Hereward, the Last of the English

  CHAPTER XII.

  HOW HEREWARD TURNED BERSERK.

  Torfrida's heart misgave her that first night as to the effects of herexceeding frankness. Her pride in the first place was somewhat wounded;she had dreamed of a knight who would worship her as his queen, hang onher smile, die at her frown; and she had meant to bring Hereward to herfeet as such a slave, in boundless gratitude; but had he not rather heldhis own, and brought her to his feet, by assuming her devotion as hisright? And if he assumed that, how far could she trust him not to abusehis claim? Was he quite as perfect, seen close, as seen afar off? Andnow that the intoxication of that meeting had passed off, she began toremember more than one little fault which she would have gladly seenmended. Certain roughnesses of manner which contrasted unfavorably withthe polish (merely external though it was) of the Flemish and Normanknights; a boastful self-sufficiency, too, which bordered on theludicrous at whiles even in her partial eyes; which would be a matter ofopen laughter to the knights of the Court. Besides, if they laughed athim, they would laugh at her for choosing him. And then wounded vanitycame in to help wounded pride; and she sat over the cold embers tillalmost dawn of day, her head between her hands, musing sadly, and halfwishing that the irrevocable yesterday had never come.

  But when, after a few months, Hereward returned from his first campaignin Holland, covered with glory and renown, all smiles, and beauty, andhealth, and good-humor, and gratitude for the magic armor which hadpreserved him unhurt, then Torfrida forgot all her fears, and thoughtherself the happiest maid alive for four-and-twenty hours at least.

  And then came back, and after that again and again, the old fears.Gradually she found out that the sneers which she had heard at Englishbarbarians were not altogether without ground.

  Not only had her lover's life been passed among half-brutal and wildadventurers; but, like the rest of his nation, he had never felt theinfluence of that classic civilization without which good manners seem,even to this day, almost beyond the reach of the white man. Those amongwhom she had been brought up, whether soldiers or clerks, were probablyno nobler or purer at heart--she would gladly have believed them farless so--than Hereward; but the merest varnish of Roman civilization hadgiven a charm to their manners, a wideness of range to their thoughts,which Hereward had not.

  Especially when he had taken too much to drink,--which he did, afterthe Danish fashion, far oftener than the rest of Baldwin's men,--he grewrude, boastful, quarrelsome. He would chant his own doughty deeds, and"gab," as the Norman word was, in painful earnest, while they gabbedonly in sport, and outvied each other in impossible fanfaronades, simplyto laugh down a fashion which was held inconsistent with the modestyof a true knight. Bitter it was to her to hear him announcing to thecompany, not for the first or second time, how he had slain the Cornishgiant, whose height increased by a foot at least every time he wasmentioned; and then to hear him answered by some smart, smooth-shavenyouth, who, with as much mimicry of his manner as he dared to assume,boasted of having slain in Araby a giant with two heads, and taken outof his two mouths the two halves of the princess whom he was devouring,which being joined together afterwards by the prayers of a holy hermit,were delivered back safe and sound to her father the King of Antioch.And more bitter still, to hear Hereward angrily dispute the story,unaware (at least at first) that he was being laughed at.

  Then she grew sometimes cold, sometimes contemptuous, sometimesaltogether fierce; and shed bitter tears in secret, when she wascomplimented on the modesty of her young savage.

  But she was a brave maiden; and what was more, she loved him withall her heart. Else why endure bitter words for his sake? And she setherself to teach and train the wild outlaw into her ideal of a veryperfect knight.

  She talked to him of modesty and humility, the root of all virtues; ofchivalry and self-sacrifice; of respect to the weak, and mercy to thefallen; of devotion to God, and awe of His commandments. She set beforehim the example of ancient heroes and philosophers, of saints andmartyrs; and as much awed him by her learning as by the new world ofhigher and purer morality which was opened for the first time to thewandering Viking.

  And he drank it all in. Taught by a woman who loved him, he could listento humiliating truths, which he would have sneered at, had they comefrom the lips of a hermit or a priest. Often he rebelled; often he brokeloose, and made her angry, and himself ashamed: but the spell was onhim,--a far surer, as well as purer spell than any love-potion of whichfoolish Torfrida had ever dreamed,--the only spell which can reallycivilize man,--that of woman's tact and woman's purity.

  But there were relapses, as was natural. The wine at Robert the Frison'stable was often too good; and then Hereward's tongue was loosed, andTorfrida justly indignant. And one evening there came a very seriousrelapse, and out of which arose a strange adventure.

  For one day the Great Marquis sent for his son to Bruges, ere he set outfor another campaign in Holland; and made him a great feast, to whichhe invited Torfrida and her mother. For Adela of France, the QueenCountess, had heard so much of Torfrida's beauty, that she must needshave her as one of her bower-maidens; and her mother, who was an oldfriend of Adela's, of course was highly honored by such a promotion forher daughter.

  So they went to Bruges, and Hereward and his men went of course; andthey feasted and harped and sang; and the saying was fulfilled,--

  "'Tis merry in the hall When beards wag all."

  But the only beard which wagged in that hall was Hereward's; for theFlemings, like the Normans, prided themselves on their civilized andsmooth-shaven chins, and laughed (behind his back) at Hereward, whoprided himself on keeping his beautiful English beard, with locks ofgold which, like his long golden hair, were combed and curled daily,after the fashion of the Anglo-Danes.

  But Hereward's beard began to wag somewhat too fast, as he sat byTorfrida's side, when some knight near began to tell of a wonderfulmare, called Swallow, which was to be found in one of the islands ofthe Scheldt, and was famous through all the country round; insinuating,moreover, that Hereward might as well have brought that mare home withhim as a trophy.

  Hereward answered, in his boasting vein, that he would bring home thatmare, or aught else that he had a liking to.

  "You will find it not so easy. Her owner, they say, is a mighty strongchurl of a horse-breeder, Dirk Hammerhand by name; and as for cuttinghis throat, that you must not do; for he has been loyal to CountessGertrude, and sent her horses whenever she needed."

  "One may pick a fair quarrel with him nevertheless."

  "Then you must bide such a buffet as you never abode before. Theysay his arm has seven men's strength; and whosoever visits him, hechallenges to give and take a blow; but every man that has taken a blowas yet has never needed another."

  "Hereward will have need of his magic head-piece, if he tries thatadventure," quoth another.

  "Ay," retorted the first speaker; "but the helmet may stand the rap wellenough, and yet the brains inside be the worse."

  "Not a doubt. I knew a man once, who was so strong, that he would shakea nut till the kernel went to powder, and yet never break the shell."

  "That is a lie!" quoth Hereward. And so it was, and told purposely tomake him expose himself.

  Whereon high words followed, which Torfrida tried in vain to stop.Hereward was flushed with ire and scorn.

  "Magic armor, forsooth!" cried he at last. "What care I for armor or formagic? I will wager to you"--"my armor," he was on the point of saying,but he checked himself in time--"any horse in my stable, that I go in myshirt to Scaldmariland, and bring back that mare single-handed."

  "Hark to the Englishman. He has turned Berserk at last, like hisforefathers. You will surely start in a pair of hose as well, or theladies will be shamed."

  And so forth, till Torfrida was purple with shame, and wished herselffathoms deep; and Adela of France called sternly from the head of thetable to ask what the wrangling meant.

  "It is only the English Berserker, the Lady Torfrida's champio
n," saidsome one, in his most courteous tone, "who is not yet as well acquaintedwith the customs of knighthood as that fair lady hopes to make himhereafter."

  "Torfrida's champion?" asked Adela, in a tone of surprise, if not scorn.

  "If any knight quarrels with my Hereward, he quarrels with Roberthimself!" thundered Count Robert. "Silence!"

  And so the matter was hushed up.

  The banquet ended; and they walked out into the garden to cool theirheads, and play at games, and dance.

  Torfrida avoided Hereward: but he, with the foolish pertinacity of a manwho knows he has had too much wine, and yet pretends to himself that hehas not, would follow her, and speak to her.

  She turned away more than once. At last she was forced to speak to him.

  "So! You have made me a laughing-stock to these knights. You havescorned at my gifts. You have said--and before these men, too--that youneed neither helm nor hauberk. Give me them back, then, Berserker as youare, and go sleep off your wine."

  "That will I," laughed Hereward boisterously.

  "You are tipsy," said she, "and do not know what you say."

  "You are angry, and do not know what you say. Hearken, proud lass. I willtake care of one thing, and that is, that you shall speak the truth."

  "Did I not say that you were tipsy?"

  "Pish! You said that I was a Berserker. And truth you shall speak; forbaresark I go to-morrow to the war, and baresark I win that mare ordie."

  "That will be very fit for you."

  And the two turned haughtily from each other.

  Ere Torfrida went to bed that night, there was a violent knocking. Angryas she was, she was yet anxious enough to hurry out of her chamber, andopen the door herself.

  Martin Lightfoot stood there with a large leather case, which he flungat her feet somewhat unceremoniously.

  "There is some gear of yours," said he, as it clanged and rattled on thefloor.

  "What do you mean, man?"

  "Only that my master bid me say that he cares as little for his own lifeas you do." And he turned away.

  She caught him by the arm:--

  "What is the meaning of this? What is in this mail?"

  "You should know best. If young folks cannot be content when they arewell off, they will go farther and fare worse," says Martin Lightfoot.And he slipt from her grasp and fled into the night.

  She took the mail to her room and opened it. It contained the magicarmor.

  All her anger was melted away. She cried; she blamed herself. He wouldbe killed; his blood would be on her head. She would have carried itback to him with her own hands; she would have entreated him on herknees to take it back. But how face the courtiers? and how find him?Very probably, too, he was by that time hopelessly drunk. And at thatthought she drew herself into herself, and trying to harden her heartagain, went to bed, but not to sleep; and bitterly she cried as shethought over the old hag's croon:--

  "Quick joy, long pain, You will take your gift again."

  It might have been five o'clock the next morning when the clarion rangdown the street. She sprang up and drest herself quickly; but never morecarefully or gayly. She heard the tramp of horse-hoofs. He was movinga-field early, indeed. Should she go to the window to bid him farewell?Should she hide herself in just anger?

  She looked out stealthily through the blind of the little window in thegable. There rode down the street Robert le Frison in full armor, andbehind him, knight after knight, a wall of shining steel. But by hisside rode one bare-headed, his long yellow curls floating over hisshoulders. His boots had golden spurs, a gilt belt held up his sword;but his only dress was a silk shirt and silk hose. He laughed and sang,and made his horse caracol, and tossed his lance in the air, and caughtit by the point, like Taillefer at Hastings, as he passed under thewindow.

  She threw open the blind, careless of all appearances. She would havecalled to him: but the words choked her; and what should she say?

  He looked up boldly, and smiled.

  "Farewell, fair lady mine. Drunk I was last night: but not so drunk asto forget a promise."

  And he rode on, while Torfrida rushed away and broke into wild weeping.