CHAPTER XIV.
THE SAXON CHIEFTAIN CONFRONTS DE MONTFORT.
"Then crouch no more on suppliant knee, But scorn with scorn outbrave; A Briton even in love should be A subject, not a slave."
Wordsworth.
Count de Montfort and his daughter Alice were seated together oneevening in what was known as the crimson parlour, a comfortable andsomewhat elegant room for the period. It was wainscoted in dark oak,with carpets and hangings of richly-figured crimson cloth from the loomsof Avignon. They were enjoying a temporary respite from the incessantbustle and turmoil which had been their daily accompaniment since theday they first occupied the Saxon chieftain's patrimony. Even here,their quiet was unpleasantly disturbed by the roystering merriment oftheir followers in the distant kitchen, who stoutly maintained theirfreedom to carouse and drink pretty much as they listed. I take theliberty here to introduce the reader to a more intimate acquaintancewith the Count and his beautiful and accomplished daughter. The Countwas considerably past middle life, probably not less than fifty-five.His sunburnt countenance, and the stern lines about his mouth andforehead, told eloquently the tale of a soldier's life. For the habitsof a rough and unscrupulous life had lent a grim and unfeeling hardnessto a visage which had strong evidence of force and character depicted init. There was also palpable evidence of a spirit ill at ease and cloudedwith doubt, which made him irritable sometimes to a degree positivelycruel to friend or foe. His once jet-black locks were silvering rapidly;but his tall form had lost none of its erectness, and his haughty andimperious demeanour proclaimed him a man used to ruling arbitrarily, andlittle accustomed to brooking opposition, or the frustrating of hispurposes. His daughter, Lady Alice de Montfort, was extremely like himin general appearance. Tall and elegant in carriage, her profuse raventresses were gathered in silken bands, and from thence fell over hershoulders well-nigh to her girdle. Her face was pale; her featuresregular, as though chiselled. A pair of lustrous dark eyes glowed frombetween darker lashes, proclaiming her southern extraction. She wasindeed a model of queenly beauty. Like many of her countrywomen ofexalted station, her youth had been spent in the seclusion of theconvent, where alone an education worthy of the name could be obtained.This secluded life--despite her fiery extraction--had toned down herdisposition; whilst the culture and refinement had made her a typicalexample of the romance and troubadour spirit of song, which we Saxonsknew to be developed in the maidens of sunny France. For her, the roughlife of the Norman occupation, with its scenes of blood and cruelty, wasa daily horror.
"Alice," began the Count, "I told you some time ago that I had affiancedyou to Baron Vigneau. He has followed my fortunes, and lent the prowessof himself and his mercenaries in furthering my interests, in return forwhich he was to receive your hand in marriage; and I gave him my solemnpromise to that effect. His recent conduct has not pleased me, and hisaddiction to the wine-cup has become inordinate. But I lay the fault ofthis to the rough times we have had, and I doubt not when peaceful timescome again he will become a sober and a virtuous Norman Baron. Anyway, Igave him my promise, and he has fulfilled the obligation. He now pressesfor the fulfilment of this promise. Much time has already been allowedyou to prepare, so I would have you bethink yourself when it can beredeemed. As you know, it rests solely with yourself as to when thisevent shall be, and my pledges made good. I pray you despise him not,for though he is a landless mercenary, he is brave, and has powerfulfriends."
"Father, this marriage is most distasteful--I may say, most abhorrent tome. The Baron is a man I cannot possibly love; and if my fortune is whathe would have, let him take it and welcome--I care not if I ampenniless, if I have my liberty. Nay, I would much rather take the veilif I have no other choice than to marry him."
"Alice, this cannot be; I cannot break my promise. Once for all let metell you I dare not. This man has obtained a fatal advantage over me,and it is a question of life and death for me. Listen!" said he, risingand pacing the room with quick nervous tread. "Fool that I was, whenthis last insurrection of the Saxons broke out I was deeply smartingunder the rebuffs I had received at the hands of my mortal enemies Odoand Fitz-Osborne, and the base ingratitude of William. I counted theforces of the rebels, and noted their wonderful successes; and foolishlyimagining the Danes and Scots would stand firm, I thought that William'stime had come at last. Madman that I was! to think ought could thwartthe iron will and marvellous resource. But I had many things to berevenged upon, and I was blinded by it. I thought, now is the time. Butworst of all, in sheer madness and infatuation I entrustedletters--deadly compromising letters--to this Vigneau for the leaders ofthe insurrection. These letters Vigneau never delivered, and he nowholds them over my head, the villain! and threatens to divulge the wholething to William. If he does this, I know well, with the enemies I haveat court, that nothing will appease the self-willed tyrant but my head.These letters contain such ample proof of my treasonous intentions thatmy life literally hangs in the balance if I cannot gratify Vigneau. Fooland dolt that I was to place myself in the power of so unscrupulous avillain!
"I have told you this much that you may think less hardly of me. But thething is absolute and irrevocable. I can no longer put him off by myexcuses on your behalf, for he becomes clamorous and threatening. Thereis nothing further to gain, I perceive, by remonstrances and promises,so the sooner this marriage takes place the better; for I am hopelesslyinvolved in the toils of this snake."
A dead silence of some minutes followed this, and a sickening sensationalmost to fainting crept over Alice. How long the death-like stillnesswould have lasted I know not, but just at that juncture, in silenceprofound, the massive oaken door swung back unbidden, and a snatch of aBacchanalian chorus pealed along the corridors and burst unbidden on theears of father and daughter. But the rising temper of the Count at thisill-timed jollity and carousing gave way on the instant to profoundastonishment and alarm, as Oswald the Saxon, armed with shield andbuckler, with his drawn sword in his hand, strode into the room; whilstthe dim form of an armed accomplice was visible for a moment in thedarkness ere the door swung back to its place, shutting out the soundsof revelry and riot, and the three were alone together. The Count sprangto his feet, whipped out his sword, and savagely stood at bay, awaitingthe onslaught of the sturdy Saxon. Alice also sprang to her feet with astartled cry, and a strange panic seized her. Had this Saxon, who owedhis life to her, sought this interview with murderous intent? Hisappearance betokened it most surely, and she began to upbraid herselfmost keenly.
"Quiet you, lady," said Oswald, with a low obeisance, and in tones whichbelied the warlike attitude and arms which he bore. "I have none butpeaceable intentions, gentle lady, though in these times we must beprepared for any eventualities. I hope you will let this excuse myweapons and my untimely visit."
"What doest thou here, Saxon? and how darest thou intrude thyself sorecklessly?" said the Count.
THE SAXON CHIEFTAIN CONFRONTS DE MONTFORT.]
"As to intrusion, noble sir, you will pardon me, but my father builtthis castle, and I was born here, and inherited it from him; so I wouldfain point out, if you will allow me, that I am not the intruder. Youhave usurped my lands, appropriated my home, and slain my vassals;whilst I am homeless, landless, and an outlaw."
"Lucky, too, art thou, Saxon, to escape with thy life, and wondrousventuresome withal, in thrusting thy neck a second time into thehalter."
"I have not come to bandy threats, but it is not my neck that is in thehalter just now, and if thou wert not shielded by a protector morepotent than thy armed minions thy life would soon be forfeit--mark that,Norman! and be a little more merciful."
"Thou liest, Saxon dog! I fear thee not, nor any Saxon boor in theland!" said the Count, brandishing his sword, whilst Alice rushedfrantically between them.
"Excuse my hastiness, fair lady," said Oswald, "and permit me to saythat I have not come to shed blood, but the reverse; I am come tosolicit a truce, an honourable truce, and to treat for a ces
sation ofhostilities and hatred; and I would fain you should be umpire between usthis night, gentle lady."
"What truce dost thou expect, Saxon?" said the Count. "There can but beone truce between the conqueror and a foe routed and beaten; and thatis, that he should lay down his arms unconditionally and accept theclemency of the conqueror."
"That is a condition which we shall not accept. We shall maintain ourliberty at all hazards, and the Norman had better beware of harassingdesperate men."
"If thy arrogance were equalled by thy power, Saxon, thou wouldst dogreat things. But be thou well assured that I will root every mother'sson of you out of your holes in the mountains within a month, if thereis not unconditional surrender. But if thou and thy vassals return, andaccept these terms, ye shall be entitled to my protection as my vassalsand villeins. For thyself, if thou subscribe the oath of fealty, I willassign to thee certain lands, which thou shalt atone for by suchservices rendered to me as I please, as thy feudal lord."
"Excuse me, noble sir; but these are impossible terms. In the firstplace, I am not going to submit to be a grovelling feudatory, wearingclumsy brogues and a vassal's collar, coming cringingly to thee forpermission to make a journey or shoot a stag--to ask humbly if I maykeep a dog; catch a fish; or marry a wife! I am not going to hold thestirrup for beggarly Norman adventurers, and say, Your most humbleservant, By your leave, puissant sir, Crave your pardon, my lord, andall the rest of servile rigmarole, being afraid to breathe the breath ofheaven, or tread mother earth; or say that I am a man; content to benumbered with thy cattle, or thy goods and chattels, and be spoken of asthe loutish Saxon clown. Never! Let that be understood once for all. Nodrop of vassal's blood courses through my veins. No part of a vassal'sspirit animates me. I have not looked upon the face of any man, Saxon orNorman, that I fear, and I will be vassal to no man. Leave me alone,with the handful of Saxons who follow me. Thou hast my lands and myhome--take them as the spoils of war, but be content. There is landenough, and thou mayest leave us in peace. We will not come nigh thee,but be content to till a little land for sustenance; and we may be ofservice as thy allies. Probably many of the serfs will be willing toreturn to their lands and to vassalage; and all who are willing may doso freely."
"Thou hast come to dictate terms, not to supplicate them, Saxon. Dostthou think it probable I shall tolerate a petty Saxon chieftain holdingsway close to my doors? or harbour on my lands a brood of villeins whowill render the service of fear to me and that of fealty to the Saxonnear, so that in any pinch they will treacherously fail me? Thou hast alow estimate of my wisdom, truly. But listen once for all, Saxon; ifthere be not immediate surrender I will hunt you from your holes in thehills, as I have already said, within a month, and few will escapeme--mark that!"
"Father," said Alice, "you do this noble Saxon grievous wrong inrejecting so rudely his amicable overtures. You may surely mingle mercywith your designs. I myself will be bond, these Saxons will reciprocateany acts of generosity done to them. Besides, consider this: you saw theforms of armed men at the door just now. They have stayed their handwhen it was at the throat of their victims, and they may do so again."
"Tush! tush! you speak like a school-girl. These boorish Saxons willcount mercy as weakness; so no more of it."
"Many thanks, lady," interposed Oswald. "Gentle means are strongest whenwe deal with human beings, whether they be gentle or simple. But adieu!If my mission fails, the responsibility rests not with me, for I havenow offered peace--a peace which is abject in its terms." So saying, heturned and struck the oaken door with the pommel of his sword, which onthe instant sprung open and as quickly-closed behind him, whilst themassive bolt was shot from the outside.
The Count sprang to the door, and tried to force it open, but to nopurpose. "Jules! Jules!" roared he. "What ho there! Treachery!" But theonly response he received to his frantic cries was the fragment of arollicking song and chorus, trolled more lustily than musically by roughvoices in the distant kitchen, the substance of which ran something likethe following:--
"Old Bacchus was a merry dog, And kept good company; He loved good wine and a jovial song, So his days sped merrily.
_Chorus._--Ho, comrades all, we'll drink and sing, So pass the bowl along. If a better cask the morrow bring, We'll greet it with a song."
"What ho there, you drunken brutes! What ho, Jules!" shouted the Count,frantic with rage. But again the response was in a similar strain:--
"We're freemen all, but have our liege, For William is our lord; We've wine and ale and venison To crown our festive board.
_Chorus._--Ho, comrades, all," etc.
"What ho there!" roared the Count, more lustily than ever, and furiouslybeating the door with an oaken footstool. But all in vain, the song ranits course oblivious of all beside, and with, if possible, an increasein its roystering loudness:--
"No foemen can our arms withstand, The Saxons are our scorn. We'll drink and laugh, and sing at eve, And chase them in the morn.
_Chorus._--Ho, comrades all," etc.