A Forgotten Hero

  CHAPTER EIGHT.

  THE SHADOW OF THE FUTURE.

  In His name was struck the blow That hath laid thy old life low In a garb of blood-red woe.

  A very eventful year was 1291 in England and over all the civilisedworld. It was the end of the Crusades, the Turks driving the Christiansfrom Acre, the last place which they held in Palestine. It opened withthe submission of the Scottish succession to the arbitrament of Edwardthe First, and it closed with the funeral of his mother, Queen Eleonoreof Provence--a woman whom England was not able to thank for one gooddeed during her long and stormy reign. She had been a youthful beauty,she wrote poetry, and she had never scandalised the nation by anyimpropriety of womanly conduct. But these three statements close thelist of her virtues. She was equally grasping, unscrupulous, andextravagant. In her old age she retired to the Convent of Amesbury,where her two granddaughters, Mary of England, and Alianora of Bretagne,were nuns already, for the desirable purpose of "making her salvation."Perhaps she thought she had made it when the summons came to her in theautumn of 1291. No voice had whispered to her, all through her longlife of nearly eighty years, that if that ever were to be--

  "Jesus Christ has done it all Long, long ago."

  Matters had settled down quietly enough in Whitehall Palace. Sir Fulkde Chaucombe and Diana had been promoted to the royal household--theformer as attendant upon the King, the latter as Lady of the Bedchamberto his eldest daughter, the Princess Alianora, who, though twenty-sevenyears of age, was still unmarried. It was a cause of some surprise inher household that the Countess of Cornwall did not fill up the vacancycreated among her maidens by the marriages of Clarice and Diana. Butwhen December came it was evident that before she did so she meant tomake the vacancy still more complete.

  One dark afternoon in that cheerful month, the Lady Margaret marchedinto the bower, where her female attendants usually sat when not engagedin more active waiting upon her. It was Saturday.

  "Olympias Trusbut, Roisia de Levinton," she said in her harsh voice,which did not sound unlike the rasping of a file, "ye are to be wed onMonday morning."

  Olympias showed slight signs of going into hysterics, which beingobserved by the Lady Margaret, she calmly desired Felicia to fetch a jugof water. On this hint of what was likely to happen to her if sheimprudently screamed or fainted, Olympias managed to recover.

  "Ye are to wed the two squires," observed their imperious mistress. "Igave the choice to Reginald de Echingham, and he fixed on thee,Olympias."

  Olympias passed from terror to ecstasy.

  "Thou, Roisia, art to wed Ademar de Gernet. I will give both of youyour gear."

  And away walked the Countess.

  "I wish she would have let me alone," said Roisia, in doleful accents.

  "Too much to hope for," responded Felicia.

  "Dost thou not like De Gernet?" asked Clarice, sympathisingly.

  "Oh, I don't dislike him," said Roisia; "but I am not so fond of him asthat comes to."

  An hour or two later, however, Mistress Underdone appeared, in a stateof flurry by no means her normal one.

  "Well, here is a pretty tale," said she. "Not for thee, Olympias;matters be running smooth for thee, though the Lord Earl did say," addedshe, laughing, "that incense was as breath of life to Narcissus, and hewould needs choose the maid that should burn plenty on his altar. But--the thing is fair unheard of!--Ademar de Gernet refuses to wed underdirection from the Lady."

  "Why?" asked Roisia, looking rather insulted.

  "Oh, it has nought to do with thee, child," said Mistress Underdone."Quoth he that he desired all happiness to thee, and pardon of thee forthus dealing; but having given his heart to another of the Lady'sdamsels, he would not wed with any but her."

  "Why, that must be Felicia," said the other three together.

  Felicia looked flattered and conscious.

  "Well, I reckon so," answered Mistress Underdone. "Howbeit, the Ladyhath sent for him hither, to know of him in thy presence what he wouldbe at."

  "_Ha, chetife_!" exclaimed Roisia. "I wish it had been somewhere else."

  "Well, I cannot quite--. Hush! here she comes."

  And for the second time that day in stalked the Countess, and sat downon the curule chair which Mistress Underdone set for her, looking like ajudge, and a very stern one, too. In another minute the culprit madehis appearance, in charge of Sir Lambert Aylmer.

  "Now, De Gernet, what means this?" irascibly demanded his mistress.

  "Lady, it means not disobedience to you, nor any displeasance done tothis young damsel"--and De Gernet turned and bowed to Roisia. "This itmeans, that I dearly love another of your Ladyship's damsels, and I domost humbly and heartily crave your permission to wed with her."

  "What, Felicia de Fay?" said the Countess.

  "Under your Ladyship's pleasure and her pardon, no."

  Felicia's face changed evilly.

  "But who, then? There is none other."

  "Let my Lady be pleased to pardon me. There is one other--HelietPride."

  The faces in the bower just then might have furnished a study for anartist. Those of Clarice and Olympias expressed surprise mixed withsome pleasure; so did Mistress Underdone's, but the degree of both wasintense. The Countess looked half vexed and wholly astonished, with alittle contempt superadded. Felicia's face foreboded nothing but ill toeither Ademar or Heliet.

  "Heliet Pride!" cried the Countess sharply. "Why, man, she goes oncrutches!"

  "They will carry her to the chapel, with my Lady's leave," answered DeGernet, coolly.

  "Gramercy, but thou wilt have a lovely wife! There'll be no pride inher outside her name," said the Countess, with a grim smile at her ownjoke. Indeed, she was so much amused that she forgot to be angry.

  "I will see about that, if my Lady will grant me her grace," respondedDe Gernet, in the same tone.

  "Eh, thou shalt have her," said the Countess. "I shall get Roisiadisposed of a sight easier than Heliet. So be it. Roisia, thou canststill prepare for thy bridal; I will find somebody by Monday morning."

  The Countess was rising from her chair, when Sir Lambert, after a glanceat Roisia, observed that if her Ladyship found any difficulty in thatselection, he had no particular objection to be chosen.

  "You!" said the Countess. "Oh, very good; it will save trouble. Let itbe so."

  Roisia appeared to be, if anything, rather gratified by the exchange.But Clarice, looking into the dark, passionate eyes of Felicia, felttroubled for the happiness of Heliet.

  Olympias, like Clarice, was promoted to a vacancy among the ladies ofthe bedchamber. But Sir Lambert and Roisia passed away from the life atWhitehall. The new Maids of Honour were speedily appointed. Theirnames proved to be Sabina Babingell, Ada Gresley, and Filomena Bray.The Countess declared her intention of keeping four only in the future.

  The summer of 1292 saw the King on the Scottish border, and in his trainthe Earl and Countess of Cornwall, with their household, moved north asfar as Oakham. The household had been increased by one more, for in theApril previous Clarice Barkeworth became the mother of a little girl.This was the first event which helped to reconcile her to her lot. Shehad been honestly trying hard to do her duty by Vivian, who scarcelyseemed to think that he had any duty towards her, beyond the obvious oneof civility in public. All thought of Piers Ingham had been resolutelycrushed down, except when it came--as it sometimes did--in the form of adream of bliss from which she awoke to desolation. A miserable day wassure to follow one of those dreams. The only other moment when sheallowed herself to think of him was in her evening prayer.

  It was a relief to Clarice that she had never heard a word of Pierssince he left Whitehall. Her work would have been harder if his namehad remained a household word. And yet in another sense it was hardnever to know what had become of him, whether he were as sad as herself,or had been comforted elsewhere.

  Vivian's manners in public were perfect to every one, and Clarice share
dwith the rest. In private she was terribly snubbed whenever he was in abad temper, and carelessly ignored when he was in a good one. The babydaughter, who was such a comfort to Clarice, was a source of bittervexation to Vivian. In his eyes, while a son would have been anundoubted blessing, a daughter was something actively worse than adisappointment. When Clarice timidly inquired what name he wished thechild to bear, Vivian distinctly intimated that the child and all herbelongings were totally beneath his notice. She could call the nuisancewhat she liked.

  Clarice silently folded her insulted darling to her breast, and tacitlypromised it that its mother at least should never think it a nuisance.

  "What shall I call her?" she said to Mistress Underdone and Olympias,both of whom were inclined to pet the baby exceedingly.

  "Oh, something pretty!" said Olympias. "Don't have a plain, commonname. Don't call her Joan, or Parnel, or Beatrice, or Margery, or Maud,or Isabel. You meet those at every turn. I am quite glad I was notcalled anything of that sort."

  "I wouldn't have it too long," was Mistress Underdone's recommendation."I'd never call her Frethesancia, or Florianora, or Aniflesia, orSauncelina. Let her have a good, honest name, Dame, one syllable, or atmost two. You'll have to clip it otherwise."

  "I thought of Rose," said Clarice, meditatively.

  "Well, it is not common," allowed Olympias. "Still, it is very short.Couldn't you have had it a _little_ longer?"

  "That'll do," pronounced Mistress Underdone. "It is short, and it meansa pretty, sweet, pleasant thing. I don't know but I should have calledmy girl Rose, if I'd chosen her name; but her father fancied Heliet, andso it had to be so."

  "Well, we can call her Rosamond," comfortingly suggested Olympias.

  So, in the course of that evening, Father Bevis baptised little RoseBarkeworth in the chapel of the palace, the Earl standing sponsor forher, with the Lady de Chaucombe and the Lady de Echingham. The Countesshad been asked, but to Clarice's private satisfaction had declined, forshe would much rather have had the Earl, and the canon law forbadehusband and wife being sponsors to the same infant.

  Something was the matter with the Countess. Every one agreed upon this,but nobody could guess what it was. She was quieter than her wont, andwas given to long, silent reveries, which had not been usual with her.

  Filomena, who was of a lively turn of mind, declared that life atWhitehall was becoming absolutely intolerable, and that she should bethankful to go to Oakham, for at least it would be something new.

  "Thou wilt be thankful to come away again," said Mistress Underdone,with a smile.

  They reached Oakham about the middle of July, and found Heliet, leaningon her crutches, ready to welcome them with smiles in the hall. No newshad reached her of their proceedings, and there was a great deal to tellher; but Heliet and the baby took to one another in an instant, as if bysome unseen magical force.

  The item of news which most concerned herself was not told to Helietthat night. The next morning, when all were seated at work, and babyRose, in Heliet's lap, was contentedly sucking her very small thumb,Mistress Underdone said rather suddenly, "We have not told thee all,Heliet."

  "I dare say not," replied Heliet, brightly. "You must have all done agreat deal more in these two years than you have told me."

  "Well, lass, 'tis somewhat I never looked I should have to tell thee.There's somebody wants to wed thee."

  "Me!" cried Heliet, in large capitals.

  "Ay, thee--crutches and all," said her mother laughing. "He said he didnot care for thy crutches so they carried thee safe to chapel; and heran the risk of offending the Lady to get thee. So I reckon he setssome store by thee, lass."

  "Who is it?" said Heliet, in a low voice, while a bright red spot burnedin each cheek.

  "Ademar de Gernet." Two or three voices told her. The bright spotsburned deeper.

  "Is it to be?" was the next question.

  "Ay, the Lady said so much; and I reckon she shall give thee thy gear."

  "God has been very good to me," said Heliet, softly, rocking little Rosegently to and fro. "But I never thought He meant to give me _that_!"

  Clarice looked up, and saw a depth of happy love in the lame girl'seyes, which made her sigh for herself. Then, looking further, sheperceived a depth of black hate in those of Felicia de Fay, which madeher tremble for Heliet.

  It appeared very shortly that the Countess was in a hurry to get thewedding over. Perhaps she was weary of weddings in her household, forshe did not seem to be in a good temper about this. She always thoughtHeliet would have had a vocation, she said, which would have been farbetter for her, with her lameness, than to go limping into chapel to bewed. She wondered nobody saw the impropriety of it. However, as shehad promised De Gernet, she supposed it must be so. She did not knowwhat she herself could have been thinking about to make such a foolishpromise. She was not usually so silly as that. However, if it must be,it had better be got over.

  So got over it was, on an early morning in August, De Gernet receivingknighthood from the Earl at the close of the ceremony.

  Mistress Underdone had petitioned that her lame and only child might notbe separated from her, and the Countess--according to her own authority,in a moment of foolishness--had granted the petition. So Heliet wasdrafted among the Ladies of the Bedchamber, but only as an honorarydistinction.

  The manner of the Countess continued to strike every one as unusual.Long fits of musing with hands lying idle were becoming common with her,and when she rose from them she would generally shut herself up in heroratory for the remainder of the day. Clarice thought, and Helietagreed with her, that something was going to happen. Once, too, asClarice was carrying Rose along the terrace, she was met by the Earl,who stopped and noticed the child, as in his intense and unsatisfiedlove for little children he always did. Clarice thought he looked evenunwontedly sorrowful.

  From the child, Earl Edmund looked up into the pleased eyes of the youngmother.

  "Dame Clarice," he asked, gently, "are you happier than you were?"

  Her eyes grew suddenly grave.

  "Thus far," she said, touching the child. "Otherwise--I try to becontent with God's will, fair Lord. It is hard to bear heart-hunger."

  "Ah!" The Earl's tone was significant. "Yes, it is hard to bear in anyform," he said, after a pause. "May God send you never to know, Dame,that there is a more terrible form than that wherein you bear it."

  And he left her almost abruptly.

  The winter of 1292 dragged slowly along. Filomena declared that herbody was as starved as her mind, and she should be frozen to death ifshe stayed any longer. The next day, to everybody's astonishment, theCountess issued orders to pack up for travelling. Sir Vivian andClarice were to go with her--where, she did not say. So were Olympias,Felicia, and Ada. Mistress Underdone, Sir Reginald, Sir Ademar andHeliet, Filomena and Sabina, were left behind at Oakham.

  Olympias grumbled extremely at being separated from her husband, andFilomena at being left behind. The Countess would listen to neither.

  "When shall we return, under my Lady's leave?" asked Olympias,disconsolately.

  "_You_ can return," was the curt answer, "when I have done with you. Idoubt if Sir Vivian and his dame will return at all. Ada certainly willnot."

  "_Ha, jolife_!" said Ada, under her breath. She did not like Oakham.

  Clarice, on the contrary, was inclined to make an exclamation of horror.For never to return to Oakham meant never to see Heliet again. Andwhat could the Countess mean by a statement which sounded at least as if_she_ were not intending to return?

  Concerning Felicia the Countess said nothing. That misnamed young ladyhad during the past few months been trying her best to make Helietmiserable. She began by attempting to flirt with Sir Ademar, but shefound him completely impervious material. Her arrows glanced upon hisshield, and simply dropped off without further notice. Then she took totaunting Heliet with her lameness, but Heliet kept her temper. Next shesneered
at her religious views. Heliet answered her gently, gravely,but held her own with undiminished calmness. This point had beenreached when the Countess's order was given to depart from Oakham.

  Even those least disposed to note the signs of the times felt thepressure of some impending calamity. The strange manner of theCountess, the restless misery of the Earl, whom they all loved, thebusy, bustling, secretly-triumphant air of Father Miles--all denotedsome hidden working. Father Bevis had been absent for some weeks, andwhen he returned he wore the appearance of a baffled and out-weariedman.

  "He looks both tired and disappointed," remarked Clarice to Heliet.

  "He looks," said Heliet, "like a man who had been trying very hard toscale the wall of a tower, and had been flung back, bruised andhelpless, upon the stones below."

  During the four months last spent at Oakham, Clarice had been absolutelysilent to Heliet on the subject of her own peculiar trouble. Perhapsshe might have remained so, had it not been for the approachingseparation. But her lips were unsealed by the strong possibility thatthey might never meet again. It was late on the last evening thatClarice spoke, as she sat rocking Rose's cradle. She laid bare herheart before Heliet's sympathising eyes, until she could trace the wholeweary journey through the arid desert sands.

  "And now tell me, friend," Clarice ended, "why our Lord deals sodifferently with thee and with me. Are we not both His children? Yetto thee He hath given the desire of thine heart, and on mine He lays Hishand, and says, `No, child, thou must not have it.'"

  "I suppose, beloved," was Heliet's gentle answer, "that the treatmentsuitable for consumption will not answer for fever. We are both sick ofthe deadly disease of sin; but it takes a different development in each.Shall we wonder if the Physician bleeds the one, and administersstrengthening medicines to the other?"

  Clarice's lip quivered, but she rocked Rose's cradle without answering.

  "There is also another consideration," pursued Heliet. "If I mistakenot--to alter the figure--we have arrived at different points in oureducation. If one of us can but decline `_puer_,' while the other ishalf through the syntax, is it any wonder if the same lesson be notgiven to us to learn? Dear Clarice, all God's children need keepingdown. I have been kept down all these years by my physical sufferings.That is not appointed to thee; thou art tried in another way. Shall weeither marvel or murmur because our Father sees that each needs adifferent class of discipline?"

  "Oh, Heliet, if I might have had thine! It seems to me so much thelighter cross to carry."

  "Then, dear, I am the less honoured--the further from the full share ofthe fellowship of our Lord's sufferings."

  Clarice shook her head as if she hardly saw it in that light.

  "Clarice, let me tell thee a parable which I read the other day in thewritings of the holy Fathers. There were once two monks, dwelling inhermits' cells near to each other, each of whom had one choice treegiven him to cultivate. When this had lasted a year, the tree of theone was in flourishing health, while that of the other was all stuntedand bare. `Why, brother,' said the first, `what hast thou done to thytree?' `Now, judge thou, my brother,' replied the second, `if I couldpossibly have done more for my tree than I have done. I watched itcarefully every day. When I thought it looked dry, I prayed for rain;when the ground was too wet, I prayed for dry weather; I prayed fornorth wind or south wind, as I saw them needed. All that I asked, Ireceived; and yet look at my poor tree! But how didst thou treat thine?for thy plan has been so much more successful than mine that I wouldfain try it next year.' The other monk said only, `I prayed God to makemy tree flourish, and left it to Him to send what weather He saw good.'"

  "He has sent a bitter blast from the north-east," answered Clarice, withtrembling lips.

  "And a hedge to shelter the root of the tree," said Heliet, pointing toRose.

  "Oh, my little Rosie!" exclaimed Clarice, kissing the childpassionately. "But if God were to take her, Heliet, what would becomeof me?"

  "Do not meet trouble half way, dear," said Heliet, gently. "There is noapparent likelihood of any such thing."

  "I do not meet it--it comes!" cried poor Clarice.

  "Then wait till it comes. `Sufficient unto the day is the evilthereof.'"

  "Yet when one has learned by experience that evil is perpetually coming,how can one help looking forward to the morrow?"

  "Look forward," said Heliet. "But let it be to the day afterto-morrow--the day when we shall awake up after Christ's likeness, andbe satisfied with it--when the Lord our God shall come, and all thesaints with Him. Dear, a gem cannot be engraved without thecutting-tools. Wouldst thou rather be spared the pain of the cuttingthan have Christ's likeness graven upon thee?"

  "Oh, could it not be done with less cutting?"

  "Yes--and more faintly graven then."

  Clarice sobbed, without speaking.

  "If the likeness is to be in high relief, so that all men may see it,and recognise the resemblance, and applaud the graver, Clarice, the toolmust cut deep."

  "If one could ever know that it was nearly done, it would be easier tobear it."

  "Ay, but how if the vision were granted us, and we saw that it was notnearly done by many a year? It is better not to know, dear. Yet it isnatural to us all to think that it would be far easier if we could see.Therefore the more `blessed is he that hath not seen, and yet hathbelieved.'"

  "I do think," said poor Clarice, drearily, "that I must be the worsttried of all His people."

  "Clarice," answered Heliet, in a low voice, "I believe there is one inthis very castle far worse tried than thou--a cross borne which is tentimes heavier than thine, and has no rose-bud twined around it. And itis carried with the patience of an angel, with the unselfishforgetfulness of Christ. The tool is going very deep there, and alreadythe portrait stands out in beautiful relief. And that cross will neverbe laid down till the sufferer parts with it at the very gate of Heaven.At least, so it seems to me. As the years go on it grows heavier, andit is crushing him almost into the dust now."

  "Whom dost thou mean, Heliet?"

  "The Lord Earl, our master."

  "I can see he is sorely tried; but I never quite understand what histrouble is."

  "The sorrow of being actively hated by the only one whom he loves. Theprospect of being left to die, in wifeless and childless loneliness--that terrible loneliness of soul which is so much worse to bear than anymere physical solitude. God, for some wise reason, has shut him up toHimself. He has deprived him of all human relationship and human love;has said to him, `Lean on Me, and walk loose from all other ties.' Awedded man in the eyes of the world, God has called him in reality to bean anchorite of the Order of Providence, to follow the Lambwhithersoever He goeth. And unless mine eyes see very wrongly into thefuture--as would God they did!--the Master is about to lead this dearservant into the Gethsemane of His passion, that he may be fashionedlike Him in all things. Ah, Clarice, that takes close cutting!"

  "Heliet, what dost thou mean? Canst thou guess what the Lady is aboutto do?"

  "I think she is going to leave him."

  "Alone?--for ever?"

  "For earth," said Heliet, softly. "God be thanked, that is not forever."

  "What an intensely cruel woman she is!" cried Clarice, indignantly.

  "Because, I believe, she is a most miserable one."

  "Canst thou feel any pity for _her_?"

  "It is not so easy as for him. Yet I suspect she needs it even morethan he does. Christ have mercy on them both!"

  "I cannot comprehend it," said Clarice.

  "I will tell thee one thing," answered Heliet. "I would rather changewith thee than with Sir Edmund the Earl; and a hundred times rather withthee than with the Lady Margaret. It is hard to suffer; but it is worseto be the occasion of suffering. Let me die a thousand times over withSaint Stephen, before I keep the clothes of the persecutors with Saul."

  Clarice stooped and lifted the child from the cradle.

&nbs
p; "It is growing late," she said. "I suppose we ought not to be uplonger. Good-night, sweetheart, and many thanks for thy counsel. It isall true, I know; yet--"

  "In twenty years, may be--or at the longest, when thou hast seen HisFace in righteousness--dear Clarice, thou wilt know it, and want to addno _yet_."

  The soft tap of Heliet's crutches had died away, but Clarice stood stillwith the child in her arms.

  "It must be _yet_ now, however," she said, half aloud. "Do Thy willwith me--cut me and perfect me; but, O God, leave me, leave me Rosie!"