*CHAPTER XXIV.*
*"*_*DE MORTUIS.*_*"*
"O God, that it were possible, after long years of pain, To find the arms of my true love around me once again!"
"The walls where hung the warriors' shining casques Are green with moss and mould; The blind worm coils where queens have slept, nor asks For shelter from the cold."
Three years had passed since John de Standen pulled down the strongholdof the De Beauchamps. William de Beauchamp, making the best of thenecessity which was forced upon him, set to work to erect himself ahouse between the inner and outer bailey. It still went by the name ofthe castle. Unfortunately no plan or description of this building hasbeen handed down to us. It only existed for about twice as long as itspredecessor, the Norman keep of Pain de Beauchamp. Camden, writing inthe reign of Queen Elizabeth, describes it as a stately ruin overhangingthe Ouse; and an old map of about the same time shows that these ruinsoccupied a pleasant position a little back from the river, and lookingsouth. As it was strictly an unfortified mansion, we may opine that itwas much such a building as that which we have described at Bletsoe,consisting of a large, long hall, with private apartments at one end onestory high, but larger and built of stone.
In one of these apartments, one afternoon in the summer of 1227, satAliva de Pateshulle, now Aliva de Beauchamp, with her baby-boy upon herknee. She was looking out of the round, arched window, which wassomewhat larger than the shuttered apertures in the old keep. The housewas intended for a comfortable dwelling, and not for a place of defence.The walls were not half the thickness of those which had enclosed herprison of three years before, though built of identically the samestones. The rooms, too, were lighter, larger, and more habitable. Thescience of domestic architecture was beginning.
Aliva herself was also a more fully developed specimen of beautifulyoung womanhood. The angularity of her tall figure had disappeared, andthere was more ripeness and fulness about her cheeks and mouth. But herlarge gray eyes remained unchanged. Her beautiful fair hair, perhaps ashade darker than it had been when it hung down over her shoulders thatmorning in the garden at Bletsoe, was partly covered with the uglywimple, the matronly head-dress of the period, which had replaced themaidenly fillet.
Aliva was gazing from the window, which commanded a view of the river,and was apparently watching for the approach of some one from theentrance to the west. Presently she waved her hand in that direction,and holding up the boy to the window, bade him look down at his father.
Ralph entered the house, crossed the large hall, and made his way to hiswife's apartment. He also had somewhat altered in three years. Hismassive frame had filled out, and with his large limbs more covered withflesh and muscle, he looked even more like a young giant than he haddone that eve of the Assumption when he had fought his way into thekeep.
He strode into the room, his face lighting up with a smile as his littleson clambered down from his mother's knee and toddled to meet him. Helifted the boy up and kissed him. Then he kissed his wife; and she,returning his embrace, began forthwith with feminine curiosity,--
"Well, sweetheart mine, what news?"
Ralph was in his riding-dress. He had come in from a journey, and thiswas why Aliva was watching for him so anxiously from the window. Thecountry had, indeed, much quieted down since the siege of Bedford Castleand the ejection of the De Breaute marauders. During the period whichelapsed between the revolt against King John and the wars of the barons,which troubled the latter end of his successor's reign, there interveneda period of peace. Nevertheless, Aliva was always glad to see herhusband safe home again.
"And so, Ralph mine, if thou hast news, prithee tell it me. Here naughthas passed out of the common. The boy and I have played together, andawaited the home-coming of father."
"My business for which I set forth is ended," began Ralph; "but, marry,'twas dull work! 'Tis ill to deal with scriveners and such like folk!But as I rode through St. Alban's I bethought me of turning in to theabbey gate, and making my obeisance to the reverend father abbot. Thouknowest that a De Beauchamp is ever welcome in a house of Holy Church."
"Ah, St. Alban's!" cried Aliva; "and, prithee, didst give my messagerelating to the incised stone to the memory of my protector, who wasslain at the siege, the bold young lay-brother of Bletsoe?"
"Ay, verily I did," replied Ralph. "And the father abbot was wellpleased to learn that one of their house, who fell in fighting for HolyChurch (for thus, thou knowest, these priests always speak of thesiege), should sleep in our fair church of St. Paul at Bedford. He hathgiven me an inscription to have writ on the slab. He saith it should becut in letters as is cut the inscription to Muriel Colt on the north ofthe high altar. But hearken, wife," he added, sitting down beside her;"I have other news for thee."
"And good news, prithee?"
"Heaven forfend that I should speak hastily or harshly of a dead enemy!"continued Ralph gravely. "Sir Fulke is no more. The reverend fatherhath instructed me that I may say, an if I will, 'Rest his soul inpeace.' For it seemeth he died free from the censure of Holy Church."
Aliva received the news in silence. Her thoughts flew back to those fewterrible weeks when she was an unwilling guest in Fulke's castle. Thenshe replied,--
"I, too, would say, 'God rest his soul.' As thou knowest, I scarce sawhim here, for he fled to Wales when he heard that the council haddetermined to attack the castle. But his brother--"
She paused, for even now she could not make the least allusion toWilliam de Breaute without a shudder.
"Tell me all thou hast heard," she added.
"I will give the tale in few words," Ralph answered. "Thou mindest how,after he had submitted himself to our lord the king in Bedford here, hewas given, as an enemy of Holy Church, into the safe-keeping of my LordEustace, the Bishop of London."
"Ay," put in Aliva. "Some time since, when I went to Elstow to visitLady Margaret, the reverend mother told me how she had restored thesword into the hands of the figure of St. Paul in the abbey church, assoon as it was told her that the holy apostle had the destroyer of St.Paul's Church safe in the keeping of the Bishop of St. Paul's inLondon."
"But see here," Ralph went on. "The good father has had writ out for mea copy of the entry of Sir Fulke's history, as recorded by the scribe ofthe monastery to be laid in the scriptorium. I will e'en read it tothee, if I have not forgot the Latin the old chaplain taught me when Iwas a boy."
And Ralph read out the following history, which is still preserved to usin the chronicles of St. Alban's:--
"Fulke, after that he was pardoned at London, and because he was markedwith the cross, was allowed to depart for Rome. After crossing the seahe applied for a passport at Fiscamp, and was detained by the bailiffsof France. At last, the following Easter, after that he had beenreleased from prison, he went to Rome, and sent very piteous letters tothe king, asking that his wife and his lands might be restored to him."
"Alack! The poor Lady Margaret!" put in Aliva, with a sigh.
"Whereupon the king, with his barons," read on Ralph, "sent word to ourlord the Pope of the treachery of Fulke; and the latter, having had hisrefusal, set off for Troyes; and after staying there a year, was sentout of France, because he would not pay homage to the king. He went toRome, and again, with much entreaty, begged that his wife and hispatrimony might be restored to him; and on his return from that city,burdened with debt, he died at St. Cyriac."
"His wife would ne'er have returned to him!" ejaculated Alivaindignantly.
"Neither had he any patrimony here, either in the castle or in themanors," added Ralph. "Were they not wrested from my uncle and fromothers, and given to him as a reward for his evil services to our lateking John? And hark ye, my Aliva, the father abbot showed me also,written by his learned scribe, the whole account of the siege of thecastle; and he saith that, in after ages, the history of Bedford will beknown ever as it is known now. Perchan
ce our names are mentioned, but Iread not that portion of the chronicle."
His wife scarcely heeded. She was thinking of the present, and not ofthe future. Woman-like, her mind was running on match-making.
"Does the Lady Margaret know of Sir Fulke's death?" she asked.
"I trow not," answered Ralph. "The news hath but even now reachedEngland, and hath but just been set down by the abbey scribe at the endof his history of the siege. But doubtless news will be sent to EarlWilliam de Warenne, who, as thou knowest, has charge of the lands andpossessions which were hers ere she married, and which have beenrestored to her."
"Then she is free!" mused Aliva.
"Ay, free, poor lady. The priests decided, when she sought to bereleased, that there had been no impediment of canon law to hermarriage, and that it could not, even if it had been in a manner forced,and the bride unwilling, be dissolved by the authority of the Church.Death hath loosed her bonds."
There was a stirring of the heavy curtain which hung in the doorway ofthe apartment. But so engrossed were the two speakers that no onenoticed it but the child, who, after looking towards it, began to toddleuncertainly in that direction.
"She is free," repeated Aliva thoughtfully. "Her husband is dead, andshe hath not yet bound herself by the vows of a religious life, even didshe wish it, which, often as I have talked with her these three yearspast since she hath sought shelter at Elstow, I doubt much."
"True, wife; if any one should know the Lady Margaret's mind, it shouldbe thou, who art to her as a daughter. But beshrew me if I wot whatthou art driving at, sweetheart."
Aliva sprang up, and throwing her arms round her husband's neck,exclaimed, with an arch smile,--
"How oft dunder-headed men are where love is concerned! Ralph, we shallsee the Lady Margaret the _chatelaine_ of Bedford again!"
And then a most extraordinary thing occurred. Behind, in the doorway,they heard a joyful laugh.
There stood their uncle, Sir William, who never within the memory ofeither of them had been known even to smile.
He advanced hurriedly into the room, and catching up his great-nephew inhis arms, kissed his little flaxen head, and laughed again.
THE END.
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