The House of Walderne

by A. D. Crake

  Chapter 18: The Retreat Of The Outlaws.

  The day was fine, and in the sun the heat was oppressive, but agrateful coolness lay beneath the shades of the forest, as our twobrethren, Martin and Ginepro, pursued their way under the spreadingcanopy of leaves in search of the outlaws, whom most men preferredto avoid.

  Crossing the Dicker, a wild tract of heath land which we havealready introduced to our readers, and leaving Chiddinglye to theleft, they entered upon a pathless wilderness. Mighty trees raisedtheir branches to heaven, whose trunks resembled the columns insome vast cathedral. There was little underwood, and walking wasvery pleasant and easy.

  And as they went they indulged in much pleasant discourse. Gineprorelated many tales of "sweet Father Francis," and in return Martinenlightened his companion with regard to the manners and customs ofthe natives into whose territories they were penetrating; men whoknew no laws but those of the greenwood, and who were but on a parwith the heathen in things spiritual, at least so said theneighbouring ecclesiastics.

  "All the more need of our mission," thought both.

  They were now in a very dense wood, and the track they had beenfollowing became more and more obscure when, just as they crossed alittle stream, a stern voice called, "Stand and deliver."

  They looked up. There were men with bended bows and quivers full ofarrows on either side. They had fallen into an ambush.

  Martin was quite unalarmed.

  "Nay, bend not your bows. We be but poor brethren of Saint Francis,who have come hither for your good."

  "For our goods, you mean. We want no begging friars or likecattle."

  "But I have a special message for thee, Kynewulf, well named; andfor thee, Forkbeard; and for thee, Nick."

  "Ah! Whom have we got here?"

  "An old friend under a new guise. Lead me to your chieftain,Grimbeard, who, I hope, is well. Or shall I show you the road?"

  "Yes, if you know it. Art thou a wizard?"

  "Nay, only a poor friar. Am I to lead or follow?"

  "Lead, by all means. Then we shall know that thou canst do so."

  Martin, nothing loth, walked forward boldly, Ginepro more timidlyby his side. They were such wild-looking outlaws. At last theyreached a spring, and Martin left the beaten path, ascended aslope, and stood at the entrance to a large natural amphitheatre,not unlike an old chalk pit, such as men still hew from the side ofthe same hills.

  But if the hand of man had ever wrought this one, it had been inages long past, of which no record remained. The soft hand ofnature had filled up the gaps and seams with creeping plants andbushes, and all deformities were hidden by her magic touch. Aroundthe sides of the amphitheatre were twenty to thirty low huts ofosier work, twined around tall posts driven into the ground andcunningly daubed with stiff clay. In the centre of the glade was agreat fire, evidently common property, for a huge caldron steamedand bubbled over it, supported by three sticks placed cunningly soas to lend each other their aid in resisting the heavy weight, inaccordance with nature's own mechanics, which she teaches withoutthe help of science {25}.

  Before the fire, on a sloping bank, covered with the softest skins,lay the aged chieftain whom we met before. But now seven years hadadded their transforming touch, tempus edax rerum. His tall staturewas diminished by a visible curve in its outline. His giant limbsand joints were less firmly knit.

  A light hunting shirt of green, confined around the waist by asilver belt, superseded the tunic of skins we saw him wear before,and over it was a crimson sash. These were doubtless the spoils ofsome successful fray or ambush, for the woods did not produce thetailors who could make such attire; and in the belt was stuck asharp, keen hunting knife, and on his head was a low, flat cap withan eagle's feather. There were eagles then in "merrie Sussex."

  "Whom hast thou brought, Kynewulf? What cattle are these?"

  "Guests, good captain," replied Martin, "who have come far to seekthee, and who have brought thee a special message from the King ofkings."

  Grimbeard growled, but he had his own ideas of hospitality, and hadhis deadliest enemy come voluntarily to him, trusting to his goodfaith, he could not have harmed him. So he conquered hisdiscontent.

  "Hospitality is the law of the woods. Stay and share our fare, suchas it is, the pot luck of the woods, then depart in peace."

  "Not till we have delivered our message."

  "Ah, well, my merrie men are the devil's own children, but if youwill try your hand at converting them I will not hinder you."

  Not a word was said before dinner, and Martin, feeling that afterpartaking of their hospitality they would be upon a differentfooting, said but little. But the curiosity which was excited byhis knowledge of their names and of this their summer retreat wasonly suspended for a brief period.

  The al-fresco entertainment was over, the dinner transferred onwooden spits from the caldron to huge wooden platters. Game,collops of venison skilfully roasted on long wooden forks, assistedto eke out the contents of the caldron. Strong ale, or mead, washanded round, of which our brethren partook but sparingly. When themeal was over Grimbeard spoke:

  "We generally Test awhile and chew the cud after our midday meal,for our craft keeps us awake a great deal by night; and perhapsyour tramp through the woods has made you tired also. Rest, andafter the sun has sunk beneath the branches of yon pine you maydeliver the message you spoke about."

  Then the hoary chieftain retired to the shade of his hut, as didsome of the others to theirs, but the majority reclined under thespreading beeches, as did our two brethren.

  They slept through the meridian heat. One sentinel alone watched,and so secure felt the outlaws in their deep seclusion that eventhis precaution was felt to be a mere matter of form.

  And at length a horn was blown, and the whole settlement awoke toactive life.

  "Call the brethren of Saint Francis," said the chief. "Now we areready. Sit round, my merrie men."

  It was a picture worthy the pencil of that great student of thewild and picturesque, Salvator Rosa; the groups of brawny outlaws,with their women and children, all disposed carelessly on thegrass, with the background of dark hill and wood, or of hollowrock, while Martin, standing on a conspicuous hillock, began hismessage.

  With wondrous skill he told the tale of Redeeming Love. Hisenthusiasm mounting as he spoke. The bright colour reddening hisface, his eyes sparkling with animation, is beyond our power totell, and the result was such as was common in the early days ofthe Franciscan missions. Women, yea, and men too, were moved totears.

  But in the most solemn appeal of all, suddenly a woman's voicebroke the intensity of the silence in which the preacher's wordswere received:

  "My son--my own son--my dear son."

  The speaker had not been at the dinner, and had only just returnedfrom the woods, wherein she often wandered. For this was Mabel, thechieftain's wife, or "Mad Mab," as they flippantly called her, andonly on hearing from afar the unwonted sound of preaching in thecamp had she been drawn in. The voice thrilled upon her memory asshe drew nearer, and when she entered the circle--we may well saythe charmed circle--she stood entranced, until at last convictiongrew into certainty, and she woke the enchantment of the preacher'svoice by her cry of maternal love.

  She was not far beyond the prime of life. Her face had once beenstrikingly handsome; Martin inherited her bright colour and darkeyes; but time had set its mark upon her, and often had she feltweary of life.

  But now, after one of her monotonous rambles, like unto onedistraught in the woods, had come this glad surprise. A new lifeburst upon her--something to live for, and, rushing forward, shethrew her arms around the neck of her recovered boy.

  "My mother," said he in an agitated voice. "Nay, she has been longdead."

  But as he gazed, the same instinct awoke in him as in her, and helost self control. The sermon ended abruptly, the preacher wasconquered by the man. The hearers gathered in groups and discussedthe event.

  "This explains how he knew all about us!"


  "It is Martin, little Martin, who should have been our chieftain."

  "The last of the house of Michelham!"

  "Turned into a preaching friar!"

  Grimbeard mused in silence. At last he gave a whispered order.

  "Treat them both well, to the best of our power. But they must notleave the camp."

  "Mother," said Martin, "why that cruel message of thy death? Thouhadst not otherwise lost me so long."

  "It was for thy good. I would save thee from the life of an outlawor vagabond, and foresaw that unless I renounced thee utterly, thylove would mar thy fortunes, and bring thee back to my side."

  "My poor forsaken mother!"

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  Grimbeard now approached.

  "Well, young runaway, thou hast come back in strange guise to thynatural home. Dost thou remember me?"

  "Well, step father, many a sound switching hast thou given me,which doubtless I deserved."

  "Or thou hadst not had them. Well said, boy, and now wilt thou takeup thy abode again with us? We want a priest."

  "I am no priest, only a preacher, and my mission is to theAndredsweald at large, and the scattered sheep of the GreatShepherd therein."

  "Only thou knowest our whereabouts too well. We may not let thee goin and out without security, that our retreat be not made known."

  "Father, I have eaten of your bread, and once more of my own freewill accepted your hospitality. Even a heathen would respect yoursecret, still more a Christian brother. If I can persuade you tocease from your mode of life, which the Church decrees unlawful,well and good. But other weapons than those of the Gospel shallnever be brought against you by me."

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  They had a long conversation that afternoon, wherein Grimbeardmaintained that the position of the "merrie men," who still kept upa struggle against the Government in the various great forests ofthe land, such as green Sherwood and the Andredsweald, were simplypatriots maintaining a lawful struggle against foreign oppressors.Martin, on the other hand, maintained that the question was settledby Divine providence, and that the governors of alien blood werenow the kings and magistrates to whom, according to Saint Paul,obedience was due. If two centuries did not establish prescriptiveright, how long a period would?

  "No length of time," replied Grimbeard.

  "Ah well, then, step father, suppose the poor Welsh, who once livedhere, and whom my own remote forefathers destroyed or drove fromthese parts, were to send to say they would thank the descendantsof the Saxons, Angles, and Jutes to go back to their ancient homesin Germany and Denmark, and leave the land to them according to theprinciple you have laid down. What should you then say?"

  Grimbeard was fairly puzzled.

  "Thou hast me on the hip, youngster."

  After this conversation Martin was so fatigued by the day's walkand all the subsequent excitement, that his mother prepared for hima composing draught from the herbs of the wood, and made him drinkit and go to bed; a sweet bed of fragrant leaves and coverlets ofskins in one of the huts, where she lodged her dear boy, herrecovered treasure--happy mother.

  The following morning, overcome by the emotions of the precedingday, Martin slept long. He was dreaming of the battle of Senlac,where he was heading a charge, when he awoke to find that thesounds of real present strife had put Senlac into his head.

  He sat upright, a confused dream of fighting and struggling stilllingering in his distracted mind. No, it was no dream; he heard theactual cry of those who strove for mastery: the exulting yell:

  "Englishmen, on! down, ye French tyrants!"

  "Out! out! ye English thieves!"

  "Saint Denys! on, on! Saint Michael, shield us!"

  Then came the sound of fiercer strife, the cry of deadlier anguish.

  For there with arrow, spear, and knife,Men fought the desperate fight for life.

  Martin slipped on his garb, and hurried to the scene. He looked,gained a sloping bank, and there--

  That morning, a merry young knight and his train set out fromHerstmonceux Castle to go "a hunting," and in the very exuberanceof his spirits, like Douglas of old, he thought fit to hunt in thewoods haunted by the "merrie men," as he in the Percy's country.Such a merry young knight, such a roguish eye.

  But he had not ridden far into the debatable land when the path laybetween two sloping, almost precipitous banks, crowned withunderwood. All at once a voice cried:

  "Stand! Who are ye? Whence come ye? What do ye here in the woodswhich free Englishmen claim as their own?"

  A shaggy form, a bull-like individual, stood above them. The youngknight gazed upon his interlocutor with a comic eye.

  "Why, I am Ralph of Herstmonceux, an unworthy aspirant to thehonours of chivalry, and conceive I have full right to hunt in theAndredsweald without asking leave of any king of the vagabonds andoutlaws, such as I conceive thee to be."

  "Cease thy foolery, thou Norman magpie.

  "Throw down your arms, all of you. Our bows are bent; you are inour power. You are covered, one and all, by our aim."

  "Bring on your merrie men."

  Not one of the waylaid party had put arrow to bow. This may seemstrange, but they had sense enough to know (as the reader mayguess), that the first demonstration of hostility would bring ashower of arrows from an unseen foe upon them. That, in short,their lives were in the power of the "merrie men," whose arrowheadsand caps they could alone see peering from behind the tree trunks,and over the bank, amidst the purple heather.

  What a plight!

  "Give soft words," said the old huntsman, who rode on the righthand of our friend Ralph, "or we shall be stuck with quills likeporcupines."

  But Ralph was hot headed, and threw a lance at the old outlaw,giving, at the same time, the order:

  "Charge up the banks, and clear the woods of the vermin."

  The dart missed Grimbeard, and immediately the deadly shower whichthe old man had so keenly apprehended descended upon the exposedand ill-fated group, who, for their sins, were commanded by so mada leader.

  A terrific scene ensued. The horses, stung by the arrows, reared,pranced, and rushed away in headlong flight down the stonyentangled road; throwing their riders in most eases, or dashingtheir heads against the low overhanging branches of the oaks. Halfthe Normans were soon on the ground. The outlaws charged: the lanebecame a shambles, a slaughter house.

  Ralph and two or three more still fought desperately, but withlittle hope, when there appeared the sudden vision of a grey friar,who thrust himself between the knight and Grimbeard, who werefighting with their axes.

  "Hold, for the love of God! Accursed be he who strikes anotherblow."

  "Thou hast saved the old villain's life, grey friar," said madRalph, parrying a stroke of Grimbeard's axe, but this was but abootless boast, for the conflict was not one with knightly weapons,but with those of the forest. The train of Herstmonceux were butequipped for the hunt and in such weapons as they possessed theoutlaws were far better versed than they, for with boar spear orhunting knife they often faced the rush of wolf or boar.

  "Martin! Boy, thou hast saved the young fop.

  "Dost thou yield, Norman, to ransom?"

  "Yea, for I can do no better, but if this reverend young fatherwill but stand by and see fair play, I would sooner fight it out."

  "Dead men pay no ransom, and they are not good to eat, or I mightgratify thee. As it is I prefer thee alive."

  Then he cried aloud:

  "Secure the prisoners. Blindfold them, then take them to the camp."

  The fight was over. The prisoners, five in number, wereblindfolded, and in that condition led into the camp of theoutlaws; Martin keeping close by their side, intent upon preventingany further violence from being offered, if he could avert it.

  Arrived at the camp, the captives were consigned to a rough cabinof logs. Their bandages were removed; a guard was placed before thedoor, and t
hey were left to their meditations.

  They were only, as we have said, five in number. Six had escaped.The others lay dead on the scene of the conflict.

  Meanwhile, Ralph was puzzling his brains as to where he had seenthe grey friar before, who had so opportunely arrived at the sceneof conflict. He inquired of his companions, but their wits were sodiscomposed by their circumstances and by apprehensions, too wellfounded, for their own throats, that they were in no wise able toassist his memory. Nor indeed could they have done so under anycircumstances.

  It was but a brief suspense. The outlaws had but tended their ownwounded, washed off the stains of the conflict, refreshedthemselves with copious draughts of ale or mead, ere they placed aseat of judgment for Grimbeard under a great spreading beech whichgrew in the centre of the camp, and all the population of the placeturned out to see the tragedy or comedy which was about to beenacted. Just as, in our own recollection, the mob crowded togetherto see an execution.

  Grimbeard was fond of assuming a certain state on these occasions.He dressed himself in all his rustic finery, and seated himselfwith the air of a king on his rude chair of honour. By his sidestood Martin, pale and composed, but determined to prevent furtherbloodshed if it were in mortal power to do so.

  "Bring forth the prisoners."

  They were led forth; Ralph looking as saucy and careless as ever.

  "What is thy name?" asked Grimbeard.

  "Ralph, son of Waleran de Monceux."

  "And what has brought thee into my woods?"

  "Thy woods, are they? Well, thou couldst see I came to hunt."

  "And thou must pay for thy sport."

  "Willingly, since I must. Only do not fix the price too high."

  "Thy ransom shall be a hundred marks, and till then thou must be contentwith the hospitality of the woods. Now for thy followers--three weeksago the sheriff hung two of my best men as deer slayers, and I havesworn in such cases to have life for life. If they hang, we hang too.If they are merciful, so are we. Now I am loth to slay an Englishman.Hast thou not any outlanders here?"

  "If I had, dost think I should tell thee? Why not take me for one?"

  "Thou art worth a hundred marks, and they not a hundred pence,"laughed Grimbeard. "It is not that I respect noble blood. I havescant cause. A wandering priest who came to say mass for us told usthe story of Jephthah and the Gileadites; I will try the effect ofa Shibboleth, too.

  "So bring the prisoners forward, one by one, my merrie men."

  The first was evidently an Englishman.

  "Say, what food dost thou see on that table yonder?"

  "Bread and cheese."

  "It is well; thou shalt be Sir Ralph's messenger, and shall be setfree, upon a solemn promise to do our behests.

  "Now set forth the next in order, and let him say, 'Shibboleth."'

  It was an olive-skinned rogue, fresh from Southern France, whostepped forward this time, impelled by his captors. Asked the samequestion, he replied:

  "Dis bread and dat sheese {26}."

  "Hang him," said Grimbeard, and hanged he would doubtless havebeen, for a dozen hands were busy at once in their cruel glee; someseizing upon the victim, some mocking his pronunciation, somepreparing the rope, two or three boys climbing the tree likemonkeys, to assist in drawing it over a sufficiently stout branchto bear the human weight, while the poor Gaul stood shiveringbelow; when Martin threw his left arm around the victim, and raisedhis crucifix on high with the other.

  "Ye shall not harm him, unless ye trample under foot the sign ofyour redemption."

  "Who forbids?" said Grimbeard.

  "I, the representative by birth of your ancestral leaders, and onewho might now claim the allegiance you have paid to my fathers forgenerations. But I rest not on that," and here he pleaded soeloquently in the name of Christ, that even Grimbeard was moved; hecould not resist a certain ascendency which Martin was gaining overhim.

  "Let them go, all of them. Blindfold them and lead them out in theroad. Only they must swear not to come into our haunts again,either with hawk and hound or with deadlier weapons.

  "There! I hope it may be put to my account in purgatory, my Martin.You are spoiling a good outlaw. Have your way, only this gaypopinjay of a knight must stay until his ransom be paid. We can'tafford to lose that. But no harm shall befall him. Beside, we maywant him as hostage in case this morning's work bring a hornets'nest about our ears."

  "Ralph, you are safe. Do you remember me?" said Martin.

  "I remember a young fellow much like thee at Oxford, who defendedmy poor pate against the boves boreales, as now from latronesaustroles. Verily, thou art born to be a shield to addle-patedRalph. But art thou indeed a grey friar?"

  "Yes, thank God."

  "And that was how it was we lost you, and wondered you never camenear us again to share the fun. Father Adam had won you. Well, itis a good fellow lost to the world."

  "And gained to God, I hope."

  "I know nought of that. Only tell me, my Martin, what life am I tolead here?"

  "Only give your parole and you will be free within the limits ofthe camp. I know their customs, being born amongst them."

  "Oh, wert thou! I wish thee joy of the honour. How, then, didstthou get to Oxford?"

  "It is a long tale; another day I will tell thee. Now, wilt thoucome with me, and give thy word to Grimbeard not to attempt toescape till thy messenger returns?"

  It was done, and Ralph and Martin strolled around the camp inconversation that entire evening. Martin now learned that the deathof an elder brother had recalled his former acquaintance fromOxford to figure as the heir apparent of Herst de Monceux: hencethe occasion of their meeting under such different auspices.