CHAPTER XIX.
THE SUPPLIANT.
Brother, be now true to me, And I shall be as true to thee; As wise God me speed.
AMYS AND AMYLLION.
The year had by this time worn onward to the last days of summer, orone might almost say to the earliest days of autumn, and the lovelyscenery of the lake country had begun to assume its most beautiful andpicturesque coloring.
For in the early summer months the hues of the whole region are toogenerally green, without any variation except that produced by theeffect of sunshine and shadow. The sides of the turf-coveredmountains, the birch and oak coppices on their lower slopes, the deepmeadows, at their base, are all overspread with the richest and mostintense verdure; even the reflections in the bosom of the clear lakespreserve the same general tints, diversified only by the cerulean bluecaught from the deep overhanging heavens, and the not dissimilar hueof the craggy summits of the loftier hilltops, where the slatycharacter of the rocks, partly impregnated with iron, partly incrustedwith gray lichens, "overspread in many places," to quote the words ofa fine writer and true lover of nature, "the steep and almostprecipitous sides of the mountains, with an intermixture of colorslike the compound hues of a dove's neck."
"When, in the heat of advancing summer," he proceeds thereafter, "thefresh green tint of the herbage has somewhat faded, it is againrevived by the appearance of the fern profusely spread every where;and upon this plant, more than upon any thing else, do the changes,which the seasons make in the coloring of the mountains depend. Aboutthe first week in October, the rich green, which prevailed through thewhole summer, has usually passed away. The brilliant and variouscolors of the fern are then in harmony with the autumnal woods; brightyellow, or lemon color, at the base of the mountains, meltinggradually, through orange, to a dark russet brown toward the summits,where the plant, being more exposed to the weather, is in a moreadvanced state of decay. Neither heath nor furze are generally foundupon the sides of the mountains, though in some places they are richlyadorned by them. We may add, that the mountains are of heightsufficient to have the surface toward the summits softened bydistance, and to imbibe the finest aerial hues. In common also withother mountains, their apparent forms and colors are perpetuallychanged by the clouds and vapors which float round them; the effectindeed of mist or haze, in a country of this character, is like thatof magic. I have seen six or seven ridges rising above each other, allcreated, in a moment, by the vapors upon the side of a mountain,which, in its ordinary appearance, showed not a projecting point tofurnish even a hint for such an operation.
"I will take this opportunity of observing, that they who have studiedthe appearances of nature feel that the superiority, in point ofvisual interest, of mountainous over other countries, is morestrikingly displayed in winter than in summer. This, as must beobvious, is partly owing to the forms of the mountains, which, ofcourse, are not affected by the seasons, but also, in no small degree,to the greater variety that exists in their winter than their summercoloring. This variety is such, and so harmoniously preserved, that itleaves little cause of regret when the splendor of the season haspassed away. The oak coppices, upon the sides of the mountains, retainrusset leaves; the birch stands conspicuous with its silver stems andpuce-colored twigs; the hollies, with green leaves and scarletberries, have come forth into view from among the deciduous trees,whose summer foliage had concealed them; the ivy is now plentifullyapparent upon the stems and boughs of the trees, and among the woodedrocks. In place of the uniform summer-green of the herbage and fern,many rich colors play into each other over the surface of themountains; turf, the tints of which are interchangeably tawny-green,olive, and brown, beds of withered fern and gray rocks beingharmoniously blended together. The mosses and lichens are never soflourishing as in winter, if it be not a season of frost; and theirminute beauties prodigally adorn the foreground. Wherever we turn, wefind these productions of nature, to which winter is rather favorablethan unkindly, scattered over the walls, banks of earth, rocks andstones, and upon the trunks of trees, with the intermixture of severalspecies of small fern, now green and fresh; and, to the observingpassenger, their forms and colors are a source of inexhaustibleadmiration."--WORDSWORTH.
Thus far have I quoted the accurate and simple language of the greatPoet of the Lakes, since, none other that I can choose would placebefore the eyes of my readers so vivid a reality of the scenery ofthat loveliest portion of picturesque England, in its finest aspect.
It was not, indeed, quite so deep in the season, that all the changesso beautifully depicted above had yet occurred, when, late in a clearautumnal evening, Kenric and Edith stood together in the porch oftheir new home, gazing across the tranquil bosom of the little mere,and down the pastoral valley of the Kent, yet the face of the picturewas close to that described in the quotations. The trees, in the levelground and in the lower valleys, had not lost all their verdure,though the golden, the russet, and the ruddy-red, had intermingledlargely with the green; the meadows, by the water-edge, had notchanged a tint, a shade of their summer glory, but all the hill-sideswere as they stand painted by the poet-pen of the child of Nature.
The sun was setting far away, to the right hand, as they gazed downthe long dale to the southward, behind the mighty tops of Hawksheadand Blackcomb, which towered against the gorgeous golden-sky, fleckedwith a thousand glowing cloudlets, orange and rosy-red, and glaringcrimson, like a huge perpendicular wall of dusky purple; with the longbasin of Windermere, visible from that elevation over the lowerintervening ridges, lying along their bases as it seemed, though intruth many miles distant, a sheet of beaten-gold. The lower hills, tothe west of Kentmere, downward to Bowness, whose chapel-window gleamedlike fire in the distance, were shrouded in soft purple haze, andthrew long blue shadows across the rich vale, broken by the slantgolden beams which streamed through the gaps in their summits, infar-reaching pencils of misty light. At the same time, the little lakeof Kentmere lay at the feet of the spectators, still, clear, andtransparent as an artificial mirror, giving back a counterfeitpresentment of every thing around and above it, only less real thanthe actual reality; while toward the precipitous and craggy hills,behind them and on their left, the westering sun sent forth suchfloods of rosy and golden light as illuminated all their projectionsand cavities, bringing them, with all their accidents of crag orcoppice, ivy-bush or silvery birch-tree, close to the eye of thebeholder, blended with an intermixture of solemn shadows, seendistinctly through the clear atmosphere.
Over this scene the happy couple gazed with such feelings as none cangaze, but they who are good and happy. The sleepy hum of the goodmother's wheel came drowsily through the open doorway; the distantlaugh and cry of the hunter's boys, as they were clearing the kennelsand feeding the hounds for the night, with an occasional bay orwhimper of their impatient charges, rose pleasantly on the night air.Most of the natural sounds and sights had ceased; the songs of thebirds were silent, for the nightingales visit not those valleys of thewest; the bleat of the flocks was heard no more; the lowing of theherds had passed homeward; only a few late swallows skimmed the bosomof the mere, which a leaping trout would break, now and then, with aloud plash, into a silvery maze of circling dimples; and the jarringnote of the nighthawk, as his swift wing glanced under the brownshadows of the oak, in chase of the great evening moths, was heard inthe gloaming; and the pinions of the great golden-eagle hung like ashadow, leagues up in the burning sky.
Perfect contentment was the breathing spirit of the calm and gentlescene, with something of that heavenly peace which induced the friendof Izaak Walton to apostrophize the Sabbath, as
"Sweet day, so calm, so pure, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky;"
and perfect were the contentment and peace which the adjuncts inspiredinto the hearts of those, who, of late so hopeless and suffering, nowlooked over the face of the fair earth, and thence upward to theboundless sky, as who should say, "Not in one only, but in both ofthese, we have our heritage."
But while they gazed, the sun sunk lower in the west, the round topsof the vast blue mountains intercepted his lustrous disk, and heavytwilight fell, like the shadow of a cloud, over the valley and thesteep faces of the north-eastern hills.
Just at this moment, while the girl was whispering something aboutentering the house and preparing the evening-meal, she observed herhusband's eye fixed on the declivity of the hills above the lakeshore, and, following the direction of his glance, she speedilydiscovered a dark figure making its way in a crouching attitude amongthe stunted shrubs, and evidently avoiding, or striving to avoid,observation.
Something between a shudder and a start seemed to shake the manly formof Kenric for an instant; and his young wife, perceiving it as sheclung to his arm, looked up to his face for explanation.
"Something is going wrong up yonder," said the verdurer; "somemarauder after the roe-deer, I trow. I must up and after him. Give memy bugle, Edith, my wood-knife, and my gisarme; I will take the blackalan with me; he lies under the settle, by the hearth. Fetch them,girl."
And while she went, he stood gazing with his hawk's eye on the lurkingfigure, though it was wonderful, in the distance and gloom, that hecould distinguish even the outlines of the human form. Yet it wasevident that he did distinguish something more than that, for he smotehis thigh with his hand heavily, as he muttered, "It is he, by St.Edward the Confessor! What new disaster can have brought him hither?"
The next moment Edith stood beside him, bearing the weapons, andaccompanied by the great grizzly deer-grayhound.
"Kenric," she said, as he was leaving her, "this is something morethan mere marauders. There is danger!"
"I trust not, girl," he answered, kindly; "but if there be, I andBlack Balder here, are men enough to brunt it. But hark you, girl, getsupper over as quickly as you may, and have our mother to her chamber,and the varlets to their quarter in the kennels; and do you sit up,without a light, mark me, and, whatever shall fall out, be silent. Imay bring some one with me."
"I knew it," she murmured to herself, as she turned away to do hisbidding. "It is Eadwulf. What brings him hither? No good, I warrantme."
Meanwhile Kenric scaled the crags rapidly, with the hound at hisheels, and, when he reached the spot where he had seen the figure,halted, and whistled a bar or two of an old Saxon ballad of Sherwood.It was answered, and from out of the brushwood Eadwulf came, cringing,travel-soiled, weary, and disaster-stricken, to the knees almost ofhis brother.
"So. This is thou, Eadwulf? I thought as much. What brings theehither?"
"Almost as fair cause as I find fair welcome."
"I looked for no other. Thou art a runaway, then, and pursued? Come,speak out, man, if thou wouldst have me aid thee."
"Thou dost not seem overly glad to see me, brother."
"How should I be glad? When did thy presence ever bring joy, or aughtelse than disaster and disgrace? But speak, what brings thee hither?How hast thou escaped? Art thou pursued? What dost thou require?"
"Last asked, first answered. Rest, refuge, clothing, food, asylum.Last Monday is a week, I _was_ pursued; pursuit has ceased, but Imisdoubt me I am tracked. By strong hand I escaped, and fleet foot----"
"By red hand?" asked Kenric.
"Ay! red, with the blood of deer!"
"And of man, Eadwulf? Nay! man, lie not to me. Dark as it is, I readit in thy black brow and sullen eye."
"Well, then, man's blood, if you will. And now, will you yield yourown brother's life a forfeit to the man-hunter, or the hunter ofblood?"
"No," answered Kenric, sadly; "that must not be. For you _are_ mybrother. But I must know _all_, or I will do nothing. You can tellme as we go; my home is in the valley yonder. There you can restto-night; to-morrow you must away to the wilderness, there to be safe,if you may, without bringing ruin upon those who, doing all for you,look for nothing from you but wrong and ingratitude."
"To-morrow! True brotherly affection! Right Saxon hospitality. Ourfathers would have called this _nidering_!"
"Never heed thou that. Tell me all that has passed, or thou goest notto my house, even for this night only. For myself, I care nothing, andfear nothing. My wife, and my mother--these, thy blind selfishness andbrute instincts, at least, shall not ruin."
And thereupon, finding farther evasion useless, as they went homewardby a circuitous path among the rocks and dingles, he revealed all thatthe reader knows already, and this farther, which it is probable hehas suspected, that Eadwulf, lying concealed in the forest inpursuance of some petty depredation, had been a witness of thedastardly murder of Sir Philip de Morville by the hands of Sir Foulked'Oilly and his train, among whom most active was the black seneschal,who had perished so fearfully in the quicksands.
"Terrible, terrible indeed!" said Kenric, as he ended his tale,doggedly told, with many sullen interruptions. "Terrible his deed, andterrible thy deeds, Eadwulf; and, of all, most terrible the deeds ofHim who worked out his will by storm, and darkness, and the terror ofthe mighty waters. And of a surety, terrible will be the vengeance ofFoulke d'Oilly. He is not the man to forget, nor are thy deeds, deedsto be forgotten. But what shall I say to thee, obstinate, obdurate,ill-doer, senseless, rash, ungrateful, selfish? Already, in thislittle time, had Edith and I laid by, out of our humble gains, enoughto purchase two thirds of thy freedom. Ere Yule-tide, thou hadst beenas free a man as stands on English earth, and now thou art an outlaw,under ban forever, and blood-guiltiness not to be pardoned; and uponus--us, who would have coined our hearts' blood into gold, to win thyliberty--thou hast brought the odor, and the burden, and, I scarcedoubt it, the punishment, of thy wicked wilfullness. It were betterthou hadst perished fifty-fold in the accursed sands of Lancaster, orere thou hadst done this thing. It were better a hundred-fold thatthou hadst never been born."
"Why dost not add, 'better a thousand-fold thou wert delivered up tothe avenger of blood,' and then go deliver me?"
"Words are lost upon thee," replied his brother, shaking his headmournfully, "as are actions likewise. Follow me; thou must have'tendance and rest above all things, and to-morrow must bring forththe things of to-morrow."
Nothing more passed between them until they reached the threshold ofKenric's humble dwelling, where, in silence and darkness, with thedoor ajar, listening to every distant sound of the fitful breeze orpassing water, the fair young wife sat awaiting them.
She arose, as they entered. "Ah! it is thou, Eadwulf; I thought so,from the first. Enter, and sit. Wilt eat or bathe first? thou art wornand weary, brother, as I can see by this gloaming light. There is agood bed ready for thee, under the rafters, and in the morning thouwilt awake, refreshed and strong----"
"Thou thoughtst so from the first. I warrant me thou didst--mayhap thyhusband told thee so. Brother, too! _he_ hath not greeted me asbrother. Eat, bathe, sleep? neither of the three, girl. I'll drinkfirst of all; and, if that please thee, then eat, then sleep; andbathe when I may, perhaps not at all."
"Bring him the mead-pitcher, Edith, and the big horn, and then avoidye. There is blood on his hand, and worse than blood on his soul.Leave the meat on the board. I'll see to him."
And when his wishes were fulfilled, they were left alone, and a long,gloomy conversation followed; and, if the dark, sullen, and unthankfulheart of the younger brother was in no sort touched, or his betterfeelings--if he had any--awakened, at least his fears were aroused,and, casting aside all his moroseness, he became a humble, I hadalmost said a craven, suppliant for protection.
"Protection!" said Kenric, "I have it not to give, nor can I ask thosewho could. I know not, in truth, whether in sheltering you, even now,I do not risk the safety of all that is dear to me. What I can do, Iwill. This night, and all the day to-morrow, I will conceal thee here,come of it what come may; and, at the dead of the next night, willguide thee, through the passes, to the upper hill country, where thouwilt soon find men, like thyself, of desperate lives and fortunes.Money, so much as I have, I will give thee, and food for thy presentneed; but a
rms, save thy wood-knife, thou shalt take none hence. Iwill not break faith nor betray duty to my lord, let what may come ofit; and, if I find thee trespassing on his chase, or hunting of hisdeer, I will deal with thee as a stranger, not as a kinsman. Nothanks, Eadwulf; nor no promises. I have no faith in thee, nor anyhope, save that we two may never meet again. And so, good-night."
And with the word, he led him to a low room under the rafters,furnished with a tolerable bed, but remote from all observation, wherehe was tended all the following day, and watched by Edith, or byhimself in person, until the next night settled dark and moonless overwild fell and mountain tarn; when he conducted him up the tremendouspasses which lead to the desolate but magnificent wilderness,stretching, in those days, untrodden save by the deer, the roebuck,the tusky boar, the gray wolf, or the grizzly outlaw, for countlessleagues around the mighty masses of Helvellyn, Saddleback, andSkiddaw, the misty mountain refuge of all conquered races--of the grimCelts from the polished Romans, of the effete Britons from the sturdySaxons, of the vanquished Anglo-Saxons, from the last victoriousNormans.
They parted, with oaths of fidelity and vows of gratitude never to befulfilled on the part of Eadwulf, with scarce concealed distrust onthe part of Kenric.
It was broad day when the latter returned to his happy home byKentmere; and the first object he beheld was his wife, gazingdespondingly on his own crossbow and bolts, each branded with hisname--"Kenric, born thrall of Philip de Morville," of which,unwittingly he had disarmed his brother on the night of his arrival.
His heart fell as he looked upon the well-known weapons; and thoughtthat probably it was one of those marked and easily-recognized boltswhich had quivered in the heart of the bailiff of Waltheofstow; buthis wife knew not the dark tale, and he was not the man to disturb herpeace of mind, however his own might be distracted, by any dubious oruncertain fear.
"It is my old arbalast," he said, "which Eadwulf brought with him fromour ancient home. Lay it aside. I will never use it more; but it willbe as a memento of what we once were, but, thanks to God and our goodlords, are no longer. And now give me my breakfast, Edith; I must beat the castle, to speak of all this with Sir Yvo, ere noon; I will beback to-night, girl; but not, I trow, until the northern bear has sunkbehind the hills. Till then, may He keep thee!"
And he was grave and abstracted during all the morning meal, and onlykissed her in silence, and blessed her inwardly, in his own trueheart, as he departed.
Wager of Battle: A Tale of Saxon Slavery in Sherwood Forest Page 21
