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THE LAST OF THE VIKINGS.

BY JOHN BOWLING

AUTHOR OF "BRAILSFORD: A TALE OF WEST RIDING LIFE," ETC.

LONDON:

SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, HAMILTON, KENT & CO.

LEEDS: HENRY WALKER, BRIGGATE.

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

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

CONTENTS.

[NOTE.]
[CHAPTER I. ETHEL]
[CHAPTER II. STORM CLOUDS]
[CHAPTER III. TRAITORS IN COUNCIL]
[CHAPTER IV. DEFEAT]
[CHAPTER V. DESPERATE RESOLVES]
[CHAPTER VI. BARON VIGNEAU]
[CHAPTER VII. ALICE DE MONTFORT]
[CHAPTER VIII. VILLAINS PLOTTING]
[CHAPTER IX. VILLAINS OUTWITTED]
[CHAPTER X. A FRUITLESS EMBASSY]
[CHAPTER XI. OSWALD'S DEFENCE OF HIS CASTLE]
[CHAPTER XII. ALICE DE MONTFORT SETS FREE THE SAXON CHIEFTAIN]
[CHAPTER XIII. BARON VIGNEAU BALKED OF HIS REVENGE]
[CHAPTER XIV. THE SAXON CHIEFTAIN CONFRONTS DE MONTFORT]
[CHAPTER XV. OUTLAWS AND WOLFSHEADS]
[CHAPTER XVI. SIGURD THE VIKING]
[CHAPTER XVII. EVIL COUNSELLORS]
[CHAPTER XVIII. LOVE IS STRONGER THAN HATE]
[CHAPTER XIX. ALICE DE MONTFORT AND THE SAXON CHIEFTAIN]
[CHAPTER XX. WAR'S VICISSITUDES]
[CHAPTER XXI. VIKING CHIEF AND SAXON MAIDEN]
[CHAPTER XXII. A VIKING'S LOVE]
[CHAPTER XXIII. A VILLAIN DEMANDS HIS WAGES]
[CHAPTER XXIV. THE TRYST]
[CHAPTER XXV. BADGER CRACKS THE NORMAN'S PATE]
[CHAPTER XXVI. SAXON AND VIKING AT THE SWORD'S POINT]
[CHAPTER XXVII. JEANNETTE AND WULFHERE; OR LOVE'S COMEDIES]
[CHAPTER XXVIII. A GRIM TEMPLE, A GRIM PRIEST, AND A SAD HEART]
[CHAPTER XXIX. EDGAR ATHELING]
[CHAPTER XXX. PRINCE AND PARASITE]
[CHAPTER XXXI. PRINCE AND VIKING]
[CHAPTER XXXII. BADGER ON THE ALERT]
[CHAPTER XXXIII. DOG ROBS DOG]
[CHAPTER XXXIV. WILD DARING OF SIGURD THE VIKING]
[CHAPTER XXXV. THE SAXON DEVIL AND THE WICKED ABBOT]
[CHAPTER XXXVI. LOVERS PLOTTING]
[CHAPTER XXXVII. THE JOUST: SAXON AND NORMAN]
[CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE SAXONS' REVENGE]
[CHAPTER XXXIX. BEWARE THE VIKING]
[CHAPTER XL. THE HOUR BEFORE THE DAWN]
[CHAPTER XLI. NOBILITY IN CONTRAST]
[CHAPTER XLII. VIKINGS ALL! AN OLD TIME SAGA]
[CHAPTER XLIII. THE CONQUEROR CONQUERED]
[CHAPTER XLIV. THE LAST OF THE VIKINGS]
[CHAPTER XLV. SUNSHINE HAS ITS SHADOWS]
[BY JOHN BOWLING]

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

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

[ALICE DE MONTFORT SETS FREE THE SAXON CHIEFTAIN.]

[THE SAXON CHIEFTAIN CONFRONTS DE MONTFORT.]

NOTE.

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

(From the Monastic Chronicles of ——.)

CHAPTER I.

ETHEL.

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

Shakespeare.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER II.

STORM CLOUDS.

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

Shakespeare.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Immediately a wild shout of approval greeted that saying.

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

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

CHAPTER III.

TRAITORS IN COUNCIL.

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

Epigram.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What is to be done, Beowulf!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER IV.

DEFEAT.

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

Paradise Lost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER V.

DESPERATE RESOLVES.

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

Shakespeare.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER VI.

BARON VIGNEAU.

"All is lost save honour."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER VII.

ALICE DE MONTFORT.

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

Shakespeare.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What ho, there, Saxon!"

To which Oswald responded,—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I marked it much, my lady."

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

"I noticed all this, my lady."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alice shuddered, and made haste to change the subject.

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

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

"Have you offered him honourable terms?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER VIII.

VILLAINS PLOTTING.

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

Shakespeare.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Aye, aye! all's ready!"

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

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

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

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

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

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