CHAPTER III
Inflamed wrath in glowing breast.--BUTLER.
The knight and the friar arriving at Arlingford Castle, and leavingtheir horses in the care of lady Matilda's groom, with whom the friarwas in great favour, were ushered into a stately apartment, where theyfound the baron alone, flourishing an enormous carving-knife over abrother baron--of beef--with as much vehemence of action as if hewere cutting down an enemy. The baron was a gentleman of a fierce andcholeric temperament: he was lineally descended from the redoubtableFierabras of Normandy, who came over to England with the Conqueror, andwho, in the battle of Hastings, killed with his own hand four-and-twentySaxon cavaliers all on a row. The very excess of the baron's internalrage on the preceding day had smothered its external manifestation: hewas so equally angry with both parties, that he knew not on which tovent his wrath. He was enraged with the earl for having brought himselfinto such a dilemma without his privily; and he was no less enraged withthe king's men for their very unseasonable intrusion. He could willinglyhave fallen upon both parties, but, he must necessarily have begun withone; and he felt that on whichever side he should strike the first blow,his retainers would immediately join battle. He had therefore contentedhimself with forcing away his daughter from the scene of action. Inthe course of the evening he had received intelligence that the earl'scastle was in possession of a party of the king's men, who had beendetached by Sir Ralph Montfaucon to seize on it during the earl'sabsence. The baron inferred from this that the earl's case wasdesperate; and those who have had the opportunity of seeing a richfriend fall suddenly into poverty, may easily judge by their ownfeelings how quickly and completely the whole moral being of the earlwas changed in the baron's estimation. The baron immediately proceededto require in his daughter's mind the same summary revolution that hadtaken place in his own, and considered himself exceedingly ill-used byher non-compliance. The lady had retired to her chamber, and thebaron had passed a supperless and sleepless night, stalking about hisapartments till an advanced hour of the morning, when hunger compelledhim to summon into his presence the spoils of the buttery, which, beingthe intended array of an uneaten wedding feast, were more than usuallyabundant, and on which, when the knight and the friar entered, he wasfalling with desperate valour. He looked up at them fiercely, with hismouth full of beef and his eyes full of flame, and rising, as ceremonyrequired, made an awful bow to the knight, inclining himself forwardover the table and presenting his carving-knife en militaire, in amanner that seemed to leave it doubtful whether he meant to show respectto his visitor, or to defend his provision: but the doubt was sooncleared up by his politely motioning the knight to be seated; on whichthe friar advanced to the table, saying, "For what we are going toreceive," and commenced operations without further prelude by fillingand drinking a goblet of wine. The baron at the same time offered oneto Sir Ralph, with the look of a man in whom habitual hospitality andcourtesy were struggling with the ebullitions of natural anger. Theypledged each other in silence, and the baron, having completed a copiousdraught, continued working his lips and his throat, as if trying toswallow his wrath as he had done his wine. Sir Ralph, not knowing wellwhat to make of these ambiguous signs, looked for instructions to thefriar, who by significant looks and gestures seemed to advise him tofollow his example and partake of the good cheer before him, withoutspeaking till the baron should be more intelligible in his demeanour.The knight and the friar, accordingly, proceeded to refect themselvesafter their ride; the baron looking first at the one and then at theother, scrutinising alternately the serious looks of the knight andthe merry face of the friar, till at length, having calmed himselfsufficiently to speak, he said, "Courteous knight and ghostly father,I presume you have some other business with me than to eat my beef anddrink my canary; and if so, I patiently await your leisure to enter onthe topic."
"Lord Fitzwater," said Sir Ralph, "in obedience to my royal master, KingHenry, I have been the unwilling instrument of frustrating the intendednuptials of your fair daughter; yet will you, I trust, owe me nodispleasure for my agency herein, seeing that the noble maiden mightotherwise by this time have been the bride of an outlaw."
"I am very much obliged to you, sir," said the baron; "very exceedinglyobliged. Your solicitude for my daughter is truly paternal, and for ayoung man and a stranger very singular and exemplary: and it is verykind withal to come to the relief of my insufficiency and inexperience,and concern yourself so much in that which concerns you not."
"You misconceive the knight, noble baron," said the friar. "He urgesnot his reason in the shape of a preconceived intent, but in that ofa subsequent extenuation. True, he has done the lady Matilda greatwrong----"
"How, great wrong?" said the baron. "What do you mean by great wrong?Would you have had her married to a wild fly-by-night, that accidentmade an earl and nature a deer-stealer? that has not wit enough to eatvenison without picking a quarrel with monarchy? that flings away hisown lands into the clutches of rascally friars, for the sake of huntingin other men's grounds, and feasting vagabonds that wear Lincolngreen, and would have flung away mine into the bargain if he had had mydaughter? What do you mean by great wrong?"
"True," said the friar, "great right, I meant."
"Right!" exclaimed the baron: "what right has any man to do my daughterright but myself? What right has any man to drive my daughter'sbridegroom out of the chapel in the middle of the marriage ceremony, andturn all our merry faces into green wounds and bloody coxcombs, and thencome and tell me he has done us great right?"
"True," said the friar: "he has done neither right nor wrong."
"But he has," said the baron, "he has done both, and I will maintain itwith my glove."
"It shall not need," said Sir Ralph; "I will concede any thing inhonour."
"And I," said the baron, "will concede nothing in honour: I will concedenothing in honour to any man."
"Neither will I, Lord Fitzwater," said Sir Ralph, "in that sense:but hear me. I was commissioned by the king to apprehend the Earl ofHuntingdon. I brought with me a party of soldiers, picked and tried men,knowing that he would not lightly yield. I sent my lieutenant with adetachment to surprise the earl's castle in his absence, and laid mymeasures for intercepting him on the way to his intended nuptials; buthe seems to have had intimation of this part of my plan, for he broughtwith him a large armed retinue, and took a circuitous route, which madehim, I believe, somewhat later than his appointed hour. When the lapseof time showed me that he had taken another track, I pursued him to thechapel; and I would have awaited the close of the ceremony, if I hadthought that either yourself or your daughter would have felt desirousthat she should have been the bride of an outlaw."
"Who said, sir," cried the baron, "that we were desirous of any suchthing? But truly, sir, if I had a mind to the devil for a son-in-law, Iwould fain see the man that should venture to interfere."
"That would I," said the friar; "for I have undertaken to make herrenounce the devil."
"She shall not renounce the devil," said the baron, "unless I please.You are very ready with your undertakings. Will you undertake to makeher renounce the earl, who, I believe, is the devil incarnate? Will youundertake that?"
"Will I undertake," said the friar, "to make Trent run westward, or tomake flame burn downward, or to make a tree grow with its head in theearth and its root in the air?"
"So then," said the baron, "a girl's mind is as hard to change as natureand the elements, and it is easier to make her renounce the devil than alover. Are you a match for the devil, and no match for a man?"
"My warfare," said the friar, "is not of this world. I am militant notagainst man, but the devil, who goes about seeking what he may devour."
"Oh! does he so?" said the baron: "then I take it that makes you lookfor him so often in my buttery. Will you cast out the devil whose nameis Legion, when you cannot cast out the imp whose name is Love?"
"Marriages," said the friar, "are made in heaven. Love is God's work,and therewith I med
dle not."
"God's work, indeed!" said the baron, "when the ceremony was cut shortin the church. Could men have put them asunder, if God had joined themtogether? And the earl is now no earl, but plain Robert Fitz-Ooth:therefore, I'll none of him."
"He may atone," said the friar, "and the king may mollify. The earl is aworthy peer, and the king is a courteous king."
"He cannot atone," said Sir Ralph. "He has killed the king's men; and ifthe baron should aid and abet, he will lose his castle and land."
"Will I?" said the baron; "not while I have a drop of blood in my veins.He that comes to take them shall first serve me as the friar serves myflasks of canary: he shall drain me dry as hay. Am I not disparaged? AmI not outraged? Is not my daughter vilified, and made a mockery? A girlhalf-married? There was my butler brought home with a broken head.My butler, friar: there is that may move your sympathy. Friar, theearl-no-earl shall come no more to my daughter."
"Very good," said the friar.
"It is not very good," said the baron, "for I cannot get her to say so."
"I fear," said Sir Ralph, "the young lady must be much distressed anddiscomposed."
"Not a whit, sir," said the baron. "She is, as usual, in a mostprovoking imperturbability, and contradicts me so smilingly that itwould enrage you to see her."
"I had hoped," said Sir Ralph, "that I might have seen her, to make myexcuse in person for the hard necessity of my duty."
He had scarcely spoken, when the door opened, and the lady made herappearance.