Wager of Battle: A Tale of Saxon Slavery in Sherwood Forest

by Henry William Herbert

  CHAPTER XXVI.

  WAGER OF BATTLE.

  "Then rode they together full right, With sharpe speares and swordes bright; They smote together sore. They spent speares and brake shields; They pounsed as fowl in the fields; Either foamed as doth a boar."

  SIR TRIAMOUR.

  The fatal third day had come about, and with it all the dreadfulpreparations for the judicial combat.

  With what had passed in the long interval between, to those whosemore than lives, whose very hearts and souls, whose ancient namesand sacred honors, were staked on the event, it is not for us toknow or inquire. Whether the young champion, for it was generallyknown that Sir Aradas de Ratcliffe, invested with the golden-spursand consecrated with the order of knighthood, by the sword of theearl mareschal, in order to enable him to meet the appellee on equalterms, was appointed, with the full consent of the Court of Chivalry,champion for the appellant--whether, I say, the young champion everdoubted, and wished he had waited some fairer opportunity, when hemight win the golden-spurs without the fearful risk of dying ashameful death, and tarnishing forever an unblemished name, I knownot. If he did, it was a human hesitation, and one which had notdishonored the bravest man who ever died in battle.

  Whether the young and gentle maiden, the lovely Guendolen, the mostdelicate and tender of women, who scarce might walk the earth, lestshe should dash her foot against a stone; or breathe the free air ofheaven, lest it should blow on her damask cheek too rudely--whether_she_ never repented that she had told him, "for this I myself willgird the sword upon your thigh," when she thought of the bloody strifein which two must engage, but whence one only could come forth alive;when she thought of the mangled corpse; of the black gibbet; of thereversed escutcheon; of the dishonored name; whether she never wept,and trembled, and almost despaired, I know not. If she did not, shewas more or less than woman. But her face was pale as ivory, and hereyes wore a faint rose-colored margin, as if she had either wept, orbeen sleepless, for above one night, when she appeared from herlodging on that awful morning; though her features were as firm andrigid as if they had been carved out of that Parian marble which theircomplexion most resembled, and her gait and bearing were as steady andas proud as if she were going to a coronation, rather than to theawful trial that should seal her every hope on earth, of happiness ormisery.

  They little know the spirit of the age of chivalry, who imagine that,because in the tilt, the tournament, the joust, the carrousel, all waspomp and splendor, music and minstrelsy, and military glory, largesseof heralds and love of ladies, _los_ on earth and fame immortalafter death, there was any such illusion or enchantment in thedreadful spectacle of an appeal to the judgment of God by wager ofbattle.

  In it there were no gayly decorated lists, flaunting with tapestriesand glittering with emblazoned shields; no gorgeous galleries crowdedwith ladies, a galaxy of beauty in its proudest adornment; no banners,no heralds in their armorial tabards, no spirit-thrilling shouts, nosoul-inspiring music, only a solitary trumpet for the signals; but,instead of this, a bare space strewed with sawdust, and surroundedwith naked piles, rudely-fashioned with the saw and hatchet; anentrance at either end, guarded by men-at-arms, and at one angle, justwithout the barrier, a huge black-gibbet, a block, with the broad ax,the dissecting-knife, and all the hideous paraphernalia of theheadsman's trade, and himself a dark and sordid figure, masked andclad in buff of bull's hide, speckled and splashed with the gorystains of many a previous slaughter, leaning against the gallows. Theseats for the spectators--for, like all other tragedies of awful andengrossing interest, a judicial combat never lacked spectators--werestrewed, in lieu of silken-hangings and sendal-cushions, with plainblack serge; and the spectators themselves, in lieu of the gay,holiday vestments in which they were wont to attend the gay and gentlepassages of arms, wore only their every-day attire, except where somefriend or favorer of the appellant or appellee, affected to wearwhite, in token of trust in his innocence, with a belt or kerchief ofthe colors worn by the favored party.

  Amid all this gloom and horror, the only relieving point was thesuperb surcoats and armor of the constable and mareschal, and theresplendent tabard of the king-at-arms, who sat on their caparisonedhorses without the lists, backed by a powerful body of men-at-arms andarchers, as judges of the field, and doomsters of the vanquished inthat strife which must end in death and infamy to one or the other ofthe combatants.

  From an early hour, long before the first gray dawn of day, all theseats, save those preserved for certain distinguished personages, hadbeen occupied by a well-dressed crowd; all the avenues to the placewere filled, choked, to overflowing; the roofs, the balconies, thewindows of every house that commanded a view of the lists, thesteeples of the neighboring churches, the battlements and thebartizans of the gray old castle, already gray and old in the secondcentury of Norman dominion, were crowded with eager and excitedmultitudes--so great was the interest created by the tidings of thatawful combat, and the repute for prowess of the knights who werepitted in it to meet and part no more, until one should go downforever.

  And now the shadow was cast upon the dial, close to the fated hour often, from the clear winter sun, to borrow the words of the greatestmodern poet--

  "Which rose upon that heavy day, And mocked it with its steadiest ray."

  The castle gates rolled open on their hinges, grating harsh thunder;and forth came a proud procession, the high-justiciary and his fiveassociate judges, with their guard of halberdiers, and the varioushigh officers of the court, among these the sheriff, whose anxiousand interested looks, and, yet more, whose pale and lovely daughter,hanging on his arm, so firm and yet so wan and woe-begone, excitedgeneral sympathy.

  And when it was whispered through the multitude, as it was almostinstantaneously--for such things travel as by instinct--that she wasthe betrothed of the young appellant, and that, to win her with hisspurs of gold, he had assumed this terrible emprize, all otherexcitement was swallowed up in the interest created by the cold andalmost stern expression of her lovely features, and her bravedemeanor.

  And more ladies than one whispered in the ears of those who weredearest to them; "If he be vanquished, she will not survive him!"

  And many a manly voice, shaken in a little of its firmness, madereply;

  "He may be slain, but he can not be vanquished."

  Scarcely had the members of the Court been seated, with those of thehigher gentry and nobility, who had waited to follow in their suit,when from the tower of a neighboring Cistercian house, the clockstruck ten; and, now, as in that doleful death-scene in Parisina;

  "The convent-bells are ringing, But mournfully and slow: In the gray square turret swinging, With a deep sound, to and fro, Heavily to the heart they go. Hark! the hymn is singing-- The song for the dead below, Or the living who shortly shall be so; For a departing being's soul The death-hymn peals, and the hollow bells knoll."

  While those bells were yet tolling, and before the echoes of the laststroke of ten had died away, two barefooted friars entered the lists,one at either end, each carrying a Bible and a crucifix; and at thesame moment the two champions were seen advancing, each to his own endof the lists, accompanied by his sureties or god-fathers, all armed incomplete suits of chain-mail; Sir Aradas as appellant, entering at theeast, Sir Foulke at the left end of the inclosure.

  Here they were met each by one of the friars, the constable andmareschal riding close up to the barriers, to hear the plighting oftheir oaths.

  And at this moment, the eyes of all the multitude were riveted on theforms of the two adversaries, and every judgment was on the stretch toframe auguries of the issue, from the thews, the sinews, and thedemeanor, of the two champions.

  It was seen at a glance that Sir Foulke d'Oilly was by far thestronger-built and heavier man. He was exceedingly broad-shouldered,and the great volume of his humeral muscles gave him the appearance ofbeing round-backed; but he
was deep-chested, and long-armed; and,though his hips were thick and heavy, and his legs slightlybowed--perhaps in consequence of his almost living on horseback--it wasevident that he was a man of gigantic strength, impaired neither byexcess nor age, for he did not seem to be more than in his fortiethyear.

  Sir Aradas de Ratcliffe, on the contrary, was nearly three inchestaller than his opponent, and proportionately longer in the reach; butaltogether he was built more on the model of an Antinous than aHercules. If he were not very broad in the shoulders, he was singularlydeep and round in the chest, and remarkable for the arched hollow ofhis back and the thinness of his flanks. His arms and legs wereirreproachable, and, all in all, he trod the firm earth with

  "A station like the herald Mercury, New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill."

  But it was from the features of the two men that most took theirauspices, and that the friends of Aradas drew confident augury of histriumph.

  The face of Sir Foulke d'Oilly was flaccid and colorless, with hugeover-lapping brows shading his small keen eyes with a pent-house ofgrizzly bristles, large pendant cheeks, a sinister hooked nose, and amouth indicative of lust, cruelty, and iron firmness--altogether, asordid vulturine type of man.

  The features of Aradas, on the contrary, were clean, clear, fleshless,and finely marked; a broad, smooth forehead, straight-cut blackeyebrows, well-opened hazel eyes, with a tawny flash when excited, liketo that of a lion or an eagle, a nose slightly aquiline, and a mouthnot less benevolent than resolute. No one could look at him and hisopponent, without thinking instinctively of the gallant heaven-aspiringfalcon matched with the earthly, carrion vulture.

  Nor was there less meaning or omen in the tone of their voices, as theyswore.

  Men paused to listen breathlessly; for among the lower classes on thefield there were heavy bets pending on the issue, and the criticaljudges of those days believed that there was much in the voice of aman.

  As each entered the lists, he was met by a friar, who encountered himwith the question, "Brother, hast thou confessed thy sins thismorning?"

  To this, d'Oilly muttered a reply, inaudible to the questioner; butAradas made answer, in a voice that rang like a silver bell, "I haveconfessed my sins, father, and, thanks to the Lord Jesus, have receivedabsolution and the most holy sacrament of his body."

  The questions were then put to both, to be answered with the hand onthe evangelists and the lip on the crucifix--

  "Do you hereby swear that your former answers and allegations are alltrue; that you bear no weapons but those allotted by the court; thatyou have no charms about you; that you place your whole trust in God,in the goodness of your cause, and in your own prowess?"

  To this solemn query, Sir Foulke replied only by the two words, "Iswear!" and those so obscurely uttered, that the constable called onhim to repeat them.

  But Sir Aradas raised his head, and looked about him with a frank andprincely air. "I hereby swear," he said, "that which I sworeheretofore--that Sir Foulke d'Oilly is a murderer, a liar, and atraitor--to be true, and on his body I will prove it; that I have not,nor will use any weapons save what the court allot me; that I wearneither charm nor talisman; and that, save in my good cause, my ownright hand, and my trust in God, I have not whereon to rest my hope,here, or hereafter. So may He help me, or desert me at my utmost need,on whose evangelists I am now sworn."

  Then the godfathers led the men up face to face, and each grasping theother by the mailed right hand, they again swore--

  The appellant, "My uttermost will I do, and more than my uttermost, ifit may be, to slay thee on this ground whereon we stand, or to forcethee to cry 'craven'--so help me God, in his most holy heaven!"

  And the appellee, "My uttermost will I do, and more, if may be, than myuttermost, to prove my innocence upon thy body, on this ground whereonwe stand--so help me God, in the highest!"

  The same difference was observed in the voices of the two men, as theyagain swore; for while the tones of Aradas had the steel-tempered ringof the gallant game-cock's challenge, the notes of Sir Foulke wereliker to the quavering croak of the obscene raven.

  Then the godfathers retired them, till they stood face to face, withthirty feet between them, and delivered to them the arms allotted bythe court. These were--a dagger, with a broad, flat blade, eighteeninches in length, worn in a scabbard on the right side, behind the hip;an estoc, or short sword, of about two feet six, with a sharp point,and grooved bayonet-blade, hanging perpendicularly on the left thigh;and a huge two-handed broadsword, four feet from guard to point, with ahilt of twenty inches, and a great leaden pommel to counterbalance theweight of the blade in striking.

  Their defensive arms were nearly similar. Each wore a habergeon, orclosely-fitting shirt of linked mail, with mail sleeves, mail hose,poldron, genouillieres, and shoes of plated splints of steel; andflat-topped helmets, with avantailles and beavers. But the neck of SirFoulke d'Oilly was defended by the new-fashioned gorget of steelplates, while Aradas adhered to the old mail-hood or tippet, hooked onto the lower rim of his beaver. And it was observed that while d'Oillywore his small heater-shaped shield on his left arm, De Ratcliffe threwhis over his shoulder, suspended from the chain which held it about hisneck, so as to leave both his arms free to wield his mighty war-sword.

  Beyond this, it was only noted that in the casque of Sir Aradas was alady's glove, and on his left arm an azure scarf, fringed with gold,such as the pale girl on the seneschal's arm wore, over her snow-whitecymar, crossing her left shoulder and the region of her heart.

  And now the godfathers left the lists, and none remained within themsave the two champions facing each other, like two pillars of steel, assolid and as motionless, until the word should be given to set on, andthe two barefooted friars, crouching on their knees in the angles ofthe lists, muttering their orisons before the crucifixes, which theyheld close before their eyes, as if to shut out every untoward sightwhich might mar their meditations.

  Then a single trumpet was blown. A sharp, stern, warning blast. And aherald made proclamation;

  "Oyez! oyez! oyez! This is _champ clos_, for the judgment of God.Therefore, beware all men, to give no aid or comfort to eithercombatant, by word, deed, sign, or token, on pain of infamy andmutilation."

  Then the constable rose in his stirrups, and cried aloud--

  "Let them go!"

  And the trumpet sounded.

  "Let them go!"

  And, again, the trumpet sounded.

  "Let them go! Do your duty!"

  And the earl mareschal answered,

  "And may God defend the right!"

  And, the third time, the trumpet sounded, short and direful as theblast of doom; and at that deadly summons, with brandished blades, bothchampions started forward; but the first bound of Sir Aradas carriedhim across two thirds of the space, and his sword fell like athunderbolt on the casque of his antagonist, and bent him almost to hisknee. But that was no strife to be ended at a blow; and they closed,foot to foot, dealing at each other sweeping blows, which could not beparried, and could scarcely be avoided, but which were warded off bytheir armor of proof.

  It was soon observed that Sir Foulke d'Oilly's blows fell with far theweightier dint, and that, when they took effect, it was all his lighteradversary could do to bear up against them. But, on the other hand, itwas seen that, by his wonderful agility, and the lithe motions of hissupple and elastic frame, Sir Aradas avoided more blows than hereceived, and that each stroke missed by his enemy told almost as muchagainst him as a wound.

  At the end of half an hour, no material advantage had been gained; themail of either champion was broken in many places, and the bloodflowed, of both, from more wounds than one; that of Aradas the morefreely.

  But as they paused, perforce, to snatch a moment's breath, it was clearthat Sir Aradas was the fresher and less fatigued of the two; while SirFoulke was evidently short of wind, and hard pressed.

  It was not the young man's game to give his enemy time--so, before halfa
minute had passed, he set on him again, with the same fiery vigor andenergy as before. His opponent, however, saw that the long play wastelling against him, and it appeared that he was determined to bringthe conflict to a close by sheer force.

  One great stride he made forward, measuring his distance accuratelywith his eye, and making hand and foot keep time exactly, as he swunghis massive blade in a full circle round his head, and delivered thesweeping blow, at its mightiest impetus, on the right side of hisenemy's casque.

  Like a thunderbolt it fell; and, beneath its sway, the bacinet,cerveilliere, and avantaille of Aradas gave way, shattered like anegg-shell. He stood utterly unhelmed, save that the beaver and the baseof the casque, protecting the nape of his neck and his lower jaw, heldfirm, and supported the mailed hood of linked steel rings, whichdefended his neck to the shoulder. All else was bare, and exposed tothe first blow of his now triumphant antagonist.

  The fight seemed ended by that single blow; and, despite the injunctionof the herald, a general groan burst from the assembly. Guendolencovered her face with her hands for a second, but then looked up again,with a wild and frenzied eye, compelled to gaze, to the last, on thatterribly fascinating scene.

  But then was it shown what might there is in activity, what resistlesspower in quickness. For, leaping and bounding round the heavy giant,like a sword-player, letting him waste his every blow on the empty airor in the impassive sawdust, Aradas plied his sword like a thrasher'sflail, dealing every blow at his neck and the lacings of his casque,till fastening after fastening broke, and it was clear that d'Oilly,too, would be unhelmed in a few more moments.

  The excitement of the people was ungovernable; they danced in theirseats, they shouted, they roared. No heralds, no pursuivants, nomen-at-arms, could control them. The soul of the people had awakened,and what could fetter it?

  Still, wonderful as they were, the exertions of Aradas, completelyarmed in heavy panoply, were too mighty to last. The thing must befinished. Down came the trenchant blade with a circling sweep, full onthe jointed-plates of d'Oilly's new-fangled gorget. Rivet after rivet,plate after plate, gave way with a rending crash; his helmet rolled onthe ground. He stood bare-headed, bare-throated, unarmed to theshoulders.

  But the same blow which unhelmed d'Oilly disarmed Aradas. His faithlesssword was shivered to the hilt; and what should he do now, with onlythat weak, short estoc, that cumbrous dagger, against the downrightforce of the resistless double-handed glaive?

  Backward he sprang ten paces. The glittering estoc was in his right,the short massive dagger in his left. He dropped on his right knee,crouching low, both arms hanging loosely by his sides, but with his eyeglaring on his foeman, like that of the hunted tiger.

  No sooner had Sir Foulke rallied from the stunning effects of the blow,and seen how it was with him, his enemy disarmed, and, as it seemed, athis power, than a hideous sardonic smile glared over his luridfeatures, and he strode forward with his sword aloft, to triumph and tokill. When he was within six paces of his kneeling adversary, hepaused, measured his distance--it was the precise length for onestride, one downright blow, on that bare head, which no earthly powercould now shield against it.

  There was no cry now among the people--only a hush. Every heart stoodstill in that vast concourse.

  "Wilt die, or cry 'craven?'"

  The eye of Aradas flashed lightning. Lower, he crouched lower, to theground. His left hand rose slowly, till the guard of his dagger wasbetween his own left, and his enemy's right eye. His right hand wasdrawn so far back, that the glittering point of the estoc only showedin front of his hip. Lower, yet lower, he crouched, almost in theattitude of the panther couchant for his spring.

  One stride made Sir Foulke d'Oilly forward; and down, like sometremendous engine, came the sword-sweep--the gazers heard it whistlethrough the air as it descended.

  What followed, no eye could trace, no pen could describe. There was awild cry, like that of a savage animal; a fiery leap through a cloud ofwhirling dust; a straight flash through the haze, like lightning.

  One could see that somehow or other that slashing cut was glancedaside, but how, the speed of thought could not trace.

  It was done in a second, in the twinkling of an eye. And, as the dustsubsided, there stood Aradas, unmoved and calm as the angel of death,with his arms folded, and nothing in his hand save the dagger shiveredto the guard. And at his feet lay his enemy, as if stricken by athunderbolt, with his eyes wide open and his face to heaven, and thedeadly estoc buried, to the gripe, in the throat, that should lie nomore forever.

  Pass we the victor's triumph, and the dead traitor's doom; pass we thelovers' meeting, and the empty roar of popular applause. That was,indeed, the judgment of God; and when God hath spoken, in the glory ofhis speechless workings, it is good that man should hold his peacebefore him.

  CHAPTER XXVII.

  THE BRIDAL DAY.

  "The roads should blossom, the roads should bloom, So fair a bride shall leave her home! Should blossom and bloom with garlands gay, So fair a bride shall pass to-day."

  LONGFELLOW.

  The dark winter months, with their alternate snows, sheeting the widemoorlands, and roofing the mighty mountain-tops of the lake countrywith inviolate white, and soft thaws swelling the streamlets intotorrents, inundating the grassy meadows, and converting the mountaintarns into inland seas, had passed away; nor passed away all gloomily,or without their appropriate and peculiar pleasures, from thesojourners in Hawkshead Castle.

  All over Merrie England, but in no part of it more than in the northcountry, was Christmas the gladdest and the blythest time of all thecircling year; when every door stood open, from that of the baron'scastle and the franklin's hall to that of the poorest cotter's cabin;when the yule log was kindled, and the yule candle lighted; when thefurmety smoked on every English board, and the wassail bowl was spicedfor all comers; when the waits sang Christmas carols under the clearcold moon in the frosty midnights, and the morris-dancers and themummers rioted and reveled to the rude minstrelsy of the time, and madethe most of the short-lived wintery sunshine; when ancient feuds wereoften reconciled, and ancient friendships riveted by closer ties; whenfamilies long dissevered were re-collected and re-united about the oldancestral hearth-stones; when the noble and the rich filled theirabundant halls with sumptuous luxury and loud-rejoicing merriment, andthe poor were not forgotten by the great.

  Indeed, though there was much that was coarse and rude, much that washard, cruel, and oppressive, in the social life of England, in thoseold and almost forgotten days, there was much also that was good andgenerous and genial, much that was sound and hearty, much that wasbrave and hale and masculine, which has vanished and departed from theworld forever, with the vaunted progress of civilization and refinement,

  In those old times When the Christmas chimes Were a merry sound to hear, When the squire's wide hall, And the cottage small, Were full of good English cheer.

  Above all, there was this great redeeming virtue, conspicuous among theflagrant wrongs and innate evils of society under the feudal system,that between the governors and the governed, between the lord and hislieges, nay, even between the master and his serfs, there was then nosuch social gulf established, as now yawns, in these boasted days ofcivilizing progress and political equality, between castes and classes,separated by little else than their worth, estimated by the standard ofgold--gold, which seems, daily and hourly, more and more to beover-riding all distinctions of honored ancestry, high name, nobledeeds, personal deserts, nay, even of distinguished bearing, ofintellect, of education, of accomplishment, much more of truth,integrity or honor.

  During these wintery months, accordingly, there had been all the free,open-hearted hospitality of the day, displayed throughout the widemanors of Hawkshead, Coniston, and Yewdale, and in the neighboringdemesnes of Rydal, and something more even than the wonted merrimentand joviality of that sacred yet joyous season.

  Many of the grand baro
nial families of the vicinity, attracted as much,perhaps, by the singular and romantic interest attaching to the greatevents, which had filled all the north country with the rumor of theirfame as with the blast of a martial trumpet, as by the ties of casteand kindred, had visited the castle palace of Sir Yvo de Taillebois,almost in the guise of bridal guests; for the approaching nuptials ofthe fair Guendolen with Aradas the Brave were openly announced,although the ceremonial was deferred until the balmy days ofspring-time, and the genial month of May. The Cliffords of Barden, theHowards, from Naworth and Carlisle, the Percy, from his already famousstrength of Alnwick, the Scropes, the Umfravilles, the Nevilles, fromtheir almost royal principality of Middleham on the Ure, had all inturn tasted the Christmas cheer, and shared the older sports of Yule,in the wild recesses of Kendale; had congratulated the young and noblevictor on his double conquest, scarce knowing which was most to beenvied, that of the felon knight in the black lists of Lancaster, orthat of the soft ladye in the sweetest valley of the lone lake country.

  But now, the wintery days had passed away, the snipe was heard drummingevery where on vibrated pinions, as he soared and dived in mid-air overthe deep morasses, in which he annually bred unmolested; the swallowshad returned from their unknown pilgrimage to the spicy isles of ocean,or the central waters of untrodden Africa, and might be seen skimmingwith rapid wing, the blue mirror of Winandermere, and dimpling itssurface in pursuit of their insect prey; the cuckoo had been heard inthe birch-woods among the ghylls, and in the huge sycamores around thevillage garths; the heathcocks blew their clarion call of amorousdefiance from every heath-clad knoll of the wide moorlands; the cushathad donned the iris hues which paint his swelling neck in the springdays of love and courtship; the meadows were alive with crocuses,brown-streaked and purple, white and golden; the snow-drops had raisedtheir silvery bells, almost before the earth was clear of its wintercovering; the primroses gemmed all the banks with their pale saffronblossoms, the air was redolent with the delicious perfume of theviolets.

  It was the eve of May, and as the sun was setting over the misty hillsthat keep guard over high Yewdale, amid a long and joyous train,dragged slowly by ten yoke of milk-white oxen, with nosegays on theirhorns, and branches of the fragrant May canopying their harness,escorted by troops of village girls, and stout hill shepherds, dancingalong and caroling to the cadence of the pipe, the tabor, and therebeck, the mighty Maypole was brought in triumph up the weary windingroad to the green esplanade before the castle gates of Hawkshead; andthere, before midnight, was swung into its place, crowned withgarlands, and fluttering with gay streamers, and glad with the leafygarniture of Spring, "shrouds and stays holding it fast," holding iterect toward heaven, an emblem of that which never can, whateverfanatics and bigots may declare, be unacceptable on High, the innocentand pure rejoicings of humble loving hearts, forgetting toil and care,and casting away sorrow for one happy day, at least, the merriest andthe maddest of the three hundred and sixty-five, which sum thecheckered score of man's annual vicissitudes of labor and repose, briefmerriment and lasting sorrow.

  During the night deep silence and deep slumber fell like a shadow overkeep and cottage, and not a sound disturbed the stillness of the vernalnight, unless it were the quavering cry of some night-bird among thetufted woods, or the shrill bark of the hill fox from the mountainside, or the deep harmonious call "All's well," from the warder on thelofty battlements.

  But long before the paly dawn had begun to throw its faint yellowglimmer up the eastern sky, while the moon was yet riding lustrous inthe cloudless azure, with the morning-star flashing like a diamond byher side, many a cottage door in the silent hamlet, many a one on thegentle slopes of the green hill sides, many a one in the broad pastoralvalley, was unbolted, and revolved on noiseless hinges, to send forththe peasant maids, in shy yet merry bands to gather, with many a mysticrite and ceremonial borrowed, unknown to them, from the mythology ofother lands, when Flora ruled the month of flowers, to gather thepuissant dews of May.

  When the sun rose fair above the eastern hills,

  "With blessings on his broad and burnished face,"

  his appearance was welcomed by such a burst of joyous and hilariousmusic from the battlements, as never before had waked the echoes ofScafell and Skiddaw. In that triumphant gush of music there wereblended, not only the resounding clangor of the Norman kettle-drumsand trumpets, with the clear notes of the mellow bugle, but the tonesof a thousand instruments, scarce known on English soil, having beenintroduced only by the Crusaders from those Oriental climates, inwhich music is indigenous and native, and from which the retainers ofSir Yvo de Taillebois had imported, not the instruments only but theskill necessary to give them utterance and expression, and the veryairs to which, in the cedar-vales, and among the haunted hills ofPalestine, they had of old been vocal.

  The musical chime of many bells attuned, the silver clash of thecymbals, the roll of the Syrian atabals, the soft tones of the lute,and shrill strains of the Eastern reed-pipes, were blended strangely,but most sonorously with the stirring war-notes of the west. Andinstantly, as if awakened from sleep by that rejoicing strain, thelittle chapel bells of Bowness began to tinkle with small merrychimes, across the bright blue lake; and answering, yet further in thedistance, though still clearly audible, so apt to the conveyance ofsounds is the tranquillity and the clear vibrating air of thosemountain regions, the full carillon of the magnificent Abbey of Kendalthe stately ruins of which are still extant, as if to teach usboastful men of modern days, the superiority of our semi-barbarousancestors, as we have the vanity to term them, rang out, proclaimingto the sparse population of the dales,

  "How fair a bride shall wed to-day."

  Around the Maypole on the green, already were assembled, not thevassals only of the great baron, his free-tenants and his serfs,rejoicing in one happy holiday, and in the prospect of gorgingthemselves ere nightfall throat-full of solid dainties and sound ale,but half the population of the adjacent valleys, hill-farmers,statesmen, as the small land-holders are still called in thoseunsophisticated districts, burghers from the neighboring towns,wandering monks and wandering musicians, a merry, motley multitude,all in their best attire, all wearing bright looks and light hearts,and expecting, as it would seem from the eager looks directedconstantly toward the castle gates, the forthcoming of some spectacleor pageant, on which their interest was fixed.

  Two or three Welsh harpers, who had been lured from their Cambrianwilds by the far-spread report of the approaching festivities, and bythe hope of gaining silver guerdon from the bounty of the splendidNormans, were seated on a grassy knoll, not far from the tallgarlanded mast, which made itself conspicuous as the emblem--as,perhaps, in former ages, it had been the idol--of the day, and fromtime to time drew from the horse-hair strings of their rude harps someof those sweet, wild, melancholy airs which are still characteristicof the genius of the Kymric race, which still recall the hours

  "When Arthur ruled and Taliessin sung;"

  but neither to them, nor to the indigenous strains, more agreeableperhaps to their untutored ears, of two native crowders of the dales,who were dragging out strange discords from the wires of their rudeviolins--nor yet to the more captivating and popular arts of three orfour foreign jongleurs, with apes and gitterns--the Savoyards of thatremote age, though coming at that day not from the valleys of thelower Alps, but from the western shores of Normandy and Morbihan--didthe eager crowd vouchsafe much of their attention, or many of theirpennies.

  There was a higher interest awake, a more earnest expectation, andthese were brought to their climax, when, just as the castle belltolled eight, the wild and startling blast of a single trumpet roseclear and keen from the inner court, and the great gates flew open.

  A gay and gallant sight it was, which, as the heavy drawbridgedescended, the huge portcullis slowly rose, creaking and clanking, upits grooves of stone, and the iron-studded portals yawned, revealeditself to the eyes of the by-standers; and loud and hearty was thecheer
which it evoked from the assembled multitude.

  The whole inner court was thronged with men and horses, gayly clad,lightly armed, and splendidly caparisoned; and, as obedient to thesignals of the officers who marshaled them, the vaunt-couriers of thecompany rode out, four by four, arrayed in Kendal green, with thesilver badges and blue sarsenet scarfs of their lord, and white satinfavors with long silver streamers, waving from their bonnets, thegleam of embroideries and the fluttering of female garments might bediscovered within the long-withdrawing avenue. Four hundred strong,the retainers of the high-sheriff, swept forward, with bow and spear,and were succeeded by a herald in his quartered tabard, and a dozenpursuivants with trumpets.

  Behind these came, in proud procession, six tall priests, noblymounted on ambling palfreys, each bearing a gilded cross, and then thecrozier of the abbot of Furness Abbaye, followed by that proudprelate, with his distinctive, hierarchal head-tire, cope, anddalmatique, and all the splendid paraphernalia of his sacred feudaldignity, supported by all his clergy in their full canonicals, and along train of monks and choristers, these waving perfumed chalices,those raising loud and clear the hymns appointed for the ceremonial.

  A hundred gentlemen of birth and station, on foot, bare-headed, cladin the liveries of the house of Taillebois, blue velvet slashed andlined with cloth of silver laid down on white satin, came next, theescort of the bridal party, and were followed by a multitude ofbeautiful girls, dressed in virgin white, strewing flowers before thefeet of the bride's palfrey.

  But when she appeared, mounted on a snow-white Andalusian jennet,whose tail and mane literally swept the ground in waves of silver, inher robes of white sendal and cloth of silver, with the bridalhead-tire of long-descending gauzy fillets floating around her like awreath of mist about a graceful cypress, and her long auburn ringletsdisheveled in their mazes of bright curls, powdered with diamond dustand garlanded with virgin roses, the very battlements shook to theshouts of applause, which made the banners toss and rustle as if astorm-wind smote them.

  Two pages, dressed in cloth of silver, tended her bridle-reins oneither hand, and two more bore up the long emblazoned foot-cloths ofwhite and silver, which would otherwise have embarrassed the paces ofthe beautiful and docile steed which bore her, timing its tread to thesoft symphony of lutes and dulcimers which harbingered the progress;while no less than six belted knights, with their chains of gold abouttheir necks, bore the staves of the satin canopy, or baldacchino,which sheltered her fair beauties from the beams of the blythe Maymorning.

  Twelve bridesmaids, all of noble birth, mounted like herself onsnow-white palfreys, all robed and filleted in white and silver, andgarlanded with pale blush roses, nymphs worthy of the present goddess,bridled and blushed behind her. And there, radiant with love andtriumph, making his glorious charger--a red roan, with a mane and tailwhite and redundant as the surges of the creamy sea--caracole, andbound from the dull earth in sobresaults, croupades and balotades,which would have crazed a professor of equitation with admiration,apart from envy, rode Aradas de Ratcliffe, with his twelve groom's-menglittering with gems, and glorious with silk upon silk, silver uponsilver.

  Sir Yvo de Taillebois, with twenty or thirty of the greatest baronsof the north country, his cotemporaries, and many of them hisbrothers-in-arms, and fellows at the council-table of their puissantNorman monarch, whom they admitted only to be first baron of theEnglish barons, _primus inter pares_, brought up the rear of theprocession, while yet behind them filed a long band of spears andpennoncelles, and again after these a countless multitude, from allthe country side, rejoicing and exulting, to form a portion of thepageant which added so much to the customary pleasures of the Maying.

  Thus, for miles, they swept onward through the pleasant meadow-land,tufted and gemmed with unnumbered flowers, between tall hedges whitewith the many-blossomed May, and overrun with flaunting clusters ofthe delicious woodbine.

  Once and again they were met by troops of country girls scatteringflowers, and as often rode beneath triumphal arches, deftly framed ofgreen leaves and gay wild-flowers by rustic hands, in token of theheart's gratitude, until they reached the shores of the blue lake,where Sir Yvo's yacht awaited them, convoyed by every barque and boatthat could be pressed into the service from all the neighboring meresand lakelets of the county.

  The wind blew fair and soft, and swelled the sails of cloth of silver,and waved the long azure pennants forward, as omens of happy daysahead; and smoothly over the rippling waters, to the sound of the softbridal music, galleys and horse-boats, barques and barges, careered infair procession, while the great multitude, afoot, rushed, like anentering tide, through the horse-roads and lanes around the head ofthe lake, eager to share the wedding-feast and the wedding dance, atleast, if not to witness the nuptial ceremonial.

  At Bowness they took horse again, and escorted by the bailiff andburghers of Kendall, proceeded, at an increased pace, to the splendidAbbey Church, dim with the religious light which streamed through itsdeeply tinted window-panes, and was yet further obscured by the thickclouds from the tossed chalices of incense, through which swelled,like an angel's choir, the pure chant of girls and children, and thedeep diapason of the mighty organ.

  The nuptial ceremony was followed by a feast fit for kings, served upin the grand hall of Kendal Castle, wherein, before the Normanconquest, the proud Saxon Earls, Morcar and Edwin, maternal ancestorsof the fair bride, had banqueted and rioted in state, and where, astradition related, they had held revel for the last time on the eve oftheir departure for the fatal field of Hastings, fatal to Saxonliberty, but harbinger of a prouder era, and first cause and creatrixof a nobler race, to rule in Merrie England.

  It needs not, here, to dwell on the strange dainties, the nowlong-disused and unaccustomed viands and beverages of those old days,more than on the romantic feudal usages and abstruse ceremonials ofthe day; suffice it that, to their palates, heronshaw, egret andpeacock, venison and boar's-meat, and chines of the wild bull, were noless dainty than the choicest of our modern luxuries to the beaux andbelles of the nineteenth century; and that hypocras and pigment, moratand mead and clary, made the pulses burn and the cheeks mantle asblythely and as brightly as Champagne or Burgundy. The ball, for thenobles in the castle-hall, for the commons on the castle-green,followed the feast; but not till the stocking had been thrown, and thecurtain drawn, and the beautiful bride fairly bedded, was the nuptialceremony esteemed fully ended, which gave the lovely Guendolen, forweal and not for woe, to the brave and faithful Aradas de Ratcliffe.

  The raptures of lovers are not to be described; and if the pen of theready-writer may gain inspiration to delineate the workings of strongmental passions, of intense moral or physical excitements, to depictstormy wrath, the agonies of hope deferred, the slow-consuming pangsof hopeless regret, there is one thing that must ever defy his powersof representation--the calm enjoyment of every-day domestic happiness;the easy and unvarying pleasures of contentment; the placid routine ofhourly duties, hourly delights, hourly labors, hourly affections; andthat soft intermixture of small cares and passing sorrows, with greatblessings tasted, and great gratitudes due, which make up the sum ofthe most innocent and blessed human life.

  And such was the life of Sir Aradas and the fair Guendolen deRatcliffe, until, to borrow the quaint phrase of the narrator of thoseincomparable tales of the Thousand and One Nights, "they were visitedby the terminator of delights, and the separator of companions.Extolled be the perfection of the Living, who dieth not!"

  Sir Yvo de Taillebois lived long enough to see his child's childrengathered to his knee; to prognosticate, in their promise, fresh honorsto his high-born race; but not so long as to outlive his intellect,his powers to advise, console, enjoy, and, above all, to trust in God.Full of years and full of honors, he was gathered to his fathers inthe ripeness of his time, and he sleeps in a quiet churchyard in hisnative valley, where a green oak-tree shades his ashes, and theever-vocal music of the rippling Kent sings his sweet, naturalrequiem.


  Eadwulf the Red never recovered from the starvation and exposureendured in his escape and subsequent wanderings; and, though hereceived the priceless boon of liberty, and the king's free pardon forhis crimes, though he passed his declining days in the beautifulcottage nigh Kentmere, with his noble brother, his fair wife, and allthe treasured little ones about him, who grew up like olive-branchesround Kenric's happy, honored board, with every thing to soothe hisstubborn heart and soften his morose and bitter spirit, he lived anddied a gloomy, disappointed, bitter, and bad-hearted man, a victim insome sort of the vicious and cruel system which had debased his soulmore even than it had degraded his body.

  Yet it was not in that accursed system, altogether; for the gallantand good Kenric, and his sweet wife, Edith the Fair, were livingproofs, even, as the noble poet sings--

  "That gentleness and love and trust Prevail o'er angry wave and gust;"

  and it was no less "the spur, that the clear spirit doth raise," thanthe grand force of that holiest Saxon institution, Trial by Jury, thatraised Kenric from a Saxon serf to be an English freeman.