by A. D. Crake
Chapter 6: At Walderne Castle.
The watcher on the walls of Walderne Castle sees the sun sinkbeneath the distant downs, flooding Mount Caburn and his kindredgiants with crimson light. In the great hall supper is preparing.See them all trooping in--retainers, fighting men, serving men, alltaking their places at the boards placed at right angles to thehigh table, where the seats of Sir Nicholas de Harengod and hislady are to be seen.
He enters: a bluff stern warrior, in his undress, that is, withouthis panoply of armour and arms, in the long flowing robe affectedby his Norman kindred at the festal board. She, with the comelyrobe which had superseded the gunna or gown, and the couvrechef(whence our word kerchief) on the head.
The chaplain, who served the little chapel within the castle, saysgrace, and the company fall upon the food with little ceremony. Wehave so often described their manners, or rather absence ofmanners, that we will not repeat how the joints were carved in theabsence of forks, nor how necessary the finger glasses were aftermeals, although they only graced the higher board.
Wine, hippocras, mead, ale--there was plenty to eat and drink, andwhen the hunger was satisfied a palmer or pilgrim, who had butrecently arrived from the Holy Land, sang a touching ballad abouthis adventures and sufferings in that Holy Land:
Trodden by those blessed feetWhich for our salvation wereNailed unto the holy rood.
He sang of the captivity of Jerusalem under her Saracen rulers; ofthe Holy Places, nay, of the Sepulchre itself, in the hands of theheathen. That song, and kindred songs, had already caused rivers ofblood to be shed; men were now getting hardened to the tale, albeitthe Lady Sybil shed tears.
For she thought of her brother Roger, who had taken the Cross atthat gathering at Cross-in-Hand when labouring under his sire'sdire displeasure, and who had fallen yet more deeply under the ban,owing to events with which our readers are but partiallyacquainted.
And now, where Roger sat, she saw her own husband--wellbeloved--yet had he not effaced the memory of her brother. And shelonged to see that brother's son, of whom she had heard, recognisedas the heir of Walderne.
The palmer sang, and his song told of one, a father stern, who badehis son wash off the guilt of some grievous sin in the blood of theunbeliever--how that son went forth, full of zeal--but went forthto find his efforts blasted by a haunting, malignant fiend he hadhimself armed with power to blast; how at length, conquering allopposition, he had reached the holy shore, and embarked on everydesperate enterprise, until he was laid out for dead, when--
At this moment the chapel bell rang for the evening prayers, whichwere never later than curfew, for as men then rose with the sun itwas well to go to bed with him, so they all flocked to the chapel.The office commonly called Compline was said, and the littlesanctuary was left again vacant and dark save where the solitarylamp twinkled before the altar.
But the Lady Sybil did not seek her couch. She remained kneeling indevotion before the altar, which her wealth and piety had founded.Nor was she alone. The palmer yet knelt on the floor of thesanctuary.
When they had been left alone together for some minutes, and allwas still save the wind which howled without she rose and said:
"Tell me who thou art, O mysterious man: thy voice reminds me ofone long dead."
"Dead to the world, yet living in the flesh. Sybil, I am thybrother Roger, at least what remains of him; thou hast notforgotten me."
"But why hast thou been silent so long? Thy brother in arms, thegreat Earl of Leicester, himself said he saw thee fall fightinggloriously against the fell Paynim."
"And he spake sooth, but he did not see me rise again. I wascarried off the field for interment by the good brethren of SaintJohn, when, just as they were about to lower me with the deadwarriors into one common grave, they perceived that there was lifein me. They raised me, and restored the spirit which had all butfled, and when at last it returned, reason did not return with it.For a full year I was bereft of my senses. They kept me in thehospital at Acre, but they knew nought, and could learn nought ofmy kindred, until at length I recovered my reason. Then I told themI was dead to the world, and besought them to keep me, but theybade me wander, and stir up others to the rescue of the Holy Landere I took my rest. And then, too, there was my son--"
"Thy SON?"
"Yes. I see I had better unfold all to thee in detail, from thebeginning of my wanderings. After I had fled from my father'swrath, I first went to sunny Provence, where I found friends in thegreat family of the Montforts, and won the friendship of a man whohas since become famous, the Earl of Leicester. A distant kinswomanof theirs, a cousin many times removed, effaced from my heart thefickle damsel who had been the cause of my disgrace in England.Poor Eveline! Never was there sweeter face or sunnier disposition!Had she lived all had been well. I had not then gone forth,abandoned to my own sinful self. But she died in giving birth to myHubert."
"Thy son, doth he yet live?"
"I left him in the care of Simon de Montfort, and went forward tothe rendezvous of the crusaders, the Isle of Malta, where, beinggrievously insulted by a Frenchman--during a truce of God, whichhad been proclaimed to the whole army--forgot all but my hot blood,struck him, thereby provoked a combat, and slew him, for which Iwas expelled the host, and forbidden to share in the holy war.
"So I sailed thence to Sicily--in deep dejection, repenting, alltoo late, my ungovernable spirit.
"It was in the Isle of Sicily that an awful judgment befell me,which has pursued me ever since, until it has blanched my lockswith gray, and hollowed out these wrinkles on my brow.
"I had taken up my quarters at an inn, and was striving in vain todrown my remorse in utter recklessness, in wine and mirth, when onenight, as I lay half unconscious in bed, I heard the door open. Istarted up and laid my hand on my sword, but melted into a sweat offear as I saw the ghost of him I had slain, standing as if in life,his hand upon the wound my blade had made.
"'Nay,' said he, 'mortal weapons harm me not now, but see that thoufulfil for me the vow I have made. Carry my sword in person or byproxy to Jerusalem, and lay it on the altar of the Holy Sepulchre.Then I forgive thee my death.'
"The vision disappeared, but left me impressed with a sense that itwas real and no dream. Hence I dared to return to Malta, andtelling my story begged, but begged in vain, to be allowed to carrythe sword of the man I had slain through the campaign.
"I could not even obtain the sword. It had been sent back to hangby the side of the rusty weapons his ancestors had once borne, inthe hall of their distant Chateau de Fievrault.
"I returned to Provence, revisited the tomb of my Eveline, saw myboy, sought absolution, made many prayers, but could not shake offthe phantom. It was on a Friday I slew my foe, and on each Fridaynight he appeared. The young Simon de Montfort was about to formanother band of crusaders, and he allowed me to accompany him, withthe result I have described. During my stay in the monastery atAcre the phantom troubled me not, and as I have already said, Iwould fain have remained there, but when they heard my tale theybade me return and fulfil my duties to my kindred, and stir upothers to come to the aid of the Holy Land, since I was physicallyincapable of ever bearing arms again.
"But I shall even yet fulfil my vow, and the vow of the man I slew,through my boy, when he has gained his spurs. My sinful steps arenot permitted to press that soil, once trodden by those blessedfeet, nailed for our salvation to the holy rood. Hubert will liveand bear the sword of the slain Sieur de Fievrault, sans peur etsans reproche. Then I may lay me down in peace and take my rest."
"Will thou not see my husband?"
"I cannot reveal myself here in this castle to any one but thee,and as my tormentor pays his visits again, I will betake me to thePriory of Lewes."
"And must thou leave thy ancestral halls, and bury thyself again,my brother?"
"I must. My task is done. I came but to feast my eyes with thesight of thee, and to tell thee that thy nephew, the true heir ofWalderne, lives, satisfied that thou wilt not now a
llow him to bedefrauded of his rights."
"Why not reveal thyself to my husband?"
"I cannot--at least not in this house; but in the morn, after Ihave parted for Lewes. tell him all."
"And what proofs shall I give if he ask them?"
"Let him seek me at Lewes or, better still, refer to Simon deMontfort, who is the guardian of the boy, and has him in safekeeping at Kenilworth."
"Sybil," cried a voice.
"It is my husband. I must go. Farewell, dearly loved, unhappybrother."
And she departed, leaving him alone in the chapel.
Hours had passed by, the inmates of the castle at Walderne allslept, still as the sleeping woods around, save only the watchmanon the walls, for in those days of nightly rapine and dailyviolence no castle or house of any pretensions dispensed with sucha guard.
Save only the watcher on the walls, and a lonelier watcher in thechapel. For there, in the sanctuary his sister had erected, kneltthe returned prodigal, unknown to all save that sister. His heartwas full of deep emotion, as well it might be. And thus he mused:
"This chapel was not here in my father's time. There were fewlessons to be learnt then, save those of strife and violence. Whatwonder that when he set me the example, my young blood ran toohotly in my veins, and that I finished my career of violence andriot by slaying the rival who stood in my path? Yet was it done,not in cold blood but in fair fight. Still, he was my cousin, afavourite of my sire, who never forgave me, but drove me from hometo make reparation in the holy wars. Then on the way to the land ofexpiation I must needs again stain my sword with Christian blood,and that on a day when it was sacrilege to draw sword.
"But I repent, I repent. O Lord, let the Blood which flowed on thatvery day down the Holy Rood blot out my sins, atone for mytransgressions.
"Nay, he appears, as oft before, and stands before me as when Itransfixed him on the quay at Malta.
"Avaunt, unquiet spirit. My feet have pressed the soil hallowed bythe Sacred Blood. Avaunt, for I appeal from thy malice to God. Wasit not thou who didst provoke, and wouldst fain have slain me? Whatwas my act but one of self defence, defence first of honour, thenof life?"
Here he paused, as if listening.
"What dost thou say? I give thee rest. Let my son take the swordfrom thy ancestral hall, and wield it in the holy war in thy name.Then thy vow will be fulfilled, and thou wilt cumber earth nolonger.
"Well, we shall see! But can I send him to that distant land? Hemay suffer as I.
"No! no! Son of my love! It may not be.
"Ah, thou departest. It is well. Avaunt thee, poor ghost! Avauntthee."
So the night sped away, and when the gates of the castle opened atsunrise, the palmer passed through them and took the road forLewes.
We need hardly say that, in the course of the day after theill-fated Roger had departed for Lewes, to bury his sorrows and hissins within the hallowed walls of the Priory of Saint Pancras, theLady Sybil made a full revelation of all the circumstances of hisvisit to her husband, Sir Nicholas Harengod.
There was not a moment's doubt in the mind of that worthy knight asto the proper course to be pursued. Roger must be left to carry outhis own decision--as the most convenient to all partiesconcerned--and the son must at once be brought home andacknowledged as the true heir of Walderne, cum Icklesham, cum Dene,and I wot not what else. As for poor Drogo, he must be content withthe patrimony of Sir Nicholas--the manor of Harengod.
So Sir Nicholas first sought an interview with his brother-in-law,Roger, at the priory. He found him on the point of being admittedto the novitiate, and then started post haste across thecountry--northward for Kenilworth--where he arrived in due course,and was soon closeted with the mighty earl, to whom he revealed thewhole story of the resurrection of Sir Roger of Walderne.
It was indeed a resurrection. At first the earl hardly credited itspossibility; but anon with joy received it, and gave his fullconsent for Sir Nicholas to take Hubert away for a time, that hemight make acquaintance with the home of his ancestors, and seekhis father at Lewes.
Much more conversation passed between the knight and the earl, butwe shall have occasion to develop its results as our narrativeproceeds.
So we shall leave our readers to picture the delight and wonder ofHubert, the jealousy of Drogo, and much besides, while we go toOxford to see Martin.
