by Guy Thorne
CHAPTER VIII
"And after that, the Abbot with his couent Han sped hem for to burien him ful faste."
They buried Geoffroi de la Bourne, the day after his murder, in a pitdug in the castle chapel, under the flags. The bell tolled, the tapersburnt, the pillars of the place were bound round with black. Upon thealtar was a purple cloth. Dom Anselm got him a new black cope for theoccasion, and was sober as may be. After the coffin had been lowered,and the holy water sprinkled upon it, all the company knelt at a Masssaid for the repose of that dark soul.
"Do Thou, we beseech Thee, O Lord, deliver the soul of Thy servant fromevery bond of guilt." Anselm went down to the grave-side from thealtar-steps, while page-boys, acolytes for the time, carried the crossand the holy water.
It was not a very impressive ceremony. I do not think that the littlechapel made it appear sordid and tawdry. It was not the lack offurniture for ritual. Some more subtle force was at work. God would notbe present at that funeral, one might almost say.
After the service was over and the Mass was said, Fulke summoned Lewinand Anselm to him in his own chamber. The squires were not there, forthe preparations for the siege were being pushed on rapidly, and theywere directing them.
The three men sat round a small, massive table drinking beer. "Well,"said Fulke, "it is most certain that it was this theow Hyla. Everythingpoints to that. As far as we have found, he was the chief instrument inthe plot. For, look you, it was to him, so that boy said before he died,that the others looked. He seemed to be the leader. By grace of Heavenall the rogues shall die a very speedy death, but for him I will haveespecial care."
"The thing is to catch him," said Dom Anselm, "and I wist no easy job.Are you going to pull down Icomb Priory?"
"I would do that, and burn every monk to cinders if I had time and menenough."
"That is impossible," said Lewin. "I have been there to buy missals forbarter from their scriptors. My lord, it's in the middle of a lake, up asteep hill, and with a great moat and twin outer walls. We could nevercome by Icomb."
"Also," said Anselm, "we have but a week at the most before we arewithin these four walls with no outgoing for many a day. The Bastardwill be here in a week."
"What's to do?" Fulke asked gloomily.
Lewin contemplatively drained a fresh rummer of beer. "This is all I canthink of," said he. "These serfs have fled to Icomb, and, no doubt, havebeen taken in very gladly by the monks. We are not loved in these parts,Lord Fulke. But Richard Espec is not going to keep them in great easewith wine and heydegwyes. They will work for their bread. Outside themonastery walls there is a village for the servants, on the edge of thecorn-lands. Now see, lord. A man may go begging to Icomb, may he not?For the night he will sleep in the hospitium. After that, if he wantethwork, and will sign and deliver seisin to be a man of Icomb for threeyears, I doubt nothing but the monks will have him gladly. They do everon that plan. He will live in the village. Well, then, that night letthere be a swift boat moored to the island, and let the first man cometo it and tell those therein where this devil Hyla lies. The rest isvery easy. A man can be bound up and thrown into the boat inhalf-an-hour, and then we will have him here."
"Ventail and Visor!" said Fulke, "that is good, Lewin, we will have himsafe as a rat. But I have another thought too. I had forgotten. Theman's daughter Elgifu is still in the castle. It is not fitting that sheshould live."
"'Tis but a girl," said Lewin, the sentimentalist.
Fulke snarled at him. "Girl or no girl, she shall die, and die heavily.By the rood! I will avenge my father's murder so that men may talk ofit."
His narrow face was lit up with spite, and he brought his hand down uponthe table with a great blow.
"Perhaps you are right, my lord," said Lewin; "it is as well that sheshould be killed. I only thought that she is a very pretty girl."
"There are plenty more, minter."
He went to the door and opened it, shouting down the stairs. Aman-at-arms came clattering up to him, making a great noise in thenarrow stone stairway. He ordered that the girl should be brought tohim, and presently she stood in front of them white and trembling, forshe saw their purpose in their eyes.
"You are going to be hanged, girl," said Fulke, "and first you shallbe well whipped in the castle yard. What of that? Do you like that?Hey?"
She burst into pitiful pleadings and tremulous appeals. Her voice rangin agony through the room. "I cannot die, lord," she said. "Oh, lord,kill me not. My lord, my lord! my dear lord! For love of the Saints! Icannot bear it!"
The brute watched her with a sneer, and then turned to the man-at-arms."Tie her up to the draw-well, strip her naked, and give her fiftystripes. Then hang her, naked, on the tree outside the castle gate."
The man lifted her up in his arms, a light burden, and bore hershrieking and struggling away.
Fulke leant back against the wall with a satisfied smile. Dom Anselm hadcomposed his features to an expression of stern justice, Lewin was whiteand sick. Human life went for very little in those days, but he did notlike this torture of girls.
Gundruda, the pretty waiting maid, who watched the execution with greatcomplaisance, told him afterwards that the poor girl was dead, or atleast quite insensible to pain, long before the whipping was over."Little fool to stay here when she might have gone with the other,"concluded Gundruda.
"Fool indeed," said he, "I cannot forget it--I am not well, Gundruda,pretty one." She put her arms round him, and they strolled awaytogether.
So Elgifu paid bitterly for her folly, and went to a rest which wasdenied her in this world.
In the early afternoon one of the men-at-arms, dressed as a peasant, setout for Icomb by water.
Lewin stayed with Gundruda a little while, trying to find comfort in hersmiles and forgetfulness in her bright laughing eyes.
But the minter could find very little satisfaction with the girl. Herbeauty and sprightly allurements had no appeal for him just then. Therewas no thrill even in her kisses. So after a while he left her, for asudden longing to be alone came over him. The idea was strong in him toget as far away from the world as possible. By many steps he mounted tothe top of Outfangthef. As he emerged into the light, after the dusk ofthe stairs, it began to be evening.
Down below, over all the castle works, men were busy at the defences,clustering on the walls like a swarm of flies. Presently, one by one,torches flared out, so that work might still go on when it was dark.
Lewin leaned over the parapet and surveyed the dusky world, full oftrouble and despair. A great truth came to him. He realised that he hadbeen born too soon, and was not made for that age of blood and steel.The solitary isolation of the tower top intensified the loneliness ofhis own soul.
Surveying life and its possibilities for him, he could see nothing butmisery in it. As the unseen nightwinds began to fly round him andwhisper, he took a resolve. When this siege began and Lord Rogerattacked Hilgay, he would arm and go out to death, seeking it in somebrave adventure. He would give up, he thought, his treason plot withAnselm. There was nothing else that he could do, there was noenjoyment--every man he knew was the same, the same, ever-lastingly thesame. Life was dull. He laughed a bitter, despairing laugh, and wentdown to the castle again.
There was a great carouse that evening at Hilgay, for the works werenearly done, and a spy had brought word that the forces of Lord Rogerwere not as strong as earlier reports had led them to believe.
While the candles burnt all night by the grave in the chapel, all thecastle garrison, with the exception of the sentries, got most gloriouslydrunk. Lewin was no exception.
It is a relief to turn from the contemplation of that sordid, evil placeto the quiet of the Priory in the lake. Yet it must be remembered thatHilgay is an exact type of hundreds of other strongholds existing inEngland at that time. The incalculable wickedness of the space of years,when the secluded historian wrote that "Christ and all His angels seemedasleep," is very difficult to imagine.
In tr
uth, it was a bestial, malignant, inhuman time. We are not gratefulenough for the blessings of to-day. Imagine, if you please, what thesepeople were.
There is no need to outrage our nice tastes by revolting detail. Realismcan be pushed too far. But, for the sake of a clear understanding, takeBaron Fulke of Hilgay, and listen to a few personal details.
The beast was a very well-bred man. That is to say, he was of thearistocracy, a peer with a great record of birth. We have seen that hestripped his mistress naked, and had her killed by rough scoundrels inhis pay. He never had a qualm. So much for his character, which was asmuch like the legendary devil as may be. But about the man as apersonality.
Supposing that we could draw a parallel between that time and our owntime. Fulke would correspond to half a dozen young gentlemen we allknow, considered from the point of view of social status. A boy we meetat a dance, or a dinner, who is a member of a great family, for example.
Fulke, unpleasant as it is to say it, _hardly ever washed_. Brutally, ina modern police court, he would be considered as a verminous person. Inthe time of King Stephen, no one--and we can make no exception for thesaints of God themselves--had ever heard of a pocket handkerchief. Theworld was malodorous! A dog-kennel would hardly have suffered any one ofour heroes and heroines, That is one reason why it is so difficult forthe veracious historian to present his characters as they really were.It is hard to explain them, people are too accustomed to Romance.
There is hardly anything in our steam age so delightful as "Romance."The romance of the early Middle Ages has a quality of glamour which willhold our attention and have our hearts for ever. We always look for, anddesire refinements of fact in life. Human nature demands some sort of anideal. Our friends of the fens can hardly be called romantic, but theyare human.
While all these cut-throats were rioting in the keep, Richard Espec, theprior of Icomb, was sitting in his cell working.
A candle in an iron holder stood on the table by him, and threw a nonetoo brilliant light upon a mass of documents. "Contrepaynes" of leaves,pages of accounts, and letters from brother churchmen.
At the moment, the prior was checking the accounts of the oil mill,which was a source of revenue to the house.
There came a knock at the door with a "Benedicite," the prior bid theknocker enter. The new-comer was the sub-prior, John Croxton, RichardEspec's great friend and counsellor.
"Sit down," said the prior, "and tell me the news--is there any news? Iam very weary of figuring, and I feel sad at heart. Richard Cublery haspaid no rent for a year and a half, since he fell to drinking heavilywith John Tichkill."
"We can survive that," said the sub-prior.
"Yes, yes; I am not accoyed at that, brother, but the letters andtidings from the outside world oppress me. The various and manifoldillegalities and imposts which never cease or fail on the wretchedpeople, and the burnings and murders lie heavy on my heart. Oh, our Lordhas some wise purpose, I do not doubt, but it is all very dark to mortaleyes."
"I have read," said the sub-prior, "somewhat of history in my time. Butnever in Latin times, nor can I hear of it of the Greeks, was there sucha spirit of devilish wickedness abroad over a land."
"The lords of this country seem to me to be the daemons of hell inmortal dress. Mind you what Robert Belesme did? His godchild was hostageto him for its father, and the father did in some trifling way offendhim. Robert tore out the poor little creature's eyes with his nails.William of Malmesbury hath writ it in his book, and, please God, theworld will never forget it."
"The king has got to him all the worst rogues from over the seas.William of Ypres, Herve of Leon, and Alan of Duran, there are threepretty gentlemen! The king is no king. There are in England, so tospeak, as many kings, or rather tyrants, as lords of castles."
"Well, one of them is gone," said Richard Espec, "and I trust God willforgive him, though I feel that it is not likely. He was one of theworst ones, was Geoffroi de la Bourne."
"That was he. For myself, I cannot even understand how a man can be asbad as that. A sinner, yes, and a bad one, but from our point of view,you and I, can you see yourself, even if you were not a monk, doing anyof these things?"
"Without doubt, brother. Only an old man like I can really know how fouland black a thing the human heart is. Every one is a potential Geoffroi,save but for the grace of God, given for sweet Christ's sake."
"Yes, father," said the younger man, folding his arms meekly. Thecandles on the tables began to gutter towards their end, and throwmonstrous shadows upon the faces and over the forms of the two monks.They were talking in low tones, and the little stone room was verysilent. The dying candle-flames filled it with rich, velvety shadows,and dancing yellow lights.
"Hyla and his friends have been given the large hut that Swegn hadbefore he died. I saw the meeting between him and his womenfolk. Theyhardly looked to see him again."
"I do not care much to have so many women about," said Richard, with thetrue monkish distrust of the other sex. "Nevertheless, the men can notbe easily kept without their wives. And of this Hyla--what do you thinkof him?"
"He seems a very strong nature for a serf. Singularly contained withinhimself, and, I think, proud of his revenge."
"That must not be, then. We must not let him be that. I well think thathe has been chosen by God as His instrument, and for that I rejoice. Butthe man must not get proud. He is a serf, and a serf he will be always.It is in his blood, and it is right that it should be so. I am noupholder of any destruction of order. It is our duty to treat our slaveswell, and that we do; but they remain our slaves. Tell the brother whodirects the serfs that this Hyla should be well looked to, that he liein his true place."
The prior concluded with considerable vehemence. No one was moretheoretically conservative than he, and although, in this time ofanarchy, he approved of Hyla's deed, yet it certainly shocked hisinstinctive respect for _les convenances_. It would have been difficultto find a better creature than the fat prior of Icomb, a man more trulycharitable, or of a more pious life. But, had the course of this storybeen different, and had Hyla lived his life at the monastery, he couldnever have risen in the social scale. If the prior had discovered theforce of the man, his potentialities as a social force, he would havesternly repressed them. Hyla's duty was to work, and be fed for hiswork. The Catholic Church, with its vast hierarchy, its huge socialmachinery, crushed all progress in the direction of freedom. No doubt,Richard Espec, worthy gentleman though he was, would have beenconsiderably surprised if he had been told that he would be as Hyla,and no more, in heaven. We hear too much about the humility of thepriesthood in the early Middle Ages. Of course, the great politicalchurchmen, such as Henry of Winchester or Thurston of York, were pettykings, with ceremonial courts and armies. People knelt as they passed,because they were princes as well as priests. But there is a delusionthat the ordinary monk or priest was, in effect, a perfect radical,holding doctrines of equality, at any rate, as far as he himself wasconcerned. Nothing of the sort was possible in the face of the onecrushing social fact of serfdom. Richard Espec would have washed Hyla'sfeet with pleasure--there was precedent, and it was a formal act ofhumiliation. At the same time, he would not have made his bed in Hyla'shut or sat with him at meat.
The sub-prior received his superior's remarks with due reverence, andthe talk glided into other channels. While they sat there came footstepsrunning down the cloister, and then a beating at the door. A young monkentered, breathless, and knelt before the prior.
"News, father," said he, and craved permission to tell it. "Father,"said the young man, and tears streamed down his cheeks, "our goodfriend, Sir John Leyntwarden, is dead, and among the martyrs. Sir Johnwas saying Mass at the wayside altar of Saint Alban, the protomartyrwhom God loves. Sir John doth ever say a wayside Mass in the earlymornings, and calls down a blessing upon the Norwich road thereby. Nowthe boy Louis Seez was helping Sir John to serve the Mass, and his taleis this--Sir John had just divided the Host, and allowed the particle tofall i
nto the chalice. Indeed, he was saying the _Haec commixtio_.Suddenly they heard a loud laugh, and so harsh was it in the holystillness that verily Satan might have had just such a laugh. Father,thinking that it was indeed some daemon come out of the wood, Sir Johnstarted and turned round. There he saw five gentlemen on horseback andin armour. They had ridden up very quietly over the turf. Down the road,a mile away, Sir John saw a great company moving. He saw spears, and thesun on armour and waggons. He knew then that this was some great lord'swar train, and that the gentlemen who were watching him had ridden onbefore."
The young monk stopped a moment for lack of breath and labouring undergreat agitation. The other two gazed intently at him in greatexcitement. Sir John Leyntwarden, the priest of Hawle, was their verygood friend, and a holy man. The news was horrible.
"Calm, brother," said the prior, "say an _Ave_ and pray a moment, peacewill come to you then."
The curious remedy served its turn wonderfully well--wherefore let noman smile at Richard Espec--and the young monk resumed his narrative.
"Then said Sir John to the gentlemen, 'Sirs, the _Agnus Dei_ is not yet,and there is time for you to kneel and take our Lord's Body with us._Vere dignum et justum est aequum et salutare._ Then the leader of theparty, a powerful, great man, laughed again. Louis says it was verilylike a devil mocking, for it was very bitter, mirthless, and cold. Thislord said, 'We take no Mass, but, by hell, we will have these thyvessels. They are too good for a hedge priest.' Then he did turn to alady who sat by upon a white horse, very dark, and with white teethwhich laughed. 'What Kateryn?' said he. 'They will make thee adrinking-cup and a plate until I can give thee better from the cellarsof Hilgay.' Then Louis knew who it was. That was my Lord Roger Bigotwith Kateryn Larose, his concubine, and the war train was on its way toHilgay Tower to overthrow Fulke de la Bourne.
"Sir John held up the cross at his girdle and dared them that theyshould come nearer to the Body of Christ. The harlot in the saddlekissed her fingers to him, and the whole company laughed. Then, with nomore ado, they took him and bound him. In the melley little Louisslipped away, and the grievous things which happened he saw from a treehard by. They emptied the chalice and pyx upon the ground. 'Look,' saidLord Roger, 'there is your God, Sir Priest, and thus I treat Him.' Withthat a-stamped upon the Host, and all the company laughed at that awfulcrime."
Richard Espec and John Croxton burst into loud cries of pity and horrorat this point. Tears rained down the prior's face as he heard how theseevil men had entreated the Body and Blood.
"Louis thought to see heaven open and Abdiel drop from the morning sky,like fire, to kill them. But God made no sign.
"Then Sir John, lying bound upon the ground, began to pray in a loudvoice that God would terribly punish these men. He called upon them thecurse of all the Saints, and he said to Roger Bigot that for this deedhe should lie for ever in hell. There was something strange about hisvoice, or perhaps they were frightened at the curses. Roger ground hismailed heel into Sir John's face till it was no face and he was silent.Then for near half-an-hour they did torture him with terrible tortures,and with one unspeakable. You know, father, in what manner the saintshave suffered that have fallen into the hands of Robert, or Roger, orGeoffroi. Sir John could not abear it, and he screamed loudly till hisvoice rang through all the wood. So died dear Sir John in the freshmorning."
Richard Espec made the sign of the cross, and said solemnly, "_Posuisti,Domine, super caput ejus, coronam de lapide pretioso. Alleluia_." Thenhe said, "Go and summon all the brethren to the chapter-house, for Ihave somewhat to say to them." And being left alone he fell upon hisknees in prayer.
The great bell in the centralone began to toll loudly.
This dreadful news touched the prior very nearly. Dom Leyntwarden, thevicar of Hawle-in-the-wood, a tiny hamlet now deserted, was an intimateand close friend of his. The murdered priest was a shrewd adviser uponbusiness affairs, and would often come over to the monastery and be itsguest for a few days, to help in any worldly business that might beafoot. He was endeared to the whole Priory. It was a terrible instanceof the times in which they lived. The good priest saying Mass at thelittle wayside altar by the wood in the fresh morning air. The sneering,relentless fiends in mail, and the smiling girl upon her palfrey. In oneshort hour their friend had passed from them in agony, from the realpresence of God into the real presence of God made manifest to his eyes.
The prior was resolved to address the assembled brethren in thechapter-house, not one being absent.
We are enabled to see how all this bore upon the fortunes of Hyla.
Sir John Leyntwarden was martyred by Roger Bigot on his way to attackHilgay.
Sir John was a friend of the monks with whom Hyla had taken refuge. Onthe occasion of the news the prior summoned a chapter of the brethren,and all the men living in the monastery village on the hill who were notserfs.
The village was practically empty and free to the hands of a long boatof armed men, which, under cover of the dark, was now moving swiftlyover the lake.
