oath under his breath, and grasped his lance with a keener clutch. Clearly he meant mischief.
The preliminaries being now over, the knights wheeled into line and faced each other, ready for the signal to charge, their squires being in close attendance behind. Vigneau and the stranger knight found themselves opposed by antagonists much smaller in stature, and indifferently horsed. The trumpeter stood at the head of the lists, bugle in hand, ready to sound the onset at a signal from De Montfort. Excitement was visibly expressed in every countenance, the clamour of voices having given place to a hushed suspense, which was painful and sickening to Alice; though she saw that Vigneau and the "Knight of the Sun" would not antagonise each other in the first shock. Now the trumpet sends forth a shrill blast, and on the instant spurs are driven into each charger's side, and, with a snort of pain, they dash across the sward. There is a loud shock, and a confused and struggling mass of men and horses. Vigneau had thrown the whole weight and strength of himself and a powerful horse upon a feeble opponent, and both man and horse rolled over together before him. Then, with a contemptuous oath, he wheeled again to his place, utterly regardless of his fallen antagonist, whose horse had kicked him severely in its plunges to regain its feet. The "Knight of the Sun," on the other hand, rode steadily at his opponent, and seemed rather to push him over the horse's croup than to strike him with unmeasured force. Immediately, also, he sprang to the ground and chivalrously assisted the fallen knight to rise, exclaiming, as he did so,—
"None the worse, I trust, Sir Knight?"
"Only my pride hurt a little," was the reply; "but it was gallantly done and by a worthier knight, so I yield my steed and wish you further success; which you will have, I trow, whether I wish it or not, or I am no judge of your mettle."
"Take your horse, Sir Knight, I have no need of him, for there is a better in the lists, I perceive," said the stranger.
"You have my hearty wishes in the winning of it, if they will do you any good. Just a word in your ear, nevertheless," said he, drawing close to the "Knight of the Sun," and uttering in an undertone, whilst he professed to be adjusting his sword-belt, "You are a stranger, Sir Knight, but I have known Vigneau a round dozen years at least, so let me warn you. Beware your man, and doubly so if you throw him. His ugly carcase is charged with venom from head to foot, and no treacherous villainy will be too mean, in order to compass his revenge."
"Thanks for your good wishes, and I will not neglect your advice; but if he be wise, he will look to himself or he will rue it."
At the blast of the bugle, the knights who had proved victorious wheeled into line again; one pair had failed to unhorse each other; but evidently they were not consumed with a desire to try further their prowess in the mimic war, for both of them retired from the fray. So there were but four knights called upon to take part in the next encounter and brave again the fortunes of war. The stranger knight was now brought side by side with Vigneau, who surveyed him from head to foot, then turned sneeringly away, growling to himself, "If length of limb counted for anything, why, then, he would be formidable enough."
At the signal calling for the ready, each lance was laid in rest, and each knight braced himself afresh. Springing again at the call to the charge, the turf flew from the horses' hoofs, and the shock, in more than one instance, was enough to throw the horses on their haunches. The "Knight of the Sun" and Vigneau were again victorious; but the latter had met a doughtier opponent than he had bargained for, for he had received a vigorous and well-aimed blow at the pit of his stomach, discomposing most unpleasantly its contents, and causing his head to swim with sickly qualms. He recovered his balance quickly, however, much more quickly than he recovered from the fury of his temper; for, as he faced about to meet the "Knight of the Sun," he poured out a volley of fierce oaths at Pierre, who was too slow in his attentions to him. The tall squire of the stranger dismounted and ran his eyes over the trappings of his master's steed, tightening a girth here and there, and whispering to his master as he did so, "He is strong and heavy; it were better policy to dodge his blow, I think, for he is unmistakably clumsy and slow."
"That is the very thing I have been turning over in my mind, and I think I will try it. Hand me a shorter lance, will you?"
The squire immediately reached him a lance shorter by some feet; and the bugle sounded again for the ready amid breathless silence. The whole scene floated dimly before the sickened gaze of Alice, who was but half conscious of what was passing in the lists; though she realised with painful vividness that Vigneau and the stranger were now opposed to each other. Jeannette put her arm around her mistress and held a small silver flask of rich scents to her nose, whispering gently to her,—
"Courage, lady! all goes well, never fear. The stranger will be the victor."
Now the combatants brace themselves for the final charge and for victory. The "Knight of the Sun" grasps his short lance with sinews of iron, whilst his gaze is intent upon the weapon of his antagonist. The signal is given, and the chargers bound like an avalanche across the intervening space. There is a quick swerve of the stranger's body, and Vigneau's lance passes like a flash over the mailed arm of the knight, a clear miss. Righting himself as deftly as he had swerved, and without permitting the point of his lance to deviate one iota from its mark, he closed in a deadly shock with the bulky Norman. The lance he held was so short that they seemed almost to rush into each other's arms; but the point was direct for his antagonist's chest. Vigneau, with an oath at the failure of his stroke, let go his lance, and aimed a blow with his clenched fist at his antagonist; but his act of blind fury was utterly futile and vain; with unerring aim the stranger struck him full on his steel breast-plate. There was a loud crash of tearing girths, and Vigneau rolled ignominiously to the ground amid a motley heap of horses, harness, and trappings.
Alice's head dropped on Jeannette's shoulder as she faintly asked, "Who's victor, Jeannette?"
"The stranger, lady; courage, courage! Vigneau is ignominiously overthrown."
"Thank God!" she ejaculated feebly, and her eyes closed in insensibility.
All eyes were now turned with a strange fascination towards the two antagonists, for Vigneau sprang to his feet, drew his broadsword, and brandishing it in the air like a demon, shouted "Joûte à l'outrance! Come on, varlet! it is to the death!"
The Abbot rushed into the arena, vainly endeavouring to restrain the blind fury of his brother; but with an oath the Baron threw him off, and rushed at his antagonist, who by this time had dismounted and stood on his guard. Fiercely exasperated, Vigneau rained blow upon blow, with the fury of a madman, whilst the stranger contented himself with coolly parrying or receiving on his shield the frantic blows of his assailant. The volcano-like rage of Vigneau quickly expended itself uselessly; soon limp, and spent, and utterly blown, he aimed a last blow with greatly diminished force. The stranger received it on his shield, whilst with concentrated energy he sprang upon Vigneau; his broadsword divided the air like lightning, and descended on the nape of Vigneau's neck, cutting clean through his armour, and well-nigh severing his head from his body. Vigneau threw up his arms wildly in the air as he dropped into his brother's arms, and shrieked frantically in his death agony, "The Saxon! 'Tis the Saxon!"
The cry acted like magic upon the whole multitude. Men sprang into the arena shouting madly to each other they knew not what. Horses reared and snorted, and plunged in dire confusion. The ruse also so consummately planned by Badger, in case of any hitch or exposure, was vigorously acted out. On the instant he and his comrades leaped into the arena, and deftly dodged in and out amongst the horses, and vigorously applied their goads to their flanks and sides, increasing the disorder and confusion a hundredfold.
Meantime, whilst the vengeful and sanguinary combat between the champions had been going on, the stranger's squire had seized the reins of Vigneau's charger as the spoil of the victor; but Pierre sprang at him in fierce resistance, and immediately the two squires also became engaged in a passage of arms as fiercely and as determinedly as their masters. Promptly Badger gave Wulfhere a vigorous push, which separated the pair. Then in a low tone, but unmistakably in earnest, he said, "Zounds, man! what are you doing? and where are your eyes? Can you not see there is not a moment to lose? Do you not see the Norman has detected your master? Fly, man, quick! or you're a dead man, and Oswald also."
Wulfhere, thus suddenly awakened to the peril of the situation, promptly took Badger's advice and vaulted into his saddle. But his blood was up, and as he did so, he turned to Pierre, and said,—
"I'll take care we meet again, villain, never fear. Then we will see whether aught will save thee from the fate which has befallen thy master, and which has been dogging thy heels this many a day."
Oswald, the stranger knight, also by this time fully comprehended the peril of the situation, and that if they would save their lives flight was their only resource. So promptly he sprang into the saddle, and immediately made for the gate, followed by Wulfhere. The two men-at-arms without the arena had been watching the movements of Oswald and Wulfhere with feverish anxiety, irresolute whether to rush in to effect a rescue or not. But no sooner did they see them make for the entrance than they pushed their horses amid the spectators, and vigorously plying the flats of their swords upon the shoulders of the churls who thronged and choked the way, they quickly cleared a passage; whilst Badger and his party continued to maintain a state of dire confusion in the enclosure. As soon as the entrance was passed the safety of the Saxons was assured, and at once falling into the rear of their leader, they dashed across the plain, and were lost in the woods ere any one comprehended for certain what strange things had happened.
Then the Abbot Vigneau strode up to De Montfort, the veins of his neck standing out with rage and his face livid with passion, and he hoarsely shouted,—
"I arraign thee traitor to thy king! and I will have thy head for this treacherous act! I tell thee if thou hast successfully conspired to murder my brother, I myself hold the letters thou wouldest give thy right hand to possess! I will use them to the full, nor rest till thou hast atoned with thy blood for thy treachery!"
Meantime, the scene which followed baffled description. The assembled company could not comprehend the charges made by Vigneau, and were bewildered at the tragic ending of what was designed for a day's festivities.
The condition of Alice was pitiable in the extreme. With returning consciousness she had seen the fiendish attitude of the Abbot as he fronted her father. She had heard the wild threats of vengeance, and a dim sense of uttermost calamity, hanging over her and her father, sent her back again into a swoon. I roused Jeannette and her companion from the state of helplessness into which they seemed to have relapsed, and, under my directions, Alice was carried to her room and laid upon her couch, whilst such restoratives as were at hand were applied to stimulate the laggard consciousness, which seemed as though it would never return.