CHAPTER III
AN UNBIDDEN GUEST
Oakmede, the home of the Icinglas, was situated fully twelve miles tothe north of ancient London; and though Oliver, after passing the Prioryof the Knights of St. John, and the great suburban mansion of the DeClares, at Clerkenwell, spurred on his black steed--which, somewhatfancifully, he had named Ayoub, after the father of the SultanSaladin--the sun had long set, and darkness had overshadowed the earth,ere he drew near to the dwelling of his fathers.
It was not altogether pleasant to be abroad and unattended under suchcircumstances, for the robber and the outlaw, then numerous in England,haunted the neighbourhood of the metropolis, as many a benightedwayfarer knew to his cost. But Oliver thought little of danger fromrobber or outlaw, so much occupied was his mind with the perils he waslikely to encounter in his capacity of hostage for Hugh de Moreville, aman whom he doubted and dreaded. Notwithstanding the tone he had assumedin conversing with Constantine Fitzarnulph, Oliver did not relish theprospect that lay before him; and the idea of a long captivity--supposingthat to be the worst--desolated his soul. Moreover, the fate of theWelsh hostages to whom Fitzarnulph had alluded recurred to his memory,and he almost felt inclined to fly. Indeed, he could not but perceivethat De Moreville would certainly benefit by his death, and that it wasthe interest of the Norman baron to get rid of a person whose claims tothe castle and baronies which he held for the present might one daybecome irresistible.
It was with such gloomy thoughts haunting his mind that Oliver Icinglarode homewards over ground hard as iron, for the frost was so keen thatin many places the Thames was frozen over. The moon had risen, and wasshining through the leafless trees on the grass, as he turned out ofwhat is now the great north road, and dashed into the woodland thatskirted the great forest of Middlesex, crossed, not without difficulty,a brook covered with ice slippery as glass, descried lights in thedistance, and, riding down a glade that served as an avenue, approachedOakmede. Lights glimmered from the outhouses and the orchard, and analarm-bell was ringing; for the hinds, as was their custom on thatnight, were wassailing the fruit-trees with cyder, and wishing themhealth in the coming year, and the bell was rung to scare away thedemons while the process was going on.
Oakmede, notwithstanding the changes that for a century and a half hadbeen taking place in the architecture and domestic life of England,stood in very much the same condition as it had done at the time of theConquest, and said little for the taste or the ambition of its owners.It was a rude structure, partly of timber, partly of brick, with severaloutbuildings and a large courtyard, to which there was access by strongwooden gates--the whole being surrounded with a deep ditch or fosse,fortified with palisades. But such as the place was, the Icinglas hadever been proud to call it their own; and with a degree of satisfactionwhich he might not have felt if it had been the haughtiest and strongestof feudal castles, like Lewes, or Warwick, or Kenilworth, Oliver haltedand wound his horn. After a little delay the drawbridge was lowered, andhe rode through the great wooden gate into the courtyard, and dismountedat the door. As he did so he was met by a boy of sixteen, whose dress ofscarlet, striped with yellow, was such as to make the squire stare withsurprise, and then laugh merrily.
“Wolf, son of Styr,” exclaimed he at length, “what frenzy has promptedthee to don such garments at sober and homely Oakmede? Bear in mind,varlet, that we are not now capering gaily at the court of KingAlphonso. Beshrew me, Wolf, if men will not think that you are going ona masquerade when they see you thus attired in our peaceful hall.”
“Patience, my young master,” replied the varlet, with a glance full ofsignificance; “we have guests.”
“Guests at Oakmede!” said Oliver, with some surprise.
“Ay, guests,” repeated the varlet, “and one guest of quality especially,who, an’ I err not, will be freer than welcome.”
“Varlet,” said Oliver, drawing himself up haughtily, “your tongueoutruns your discretion. Guests of quality will ever be welcome atOakmede, so long as they demean themselves with courtesy; and woe betidethe guest, however high his rank or sounding his name, who shall ventureto demean himself otherwise than courteously under the roof of theIcinglas, while the honour of their name is in my keeping! But of whomspeak you?”
“Of the Lord Hugh de Moreville, who has been here for hours.”
Oliver’s countenance fell; he breathed hard, and his manner was uneasy.Recovering himself, however, he said, with a sigh--
“What! Hugh de Moreville at Oakmede? A prodigy, by my faith! But, in thequality of guest, even my kinsman must be made welcome; wherefore, Wolf,see that the knaves lose no time in placing the supper on the board. Letnot this Norman lord have cause to impeach our hospitality.”
Without wasting more time in words, Oliver Icingla hastened to hischamber, rapidly made such changes in his dress as he deemed necessaryfor the occasion, hastily spoke a few words of comfort to his mother,who, after a brief interview, had left the presence of her kinsman withgrief at her heart and tears in her eyes, and then repaired to the hall,where the tables were ready spread for the evening meal of the householdand the guests. At the lower end, several men-at-arms, who had formedHugh de Moreville’s train, lay on the benches, and lounged around theample fire of wood that blazed and crackled up the huge chimney, andthrew its light over the smoke-begrimed hall. On the daïs, or elevatedpart, sat the Norman baron, with a countenance which denoted someimpatience and much ill humour.
Hugh de Moreville was a feudal magnate living in an age when feudalmagnates deemed themselves born to do whatever their inclinationdictated; and he had the aspect and manner of a man who believed himselfentitled to act without restraint, and to make others bend to his will,no matter through what sacrifice of their own feelings or interests. Norwas he often baffled in the objects on which he set his heart. Few,indeed, who knew him as he now was at the age of forty-two, with an ironframe and an iron will, could think, without tremor, of opposing thatman, with his haughty bearing, his aquiline features, his proud eye, hiselevated eyebrows, his nostrils breathing anger, and his hand so readyto shed blood. But Oliver Icingla, in the home of his fathers, wassustained by more than feudal pride; and it was without the leastindication of doubt or dismay, or a consciousness of inferiority in anyrespect, that he walked to the daïs, and held out his hand to the Normanbaron.
“My lord and kinsman,” said he, “you are welcome to our poor house.”
“By St. Moden!” exclaimed De Moreville, with a flashing eye, “I cannotbut think that it would have been more to the purpose had you been hereto welcome me on my arrival.”
“In truth, my lord,” replied Oliver, calmly and earnestly, “I deeplygrieve that I should have been absent on such an occasion. But I did notdream that our humble dwelling was to be honoured with such a guest,otherwise I should not have failed you. However, as the proverb says,‘Better late than never.’ Wherefore, I pray you, accept my excuses inthe spirit in which they are offered, and let the heartiness of mywelcome atone for any delay in giving it. Ho, there, knaves! place thesupper on the board, that our noble guest may taste of such good cheeras the house affords.”
“Kinsman,” said Hugh de Moreville, apparently somewhat surprised atOliver’s bearing, “nothing less than a weighty matter could have broughtme hither at this season, and I have come at no small inconvenience. NowI was careful to give you timely advertisement that any day you might berequired to go to the king’s court; and I entreat you to tell me, for Iam curious to know, what weighty business could have taken you to Londonat a time when I had signified that at any hour you might receive asummons to repair to the king’s palace as a hostage?”
Oliver bent his brows sternly, and his cheek reddened; but he made aneffort to be calm, and succeeded.
“My lord,” said he, “I will deal plainly with you, and answer as franklyas you could desire. I did understand that I was to be delivered over asa hostage to the king for your good faith, and, albeit at the time Iwould much liefer, had my own
inclinations been consulted, have remaineda free man; yet, after much pondering the business, I deemed it betternot to kick against the pricks; wherefore I am ready to go to King Johnwhenever you wish. But, meanwhile, desiring to speak with my Lord ofSalisbury, under whose banner I have ridden, I deemed that there was noindiscretion in going to London with that intent; nor do I now considerthat I have erred therein. As ill luck would have it, I found that theearl had left the king’s court to keep the festival of Christmas in hisown Castle of Salisbury, and I returned hither to await your summons,which, I repeat, I am ready to obey. My lord, I have said.”
“Youth!” exclaimed De Moreville, regarding his young kinsman not withoutastonishment at his audacity, “you speak boldly--too boldly, methinks,for one of your years; and I warn you, for your own sake, to be morediscreet. But enough of this for the present: to-morrow you departhence. Meanwhile, I have that to say which is for your ear alone; and,seeing that supper is on the board, I will not delay your eventidemeal.”
Occupying two chairs of carved oak, Oliver and De Moreville took theirplaces on the daïs; and the persons of inferior rank having rangedthemselves at the lower end, above and below the salt, supper began. Butit was a dull meal. Dame Isabel, who, now that her son’s departure forthe court was imminent, indulged her grief and gave way to forebodings,did not appear, and the young host and his baronial guest ate theirsupper almost in silence. Some faint attempts Oliver did make atconversation, but refrained on perceiving that De Moreville, whosetemper had been severely tried by their previous interchange ofsentiments, answered sullenly and in monosyllables. Oliver could not butask himself how all this was to terminate.
At length supper came to an end, and De Moreville, assuming aconciliatory manner, and speaking in a kindly tone, expressed his wishto resume the conversation which the meal had interrupted; and, at asign from Oliver, the domestics disappeared from the hall to spendChristmas Eve elsewhere, the Norman baron’s men-at-arms following theexample.
“Oliver,” began De Moreville, with an effort to be familiar andkinsmanlike, “you are about to be placed in a position of greatresponsibility.”
“On my faith, my lord,” replied Oliver jocularly, “I scarce comprehendyou. For to me it seems that I am to be quite passive in the matter; andI frankly own that I little relish the prospect of being mewed up andplaced in jeopardy merely to serve the convenience of another.”
“Nevertheless,” continued De Moreville, speaking more deliberately thanwas his wont, “you will be in a position in which you may make or maryour fortune. You must understand that, in sending you as a hostage tothe king, I expect you to attend faithfully to my interest.”
“In what respect, my lord?” asked Oliver gravely.
“Listen, and I will explain,” answered De Moreville, drawing his chairnearer that of his young host. “You know enough, at least, of thestruggle between the king and the barons to be aware that it is one oflife and death. Now it happens--so faithless is this king--that no mancan trust his word, and no man can even guess what a day may bringforth. Mark well everything that happens; keep eye and ear open to allthat takes place around you; and if it appears to you that the kingmeditates treachery, or harbours ill designs towards me and those withwhom I am leagued, lose no time in conveying intelligence to me. I willprovide the means of speedy communication.”
Oliver’s lip curled with disdain.
“Do you comprehend me?” asked De Moreville quickly.
“My lord,” replied Oliver, after a pause, during which he drew a longbreath, “I would fain hope you do not mean my father’s son to play thepart of a spy?”
“Nay, nay,” exclaimed De Moreville, his bronzed visage suddenlyflushing; “you are hasty; you start aside like a young chargerfrightened by its own shadow. I ask nothing but what it becomes you todo as my kinsman and my ward. I have said that this is a struggle oflife and death; and, such being the case, it is needful to walk warily;and I only ask you so to play your part as to prove yourself worthy ofmy confidence, and to merit the protection and good-will of the baronsof England.”
“But,” said Oliver, after some hesitation, during which De Morevilleeyed him narrowly, “remember that I am an Englishman by birth and bydescent, and suppose that, in this contest, my sympathies are with theking of England, and not with the Norman barons?”
“By the bones of St. Moden!” exclaimed De Moreville, his nostrilsdistending and his eyes glittering; “in that case I should assuredly saythat you are too much of a madman to merit aught but pity.”
“My lord,” said Oliver calmly, “forbear from using language which onlytends to exasperate, and let me speak my mind frankly. My sympathies--sofar as they are in operation--are assuredly not with the barons; nor,considering who I am, can I be expected to regard them save as foes ofmy race. For yourself,” continued the squire, “I say this: you have beena hard guardian, reaping where you have not sowed, and gathering whereyou have not reaped. But of that I make no complaint, seeing that, Idoubt not, you have acted according to law; and now that you ask me tosurrender my liberty at your pleasure, I do not refuse. I am ready to goas your hostage to the king. But,” added he warmly, “my honour and myconscience are mine own; and, by the Holy Cross! an Icingla cannotviolate the dictates of honour and conscience at the bidding of anyNorman baron. I have said.”
De Moreville did not reply. He did not even attempt to reply. But he satfor some time gazing at Oliver as if petrified with astonishment. Atlength he recovered sufficiently to speak of the necessity of repose;and the domestics having been summoned, and the grace cup served, hewas marshalled to “the guest room” by the steward of Dame Isabel’shousehold. Oliver, however, did not follow the example of his Normankinsman. Long he sat musing over his position, and marvelling to whatfortune it would lead--long after the “Yule log” had been placed on thehearth, and the house was hushed in repose, and even till midnight, didhe reflect on the past and speculate as to the future. Then at the hourwhen, on Christmas Eve--according to the superstition of the period--theox and the ass knelt down, and the bees sang psalms in adoration of theRedeemer of mankind, Oliver Icingla sought his chamber, prayed earnestlyfor spiritual guidance in his perplexity, threw himself on his couch,and, in spite of all annoyances, slept the sound and refreshing sleep ofyouth and health.
At early morn Oliver was aroused from a pleasant dream of gay and sunnyCastille by a knock at the door of his chamber, and Wolf, the varlet,entered.
“My young master,” said the boy, “the Norman lord is already astir andimpatient for thy coming; and since it seems that go to the king’s courtthou must--be thou willing or unwilling--I would that I could bepermitted to go in thy company.”
“Nay, Wolf, boy,” replied Oliver sadly, “that cannot be. Besides, I knownot into what dangers you might be led. For myself, I would ten timesrather take my chance again face to face with the Moors and the Frenchthan risk all I dread. I know not what snare I may fall into, and yourpresence would but encumber me in case of the worst.”
Wolf smiled. “Heardest thou never,” asked he, “of the mouse that gnawedthe toils of the lion, and set the lion free?”
“I know the fable,” answered Oliver, “and I comprehend your meaning. ButI fear me that if I am caught in the toils they will be too tough forthy teeth. So no more of this. Whatever danger may await me I must facealone. But be of good cheer. Should fortune befriend me, as she maychance to do, I will forthwith send for you. Meanwhile, see to my goodsteed Ayoub, that he be fitly caparisoned to take the road when itpleases my Norman kinsman to place his foot in the stirrup. Begone!”
Runnymede and Lincoln Fair: A Story of the Great Charter Page 5
