It was in the great hall at Eltham--that splendid hall which stillremains, attesting, like many other monuments, the magnificent ideas ofan age which we, perhaps justly, term barbarous, but which displayed,amongst many rude and uncivilized things, a grasp of conception and apower of execution in some of the arts, that we seldom if ever canattain even in these more generally cultivated times.
In the great hall at Eltham, about an hour after sunset, was laid out abanquet, which in profuse luxury and splendour as far exceeded any,even of our state repasts, in the present day as the hall that overhungit excelled the lumbering architecture of the eighteenth century. Thetable actually groaned under masses of quaint and curious plate,--manyof the cups and dishes blazing with jewels, and an immense emerald, inthe shape of a cross surrounded by wax tapers, surmounting andornamenting the centre of the board. The dresses of the guests were ofall those bright and glittering colours so universally affected by richand poor in those days; and gold and precious stones were seensparkling all around, not alone ornamenting the persons of the fairersex, but decorating also the garments of the men.
Though the guests themselves only amounted to seventy, and the broadtable at which they sat looked small in the centre of the hall, yet thenumber of attendants, carvers, cup-bearers, butlers, and sewers, wasnot less than two hundred, without including the harps, the trumpets,the minstrels and the spectators, who were admitted within certainlimits.
Various and curious were the dishes set upon the table; the wine was ofthe choicest vintages of France and Spain: and one may conceive howrecklessly it was suffered to flow in those times, when we know thatthe consumption of a private nobleman's house was upon one occasion,three hundred and seventy pipes in the year, besides ale, metheglin,and hypocras.
The banquet was somewhat strangely ordered, according to our presentnotions, for there was but one large silver plate assigned to each twopersons; but as, with scrupulous exactness, the male and female guestshad been restricted to an equal number, this arrangement permitted adisplay of the courteous gallantry of the times, each gentleman carvingfor his fair companion, and taking care that she was supplied with allshe wished for before himself.
Opportunity was also thus offered for all those little signs and tokensof chivalrous love which but too often, it must be confessed, deviatedinto vice and folly. But of all the hearts at that table--and therewere some which fluttered with gaiety and excitement, some that beatwith calm satisfaction, some that palpitated with eager and notover-holy joy,--none throbbed with higher and purer delight than thoseof Hugh de Monthermer and Lucy de Ashby, as, sitting by side, they benttogether over the same board and drank from the same cup. Many asweet-whispered word was there, while all was laughter and merrimentaround, and many an avowal of unchanged attachment, many a promise offuture affection was spoken by the eyes when any pause in the generalconversation might have betrayed the secret had it been intrusted tothe lips.
Happy indeed was the young lover, happy indeed was she whom he loved,thus to commune with each other after so long a separation. But ifanything could have added to Lucy's joy in thus meeting Hugh again, andsitting by his side, it would have been the terms with which Edward hadthat night brought him forward to the king.
"Let me beseech you, sire," he had said, "for your favour towards thefriend of my youth, who, though for some time separated from me byunhappy feuds, now at an end for ever, forgot not, in a time of need,our early regard."
"His house have shown no great love for our throne," replied the King,looking coldly upon him; "but we welcome him for your sake, Edward."
"Do so, my lord," answered the Prince, "for while I was in prison heever advocated my release, and when I was escaping, and he might havestayed me, he bade God speed me on my way."
"Then we welcome him for his own," replied the King, more warmly, andholding out his hand.
Hugh bent his head over it in silence, and retired.
The merriment had somewhat waned, the lights had grown rather dim, thetapers were burning low, when, taking advantage of a momentary rise inthe sounds around, Lucy said, in a low voice, "I have still much totell, Hugh, of great importance."
"Can you not do so now?" demanded her lover, in the same tone.
"I dare not, I dare not," whispered Lucy, "and yet I would fain that itwere soon."
Hugh looked around. "This revel cannot last long," he said, "at leastyou fair ladies will not stay much longer, Lucy; I can find an excusetoo, in my late wounds, to quit the board earlier than the rest, if wecould but meet."
Lucy looked down and blushed, for though those were days of liberty,nay, of licence, when every lady held it little less than a duty tohear each tale of passion that was addressed to her,--ay, and to affordfull opportunity for its being told,--yet still there was an inherentmodesty in her nature, which made the warm blood rise into her cheek atthe thought of meeting in secret the man which she loved best.
"I would tell the Princess," she replied, "and ask her advice andassistance, for she is as kind and as wise as ever woman was. But whatI have to say no one must hear but you."
"There is a row of cloisters," answered Hugh, "just under thePrincess's apartments; I will go thither, Lucy, as soon as I can stealaway, and wait till all hope of seeing you be gone. Come if you can, mybeloved,--come if you can! You know you can trust to me."
"Oh, yes," replied Lucy, in the same low voice; "I will come, Hugh, Iwill, for it is better."
The evil custom of men prolonging the song, the wine cup, and therevel, after the table has been quitted by those whose presence softensand refines our coarser nature is of a very old date in this our landof England, and though certainly more honoured in the breach than theobservance, has only been abandoned by fits and starts from the periodof the Saxons till the present day.
At the early meal, which was called dinner in those times, such was notoften the case, for every one started up quickly to pursue his businessor his rude sports in the light; but after supper, when no occupationcalled them from the table, the baronage of England would frequentlyindulge in long revels, ending usually, especially under the monarchsof the pure Norman line, in scenes of the most frightful excess anddisgusting licentiousness.
Henry I., though he did something to refine the people, and tosoften the manners of his nobles, still tolerated every sort of vice inhis court, and it was only with the sovereigns of The house ofPlantagenet--though they themselves were often corrupt enough--that acertain degree of decency and courteous refinement was introduced whichput a stop to the coarse debaucheries of the Norman race. Under HenryII., Richard, and John, amidst civil and foreign wars, a gradualimprovement might be perceived, and even during the reign of the weakHenry III.--at least, by the time of which we speak--the high, purecharacter of his chivalrous son worked a vast change in the generaltone of society.
Thus, though drinking and song, after the ladies of the court hadwithdrawn, generally succeeded to the evening banquet, yet the nightnever now terminated in those fearful orgies, to hide which altogetherfrom the eyes of men, the second William had commanded that all lightsshould be suddenly extinguished in his palace at a certain hour.
On the evening in question, not long after the few words which we havementioned had passed between Hugh and Lucy, the Princess Eleanor, withthe rest of the ladies present, rose and left the hall, taking theirway under the high gallery and through the small door whichcommunicated with the royal apartments. As the Princess passed out sheplaced her hand gently upon Lucy's arm, saying--"Come with me, sweetcousin, I would fain speak with you;" and led the way towards her ownchamber.
All her own attendants were dismissed one by one; and then, seatingherself in a large chair, Eleanor beckoned her fair companion to take aplace beside her. But Lucy quietly, and with that exquisite grace whichis beauty's crowning charm, and she pre-eminently possessed, sunkslowly down upon the stool at the Princess's feet; and looked up in herface with a glance from which she strove hard to banish every trace ofthat impatience which
was strong in her heart.
Eleanor gazed down upon her in return with a kindly and yet athoughtful smile, keeping silence for nearly a minute, and thensaying--"So you are very much in love, dear Lucy de Ashby?--Nay, do notblush and cast down your eyes, as if you thought I could doubt it,after your telling me and every body else that it is so, some fivetimes during supper."
"Nay--nay," cried Lucy, turning round quickly with a look ofalarm--"not so plainly as that!"
"Plainly enough for me to understand," replied the Princess, "and thatis all that is necessary to talk of now. Edward told me something ofthis before, and I promised to ask if you knew what you were doing."
Lucy looked up again, but it was now with an arch smile; and sheanswered--"Right well, dear lady."
"I hope it is so," rejoined Eleanor; "for methinks I see difficultiesbefore you--thorns in your path; which I fear may wound those tenderfeet more than you dream of. You love and are beloved, that is clear,and that were simple enough to deal with, as most loves in this worldgo, for very often the wild god's dart gives but a scratch as itpasses, and wounds not one heart deeply in a thousand. But for thosewho love as you two seem to do, there is a world of anxieties and caresupon the way. In our state of life, Lucy, we cannot, like the happycountry maid, give our hand at once where our heart is given, andseldom--seldom through ages, is it the lot of woman to find so happy afate as mine, where the first lot I drew was the chief prize of thewhole world--he whom alone my heart could ever love, and he who wasdestined to return it well.--He loves you, Lucy, I think,--this youngcaptive lord?"
"I am sure of it, lady," replied Lucy, earnestly.
"Indeed!" said the Princess. "Then doubtless you have spoken on thistheme--are plighted and promised to each other!"
Lucy turned somewhat pale, but it was with indecision, and doubt, andthe Princess, marking her changing colour, added--"Nay, let me notforce your confidence from you. I would fain help you, if I could; buttrust, like bounty, must be free, Lucy, not extorted; and though yoursecret were as safe with me as in your own breast, yet let not the birdtake wing if you fear its flight."
Her fair companion, turning round, sunk somewhat farther at thePrincess's feet, and hid her eyes upon her knee, saying--"My confidenceshall be free!--We are plighted by every promise that can bind heart toheart but the last one at the altar; and now that I have told you somuch, I will tell you all," she continued,--"even now, I fear he iswaiting for my coming in the cloisters down below."
"Nay!" exclaimed Eleanor, with a look of some surprise anddisapprobation.
Lucy read her thoughts by the tone in which she spoke, and raising herhead somewhat proudly, she replied--"You mistake me, I fear, dear lady;and do not know the purpose for which I go."
"To fly with him, perhaps," said Eleanor.
"Oh no!" answered Lucy, "while my father lives I will never wed manwithout his blessing. No, lady--no! Neither must you think--although Ihold there might be circumstances in which, but for the sake ofcheering and soothing him I love in captivity and sorrow, I might wellgrant him a poor hour of my company alone--neither must you think, Isay, that I go to him now either to please my ear with hearing his dearvoice, or to comfort him with aught I can say in return. I know I maytrust you, lady--I know I may tell you why I go, and that you willneither repeat it, nor ask me any farther question. I have a message tohim from one he loves and sorrows for. I have news from those he haswept as dead; and though there be no treason in it, lady," she added,with a smile, "I dare not give it to any other lips to deliver than myown."
Eleanor bent down her head and kissed her brow--"Go--go, sweet Lucy,"she said, "I give you leave. Ay, and even when your message is given,if you do linger out the hour, or, perhaps, even see him again byanother clear moon like that, I will forgive and trust you both. Theman that could sully such a thing as thou art, by prompting onewish--one act--one thought for which the pure heart would burn withgrief hereafter, were somewhat worse than a fiend; and methinks," sheadded, laughing, "your lover does not look like one."
"Oh, no--no!" cried Lucy, "like anything but that; but I fear he may bewaiting for me."
"Some women would tell you to make him wait," replied the Princess,"but I will not say so. I have heard my husband quote some Latin words,which mean that he gives twice who quickly gives; and a frank favour toa kind heart must surely make more impression than a greater boon wrungfrom us by long soliciting. Go, then, Lucy--go! see if he be there; ifnot, come back to me, and go again. I would not let him know I waitedfor him, were I you; for the best child may be spoiled, Lucy; butneither would I make him wait for me, lest ever the time should comewhen he might think he had waited long enough."
Lucy kissed the princess's hand, and after enquiring somewhat timidlyher way, quitted the room and descended the narrow staircase whichEleanor directed her to take. Winding round and round till her head wasalmost giddy, and holding fast by the column, about which the smallsteps turned, Lucy at length reached the little archway that led outinto the cloister, and which, as usual, was wide open.
The scene before her was the wide open park which surrounded thepalace, and was then called Eltham Chase, and over it the moonlight wasstreaming peacefully, pouring in also under the cloister and paving itwith silver, while across the glistening stones fell the dark shadowsof the beautiful Norman arches. Lucy paused before she issued forth,seeing no one within the range of her eye at that moment; but there wasthe sound of a step, and the quick ear of love instantly recognised thewell-known tread, which she had listened for, many a day in LindwellCastle, ere the lover knew that he was loved in return.
She still kept back, however, under the shadow of the doorway, that shemight be quite sure; but in a moment or two after, the step turned andcame nearer and nearer, till at length the tall, graceful form of Hughde Monthermer, with his arms folded on his chest, and his eyes bentupon the ground, as if he expected to play the sentinel some time,appeared in the moonlight, and approached the place where she wasstanding.
Lucy was soon by his side; and it was not easy for Hugh to find wordsto express his gratitude for her coming, and his joy at her presence.Although she had resolved to stay with him but a short time, to givehim the message that she had received, at once, and then to return tothe princess as speedily as possible, it must be owned, that thethoughts of both herself and her lover dwelt upon those dear subjects,which naturally presented themselves on being thus alone with eachother for the first time after a long separation, and that half an hourpassed in the sweet dalliance of two young hearts, full of warm andtender affection. Lucy felt almost grateful to Hugh for having forcedher to confess her love, it was so delightful, now that it wasconfessed, to dwell upon it, and to give it voice unrestrained.
To Hugh it seemed almost a dream, to have her there beside him in thecalm moonlight, to hold that fair soft hand in his, to see those darkeyes raise their fringed curtains and pour their living light upon hisface. Who can wonder that they forgot the minutes in such joys as thehuman heart can know but once in life?
At length, however, some accidental circumstance woke them from theirdream of love and happiness.
"I had forgot, Hugh," cried Lucy, disengaging her hand from his; "theprincess expects me back again soon, and I had to tell you much that Ihave not told.--We have been at Nottingham since I saw you, for theysent me to Lindwell while the army lay at Worcester. After that fatalbattle, which I thought would have killed your poor Lucy, too--for witha brother, and a father, and a lover there, ranked upon opposite sides,I had well-nigh died with fear and anxiety--after that battle ofEvesham, I used to listen eagerly for tidings, converse with everycountryman I met, and glean even the lightest rumours that might tellme of the fate of those I loved. I could hear nothing of you or youruncle, however, till one day, as I was walking near the castle, andalone, I sat down beneath the shadow of an oak.--You remember the oldoak within sight of the hall window, where once----"
"Where first I fancied that Lucy might love me," answered Hugh.
/> Lucy paused for a moment, and then replied; "You might have fancied itbefore, Hugh; if your eyes had but been bright.--Well, I was sittingbeneath the shadow of that oak, when, suddenly, I heard somethingrustle-overhead, and in a moment, down from the branches like a fallingacorn, dropped the strange boy, that accompanied us from the forest, onthat sweet ride, which I shall never forget. At first, I was alarmed,and was going to run to the castle; but when I saw who it was, I lostmy fear, and asked him what he wanted. He then told me more than I hadever heard before: that the battle had gone against the English party;that Hugh de Monthermer was wounded and prisoner; and also, that I wasere long to be called upon to join my father at Derby, and go with himto London. 'And now,' said the dwarf, 'I am to charge you with amessage. Sooner, or later,' he continued, 'you will meet the young lordin the capital; tell him that his uncle lives, that he is nearly wellof his wounds; but that, as he knows his life is forfeited, he dare notshow himself. A report is rife, that he has escaped to France. Such,however, is not the case, he is even now under the boughs of merrySherwood, and he would fain see his nephew there in secret. So, tellhim, lady, when you find him; but tell him when he is quite alone, whenthere is no ear but yours and his to hear, for the lives of more thanone good man and true, are trusted to your discretion.' Such, dearHugh, was the message he bade me give you, and I willingly undertook todo so, though I knew not when I might have the means. But, I have aprayer to put, Hugh--I have a boon to ask, which you must not refuse toLucy de Ashby, if you be a true knight and a true lover."
"Ask it, dear Lucy," he replied, "whatever it be, consistent with myhonour, I will do it, were it to carry the cross from the top of thechapel into Palestine, and make the Sultan bow down and worship it."
"Nay--nay!" cried Lucy, with a smile, though such strange vows were notuncommon then; "it is not so hard as that, Hugh, it is but that youpromise me, you will take no farther part in these secret conspiraciesto levy war against the throne. The cause is lost, Hugh, whether it wasa good or a bad one; and if Hugh de Monthermer mingles with it more, hewill but bring destruction upon himself, and misery upon Lucy de Ashby.See your noble uncle, dear Hugh; but try and lead him to makesubmission. At all events, for my sake, promise to abstain yourselffrom any further efforts in an enterprise which is hopeless and pastaway."
"You must ask another boon, Lucy," said Hugh.
"What, will you not grant the first request I make?" cried Lucy,quickly.
"Nay, not so," answered her lover; "it is, that this is no request atall, my Lucy, for I have made the same promise to myself, beforehand.I can never bear arms more against Edward Plantagenet, let who willcall me to the field. So wherever his banner floats, mine shall neverbe raised to oppose it. This makes me bid you ask another boon, dearLucy."
"Well, I will," said Lucy; but ere she could, explain what it was, shewas interrupted.
During their conversation they had wandered backwards and forwardsunder the cloister, and at this time were pausing at the end farthestfrom the door leading to the apartments of the Princess. Itunfortunately happens but too often, that, not only love, but a loveris blind--blind to all external objects as well as to the faults of herhe loves; and certainly such must have been the case with Hugh deMonthermer at that moment; otherwise he would have seen before, thatwhile he turned hither and thither with Lucy de Ashby, the cloister didnot remain untenanted, as he believed. More than once, two or threefigures had come round the farther angle of the palace the moment hisback was turned, and entering the cloister, had watched him and Lucywith laughing, and yet malicious looks.
At the very moment, however, that Hugh de Monthermer and the Ladypaused at the end of the southern front, a voice, coming from the darkarcade which ran along the western side of the building and joined thatwhere they now stood, at a right angle, said in a low but distincttone, as if the speaker were close to them, "You are watched--you arewatched! Go back, or you will be caught!"
Hugh's first impulse was to start forward to discover who it was thatspoke; but Lucy, terrified at the bare idea of being found there by anyof the licentious minions of Henry's court, sprang from him, crying,"Let me fly, Hugh--let me fly! Adieu adieu!" and, darting along thecloister with the speed of a startled deer, she ran towards the doorwayleading to the stairs.
Hugh de Monthermer followed at a somewhat slower pace, thinking that onthat side she was safe; but just when Lucy was within a few yards ofthe arch to which her steps were directed, some three or four men cameout from under the pillars, and advanced towards her with a shout ofribald laughter. With a bound like that of a sword-player, Hugh deMonthermer sprang forward, and was by her side before they could reachher.
"Halloo, halloo!" cried one; "we have started the game."
"Run it down--run it down!" exclaimed another; and a third, evidentlybearing more wine than wit, added something still more offensive.
Another step brought the lovers close to the doorway, but one of therevellers cast himself in the way, as if to stop the passage.
"Stand back, Sir Guy de Margan!" cried the young knight, sternly;"stand back, I say."
But, finding that instead of doing as he was directed, the other spreadwide his arms to catch Lucy as he passed, Hugh struck him one blow withhis clenched hand which laid him prostrate on the pavement.
Lucy sprang through the doorway and ran up the steps like lightning;and her lover, folding his arms upon his chest, walked slowly onwardthrough the midst of those opposed to him. They regarded him withfrowning brow, and muttering voices, but suffered him to pass; and ashe reached the gate which led towards his own chamber, he heard a soundof loud laughter, succeeding apparently to the anger which the blow hehad struck had produced.
Forest Days: A Romance of Old Times Page 24
