CHAPTER XVII. THE ENGLISH HEIR TAKES POSSESSION.
The castle and village of Aescendune lay in deep silence allthrough this eventful day; it was in early spring, and the air wasbalmy, the sun bright, the birds sang their sweetest songs, thehedgerows and trees put forth their fresh green buds, and allnature seemed instinct with life.
Only a few gray-headed servitors were left to guard the precinctsof the castle, for no attack was apprehended from the marauders ofthe forest, as the Normans styled the English; and every one whocould bear arms had left to swell the final triumph of Hugo.
Noontide came, and found the little band, of some score aged men,intent upon their midday meal. This accomplished, they reclined invarious easy positions, around the battlements, or on thegreensward without, while some had even penetrated into the forestin their eagerness to hear the first news of the extermination ofthe English, which none doubted was close at hand.
Towards the evening, one of them, who lay reclining on a mossy bankbeneath a spreading beech, on a slight eminence, observed a greatsmoke rising above the tree tops in the distance.
"Doubtless," thought he, "they are smoking the vermin out, orburning the houses and barns--of which we have heard--within thecircle of the Deadly Swamp."
But as the smoke increased more and more, a certain vague feelingof anxiety gained possession of him, and he longed for moreaccurate means of observation.
"Would I were not so old!
"Oh, young Tristam," he cried, as he observed a Norman boy, son ofone of the men-at-arms--a lad of about twelve years of age--"comehere!"
"What does all that smoke mean?" cried the lad; "are they burningthe encampment of the rebels, or has the forest caught fire? it isdry enough."
"No doubt they are burning the huts of those rebels and outlaws inthe Swamp; but, Tristam, thou art young; canst thou not run overthrough the woods? The hill, whereon the pine lately struck bylightning stands, will command a distant view of the Swamp; thenreturn, and tell me all."
The boy started like a greyhound, and ran through the woods witheagerness.
"A fine stripling, that; the saints grant his arms may turn out asgood as his legs," growled out old Raoul; and so he waited withsuch patience as he could command.
An hour passed, and the old man was dozing, when the boy returned.
"Wake up, old man," he said, "I bring news."
"News--what news? Are they all burnt--slain--captives?"
"I know not; only the Dismal Swamp is a mass of flame, and all thereeds and flags are burning merrily; 'tis such a bonfire!"
"I believe the lad would clap his hands at a bonfire, if his owngrandmother were burning therein as a witch. How dost thou knowwhether this is for us or against us?"
"How can I tell?" said the lad, more seriously.
"Perchance our people had not all crossed, and the English fired itto secure their own safety. But how could they have foreseen ourexpedition?"
His anxiety was not of long duration, for an object was seenemerging from the shadow of the woods, and making by the base ofthe little hill towards Aescendune.
"What cheer?" cried the old man, "hither!"
And as he spoke the stranger turned his head, hearing the familiarsounds, and ascended the hill slowly, and with pain.
He presented a dismal object; his hair and beard had been scorchedin some intense fire, and his clothes blackened and burnt.
The two Normans, old man and boy, stood up aghast.
"What! is it thou, Owen of Bayeux?"
"I was that man a few hours agone. I doubt what I am now."
"What hast thou suffered, then? Where are the baron and his men?"
"Burnt in the Dismal Swamp?"
"Burnt?"
"Yes, burnt; I speak good French do I not?"
"Owen, Owen," cried the old Raoul, "do not mistake thy friends forfoes! tell us what dreadful event has happened, to disturb thyreason."
"Would it were but disturbed! Oh that I should have lived to seethis day!"
"Tell us," cried young Tristam, "tell us, Owen."
"A fate was on us, as on the Egyptians of old; only they perishedby water, we by fire."
"But how?"
"Ordgar the guide, whom we thought we had secured so opportunely,led us into the marshes and left us therein; and while we werethere, the English fired the reeds and bulrushes on all sides."
"And the baron?"
"He and all have perished; I only have escaped to tell thee. Whereare the rest who were left behind?"
"Here they are," cried Tristam, as a group of old warriorsapproached.
"Come, Roger, Jocelyn, Jolliffe--come hear the news," cried theboy. "Oh, come and hear them; can they be true? All burnt? alldead?"
The horror-struck Normans soon learnt the fatal truth from Owen ofBayeux, and all their stoical fortitude was shaken.
"I was one of the last on the track, and saved only by a merechance, or the grace of St. Owen, my patron. I had dropped myquiver of arrows, and had gone back a few steps to fetch it; theybrought me to the edge of the reedy marsh, and I was justreturning, having found the quiver, when I heard a cry, followed byechoes as from a chain of sentinels all round the marsh--'Fire thereeds!' I ran back to the main land, climbed a tree which stoodhandy, and saw the marsh burst into fire in a hundred spots. It waslighted all round, while our men were in the midst. A chain ofenemies surrounded it. I did my best to warn our lord or to diewith him. I penetrated the marsh a little distance, when the flamesbeat me back--man can't fight fire."
"Let us go to the castle, take what we can carry, and fly," saidRaoul; "they will be here soon, if they have destroyed our men; andthere will be no safety nearer than Warwick for us."
"Can we abandon our post?" asked one.
"Not till we are sure all is lost," said another.
"Tristam, thou must remain here and watch, and warn us if anyapproach."
"But how long shall I stay?" sobbed the alarmed boy.
"Nay, he is too young," cried the fugitive from the marsh;"besides, it is needless. I know they are all coming upon us--theyare thousands strong instead of hundreds, as that liar, the guide,stated. We must fly ourselves, for the time, and bid the monks, thewomen, and children to fly also."
"Shall we burn the castle, lest it fall into their hands as astronghold?"
"Nay, that were to give up all; we shall return thither again, andthat soon; leave it open for them. The Norman lion will prove morethan a match for the English wolf in the long run."
"Onward, then--home--home."
And the dispirited men returned to the castle.
It was manifestly useless to attempt to defend the place; all thatcould be done was to save their lives, and such "portable property"as could be removed on the instant.
So the old men only returned to warn their astonished comrades, andthen gathering such household goods as they most valued, theyloaded the horses and oxen which remained, and journeyed to bearthe news to Warwick.
But before they went, Tristam was sent to warn the prior and hisconfreres at the priory of St. Denys that danger was at hand.
"I care not," said that valiant prior of the Church Militant,"though as many Englishmen were in the woods as leaves on thetrees; they shall be excommunicated if they interfere with us; ourweapons are not carnal."
So the Norman Prior and his monks shut their gates and remained,while through the forest road the men-at-arms escorted all thewomen and children of the village, the interlopers who had takenthe place of the banished English, towards the town of Warwick, andits famous castle, where Henry de Beauchamp had recently beenappointed governor by the Conqueror, the first Norman Earl ofWarwick, and the ancestor of a famous line of warriors. We havealready met his countess at Aescendune, on the occasion of thededication of the new priory.
The Normans had all left the castle and village before sunset,leaving the gates open and the drawbridge down, as they expresslysaid that the English might be under no temptation to devastate aplace which m
ust soon be in their hands again.
The castle lay empty and deserted for an hour or two; the cattle,too many to be removed, began to low and bleat because they missedtheir customary attention; only in the Priory of St. Denys didthings go on as usual; there the bells rang out for vespers andcompline, and the foreign brethren went on their way as if theevents of the day had no importance for them.
It was already nightfall, when the forests gave up hundreds ofarmed men from their dark shade, who poured down like a torrentupon Aescendune, and directed their course towards the castle,where they were somewhat astonished to find the drawbridge down,the gates open.
At first they paused as if they feared treachery, but Wilfredstepped forward and stood in the gateway.
Turning round he addressed the multitude.
"Men of Aescendune, bear me witness that, in the name of my fathersand ancestors, I, their heir, take possession of mine inheritance."
A loud burst of cheers greeted these words, and the English,following their young lord into the castle, found it utterlydeserted.
No words can describe the glee with which they paraded thebattlements, and flung out the ancient banner of the house ofAescendune to the winds, from the summit of the keep, after whichthey penetrated chamber after chamber, with almost childishcuriosity, so new was the idea of such a building to theirimaginations.
But it was with sensations of chilling horror that they exploredits dungeons beneath the very foundations of the towers. Some werecells for solitary confinement, of the shape of a tomb and not muchlarger, the stone doors of which shut with a gloomy solemnsound--the knell of hope to the captive.
And then they came to the torture chamber, of which they hadalready heard from Ordgar, son of Haga, and saw the seat ofjudgment, so often occupied by him who had now passed to his dreadaccount; they beheld the rack, the brazier, the thumbscrew, andshuddered.
"I am sick," said the English heir; "take away these accursedthings; burn what will burn, and throw the rest in the river;should our grandchildren find them, they may well ask what theywere made for."
Meanwhile the monks at the new priory were calmly awaiting theirfate with a courage worthy of a better cause. They heard the joyfulshouts of the English as they took possession of the castle,without flinching; they rang their bells loudly and defiantly, forthe compline service at the third hour of the night (9 P.M.) Thislast act of audacity was too much; the natives surrounded the newpriory, beat at its doors, rang the bell at the gate, blew theirhorns, and made a noise which baffles description, while theyproceeded to batter down the gates.
But not until the service was concluded, when the gate only hung byone hinge, did the prior appear.
"Who are ye," he cried, "who molest the house of God, and those whoserve Him within?"
"A pious fox"--"a holy fox"--"smoke them out"--"set the place onfire"--"let them taste the fate which befell better men on thisspot!"
"In whose name," said the undismayed prior, "do ye summon me?"
"In the name of the descendant of him who first founded thispriory--of Wilfred, thane of Aescendune."
"Ye mock us; he is dead."
"Nay, he lives," said a voice, and our youthful hero appeared onthe scene, and addressed the astonished monk.
"Prior, go forth from the house thou and thy brethren have usurped,and make way for the true owners. By my side stands the solesurvivor of the brethren whom Hugo de Malville slaughtered, FatherKenelm, a Benedictine like thyself. Admit him; he will tell theeall."
"Since it may be no better, he shall come in. If I open the gatesfor him, ye will not take advantage?"
"Stand back," cried Wilfred, "let the holy monk enter alone."
And, shortly after, Father Kenelm stood in the chapter house, andexplained all to the astonished Norman brethren. He told the storyof the destruction of their predecessors, and pointed out thedanger of resisting the now triumphant English, who felt themselvesthe avengers of their slaughtered ministers and friends, the formermonks of St. Wilfred.
"It is well," said the other; "we will go forth; thou speakest withjustice, as brother to brother, and whatever befall thy companions,this shall be counted in thy favour if I have a tongue to speak."
So the Norman prior and his monks took their way unharmed to thenearest house of their order.
It was night and dark clouds of smoke rolled heavenward, blottingout the fair stars from sight. Silence dread and awful reigned overthe Dismal Swamp, the scene of strife and suffering; the verybeasts fled the spot, nor could the birds of night linger in theheated air.
But at Aescendune all was tumult and joy. The English had advancedagainst an undefended stronghold, and Wilfred was at last, as hisfathers had been, Lord of Aescendune.
There was a banquet that night in the castle hall. In the old daysof Roman triumphs, a man was placed behind the seat of theconquering general as he sat in the intoxication of success, andamidst the adulation of the multitude ever and anon whispered--"Memento to moriturum."
So also there was an unseen attendant behind the chair of Wilfred.In vain he strove to drive it away; the future would thrust itselfupon him.
He had slaked his vengeance to the uttermost and had no remorse: hehad avenged father, mother--the spiritual guides of his youth;still he had once heard, even from them--"Vengeance is mine: I willrepay saith the Lord."
"Sing, bards," he cried out; "has no minstrel a new strain?"
They exerted themselves to the utmost; and Wilfred, determined torise to the occasion, threw off his sadness, ceased to speculate asto the chances of the insurrection {xvi}; that night, at least,he would give to joy--he would encourage his people who loved himso faithfully by rejoicing with them.
So the song and the banquet lasted until the midnight hour, and thecastle of Hugo echoed the old forgotten songs of the glories ofAnglo-Saxon England.