by A. D. Crake
Prologue.
It was an ancient castle, all of the olden time; down in a deepdell, sheltered by uplands north, east, and west; looking southdown the valley to the Sussex downs, which were seen in the hazydistance uplifting their graceful outlines to the blue sky, acrossa vast canopy of treetops; beneath whose shade the wolf and thewildcat, the badger and the fox, yet roamed at large, and preyedupon the wild deer and the lesser game. It bore the name ofWalderne, which signifies a sylvan spot frequented by the wildbeasts; the castle lay beneath; the parish church rose on thesummit of the ridge above--a simple Norman structure, imposing inits very simplicity.
Behind, the ground rose gradually to the summit of the ridge--whichformed a sort of backbone to the Andredsweald. The ridge was then,as now, surmounted by a windmill, belonging then to the lords ofthe castle, where all his tenants and retainers were compelled togrind their corn. It commanded a beautiful view of sea and land; ahostelry stood near the summit, it was called the Cross in Hand,for it was once the rendezvous of the would-be crusaders, who, fromvarious parts of the Weald, took the sacred badge, and started forthe distant East via Winchelsea or Pevensey.
In the deep dark wood were many settlements and clearings; Waldernewas perhaps the wildest, as its name implies; around layChiddinglye, once the abode of the Saxon offspring of Chad or Chid;Hellinglye (Ella-inga-leah), the home of the sons of Ella, of whomwe have written before; Heathfield and Framfield on opposite sides,open heaths in the wood, covered with heather and sparsely peopled;Mayfield to the north, once the abode of the great Saint Dunstan,and the scene of his conflicts with Satan; Hothly to the south,where, at the date of our tale, lived the Hodleghs, an Anglo-Normanbrood.
The Lord of Walderne was Ralph, son of Sybilla de Dene (West Dean)and Robert of Icklesham (near Winchelsea). He was blessed, orcursed, as the case might be, with three children; Roger, Sybil,and Mabel.
The old man came of a stern fighting stock: what wonder that hisson inherited his character in this respect. He was a wilful yetaffectionate lad of strong passions, one who might be led but neverdriven: unfortunately his father did not read his character aright,and at length a crisis arose.
Roger wooed the daughter of the neighbouring Lord of Hothly, butfound a rival in a cousin, one Waleran de Dene, a favourite of hisfather, and a constant visitor at Walderne Castle. In those rudedays the solution of the difficulty seemed simple--to fight thequestion out. The dead man would trouble neither lad nor lass anymore, the living lead the fair bride to church; and, sooth to say,there were many misguided maidens who were proud to be fought for,and quite willing to give their hand to the victor.
So Roger challenged his cousin to fight when he met him returningfrom a visit to Edith de Hodlegh, and the challenge being readilyaccepted, the unhappy Waleran de Dene bit the dust. The old lord,grieving sore over the death of his sister's son, drove Roger fromhome and bade him never darken his doors again, till he had madereparation by a pilgrimage or a crusade; and Roger departed,mourned by his sisters and all the household, and was heard of nomore during his father's lifetime.
But more grief was in store for the stern old lord of Walderne. Thethird child, Mabel, the youngest daughter, fell in love with ahandsome young hunter, a Saxon outlaw of the type of Robin Hood,who delivered her from a wild boar which would have slain orcruelly mangled her. The old father had inspired no confidence inhis children: she met her outlaw again and again by stealth, andeventually became the bride of Wulfstan, last representative of theold English family who had possessed Michelham before the Conquest{3}.
The remaining child, Sybil, alone gladdened her old father's heartand closed his eyes, weary of the world, in peace; after which shemarried Sir Nicholas de Harengod, and became Lady of Icklesham, bythe sea, and Walderne up in the Weald.
The castle was originally one of those robber dens which were sucha terror to their vicinities in the days of King Stephen; itescaped the general destruction of such holds under HenryPlantagenet, and became the abode of law-abiding folk.
It had long ceased to be a source of terror to the neighbourhoodwhen it came into the possession of the Denes--to whom it was aconvenient hunting seat; fortified, as a matter of course, by royalpermission, which ran thus:
"Know that we have granted, on behalf of ourselves and our heirs,to our beloved Ralph de Dene that he may hold and keep his housesof Walderne fortified with moat and walls of stone and lime, andcrenellated, without any let or hindrance from ourselves or ourheirs."
This permission was made necessary in the time of the greatPlantagenet, in order to prevent the multiplication of fortifiedplaces of offence as well as defence by tyrannical barons or otheroppressors of the commonwealth; for in the days of Stephen, as wehave remarked already, many, if not most, of such holds had beenlittle better than dens of robbers, as the piteous lament whichconcludes the "Anglo-Saxon Chronicle" too well testifies.
The space enclosed by the moat and outer walls of Walderne Castlewas about 150 feet in diameter.
The old lord died in the arms of his remaining daughter Sybil,without seeking any reconciliation with his other children--in factRoger was lost to sight--upon her head he concentrated thebenediction which should have been divided amongst the three.
She married Sir Nicholas of Harengod, near the sea, and was happyin her choice. She built a chapel within the castle precincts, andher prayer for permission to do so yet remains recorded:
"That it may be allowed me to have a chapel in my castle ofWalderne, at my own expense, to be served by the parish priest aschaplain; without either font or bell."
It was granted upon the condition that to avoid any appearance ofschism, she should attend the parish church in state with her wholehousehold thrice in the year.
Six Hundred Years Ago: they have all been dead and buried these sixcenturies; a dense wood, within which the moat can be traced,covers the site of Sybil's castle and chapel, yet in these oldrecords they seem to live again. A sojourner for a brief summerholiday amidst their former haunts--the same yet so changed--thewriter has striven to revivify the dry bones, and to make thefamily live again in the story he now presents to his readers.
