Star of Mercia: Historical Tales of Wales and the Marches

by Blanche Devereux

  Edith's Well

  "_Sicut spina rosam genuit Goduinus Edivam._"

  So, Gundred my son's daughter, thou hast been to London town; and thouhast seen this new Queen Edith, whom men in the French tongue callMaulde; and she is the fairest lady who ever in all the world satbeside king in high-seat; the most gracious, the meekest, thefreest-handed, the most ruthful! Edith, quoth the child? Long ago therewas an Edith.... Well, daughter, a queen once spoke to thy grandfather,and he to her; and a mighty wonder marked their meeting, which will beremembered while time shall last. Young folk love tales, and the oldare fain to the telling of tales. Sit down by my feet, and hear howonce upon a day Edith came to her Well yonder by the highway.

  I have witnessed frost and snow, storm and lightning, pest and famine,in my nigh-on-eighty years; I have known drought and burning also, butnever such drought as befell us in the year One Thousand Sixty andFive. This was a great year in its beginnings: a marvellous year forthe apple-bloom; we had carried two crops of hay before July was out;the wheat-ears were so heavy that they leant together as they grew,like unto folk in a crowd that swoon, and even the barley wouldscarcely bestir itself at the coming of a welcome wind. Oh, the heat ofthat summer! We had three showers in all between April and the end ofAugust, and they but soft and slender. The earth cracked in places intogaps full many a foot wide; the grass was no more green, but the colourof the baked earth in which it had root: small weeds died, and the mosswithered on stock and stone; half a day was the life of a brier-rose.Rabbits, hares, and some birds starved all about us; the field-micewere a scourge to us at the first, but later even they and thehedgehogs gave up the breath of life. The brooks dwindled and ceased toflow but in a trickle: many an age-old spring sent forth water no more.The morning dews were heavy, but soon gone; and the earth could drinkthem in no farther than a hen may scratch. Though we dug dew-ponds, thelittle moisture they gathered was not worth our toil. We cut the cornin haste, for the wild fowl rifled it day and night. Many an one thatlaboured did the sun strike dizzy. One man and one boy were slain bythe heat-stroke, and some tottered from the fields to work no more thatyear. With those that remained, it was mug to mouth ten times in thehour! My cider was gone within the first three days; and then my goodlybeer must follow! And in the second week in August they sent fromLedbury to tell me that Edith the Lady, King Edward's wife, would passnear by my dwelling as she went to visit her brother, Harold Godwinsonthe Earl, at Hereford, and begged that I in charity would give herrefreshment upon her wayfaring.

  As the Lady willed, so must I do, for our King's sake, and for the sakeof other some. In my boyhood I had been one year a henchman of Godwinher father's; Gytha her mother had nursed me in some slight sickness; Ihad ridden out with Sweyn to fight with Griffith the Welsh king. I hadnot seen this Edith since she was a young maiden in her father's hall:men had told of her as both merry and learned; but I had never beennear her, to speak one word. It was said that she led a gleeless lifewith her pious old lord. She would not pass right before my door, Ideemed, on her way to the Hereford: I would take food and drink, andmeet her upon the road that runs through Ledbury to Gloucester, andride with her some deal of her journey, if she should wish for mycompany. So I set out about the ninth hour of the morning, with four ofmy men: my good wife, thy grandmother, I bade abide within doors, forfear of the deadly heat. We bore with us a pie and wheaten bread--nobutter, for it would have melted. Little beer and no cider had I bythen; but we took two skins of ripe mead, fit for queen or king.

  The sun was shining so strongly that we could almost hear the shootingof his beams. The air was seen to throb. White dust lay thickly overgrass, bush and tree. There was a dreadful stillness; the only soundthat ourselves made not was the sickening hum of flies. We went slowly,with bracken-leaves bound about our heads and twined within our horses'browbands. When we had gone some two miles, there befell a greatmishap. The stopper flew from the mead-flask at the saddle-bow ofAnflete the reeve, and the mead gushed out. We had not time to catchany of it ere it lay frothing in the dust. And then, as though thedevil strove to plague us, the other bottle, which mine own horsecarried, burst also, and left us likewise liquorless.

  But we bore on, until we came to a spot a few yards off the Ledburyhighway, where the banks were steep and the bushes shady: indeed, allabout was the woodland of the vill of Stoke, belonging to this sameEdith the Lady, who had set a reeve therein to see to her rights andher profits. Seemingly she would not stay to look upon her own land, sofain was she for sight of Harold her brother. Near the joining of theways, then, we waited. Our throats were as dry as a smith's bellows. Mymen had swallowed what little beer we had left before I could forbidthem. At once I made the blockheads seek for water, thinking of thewants of those we had come to meet. Not one drop within a hundred yardsin every quarter, though God knows there are springs and streams enoughthereabouts in any common year! We stretched ourselves in what therewas of shade, and soon we beheld them coming, a goodly company ofladies and armed men.

  We went forward to greet them; the foremost of them got down from theirsaddles; the Lady of the English came stately towards me, smiled, andput her small hand in mine.

  "Odda, right glad am I to meet with thee," she said. "Dost thou mindthee how at Winchester I let my head-rail fall from a window into thebuckthorn-tree, and how thou didst climb in and get it again, and didstsend it me by my mother's woman?"

  I remembered. Being but a henchman of the stable, I could not myself gowith it.

  How gracious her smile! How mild her condescension! Great wonder was itthroughout the land, I knew, that she should be so lowly-sweet. TheLady Edith was little like to Earl Godwin her father, the rugged, grimold man! Although at this time about forty-four years old, as I think,she was an exceedingly fair woman still. Her skin was white aswalrus-bone, and very little wrinkled; her hair long, thick, andred-golden as ever it had been, for though she was now hooded andstaidly wimpled, I saw it uncovered later on that morning, and I couldfind therein no grizzled strand. Her clothing? She was cloaked andhooded, meseemeth, in fallow hue--and a little cross, finely-wrought insilver, hung at her throat; but how can a man speak of women'sgarments? I know that her mouth was soft and kindly, and quivered alittle sometimes when she was not speaking; and there were now blackshadows beneath her big grey eyes--maybe from the hardship of herjourneying.

  "My lady," I answered, "I beg that ye will rest awhile, and eat of thefood that I have here. Alack! I have no drink to set before you! Webrought mead, but in the heat an hour agone it burst our bottles; andthere is no water near at hand--we have but lately sought it."

  The lady raised her hands to her brows in most weary wise.

  "Good Odda," she said, notwithstanding, "I thank thee much for thykindness in thus coming, and for all the pains that thou hast taken.And since thy mead was lost on my behalf, I thank thee for it also. Letus sit here awhile and eat, as thou sayest; we are sore anhungered,that is sure. And later we will go find my reeve at Stoke over yonder.He will doubtless have one drop of somewhat for us each to drink. Wealso emptied our flasks an hour ago, silly souls that we were!"

  She had with her her mass-priest, her women, her men-at-arms, herthralls. We sat down upon the ground, and broke the pasty intoportions, and dealt out my fine wheaten bread.

  As she talked with me of the old days in her own home, suddenly weheard a noise in the woodland upon our right--a child's voicewailing--the voices of two children. Far away at first, then somewhatnearer. Two wandering children, crying fit to burst their bosoms. Greatbreathless, thirsty sobs, swelling every now and then to a despairingroar.

  The lady had sprung to her feet, and had broken through the nearestbushes into the thicket beyond.

  "Hither! hither!" she cried. "Come! Come! But where are ye? Weep nomore--here is help!"

  We all followed her. She walked onward, calling; they shouted still,and drew nearer and yet more near: at last they came forth, the littlemites, upon a bare plot whereon we had halted. Boy and girl th
ey were;five and seven years old they seemed: hand clasped in hand, cheeksgrimy with dust which their tears had furrowed, faces flushed andseared by the mighty heat.

  She ran to meet them, with outstretched arms. They ran to her, andcaught at her skirts. The girl, the younger, cried, "We were lost!" andthe boy said hoarsely, "Mother!... O mother, the world looks black....Oh, my head, I cannot see!" and he had fallen flat at her feet beforeshe could stay him.

  The girl said, "Lady, my head--great smart have I also!" and her breathcame thick and loud.

  The Lady Edith gathered sorrel-leaves, and bound them about the headsof the bairns.

  "It is not enough," said she then. "They must have water."

  "There is no water here," Anflete my servant answered. "We sought ithigh and low before my lady's coming."

  She wrung her hands in sharp woe.

  "O Christ, have mercy!" she said. "O Mary, that art our mother,hasten--help!"

  Then her passion seemed to leave her, and she knelt, and began to speakin still, low tones; but I heard her words.

  "Father of all goodness," she prayed, "save these twain alive, who aremore to Thee than the wild sparrows! Strengthen then, Lord, I beseechthee, the gift that Thou hast bestowed upon Thine handmaid!"

  Having so said, she arose, and quickly bade her folk bear the childrenwith them, and shade the little ones' heads. It was high noon now, butshe flung her hood back, and her wimple fell away and hung down withthe hood, so that her bright hair was laid bare, and her shapely neckand breast of ivory. Many a woman would have seemed light-minded, evenwanton, so; but our Edith was queen in everything she did. Although thesoil was burning, and scorched the feet through riding-boots, she beganto walk swiftly, glidingly, around and about. She held herriding-switch, a toy with handle of gold and amber, bent bow-wisebetween her two hands. Her lips were parted, as those of one whobreathes-in freshest air.

  And we followed, a great awe upon us. We were once more in the lanewhere we had rested, when a gleam awoke in her eyes, which had becomedark and shut off from earthly sight, and she sped ahead of us evenfaster than at first. She came to where the bank overhung, and wascovered with sagging ferns, shrivelled and caked with dust. A shivershot through her whole body, and the switch that she carried startedand writhed as it had been a live snake.

  "God be praised!" she exclaimed. "Here is water for them!" She stampedher foot. "Dig! dig! Bring spades--Oh, dig! Quick! Would ye see themdie before your eyes?"

  "Sebbe the charcoal-burner!" said Anflete. "I will fetch his spade."

  Edith had snatched his war-axe from one of her men-at-arms and washewing at the bank whereunder she stood; I hacked away with my broadknife; some of the others scratched with their hands. In a little whileAnflete was back from the charcoal-burner's with spade and pick, and wegot more skilfully to work. A homely croon was heard in the heart ofthe earth. A spot of moisture darkened the bottom of the hollow that wehad made. One spadeful more, and up it bubbled--a little spring, but astrong one. There were stones still within the hollow, and we put backmore to keep up the shifting sides; and into the bowl so made the waterflowed, thick and clotted, truly, with the dust and flakes ofsandstone, but how sweet to touch and taste! Oh, the happy noise ofwater in a thirsty land!

  The Lady Edith dipped a clout in the well and bathed the heads andnecks of the little ones, gave them to drink, and set them to lie inthe shade. Soon the girl-child stirred and wept, and Edith lifted herup in her arms. A shrill cry made us all turn to behold a poorly-cladwoman, hot and unkempt, who stumbled towards us, tears in her eyes andterror in her voice.

  "Ye naughty ones!" she stormed at sight of the children. "Here have Ibeen...."

  Then she stopped short, with open mouth, and stared at the slender,bare-headed woman who held her younger child, until one whispered: "Itis the King's Lady!" when she louted down upon her knees.

  "Hush! hush!" said Lady Edith to her sobbing burden. "Fear not,sweetheart! Thou must go home now--go to thy mother indeed!" and shelaid her in the arms of the kneeling woman.

  Never had she been more lovely than in that moment, her face shininglike a rose, her eyes most tender and brightly-beaming. When, a shortwhile after, she turned from mother and child and came seeking me, ahuge pity rushed up within me, and I think that she read that pity inmy look.

  "Dread lady," said I, being a little mazed, and all soft with ruth,"how goes it with our Lord the King?"

  "Whenas I left my lord, all was right well with him," she answered. "Hehad some sickness in the spring, but it irked him little, truly, forhis years. Such an holy life he leads, and yet he is so long-enduringtowards them of worldly mind! It is great joy to me that I may see himsometimes, and be somewhat near him."

  She crossed herself, and the fair light faded from her.

  "Wherefore do I murmur?" said she. "Is not Jordan flood better than allthe rivers of Damascus?"

  And so saying, she folded her meek hands above her heart, and went herway.

  I never saw her again. The well that she found for us abideth for hermemorial: clear and cool in every weather--the freshest in all thecountryside. I have often thought of her since that day; and I think ofher more often now than ever in the long night hours that are not thedrowsy hours when one has grown old. Dreams, Gundred, dreams--wakingdreams, but idle things none the less! But sometimes meseemeth that hervery self is near me, standing as I best knew her, arms outheld, faceaglow. She lived and died childless; the old King had made an oath,they say, for fear he might fall short of heaven. Once or twice eviltongues have made free to slander her fame! She was staunch, I know,and flawless; and yet her heart was quick and warm. Girl, I have everrecked little of the greater deal of the saints to whom prelates bid uspray. Of God and of his goodness I reck much; and this is the saintwhom I worship before all others, crowned in this world oruncrowned--Edith the well-beloved Lady, whom all her people honouredand pitied.

  Richard the Scrob

  "Better than mine, Kenric--better than thine!" said Grim. "Ever his aretaken, and ours are left. Who will look at our sheep and our oxen whenthe Scrob's are by?"

  Kenric withdrew the straw that he had been chewing from between histeeth, and ceased to stare at the white-limbed, red-spotted cattle inthe pen before him.

  "Eh! he buyeth for the Bishop," he mumbled. "And he buyeth for the folkof Hereford town. And for the Abbot of Leominster. And for the Prior ofWenlock. His salted meat is rowed upon Wye and upon Severn to feed themerchantmen of Bristol. Grim, this Frenchman is a worker of spells."

  "And even so the beasts of his own breeding are such as thou wilt notmeet with on any other man's land within the two shires. Heavier!Fatter! Sleeker! I would that his lord the devil would fly away withhim soon! Hast thou but seen his woolsacks yonder? What other has suchgreat store to sell? True, he can have little spinning at home, with nowomen."

  "I have not seen him--Richard the Scrob," said vague Kenric, returningto his straw-munching. "Are not these sold already----"

  "Kenric, stand not and grumble, with blind eyes," cried Munulf themaltman, who now accosted these two. "Here is a sight not oftenseen--the little widow, Kenric, the plump widow. Look up and behold thelight of thine eyes, where she cometh, girt about with her husband'sstalwart kinsfold."

  "Hey? who?" Kenric rejoined. "Who cometh yonder? Alftrude the widow ofWinge? Oh, aye, it is a pretty woman enough----"

  "And should be rich woman enough," said Grim. "They are watchdogsindeed, the brethren of the Moor. I wonder that they let her show hernose at Ludford fair--so little and straight is it that many a man willlove it, by heaven! My good wife pities Alftrude greatly. She will bewidow to the end of her days, they ward her about so wilily."

  "I know it, I know it!" wheezed Kenric. "And Ulwin, Alward, andEdnoth--they are three ill men to deal withal. Alack! no hope have I!"He summoned up a faint sigh of good-humoured resignation. "If but nowthou found me grumbling," he explained, "it was at French Richard."

  Munulf raked his fingers through his long yello
w hair, and lookedmysterious.

  "I have heard cunning talk of late," said he "Men say that theseoutland folk that swarm about our King shall soon be outlanderstwofold; for shall they not be bundled off, beyond the seas, whitherthey came? Earl Godwin called together his Mickle Gemot seven weeksago. I would we knew how that has sped. Godwin is wont to bring abouthis will!"

  "Why, my lords, he hath brought it about, the good Earl!" sounded in anexcited cackle behind them. Hildred the ale-wife hastened to join thethree speakers, her red face unusually resplendent with pride in beingforemost retailer of news for that day. "A man of Worcester broughtgreat tidings yestereve. Godwin is driving out the accursed Normans,every one--man, woman, child, and priest. Even Ralf our Earl, theKing's nephew, shall go, though his mother were English Godgifu!"

  "Bless the work!" exclaimed Grim. "These Normans have a knack ofdrawing to themselves the wealth that should be ours. There should bepickings, eh? for all true Englishmen!" He nudged Kenric, andwhispered:

  "H'st! see where Richard comes!"

  Richard the Norman came up to his cattle-pen. He was a small man,slightly built, and of upright carriage, and he moved with a spring inhis gait. He had an aquiline nose, a persistent chin, and a strong,exceedingly well-formed mouth; his eyes were dark and deeply-setbeneath the fine straight line of brow, and they looked straight intothe eyes of others. His face was clean-shaven like a cleric's, and morethan ordinarily wrinkled about mouth, eyes, and brow for his age, whichwas a little over thirty; the black hair of his head was cut short atthe nape of the neck and the top of the forehead. He wore a short tunicof dull-coloured cloth, and leather boots, and from his waistbelt hunga small, shabby leather bag. Behind him walked his two servants, Howelthe Welshman, and his own countryman Perot.

  "Good day, Thane Kenric," said Richard the Scrob. "Good day, lordsboth, and to you, worshipful Munulf."

  "Ah! Good day, Richard Scrob's son."

  "Warm weather for November. A very Martin's summer," said Richard.

  "Aye," from Grim. "Oh, aye, right warm, this weather. It may becomehot. It shall soon be hot for all Frenchmen!" he concluded savagely.

  Richard seemed unconscious of Grim's words and of their tone. Heunfastened the bag from his belt, opened it, and surveyed the contentscomplacently. Oswin, the maltman's son, a weak-kneed, loose-lippedyouth, gave a laboured imitation of the Norman's air of detachment, afew yards away.

  "Why, son," said Munulf, when he had finished guffawing at thisspecimen of his offspring's wit, "what bearest in thy bosom?" pointingto the opening at the neck of the lad's jerkin, where a small, darkhead was seen to writhe.

  "Oh, it is my weasel," Oswin replied. "He harms me not, for I feed him,but others he biteth. There are some shall feel his fangs before HolyMartin's fair is out, I warrant you, my father!"

  "Here are the Moor folk at last. I shall sit down," Kenric announcedportentously. He withdrew to the customary resort of thanes and greatmen on market-days, on holidays, and at all public functions held uponLudford green--the huge elm whose boughs cast their shadow as far asthe cattle-pen of Richard the Scrob. There he subsided upon a bench,and sent a serving-woman of the ale-wife's for beer.

  The green was now crowded with buyers and sellers of every degree. Grimand Munulf, who leant upon the hurdles surrounding Richard's exhibits,saw the throng before them part to release a procession of two thralls,four lean oxen, four women in riding-mantles, and three corpulent menwho wore the grimy remains of once-fine garments, and had pretentiouslyheavy gold ornaments at their necks and about their wrists and fingers.Three of the women were comely and commonplace: the pleasant person ofthe fourth could not have failed to command attention in anysurroundings. She was young, of moderate height, and generously built;she was small-featured, white skinned, blue-eyed, and her lips werefull and wholesomely red. Over her head and the greater part of herfigure was a hooded cloak, evidently new, of periwinkle-blue cloth; andupon her breast lay her hair in long plaits of that soft shade which isnot golden, nor brown, nor chestnut, but all three, and has yet anashen-silver haze upon its surface when the sun shines behind it. Hergown was black, and much the worse for wear, and at the base of herthroat gleamed a bunch of the spindle-tree's pink berries, fastened inplace with a silver pin.

  "Good day, or else good morrow, Ulwin," said Grim, scarcely attemptingto veil the sneer in his voice. "Ye are late with your stock."

  "Late--aye!" panted the eldest, fattest, most showily-dressed of thenewly arrived men. "Aye--late! All for women--hindered by women! I askyou, fellows, what should women do at fair or market, if they bring notwares to sell? Squander good money! Bedizen themselves to the nines!Would God that I had let thee from coming forth in thy prideful gear!"he snarled at her of the blue mantle. "Did I not say that thou wouldstseem no better than a tumbling-girl in the eyes of the folk? Dost thoumind that my brother lies in his grave?"

  Richard the Scrob's right hand closed upon the hurdle in a convulsivegrasp.

  "It is five years since he died," said the woman.

  "Get behind me, and stay behind me, out of our way," said Ulwin. "Seehere, Alftrude, thou shalt not stir whence I now bid thee stand. I willnot have thee waste our goods on womanish nothings. Geegaws and sweetfoodstuffs, forsooth! What lacks the woman? Will she tell the worldthat we clothe her not nor board her?"

  She made no reply. For a moment she looked him full in the face: therewas no reproach in her gaze, but only contempt and a spice of derision;then she turned and walked calmly, with unflushed cheeks, to join theother women in the background, and stood with them. The market-crowdsurged all about them.

  "These are thine?" growled Ulwin to Richard, indicating the pennedoxen.

  "Mine they were," answered Richard. "I sold them to Edmund the flesherof Worcester this morning, when the fair was but new-begun. But I haveothers, Ulwin Ednoth's son, if ye wish to buy."

  "Buy! Pah! no, not I! It is not of buying that I have to speak withthee, Richard."

  "Of what then, worthy thane?"

  "Indeed, it is not of buying that I have to speak with thee, Richard.Thou art learned in the law: because thou art so learned, the LordAbbot deems thee worthy of his trust; but all thy cleverness could notteach thee.... How can I say, all-wise one, that thou didst not know?Well, the Lord Abbot knew not--aye, even I myself knew not--thatAshford, which thou callest thine, was not holden by us and by ourfather of the Abbot of Leominster, and that therefore neither the Abbotnor I might make over this land of Ashford to thee in exchange for ...such and so much cattle and silver ... two years ago."

  "Ashford is mine. I have set up a mill there, with the Abbot'slicence."

  "Not thine, Richard the Scrob. I am Turstin of Wigmore's man forAshford, and I may not go with it to any other lord;[15] and Turstin iswishful to uphold his right. As for thy mill ... well, thou hast madeit, and there will be the tolls for me."

  [15] He could not sell or convey it.

  "If there be any flaw in our dealings, then is it matter for the moot."

  "Now, understand me, thou!" shouted Ulwin, with a pompous gesture ofthe arms and an outward thrust of his swollen underlip. "That whichthou hast tricked of me I will have again, yea, this day and this hour!Ulwin of the Moor is unwonted to waiting!"

  "Then, Ulwin, understand thou that Richard of Overton is unwonted tobrook such words from any. At the bidding of none do I yield up mineown."

  Scarcely had Richard proclaimed his defiance than a thrill such as somemuch-desired presence imparts forced him to glance past the wrathfulbully's left shoulder. The widow Alftrude was now close behind herbrother-in-law, and studied the Scrob from head to foot with wide,wondering blue eyes.

  "I have nowise tricked you, Ednoth's son," said he, his countenanceonce more unperturbed. "Ye did chaffer with me for silver. This ismatter for the hundredmen. They shall hear and try it."

  "Hearken, good neighbours, to the high and mighty words!" Ulwin jeered."How will he speed when Englishmen are met together? Does he dream thattheir
dooms are for the French?"

  "Come from here, now, master!" cried the high-pitched voice ofRichard's servant Howel, in which agitation was patent. Ednoth, Ulwin'sbrother, pushed past Howel and jostled him roughly, in order to drawnearer to the two disputants. Howel flung up his head, his eyeskindling, and hissed an imprecation under his breath.

  "Hey? what hast thou there?" said Ulwin.

  "Nought, nought," Ednoth answered. "It is but a Welshman who bars myway."

  "No Welshman am I!" cried Howel the servant of Richard. "I am a man ofIrchenfield--as good an Englishman as any of you here--and a betterEnglishman, too, than ye clumsy boors that think yourselves noblemen!When the King of the English marches with his army into Wales, we menof Irchenfield do go the foremost, that we may be the first to dealdeath, and----"

  "Do they dance in Irchenfield?" piped the maltman's son, as he shambledout of the crowd and swiftly inserted a furry object between the collarof Howel's jerkin and the back of his neck.

  "We shall soon see. Oh, merrily, right merrily--merrier and higher thanin all Herefordshire else! On, on, brave Welshman! None here can hopeto beat thee!"

  Loud was the spectators' laughter as the victim bounced up and down,shaking and tossing his limbs, and twisting his head and his body. WhenRichard had succeeded in dragging the weasel from out of hisserving-man's garments, Howel rushed forward, bent on reprisal. Ednoth,the primary cause of the trouble, happened to be the person nearest: ina second Howel had him by the throat, and his short knife gleamed bare.

  Half a dozen bystanders instantly joined in the fray, most of them forthe purpose of overwhelming the impudent Welshman of Irchenfield: inthe midst of the turbulent knot were Ulwin, tugging at Ednoth'sshoulders, and Richard, who held on to Howel by the arms and socompelled him to desist from stabbing at the Englishman.

  "Peace, thou fool!" cried Richard. "Leave be, now, Howel my man! I willnot be embroiled for idle pride of thine. God's death! put up thydagger!"

  Sullenly but promptly, Howel allowed his master to lead him out of theclutches of his assailants.

  "Peace, I beg of you, good men," the Norman continued. "We do buthinder the many that care not for our meaning. See, yon lady would comeby!"

  The crowd had borne Alftrude away from her brother-in-law's side duringthe scuffle: she stood by the booth of a seller of gilded gingerbread,the nearest stall to the thanes' elmtree, a coin in one hand and twoshining half-moons of cake in the other. Distaste and hesitancy were inthe look she cast upon the brawlers.

  "Lady, fear not," said Richard. "If ye would but lean upon my arm----"

  Eagerly she moved towards him, in bland acceptance of his offer;however, before he could approach her, Ulwin had interposed himself,thundering:

  "Lay by yon nasty trash! Straight shalt thou wend thee homeward!Spendthrift! Shameless woman! Is this a widow's mourning? Is thismodesty? Come home, I say!"

  He seized her by the arm, and in so doing trod heavily upon her toes.Alftrude's lips contracted, and her eyelids flickered with the pain,and she steadied herself against the gingerbread stall. Richard theScrob was now beside them: with the first missile to hand, his ownmoney-bag, he struck at the head of Ulwin; and Ulwin reeled and satdown upon the ground with a curse and a roar.

  "Foul clot of dirt!" said Richard. "I will not have thee deal so withher!"

  His money-bag was still in his right hand; but why was it no heavierthan a strip of pigskin? Where was the reassuring weight to which hehad grown used throughout that day?

  "Look, look!" the ale-wife screamed. "His ill-gotten silver of itselfruns from him! Gather, gather, I say--it is his no more! All theseFrench are to be driven forth. Shall he hoard king's coin in our land?"

  The well-worn bag had burst its seams, and pieces of money strewed themuddy ground.

  Thralls, boys, and children hurled themselves upon them; theystruggled, fought, kicked and clawed up the mud, laughed ecstatically,and rushed about the green, each hugging what he had secured.

  The crimson faded from Richard's countenance, and he stood white asdeath and still as a stone. Alftrude hid her face in her hands.

  "Up, Ulwin!" exclaimed Ednoth. "Let us drive his cattle to Worcesterfor him--to Hereford--or to hell! Down with the Frenchman! Long life toEarl Godwin!"

  From under the elm stepped Ingelric the aged thane of Caynham, hisbeard half-covering his flowing moss-green robe.

  "No, no, it is unseemly!" he said. "Richard is my friend; he saved meonce from debt and loss. If any man befriend me----"

  "Good folk," stuttered Kenric behind him, "this is more than a game! Weare not thieves."

  But Ednoth and Grim had torn down the hurdles of the pen; the crowd hadonce more concentrated on that spot, and in another instant, shoutingand shrieking, babbling and cheering, they chased and pelted the cattleof Richard the Scrob down Ludford street and out into the open countrybeyond.

  Alftrude had flung her arms about Ulwin. She seemed in a swoon: no, shewas not fainting; her cheeks were aglow, and her finger-nails wereembedded in her brother-in-law's neck.

  "Perot! Howel!" called Richard. "Come on, come on! To me!"

  The English, in their zeal for the dispersal of his cattle, hadforgotten him. He ran between the outlying houses, followed by hisservants, and upon the outskirts of the town they came face to facewith the main body of the rabble, and drew their short swords.

  "Ere ye farther go," said Richard, "ye shall slay me and my men!"

  They bombarded the three with stones and dirt; a woman threw an egg,another hurled her market-basket with uncertain aim.

  "Tear him limb from limb!" snarled someone. "Surer rid of him so thanby banishment!"

  Ednoth was advancing upon Richard, sword in hand.... There was a suddenhush, an awestruck murmur.

  "Lord Abbot! Lord Abbot!"

  "Hold your hands, in the Name of God and of His holy Church!" cried animperious voice.

  Ednoth lowered his sword; the thanes uncovered their heads; manycowered, some stared resentfully; some slipped away in the tracks ofthe vanished cattle; the women fell on their knees. From themarket-place came the Abbot of Leominster upon his fat white nag, withhis chaplains and his retinue of men-at-arms riding behind him.

  "Ednoth of Moor, what would ye?" he demanded, flourishing the parchmentroll that he carried in his bejewelled right hand.

  "Wherefore is the market all-to-wrecked? Would ye work murder uponharmless Ricardus here?"

  "Lord," said Ednoth, "here is a Frenchman who by craft sucketh thewealth from our land. Witanagemot is for putting an end to all such."

  "Indeed--and, Ednoth, art thou Witanagemot? Thou art too rash--ye aresadly unbridled, folk of Ludford. Hear the truth from me. There aresurely many foreigners, Normans of the King's mother's people, who docraftily suck the wealth of England, and who bear not themselves trulytowards blessed Edward our King; and Godwin and his Great Gemot havedecreed that such shall go forth whither they came and leave the swayof England to Englishmen. But are there not some Normans, worthyfellows, whom no man could wish ill? Richard who dwells at Overton--hashe not lived fifteen years among you, in good repute? In allHerefordshire is there no better dealer in corn and cattle: fromShrewsbury to Hereford is none more learned in the laws of English andof Welsh--none who can write a fairer hand--none of readier wit orsmoother tongue: he hath been great help to me; how shall I spare him?Shall they bereave me of Ricardus? said I. I knelt before the King; Ireasoned with stern Godwin; and ere I left London both had promised memy will. Yesterday the sheriff sent to me anent the outgoing of theFrench; and I have ridden since dawn, seeking Ricardus, that I mightshow him how Holy Church rewardeth goodwill for goodwill. Hugolinbideth about King Edward, they tell me, and Robert the Staller--theyare faithful servants; as for the others, one Dumfrey--some outlandishname!... Hah! I have the sheriff's writing.... 'Banished be they allbeyond seas, but Humfrey's Cocksfoot and Richard the Scrob.'"

  Richard bent to kiss the Abbot's ring.

  "Children, go your ways," the
prelate continued, "with our blessingupon you. I rede you repent of your rashness. Ye are not robbers andrioters--no, but law-abiding English. Ricardus, come to me to-morrowmorning: I have much to talk over with thee." So saving, he signed tohis attendants, and ambled away.

  "My blessing, also, upon thee, worthy friend," a low voice said inRichard's ear.

  It was the blue-clad woman. Ulwin, with gashed forehead and scratchedneck, was shepherding his kinsfolk in the direction of his abode.

  "Ashford shall be mine, O mighty Norman," said he with an exultantsneer. "Thy star is set, though abbots smile on thee."

  "Oh, Ulwin, brother!" exclaimed Alftrude--"oh, where is my silverbodkin? It is gone, Ulwin! And it was my mother's own! Can one havesnatched it from me?"

  "Have ye seen it lying?" asked Richard of a group of persons latelycome from the green.

  "What wouldst thou?" said Ulwin to Alftrude. "I bade thee leave thething at home! Come on, thou spitfire--I will not wait."

  Old Ingelric hobbled up, and laid his hand upon Richard's arm.

  "Have no fear," he said. "Thou art not without friends. Though likelythou wilt not see thine oxen again, and who shall trace the coins----"

  Richard shook himself free.

  "The rogue who stole her pin!" he cried--"I will split his head also!"

  The grey cob plodded and splashed through the stream of slushy mud andhalf-thawed snow which represented the descending track from Ulwin'sdwelling of the Moor to the highway between Ludford and Leominster.Upon him was Alftrude, closely muffled in a grey felt mantle, andbeside him, holding the bridle, splashed and floundered a bare-leggedboy, the bondman's son, with alder-clogs upon his feet. Alftrude rodein some discomfort, perched astride upon a man's saddle: her right armsupported a big wicker basket. The December sun shone outself-assertively: nevertheless the child slapped his free handcontinually against his thigh, and often blew ruefully upon the fingersthat clasped the reins. The widow, however, paid no heed to the moistchill of the morning air. Every now and again she glanced behind her.Once, in the shelter of the grove of hollies, she stopped for a momentto listen. There was no sound but the purring of a brook beneath itsperforated covering of ice. She urged on her stolid steed.

  As they reached the heath, they heard the scrunch of a horse's hoovesupon the ground they had just traversed. Alftrude turned her headnonchalantly; then she smote the cob such a sudden blow with her whipthat the boy stumbled, and stared up into his mistress's face, aghast.About twenty paces more, and the Norman came up with her, riding alone.He would have passed her with "Good day to you, lady!" but she called:"Friend, stay awhile!" and he reined in his horse and proceeded besideher.

  "Master Richard," said she, "I would thank you meetly, if I could, foryour great and neighbourly kindness, and beg forgiveness of you forthat I have not myself done so until now. My mother's pin is thedearest of all my few possessions. Tell me, how came it into yourhands?"

  "If ye be content, madame, I am honoured," said Richard. "It was nomatter. The maltman's dunderhead son passed it about the ale-house thatnight. They gave it up when I did call for it."

  (This was not true. When Richard had seized the trinket from the thief,the ale-house company had fallen on him to a man, and had rolledten-deep upon him about the floor, until their sense of fair-play hadobliged them to draw off.)

  Alftrude was smiling her slow, comfortable smile. Could she--the gleamin her eyes seemed one of admiration--could she have heard what hadreally befallen?

  "I was like to weep when I saw it again," said she.

  They had reached the steepest slope of the hill. Richard the Scrobdismounted.

  "I will carry the basket," said he. "And I will lead your horseheredown. Let yon lad take mine. Whither make ye?" he continued, whenthe boy had fallen behind with his new charge. "Madame, I think yeshould not fare abroad by such a slippery road and in such fickleweather."

  "I must to Ludford," she answered. "What think ye of this? There areseven young children at home, and in the house no spices nor driedgrapes to make them Yuletide broth or Yuletide cake, and the housewifewill not send any for these! Yet our bairns must have their Christmasfare like other bairns! so I am for Hildred the ale-wife, who has suchsweet stuffs to sell." But even as she enlarged upon her purpose, hercheeks blushed red.

  "It is shameful!" said he, and his tone was full of warmth. "I like nottheir dealings with you, these kinsmen of your former lord!"

  "Good friend," said Alftrude, "how wilt thou do now? Thy cattle--thymoney--the best of all thy gear! Great thy loss that evil market-day!Indeed I am abashed by the folk with whom I dwell!"

  "Why, I must stint and save, that is all. It will be no new thing--sohave I done all the days of my life. When I first came over to join thetrain of Ralf the Earl, I had nothing but two silver pieces, my pen andinkhorn, and my wits. That was fifteen years ago.... They have beenlonely years in England since Idonea died."

  "She was your wife?"

  "Idonea was my wife. She was of Bayeux--daughter of Robert the deacon.I had her but two years in this misty island. A short sickness bore heroff."

  "Alack, alack! that is piteous!"

  "She fretted ever for Normandy. I think it was as well she died."

  Alftrude eyed him gravely, reflectively. Suddenly she shook with silentlaughter.

  "Oh! oh!" she cried when she had recovered her voice, in answer to hismanifest surprise, "ye would have laughed, Son of Scrob, had ye seen asight that mine eyes beheld three nights ago. Know that Ulwin will everhave the swine and the fowls to wander in and out of the house, as theywere mankind, that they may eat up the scraps of food which he throwethby among the rushes. Upon that night, my husband's mother and I hadgone aloft with the maidens, when a mad hubbub arose--Ulwin shouting,threatening, praying--with such grunts and shrieks besides, ye wouldhave thought the Fiend himself was there. We hurried down, and therestood my good brother, smiting upon his bed with a flail as strongly ashis quaking hand would let him--and the fattest pig tangled in thecovering of fat Ulwin's bed!"

  "Oh, gladsome sight!" exclaimed Richard. "Ye did work havoc upon thatsame Ulwin that day at the fair? Indeed I think I owe my life to alady's finger-nails!"

  "Ye had avenged his roughness with me," she answered. "And I saw himrise to fall upon you."

  By this time they had emerged upon the highroad; and now there passedthem two nuns riding sleek mules, and two serving-men, mounted also.

  "There goes Burghild of Caynham," said Alftrude. "It is now five yearssince she took her holy oaths. I would not be she for all theworld--though, heaven wot! a nun's life is a peaceful life!"

  "There is peace to be found where no nuns are, lady."

  "Know ye her story, Richard Scrob's son? She is the thane of Caynham'sdaughter, and Godric the brother of Athelstane of Berrington loved herdearly, and she him. But his lands were small and barren, and he couldoffer her no fitting home, or so he thought. He would take service withsome great lord, and store what wealth the saints might send him, thathe might make yon maiden his wife. They met twice or thrice in theyear, and I am sure each read the other's mind; but he never told herof his love and of his hopes. And she pined for him, and grew pale, andtart of mood. Godric went out with Earl Sweyn against the Welsh king,and was slain by the Welshmen. When Burghild heard these tidings, shefell sick of sorrow, even nigh unto death; but she is brave; she clungto life, and now she is the Church's bride. Oh, sad that lack of goodsshould sunder two true hearts!"

  "How could he speak, being a man without wealth?" said Richard. "Hemight not speak." He would not look at her.

  "He should have spoken," said Alftrude softly.

  "Now, as for these swine indeed, thy kinsmen----" cried he.... "Pardonmy rough speech, Lady Alftrude; but I have marked how they treatyou--you who were their brother's wife--better born than they, andbetter nurtured. As the dirt underfoot! Must ye abide beneath theirroof? Is there none other with whom ye might dwell?"

  "My brother is a thane about the King's court
. I have not set eyes onhim for many a year. I have no other brother and no sister."

  "It is many a day since I have wondered how ye bore with them."

  "Since ye press me, Richard, I will own that my lot is hard. I havebeen widowed these five years. Since Winge my husband died, the landand goods with which he left me--aye, and mine own goods which Ibrought him--I may not call mine own. The first they till and order asthey will, and the yield thereof they put with the yield of their land.As for the goods, they all lay hands upon them with never a 'by yourleave' to me! Ulwin would have sold my mirror of steel last week, but Ihid it.... Richard Scrob's son, there are two of thine oxen among thecattle at the Moor. At least, I am sure I saw them at Martin's Fairwithin thy pen."

  "Let them be. I have enemies enough at this time. To claim your goods!To sell your mirror!"

  "They grudge me this my new cloak," Alftrude continued, drawing a foldof periwinkle blue from beneath her winter wrapping. "True, it is notof my weaving; but mine own corn did I sell to buy the cloth. I believethey grudge me my mother's own jewels! Ulwin, and Alward, and Ednoth,and their mother, and the wives of the three. There would be nopleasure for any but Ulwin, if he could have his way: others mustscrape and lack for him. A bad husbandman, too, is Ulwin. Men will givehim but little for his crops and cattle. And that little leaves hispoke that he may feast and game, and bet on sparring-cocks. But I thinkthe women are the worst to dwell with."

  "And the housewife--your husband's mother? Has she no kindness forthee, who wert wife to her son?"

  "We were childless, Winge and I."

  "By holy Stephen! it is a weary life ye tell me of!"

  "I am well wonted to such weariness. I am four and twenty. A great age,Richard."

  "Madame, I am thirty-two, and I think that the sweetest of my life isyet before me."

  "Here is Ludford. Now, God speed you, lord," said she, holding out herhand to him. The next instant she withdrew it in confusion, exclaiming:"I know not why I clepe you lord!"

  "I know," said Richard, and took her hand. "Alftrude, I will see to itthat thou become a very great lady."

  From the thicket bordering the pathway proceeded gasping, panting,maudlin complaints, and thickly-uttered curses; then came the sound ofa feeble struggle as though a heavy body strove vainly to extricateitself from glutinous, liquescent soil. Richard the Scrob got down fromhis horse, handed the reins to Perot, who walked beside him, and strodein among the alders. The light of the sinking moon revealed a man lyingface downwards, his legs submerged in a marshy pool, his hands clingingto a tuft of rushes. Having chosen a firm foothold, Richard seized theunfortunate by the scruff of the neck, and hauled him on to more orless solid ground. The bloated visage, streaming with mud, was justrecognizable as that of Ulwin of the Moor.

  "Oh, oh--ah--oh!" he blubbered. "I am a dead man! Drowned dead--frozento the inwards! One had bewitched the accursed nag that she might throwme!"

  Richard heard a horse cropping the wet fern a little distance away. Hecaptured the offending animal without difficulty, and gave it into thecare of his servant. Then he approached Ulwin once more, and took himby the arm in order to help him to his feet.

  "Dost thou dare?" cried the Englishman, striking aimlessly in thedirection of his rescuer's chin. "I have no gold upon me--nought uponme! Murder! Murder by our lord the King's highway! Fellow, I am athane, and my wergild a thane's wergild--twelve hundred shillingsworth!"

  "No robber am I. Ulwin, I am Richard of Overton. Ye have known me thismany a year--I am Richard the Scrob."

  "Scrob? Scrob? Eh, what is Scrob?" said the thane of the Moor. "Oh,aye--I mind--thou art the Frenchman--Richard--neighbour Richard. Well,Richard, my old nag tossed me off--bewitched is she, the jade! AndAlward and Ednoth and the others--to hell with them for selfish churls!they rode on and left me here--would not wait for me--rode on and leftme lying here.... I called--I called! Wending home from Wigmore....Cakes and ale had we--good eating and drinking at Wigmore, Richard....Left me here to drown! What think ye of that?"

  "Belike they missed thee not!" replied the other grimly. "Here is yourhorse. Try to get upon her. I think your bones are whole."

  Ulwin remained sitting in the mud.

  "Wa--la! wa--la!" He was weeping again now. "Wa-la-la and woe the day!Beggared am I and all undone! They set two worthy cocks to fight....Oh, a fair sight to see them at war! When all around would wager uponthem, how might I not do likewise? One hundred shillings have I lost tothe men of Wigmore! And, Richard, I am burdened with debt: one hundredand forty shillings in all do I owe among my neighbours. I must sellmyself into thralldom--my wife--my hapless bairns! Let me flee theshire...."

  Richard brought a leather wallet from beneath his mantle.

  "No need," said he. "See here," and he unfastened the string whichclosed the wallet.

  "What?" shouted Ulwin, scrambling to his knees. "Money? Money? Howcomest thou by money? Art surely a sorcerer--a warlock--leagued withSatan and all his devils! Why, it is not three years since we--sincethy cattle was driven loose and thy silver scattered and lost beneaththe feet of Ludford folk!... Richard Scrob's son--good neighbour----"

  "Now, cease thy whimpering of a dog, Ulwin of Moor, if man thou be,"said Richard. "Shalt not sell thyself for debt. One hundred and fortyshillings--such shalt thou borrow of me.... Nay, not now. At thine owndwelling, in the afternoon.... Give me Alftrude thy brother's widow towife: that she will have me I know well. Half thy brother'smorning-gift to her of land shalt thou keep; and if within ten yearsfrom this day thou owe me still that which I do pledge me here and nowto lend thee, I will take again Ashford and its mill. They were trulyholden of the Abbot, all the time."

  "So they have crowned French William at Westminster?" said Ulwin.

  "Aye, so was I told by one of Harold's men who came alive throughSenlac slaughter," Grim replied. "This William is a stark man, theysay; but he has sworn to abide by our old laws."

  The men of mark were gathered about Ludford elm. It was a warm, mistyday in February. There was a fair upon the green for the sale ofchickens, ducks, and geese.

  "I do think that these be lying tidings," said Tori the priest ofLudford. "Two kings dead within a year, and English and Welsh at peacein Herefordshire! I will believe there is such a William when I haveset eyes upon him, and in the deaths of kings when I see kings lyingdead. I am a stickler for the good old ways: I do not waste my prayersupon an unknown outlander, but beseech heaven for Edward and for hisLady as I have been wont all the days of my life!"

  "Under seven kings have I dwelt," Ingelric the ancient murmureddreamily. "First Ethelred, then Sweyn, then Canute. Canute was a Dane,but a better man than Ethelred. Then Harefoot, then Hardicanute, thenEdward whom they call the Blessed. Well, well, peace to his soul! Therewere no more righteous folk in England after his crowning than before.And so the son of Godwin is cast down and slain! It is a little thing,children, where or of whom a king be born, if so be he govern stronglyand wisely."

  "Now, Childe Edric, what say ye to this?" cried Ulwin of the Moor.

  "Father Ingelric, ye know that my mind is quite other," said a hoarse,far-carrying voice. The speaker, a weather-tanned young man, withbright grey eyes and a resolute chin, bent towards Ulwin and whispered:

  "The poor old man--he doteth!"

  "A fair tide for the ploughing," Kenric's elephantine tact prompted himto observe. "I think there will be no more frost nor snow."

  "We have one Norman here," said Ulwin to Edric. "Spared when the otherswere banished, through the might of the greedy Abbot. He has theFiend's own luck. Frost and snow! I would the earth were ice-bound forhis sake! I would the frost would shatter his plough-shares! I would hemight drop dead as doth a sparrow!"

  "Richard is a good fellow," Ingelric interjected stubbornly. "And oneking is much as another king."

  "Is it nothing to you all," cried Edric the Wild, "that England shallbe no more England, but Normandy? What of Harold, our King and our Earlof late, and his bloody end? Must we a
ll bow to the robber, because themen of the South loved their harvest-beer better than theirmotherland?"

  "We are free English!" said one; and another: "What shall we do?"

  "We have our hills and our woodlands," Edric continued. "When Williamsends his warriors amongst us, we will lead them jack-o'-lantern'sdance, and utterly undo them. My men are all armed and ready to comeforth whensoever I bid them; and I have the word of the Welsh lordsthat they will give us help."

  "If Howel of Irchenfield were here," Kenric remarked ruminatively, "hewould tell you to put no trust in the word of a Welshman. And Howel isright: they do never cleave to us, though time and again have theysworn faith and truth unto our kings. And I have not seen Howel thisday...."

  "Howel, Richard's man, say ye?" panted the ale-wife, as she depositedmugs of beer before two of her customers. "Howel passed the ford threeweeks ago, or nearer four. I know not whither he went."

  "Richard also crossed over this day at dawn," said Munulf the maltman,"and with him his firstborn boy. They took the road to Stretton."

  "Hey? it is not like Richard to miss the fair," said Ulwin. "I seebondmen of his who watch his wares."

  "But not the goodwife?" said Kenric. "How not? She loves the mirth ofthe market."

  "Why, he liketh not that Alftrude bestir herself overmuch, or rubshoulders with all and sundry," answered Ulwin contemptuously. "Treatsher as she were the Mother of God herself, or a queen at the least. Andthey have been wed eleven years!"

  "I met some of his men yesterday upon the heath," said Grim, "allmud-bespattered and outworn. What hath he now in hand, Ulwin?"

  "Pah! who can tell? He hath fetched a swarm of accursedforeigners--smiths and wrights--from overseas, and he must keep thembusy. There is ever some new-fangled hewing or digging. He set ayew-hedge in the fall, ye know; and they say he will have a fish-pond."

  "Here is friend Richard," said Ingelric, "and the little lad also."

  Richard appeared upon the green, on horseback, accompanied by his sonOsbern, aged ten, who rode a pony. Having tethered their mounts to twoof a row of posts beside the ale-house door, they made their way to theelm-tree. The years had been generous towards Richard the Scrob. He wasbetter clothed and shod than formerly, more serene, less spare. Osbern,the eldest of his children, had his father's firm mouth and hismother's clear blue eyes.

  "Greeting," said Ulwin, with an uneasy leer. "We talk of thee,neighbour, as a great man and a wealthy. Shouldst thank me for Alftrudeand what she brought thee, which latter did surely set thee on thyfeet."

  "Nay, Ulwin, surely I did set thee once upon thy feet, with timelyloan. Hast thou forgotten, also, that I have had no answer from thee toa question I put to thee above a year and four months ago?"

  "What mean ye? Say all that ye mean aloud, in the ears of these thanes,and let them judge between thee and me!" Ulwin's brain was slow, but herightly guessed that an explicit reply would follow, for Richard's loveof litigation was notorious.

  "Thou knowest that I speak of Ashford, which wrongfully thou keepestfrom me, and of the hundred and forty shillings which thou borrowedst."

  "Thou knowest, and all here know, that Ashford is mine, holden ofTurstin as lord," said Ulwin.

  "Turstin is not lord of that land; the Abbot is lord thereof indeed,and by the Abbot's leave did it pass from thee to me. And I did pay thygaming-losses; and thou gavest me Alftrude my dear wife, and half ofthe land she had as thy brother's widow. I did swear to let thee be inAshford for ten years, and thou to give it up to me when ten years wererun, or to repay me the sum of my lending in gold."

  "Not so," said Ulwin. "I agreed with thee for Alftrude and half of hermorning-gift from Winge. Why should she take more with her when shewent from us to wed a needy foreigner?"

  "I have thy mark which thou settedst to the bond I wrote."

  "I made no mark. I saw no bond."

  "There is Ednoth's mark thereon, beneath thine own."

  "Say, brother Ednoth, have I pledged all this to Richard the Scrob bytongue or by pen?"

  "I know nought of it," answered Ednoth.

  Richard thrust his hands into his belt. The faintest possible shadow ofa smile lurked at the corners of his lips. For a second his glancewandered absently to the rocky hill of Lude[16] which towered aboveLudford on the farther bank of the Teme where that river turnednorthward to join the Corve, and for a fraction of a second rested uponthe narrow track straggling round the southern side of the hill anddescending steeply to the ford.

  [16] Now Ludlow.

  "Bring witnesses to my mark and Ednoth's!" cried Ulwin with a gobblinglaugh. "Bring witnesses to the Abbot's right! The hundredmen will laughthee to scorn. This Richard is a liar, friends: guilt hath sapped hisboldness, or wealth and good-living, belike; he who was wont to be soready with his fists now quails before an Englishman. What, dost thousmile? Aha, thou thinkest on the Frenchman at Westminster! What deemestthou we shall make of thy Duke?"

  "What ye will, I doubt not," said Richard. "I am for law and order." Heseated himself upon a root of the elm, and leant against the trunk.Every now and again he scanned what could be seen of the winding roadabout the hill of Lude.

  "Hear me once more," said Edric the Wild. "Ye should make ready againstaught that may befall while these your fruitful acres are your own andall unscathed. The tyrant hath left his spoor of fire and steel fromthe South Saxon land to London town.... Why, Gunwert of Mereston! Whattidings? Steady, man--drink first, speak after!"

  A weary, speechless man dropped from his horse to Edric's feet.

  "They come!" he gasped, when he had swallowed a mouthful of beer."Sighted beyond Stretton.... From Shrewsbury ... in theirhundreds--fully armed!"

  Richard, deep in the shadow of the tree, took the boy Osbern's hand anddrew him down beside him.

  "Hasten, all!" shouted Edric, quivering with eagerness. "To everyhomestead where be weapons--tools--what ye can find! Hasten, hasten!Ride--gather your men together! We will beat them back at the ford."

  All were on their feet, all running--every thane, every churl, everythrall. Some dashed into houses and sheds, and bore thence sickles,scythes, axes, picks, shovels, and mattocks, and ancient rust-cakedweapons; some seized the horses tethered by the ale-house door andsprang upon them. Richard, still holding Osbern by the hand, enteredthe town in the midst of the first contingent of those who remained onfoot.

  "They have taken our horses," he whispered. "Silence now--we must notmove nor breathe!"

  The maltman's barn opened on to Ludford Street, and they slipped withinand hid between the outer wall and a rampart of odorous sacks. Edricdrove the whole body of his compatriots out into the open. After aquick consultation with Ingelric, he set off with the old man on theshortest route to Caynham. Some made towards Ashford, some towards theMoor. A few splashed through the ford over which the grey waters of theTeme glided in their winter flood.

  An hour passed; another hour; the second hour after noon began. Richardwas still in the maltman's storehouse, scarcely stirring from the posthe had originally taken up, listening intently to every sound thatpenetrated from without. Osbern had perched himself upon a sack by hisfather's side, as motionless except for his fingers, about which hetwined a piece of string in cat's cradle pattern. The voices of womenreached them, the laughter of children, the swirl of water among theroots of the willows. Falling cobwebs powdered these two with dingyflakes; conflicting currents of air made the malt-dust dance all aroundthem; they heard the patter of rats' feet, the dogged gnawing of amouse. Suddenly a woman shrieked in terror----

  "Yonder--see yonder! Horsemen! horsemen! Yonder the death of us all! Myman--where is he? Gone--left me here helpless! The Frenchmen! TheFrenchmen!"

  Panic seized the women of Ludford (there were some twenty of them):tearful, voluble, or outwardly composed, they carried, dragged, drovetheir children up the street, across the green, and out of the town, infrantic search of masculine protection.

  Richard and Osbern stepped stiffly out into
the street, brushing theirgarments as they went. Yes, there they were, the horsemen, filing alongthe hill-side track. The apathetic sun of late winter lent a sulkyradiance to lance, mace, and scabbard, ringed hauberk, conical helm,and kite-shaped shield. Nearer they came--sixty in all, Richardguessed. The cavalcade appeared at the farther end of the street:men-at-arms, pursuivants, knights, esquires, and, behind his banner,riding alone, William fitzOsbern, Earl of Hereford and Lord ofBreteuil, in the full splendour of vigorous manhood.

  "Seignior!" cried Richard the Norman--"Seignior, faictes grace a moy,qui suys de vostre sang!"

  William fitzOsbern threw an amused glance at a forgotten cobweb thatadhered to the speaker's head.

  "Mort Dex!" said he. "Whom have we here?"

  "Richard of Overton, son of Hugh, son of Osbern, son of Walter of Ryein the Cotentin, where my nephew is now lord. Sir Count, the mother ofmy grandsire was cousin and nurse unto Herfast your own father'sfather, and unto noble Dame Gunnore his sister, spouse of our thenDuke."

  "Thou art the Scrope. I have heard of thee. One named Perot spoke ofthee with the King at Westminster; and that British fellow ofthine--Howel they call him--guides the company of Ralph de Mortemarbehind us upon the road. I have pressed on with another to conduct me,for I would reach the city of Hereford as soon as may be."

  "Seignior, I have dwelt for twenty years within your county that nowis," said Richard, dropping on one knee, "and I pray of you justice andyour puissant aid! The rascal English do me wrong, and they will notconsider my cause, for I stand alone. One Ulwin invades certain of mylands and a mill which I myself set up beside the river: he firstexchanged this Ashford for money and cattle of mine, then pleaded hisno-right to sell."

  He paused. FitzOsbern had half-turned in his saddle and was surveyingthe rugged hill of Lude upon the other side of the ford.

  "What a rock of defence!" he exclaimed. "Careless fools to let it standunfortified!... Well, I did look for thee to come to greet us; butalone? and--toil-stained, is it? I have seen no rascal Englishhereabouts. This seems a village dead or sleeping. Are ye the onlypersons here alive, thou and one child?"

  "News of your coming has reached these English, my lord, and theybelieve that your purpose is to spoil their homesteads, and so they aregone without into the country, gathering together all able men forresistance. Wild Edric of Clun was here but now, at work upon theirfears. Though they be mostly on foot, and their weapons be rusty, theyare more than we, and might bar your road to Hereford. Come with me, Ipray you: on yonder hill I have a strong house, where ye, aye, and allthese, may be safe."

  "Joyously will we partake of thine hospitality, good Richard, for anhour or so, although our march be thereby delayed. Thy Howel, I know,will lead Ralph de Mortemar to thy very door. Say, who is the lad? Sonof thine, I wager."

  "My eldest son, so please you. Osbern, stand forth."

  "Hah! Osbern fitzRichard, how sayest thou?

  "Wilt thou serve my lady in bower and at board until such time as thoube old enough to ride with me into battle?"

  "Assurement, mon seignior!" replied the child, upon his knee beside hisfather in a moment. His French had the thick accent of an Englishman.

  FitzOsbern smiled down upon him.

  "Shalt learn more gracious French," said he, "but not more graciousmanners. Well, let us be going."

  "Seignior," said one of the esquires, "I hear the tramp of many feet,but no voices at all."

  "The English!" cried William, and Richard the Scrob sprang to his feet."They think to surprise us. It were best parley with them in the open,in peaceable guise. Boy, I will carry thee behind me."

  Osbern clambered on to the Earl's steed.

  "Sir, have I your leave?" asked Richard of Sir Walter de Lacy, who rodeon the left of his master. Lacy nodded, and instantly Richard wasastride behind him. He had scarcely mounted, when a strange, seethinghiss resounded from one side of the street, and above their heads.Another hiss, and another: a splutter, then a crackle; and the thatchof the maltman's dwelling, which adjoined his barn, burst intosteadily-spreading flame.

  "O Mary! happy thought!" they heard in the fatuous tones of themaltman's son Oswin. "Hem them right well about, and watch them cookalive!"

  "Thank God for burning pitch!" and in the indignant voice of Grim:

  "Thou oaf! Would thou had been born dumb! We had them snared!"

  A horse neighed shrilly; the other horses echoed the warning sound.

  "Quick, ere terror benumb them!" the Earl shouted. "Right about--a dashfor it!"

  A bucketful of hot pitch streamed from one roof, hot charcoal cindersshowered from another; some one flung a lighted torch. Another thatchwas already on fire. The English were formed in a thin ring all roundLudford. The Norman charge scattered those at the bottom of the street,and the horsemen poured out.

  "Follow me!" cried Richard. "I know a way to baffle them. Ride,sirs--ride as ye were devils!"

  Edric of Clun, on horseback, planted himself in fitzOsbern's way withmenacing gesture; William hurled his truncheon, hit him on the head,and sent him tumbling from his saddle. Ednoth clung like a vice toRichard's legs for some yards, and was thrown to the ground, andtrampled by many hurrying hooves. The few mounted English triedvaliantly to intercept the trained cavalry, but were unhorsed or put toflight.

  "To Richard's hall!" shouted Ulwin, from the background, where he wasmaking tentative passes in the air with an antique sword. "Overton!Overton! Fire! Burn! Torches, I say--bring torches! Come on, all ofyou! Come, burn his house to the ground!"

  The Earl and his men had rallied to Richard the Scrob, who called andsignalled to them from Walter de Lacy's crupper. He headed straight forthe forest of Haye.

  "Warily now," said he. "There is much bogland."

  He led them westward, skirting swamps, threading apparentlyimpenetrable thickets, with scarcely a pause. They could hear faintlythe voices of a few Englishmen who cursed as they wandered among thebriary undergrowth. The hindmost of the Normans looked back and sawLudford flaming, crumbling, and falling into ruins.

  "It is mine own secret path," their guide announced. "Verily, monseignior, I have prepared for your coming."

  They left the forest behind them, and rode through the hamlet ofOverton.

  "Look yonder!" said Richard, pointing to the grey gleam of a stonerampart among the trees surrounding his mansion.

  "What is this?" laughed the Earl. "Have ye licence from King William toerect a castle within his realm?"

  "I am King William's loyal subject," the Scrob replied. "Of acertainty, our King will not grudge a timely shelter to his Earl."

  A curtain-wall, roughly but strongly compacted of quarried stone, ofwood, and of rubble, surrounded and concealed the timber dwelling ofRichard and Alftrude; at the western end of the enclosure theunfinished keep loomed upon its mount; and about them both aneight-foot moat was drawn.

  "The keep as well!" cried fitzOsbern. "Oh, guileful notion, to colourit with pitch! Only the hawk-eyed may spy it from the valley, for thefoliage embowers it--and, man, ye can surely keep watch therefrom formany a mile!"

  At a blast from Richard's horn, the drawbridge was lowered, and severalNormans in his service appeared upon the threshold, mail-clad and fullyarmed.

  "It was four weeks building, under Geoffrey of Rouen," said Richard,"and the moat was digging thirteen days more. I have engines of warwithin, and great store of missiles of stone. Enter, bel sire. Theywill not find it easy to burn this my dwelling about my head."

  "Let the peasants come!" said William fitzOsbern. "They must learn toknow their masters; but please the saints! we shall not need to takethe lives of many. Perchance the sweet peers of heaven may send thatMortemar find us before long.... Cousin, thou hast a pleasant view fromthy fortress, even through such a narrow peephole. H'm! Richforfeitures for our sovereign Lord! Thou shalt trouble thyself no more,cousin Richard, concerning lands and mills and cheating Saxons. As farand as wide as eye can see, from the sky that is our Lord God'sfootstool
unto Satan's fires in the centre of earth, this same pleasantcountry shall be thine own, in reward for this day's fealty andservice, and so I, William of Hereford and Breteuil, promise thee inthe name of the King.... Nay, no thanks: kneel but one momentlonger.... It is meet, sirs, is it not, that our leader in thisengagement should hold the honourable rank of chevalier? We willaccount this a field of battle. Rise up, Sir Richard fitzHugh leScrope!"

  The next morning, when the Earl of Hereford had gone his way, and thebodies of the only two Englishmen slain by Ralph de Mortemar's rescuingparty had been borne to burial, the new lord of the Moor, of Ashford,of Ludford, and of Stanage rode out to display the extent and resourcesof his manors to his astonished lady. Their itinerary ended, they stoodin the evening outside the moat and gazed at the placid, billowingcountry beneath them. Although by the cold, saffron light of a Februarysunset the misty course of the Teme was the only certain landmark andit was hard to distinguish meadow and ploughland, pasture and forest,they had to feast their eyes until the last glimmer faded.

  "With right tillage," said Richard, "it should yield me thrice itsyearly value in grain. And I will have yet more sheep, and yet morecattle: there is now place for four times as many as ever I bred.... Ihave made thee great and famous, as I promised; and Osbern, with theEarl to favour him, should be an even greater lord than I.... Ourfishpond shall go forward upon the morrow. What sayest thou to anorchard yonder, planted with apples of Normandy? and I think thatGascon vines would ripen passably upon our southern slope. O Alftrude,thou knowest how I have loved and pondered this land this many a year;and we shall have great profit of it, ma belle, thou and I together."

  Alftrude dwelt at Richard's Castle well content; for, as she sometimesobserved when she looked round upon her flocks, her herds and herhorses, her orchards, her cornfields, her vineyards, her chickens,ducks and geese, her hounds and her falcons, her fishpond, her smoothgreen lawn, her yew-tree alley, her doves and her peacocks, and herband of healthy children, there was no reason at all why she should not.