The Robber Baron of Bedford Castle

by A. J. Foster and Edith E. Cuthell

  Produced by Al Haines.

  "Aliva recognized on the helmet the crest of the DeBeauchamps." Page 143.]

  THE ROBBER BARON OF BEDFORD CASTLE

  BY A. J. FOSTER AND E. E. CUTHELL

  LONDON, EDINBURGH, DUBLIN, AND NEW YORK THOMAS NELSON AND SONS 1903

  _*CONTENTS*_

  I. By the Banks of Ouse II. Bletsoe Manor-House III. How Aliva received a Second Suitor IV. In Bedford Castle V. In Elstow Abbey VI. A Penitent VII. "*Arcades Ambo*" VIII. Justice in Bonds IX. An Unexpected Meeting X. Through Ouse Marshes XI. Breathing-Time XII. At the Castle of Eaton Socon XIII. The Bird in the Cage XIV. The Sanctuary Violated XV. Ralph raps at the Castle Gate XVI. Within the Castle Walls XVII. The King in Council XVIII. Heard Underground XIX. Fears and Hopes XX. Love Laughs at Locksmiths XXI. The Castle Falls XXII. Ralph to the Rescue XXIII. A tete-a-tete Ride to Elstow Abbey XXIV. "*De Mortuis*"

  _*LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS*_

  "Aliva recognized on the helmet the crest of the De Beauchamps" . . . .. . _Frontispiece_.

  "The soldiers cast the bailiff into the midst of the fire"

  The Robber Baron making his peace with the Church

  "Thronging the castle-yard was a crowd of servants and retainers"

  A wild chase through Ouse marshes

  The council at Northampton

  A desperate plunge

  "Through fire and smoke the besiegers stormed the breach"

  *THE ROBBER BARON OF BEDFORD CASTLE.*

  *CHAPTER I.*

  _*BY THE BANKS OF OUSE.*_

  In the first quarter of the thirteenth century, the evil doings of KingJohn were yet fresh in the minds of men all over England, and theindirect consequences of his evil deeds were still acutely felt, andnowhere more than in Bedfordshire, where the scene of our story is laid.The county itself has much altered in appearance since that period.Great woods, intersected by broad, soft green lanes, overran itsnorthern portion. Traces of these woods and roads still survive inPuddington Hayes and Wymington Hayes, and the great broad "forty-foot."South of this wild wooded upland, one natural feature of Bedfordshireremains unchanged. Then, as now, the Great Ouse took its winding,sluggish course from southwest to north-east across the county, twistingstrangely, and in many places turning back upon itself as though loathto leave Bedfordshire. Some fifteen miles from point to point wouldhave taken it straight through the heart of the little county, whereasits total course therein is more like fifty. One poetic fancy likensthe wandering stream to a lover lingering with his mistress, but oldDrayton compares it to one of the softer sex:--

  "Ouse, having Olney past, as she were waxed mad, From her first staider course immediately doth gad, And in meandering gyves doth whirl herself about, That, this way, here and there, back, forward, in and out. And like a wanton girl, oft doubting in her gait, In labyrinthine turns and twinings intricate, Through those rich fields doth flow."

  It is in the Ouse valley that the events of our story will chiefly belaid, for here was centred the life of the county, in those castleswhich once crowned with their keeps the various mounds which stillexist,--

  "Chiefless castles, breathing stern farewells From gray but leafy walls, where Ruin greenly dwells."

  It was along the banks of the Ouse, a little north of Bedford, that ayoung knight was riding one bright January morning in 1224. By his sidehung his good sword, though he was clad only in the ordinary ridingdress of the period; for these were troublous times, and the countryround by no means secure. At Bedford Castle, Sir Fulke de Breaute, oneof the late King John's lieutenants, sat strongly intrenched, like therobber-barons of a later day in their castles on the Rhine, spreadingdevastation far and wide.

  Young Ralph de Beauchamp, who was making his way that winter morningalong the marshy banks of the river, which were later to develop intoDrayton's "rich meadows," was the son of the younger brother of theformer occupant and ejected owner of Bedford Castle. For more than ahundred years the banner of the De Beauchamps had waved from Bedfordkeep. Their ancestor, Hugo de Beauchamp, had received the feof from theConqueror, together with many a broad manor in the county. His son,Pain, had reared the strong keep on the lofty mound which to this dayoverlooks the Ouse, and from which Cuthwulf the Saxon had driven theBritons in 572, pursuing them far south into the Thames valley. Lateron, the Danes, sailing up the Ouse, had burned the Saxon _Burh_; but theNorman keep, though it had surrendered, had never yet been taken byassault. Eight years before the time of our story, William deBeauchamp, the head of the family, and the uncle of young Ralph, hadsided with the barons who were standing up for the liberties of Englandagainst King John, and had been ousted by John's ferocious lieutenant,Fulke de Breaute. This latter, as has been told, now held the castle,no longer as lieutenant for Henry, John's youthful successor, but as theleader of a band of robbers, who knew no right but might.

  Thus it had come to pass that the house of De Beauchamp, once sopowerful in Bedfordshire, was rather down in the world in the early partof the thirteenth century, and young Sir Ralph felt the reverses of hisfamily. Left an orphan in childhood, he had been brought up by hisuncle William, and though a penniless knight, heir neither to theestates of Bedford, nor to those of another branch of the family seatedat the castle of Eaton Socon, lower down the river, he had, as it were,been rewarded by nature with more than a compensating share of thegraces of face and form. He was, moreover, a proficient in thoseexercises of the tilt-yard which formed an important part of a knightlyeducation, and which were as dear to young men in the thirteenth centuryas are their athletic pursuits to those of the present day. Nor had hismental training been entirely neglected. True, the latter would not beconsidered much now-a-days; but in his boyhood, in Bedford Castle, Ralphhad sat many hours in the chaplain's room, when he would much ratherhave been bathing or fishing in the stream below the walls, learningfrom the venerable priest how to read, write, and speak Latin, then amost necessary part of a gentleman's education.

  But neither poverty nor the misfortunes of his family appeared to weighheavily on Sir Ralph's mind, to judge by the cheerful expression of hiscountenance, as he rode along humming the refrain of an old Provencallove-song, which some of De Beauchamp's retainers had brought intoBedfordshire from fair France. Neither did he seem in any dread ofFulke de Breaute's myrmidons, for the valley was clear of such as far aseye could reach, though it was then in great measure overflowed by thewaters of the Ouse. As was not unusual then in winter-time, the broadriver had risen above its low-lying banks, and a vast expanse of watershimmered far and wide in the sunlight. Later on, in Fuller's time, anot uncommon saying gave the Ouse the name of the "Bailiff ofBedfordshire," from the quantity of hay and other produce _distrained_from the low-lying lands by these frequent and extensive floods.

  As Ralph approached Milton Mill, which was half submerged, and perforceinactive, he reined up his steed, who was already up to her fetlocks inthe shallow flood which covered the meadows and the track, and eagerlyscanned the watery waste before him, for his keen eye had caught sightof something dark being whirled down the rushing torrent. For aninstant he doubted as to whether it were not some snag or tree-branchtorn from the willows in the osier-bed further up. But the truthflashed upon him when he perceived a slight struggle on the part of theobject, something which mig
ht be an arm raised from the water, andclutching despairingly at nothing.

  "B' our Lady!" exclaimed the young knight, "there goes some poor wretchwho seems like to die unshriven, unless I can give him a helping hand!'Tis but a chance.--But come up, my lady," he added, admonishing hisgood gray mare with a slight prick from the heavy goads or "pryck spurs"which armed his heels; "we can but do our best!"

  So saying, Ralph hastily turned his steed to the left, and rode quicklythrough the slush, down the half-submerged bank, and into the stream.There was not a moment to lose. Judging his distance carefully, heforced the mare into the river a little below the struggling figure,which seemed to be encumbered with heavy clothing. The current, turgidand lead-coloured, swirled violently round the stout steed, who hadenough to do to keep on her feet against it, weighted as she was withher stalwart rider. Further and further Ralph forced her with voice andspur, though she backed and stumbled, bewildered by the novel situation,and battling against the current. Already the swiftly-eddying water hadreached her shoulders, when, by her head thrown back, her distendednostrils and starting eye, Ralph saw she could do no more.

  So, bending low down over his saddle-bow, and reaching out his right armas far as he was able to stretch, he awaited the critical moment whenthe drowning man should be swept down towards him. Then, quick asthought, he gripped with an iron grasp at the black frock in which thefigure was clothed, and turned his horse sharply round. The good steedfought her way bravely out of the stream, her rider dragging thedrowning man behind him.

  The moment he found himself on dry land once more, Ralph leaped off tobreathe his horse, and to look at the half-unconscious man he hadrescued, and who was clad in the lay or serving brother's habit of theBenedictines.

  Kneeling by his side, the knight chafed his wet face and hands, andpresently his eyes opened, and he sat up.

  "Thanks to Our Lady and St. Benedict!" he muttered, "and to you, SirKnight! But I thought it was all over with me."

  "And, in good sooth, _I_ thought so too, my good fellow!" exclaimed SirRalph, stamping to shake the water off his leathern hose and jerkin andwoollen surcoat. "But how came you to venture alone, and without aguide, across the ford at flood time?" he added, much relieved to seethe lay-brother, who was young and robust, rise to his feet and begin towring his habit.

  "I was bred and born in these parts, Sir Knight," replied the latter,"and I could find my way across Milton Ford blindfold. Nay, I have evencrossed it in worse seasons than this. But that was before I took uponme this habit, and I trow our holy founder did not contemplate that hisfollowers should have to swim for their lives in it. Moreover, I havetravelled far and swiftly, and I am weary."

  "And have you much further to go yet?" inquired the knight.

  "But as far as Bletsoe," replied the lay-brother.

  "Then get you up behind me on my horse," answered Ralph, "and togetherwe will take our road, for my journey also ends at Bletsoe."

  "Nay, Sir Knight," replied the lay-brother, glancing at Ralph's giltspur of knighthood; "that would be far from seemly. This is not thefirst time by any means that the Ouse has tried to knock the breath outof my body, for I was brought up on his banks. My father is one of theretainers of my Lord de Pateshulle, and lives just between my lord'shouse and the river. Moreover, it will be best for me to trudge alongon foot, and maybe my clothes will be dry before I have finished myjourney. Not that I can ever forget your kind help, sir, or my mercifuldeliverance, thanks be to God," he added, devoutly crossing himself.

  Accordingly Ralph, the mare having recovered herself from her gallantstruggle in the water, remounted, and the lay-brother stepped outbravely by his side.

  "And prithee, my good fellow," asked the knight, "how came you to bestruggling in the Ouse this morning in your Benedictine dress?"

  "Alas, sir!" replied the lay-brother, "I am one of the humblest servantsof the holy Abbey of St. Albans, and I am but just now escaped fromgreater danger than that which you beheld befall me in the Ouse, for atdusk yesterday came that enemy of God, Sir Fulke de Breaute--"

  "Ay!" interrupted Ralph, "that disgrace to knighthood--the treacherousrobber who hath seized my uncle's castle!"

  The lay-brother looked up at the handsome face turned down upon him, andthen at the arms embroidered on his surcoat. Bowing his head inobeisance to his companion when he recognized that he was in thepresence of one of the family of De Beauchamp, he proceeded to relate aterrible tale of murder and outrage committed at St. Albans but the daybefore by the Robber Baron of Bedford Castle.

  "We had but just finished the office of nones in our beautiful abbeychurch, Sir Knight," he continued, "when we heard a terrible noise offighting and confusion at the very gate of the abbey itself. Theporter's man came rushing in to tell us that De Breaute (whom the saintssend to perdition!), with a large band of his Bedford robbers, was inpossession of the town, ill-treating the townsfolk in every way, bindingmany of them fast as prisoners, and demanding admission into our ownsacred precincts. I and some others ran to the gate-house, and lookingforth from the upper windows, beheld a terrible sight. In front of thegate the soldiers and men-at-arms had formed a half-circle, and in themidst were a great crowd of townsfolk--men, women, and children--allwith their arms bound behind their backs, buffeted, kicked, and mockedby the villains who guarded them. And against the gate there was a hugefire kindled, in order that the gate itself might, if possible, bedestroyed. And by the fire stood that arch-fiend Fulke himself, callingto our reverend father abbot to come and speak with him. Then, as welooked, we saw certain soldiers drag forward one of the townsmen, and bythe light of the blaze--for it was already dark--I saw that it was noother than his worship the bailiff of the town who was thus treated. Andthen (O merciful God, show thy vengeance upon Fulke and his crew!) theycast him, bound as he was, into the midst of the fire! O sir, theshrieks of this man, dying in torture, as the soldiers thrust him downwith their spears!"

  "The soldiers cast the bailiff into the midst of thefire."]

  He paused for breath a moment, as if overwhelmed with the horriblememory of what he had witnessed. The gray mare started, spurredunconsciously in his wrath by her rider, who, with teeth clinched,muttered imprecations upon Fulke de Breaute.

  "Go on," he said; "let me hear the whole of this devil's work!"

  The lay-brother went on.

  "Next our father abbot looked down from the window and began to upbraidthe impious Fulke for his great wickedness. But when De Breaute heardhim, he looked up and cried, 'Hasten, my Lord Abbot, and send me, withall speed, from your abbey coffers the sum of one hundred pounds, notmore, not less, or, by my soul, the whole town shall be sacked, and theburgesses served as their bailiff!' Then some of my lord's court waxedwroth, and one of them, a young noble, and a dear friend of my lordabbot, cried, 'Who will with me, that we drive these impious robbersaway?' And certain of the household, together with some of the youngerserving-brothers, and myself among them, agreed to follow the youngknight if he would lead us--"

  "'Twas bravely spoken--bravely done," interrupted Ralph impetuously.

  "And we rushed out through the gate, and through the fire, and acrossthe burnt body of the bailiff. But, alack! we had but staves in ourhands, and clubs--for Holy Church forbids us to use more carnalweapons--and so what could we do against armed men? Our leader wasstruck down dead by Fulke himself--I saw the deed with my own eyes. Wecould not get us back into the abbey, for the brethren had closed thegate behind us. We fled, or tried to flee, in all directions. I myselfmade my way by force of my right arm and my club through the soldierswhere the line was the weakest. Whether my comrades escaped I know not.God be with their souls! Then I girded up my frock and ran until I haddistanced those who pursued me, clad as they were in their heavy armour.Praise be to the saints, I am healthy and strong, and, thanks to you,Sir Knight, have escaped the broad Ouse's waters as well this day!"

  Ralph, who during the lay-brother's narrative had kept up anundercurrent
of muttered curses on Fulke de Breaute and his followers,glanced with admiration at the sturdy young hero by his side.

  "Methinks," he said, smiting him a good-natured slap upon the back,"that Mother Church has despoiled us of a good soldier here! But, say,how comes it that you make your way by Milton Ford at this flood season,and not high and dry over Bedford Bridge?"

  "I have journeyed all night, Sir Knight," he replied, "save that Irested a space in the houses of acquaintances at Luton and Ampthill, towhom I told my tale, and who refreshed me with meat and drink. But whenI drew nigh to Bedford, I left the main road, and took the right bank upthe river till I reached Milton Mill. I dared not venture to passthrough the town. How could I tell but that some of De Breaute's menmight not have already returned to the castle, and be ready to fall onany one clad in Benedictine habit, and crossing the bridge from thedirection of St. Alban's? The rest, Sir Knight, you know. I suppose Iwas weak and weary with my fighting and my journeying, and when I missedthe ford, had not strength to battle with the stream, many times as Ihave swum the broad Ouse. Perils by fire! perils by water! But thanksto Heaven and you, Sir Knight, in a short space I shall be once again inmy old village home. I have not exactly found the religious calm andpeace which was promised me when I professed as a lay-brother six monthsago," he added, with a smile.

  The recital of this raid on the town of St. Alban's, an account of whichhas been handed down to us in manuscript by an unknown scribe, togetherwith various suggestions on the part of Sir Ralph for the destruction ofFulke and his "nest of the devil," occupied our travellers till theyreached the village of Bletsoe. There the knight saw the lay-brothersafe to his father's house, and after many renewed expressions ofgratitude from him, rode on alone, further up the village to the mansionof the De Pateshulles.