The Rival Heirs; being the Third and Last Chronicle of Aescendune

by A. D. Crake

  CHAPTER V. A FRAY IN THE GREENWOOD.

  After the last sad rites were paid to the Lady Winifred, a deepgloom fell upon Wilfred, and his sorrow was so great that it wonrespect from his Norman companions, at least for a time.

  He was indeed alone, for the baron had sent his sister Edith to aconvent for her better education, as he said, and as Wilfred hadnone of his own kith and kin about him, he avoided all company,save when the routine of each day forced him into the society ofhis fellow pages.

  Such was the case one fine morning in early spring, a few monthsafter the loss of his mother.

  The four pages were in the tilt yard, where there stood a woodenfigure, called a "quintain," which turned round upon an axis, andheld a wooden sword in one hand and a buckler in the other.

  It was the duty of each of the athletes to mount his horse, andstrike the buckler full in the centre with his lance, while ridingby at full speed, under certain penalties, which will soon beperceived.

  Etienne rode first, and acquitted himself with remarkabledexterity; after him Wilfred was invited by the maitre d'armes tomake the trial, but he was comparatively unaccustomed to the game.

  "Let Pierre or Louis try next," said he.

  The two boys, thus called upon, went through the trial fairly,striking the very centre of the shield, as befitted them. And thenour Wilfred could not refuse to make the attempt. He rode, but hishorse swerved just before meeting the mock warrior; he struck theshield, therefore, on one side, whereupon the figure wheeled round,and, striking him with the wooden sword, hurled him from his horseon to the sward, amidst the laughter of his companions.

  He rose, not very much hurt in body, but sadly out of temper, and,unable to bear the jeers of his companions, and their sarcasticcompliments on his "graceful horsemanship," he left the yard.

  He was trying very hard to learn such feats, and yet could not gainthe dexterity for these novel exercises; and, poor boy, he wasquite weary of being laughed at, so he went and wandered pensivelyabout in the forest.

  He had, indeed, to chew the cud of bitter reflection, for hisposition was not at all a happy one. Few lads could have more tobear--cutting sarcasm, biting contempt, not openly or coarselyexpressed, but always implied plainly enough--constant abuse of hisnation, and even of his own immediate ancestors, on whose fairdomains these Norman intruders were fattening.

  "Oh! it is too hard to bear," thought the poor lad.

  And then he saw the unfortunate thralls of his father, ground downby the tyranny of these Norman lords and their soldiery, forced todraw stone and timber, like beasts of burden, for the purpose ofbuilding towers and dungeons for their oppressors, urged on withthe lash if they faltered.

  Since the death of their good lady, all this had been, of course,much worse.

  And then, those forest laws, so vilely cruel. Wilfred saw men blindwith one eye, or wanting a hand; and why? Because they had killed ahare or wounded a deer; for it would have been a hanging matter tokill the red hart.

  Meanwhile he was growing in mind and body; he had now passed hisseventeenth birthday, and was beginning to think himself a man; butwhere were the vassals whose leader and chieftain he was born tobe?--where?

  The people of Aescendune were diminishing daily--the English peoplethereof, we should say, for the places of those who fled theirhomes, and went no one knew whither, were filled by Normans,French, Bretons, or other like "cattle," as Wilfred called them inhis wrath.

  Everywhere he heard the same "jabbering" tongue, that NormanFrench--French with a Danish accent, and he liked it little enough.Good old English was becoming rare; the strangers compared it tothe grunting of swine or the lowing of cattle, in their utter scornof the aborigines.

  Were the descendants of Hengist, Horsa, Ella, Cerdic, Ercenwin,Ida, Uffa, and Cridda to bear this? and more especially was he,Wilfred, the grandson of the heroic Alfgar, whose praises as thecompanion in arms of the Ironside had been sung by a hundredminstrels, and told again and again at the winter's fire in thecastle hall--was he to bear this contumely? He could not muchlonger.

  And then that scowling, dark, frowning, old Baron--there was aworld of deadly mischief in his dark eye, which looked like lighttwinkling at the bottom of a black well. Once when Etienne wasuttering some polished sarcasm at Wilfred's expense, the Englishlad caught the father's look, and there was something in it whichpuzzled him for a day or two.

  Wilfred knew the baron did not like him, and felt that the hatredwas all the more deadly for never being expressed. He sometimesthought that his stepfather wished him to quarrel with Etienne, inthe full belief that Norman skill must prevail, in case of acombat.

  Single combat. Well, the pages were always talking about it.Etienne knew a brave knight who took his stand on a bridge, horseand all complete, and when any one came by of equal rank, thisstrange bridge warden had two questions to ask; first:

  "Wilt thou acknowledge the Lady Adeliza of Coutances to be the mostpeerless beauty in the world?"

  Supposing the newcomer not to be in love, and to be willing toadmit the superiority of the fair charmer, then to him the bridgewarden further added:

  "Wilt thou admit that I am a better knight than thou--better withhorse, sword, and lance?"

  If the newcomer said "Yes," he might pass without further toll; ifnot he must fight, yea, even to the death. And this our Normanpages thought the grandest thing in chivalry.

  As yet they had kept from such direct insult as would necessitatean appeal to sword or lance in Wilfred's case, which, indeed, pagescould not resort to without the permission of their feudalsuperiors; but how long would this last?

  The promise the poor lad had given to his beloved and lost motherhad made him patient for a time; but his patience had been tried tothe uttermost.

  He looked on the woods which had once echoed to his father's horn:for miles and miles they extended in trackless mazes of underwood,swamp, and brake; and report already credited them with being thehaunt of outlaws innumerable.

  "Where were all the fugitives from Aescendune?" thought ourWilfred; "did the woods conceal them?"

  Well, if so, the day might come when he would be glad to join them.

  While he was thus musing, the sun rose high in the heavens, and heheard the horns summon the hunters--he heard the loud baying of thehounds, but he heeded not--he loathed society that day, andsatisfying his hunger with a crust of bread, obtained at the hut ofa thrall, he wandered deeper into the forest.

  The day was hot, and he grew tired. He lay down at the foot of atree, and at length slept.

  How long that slumber lasted he knew not, but he dreamt a strangeand gruesome dream. He thought his ancestors--the whole line ofthem--passed before him in succession, all going into the depths ofthe wood, and that as each spectral form passed it looked at himwith sorrow and pointed into the forest.

  At length, in his dream, his father came and stood by him, andpointed to the woods likewise.

  Meanwhile a lurid light was rising in the woods behind him, and asense of imminent danger grew on the sleeper when strange outcriesarose from the wood.

  He was on the border land, twixt sleeping and waking, and theoutcries were not all imaginary. There was the voice of one whobesought for mercy, and the laughter and scornful tones of thosewho refused it; and these, at least, were real, for they awoke thesleeper.

  The cry which aroused young Wilfred from his sleep was uttered in atone of distress, which at once appealed to his manhood for aid.

  And it was a familiar voice--that of his own foster brother, theson of his old nurse, with whom, in the innocent days of childhood,he had sported and romped again and again; for distinctions of rankwere far less regarded amongst the old English than amongst theNormans--they were "English all."

  The poor peasant lad had been so unfortunate as to bring down ahare with a heavy stick. The animal had risen just before him; theweapon was ready; the temptation too great. Forgetful of all butthe impulse of the moment, he had flung the stick, and the harefell.
He was just rushing to seize his prize, when the three Normanpages came suddenly on the scene.

  "Here is a young English lout, killing a hare," shouted Etienne;"lay hold of him."

  And before the astonished Eadwin could fly, the son of his lordfulfilled his own command, and seized the culprit by the collar.

  "How didst thou dare, thou false thief, to kill one of our hares?Dost thou not know the penalty?"

  The unhappy lad stammered out faint excuses, in broken English; "hehad not meant to do it--the thing rose up so suddenly"--and thelike. But in the first place his captors did not understand hislanguage sufficiently to make out the excuses, neither were they inthe mood to receive any.

  "What is the law?" said Etienne; "does it not say that he who slaysa hare shall lose the hand that did the deed; and here is a poachertaken red handed. Louis, where is thy hunting knife?"

  "We need not trouble to take him to the castle; off with his hand,and let him go."

  Their hunting knives, with which they were accustomed to "break up"the deer, were in their girdles, and, shame to say, the other twoyouths at once assented to Etienne's proposal to execute the lawthemselves.

  So they dragged their intended victim to a stump, and Etienneprepared to execute the cruel operation which he had witnessed toooften not to know how to do it.

  Poor Eadwin appealed in vain for mercy. They were laughing at hisfright, and indeed there was so little sympathy between Norman lordand English thrall, that pity found no place to enter into therelations between them: it was the old Roman and his slave overagain.

  But an unexpected deliverer was at hand.

  Just as the young "noble" was about to execute the threat; when thepoor wrist was already extended by force on a rude stump; when theknife was already drawn from its sheath, Wilfred appeared on thescene, and, in a tone the Norman lads started to hear from him,exclaimed:

  "Let him go; touch him if you dare; he is my foster brother; mythrall, if anybody's."

  "Like cleaves to like," said Etienne, sarcastically; "but, my fairbrother, thou wilt hardly interfere with the due course of thelaw."

  "Law! the law of butchers and worse than butchers--devils. Let himgo."

  "Hadst thou not better try to rescue him? Thou hast not yet foundan opportunity to show thy prowess."

  Wilfred lost all control, sprang at Etienne, struck him in adownright English fashion between the eyes, and knocked him down.The knife fell from his hand, and Wilfred seized it before theother youths could recover from their astonishment, and flung itinto a pond close at hand.

  Etienne rose up.

  Now my young readers will probably anticipate a bout at fisticuffs;but no such vulgar a combat commended itself to the proud youngNorman, even thus suddenly humiliated; neither did he, under thesevery trying circumstances, lose his self command.

  Yet his hatred was none the less, nor did he cherish a less deadlydesign.

  "Let the young brute go," said he, as he arose, pointing to Eadwin."There is something more important to be settled now than thequestion whether the young porker shall retain his cloven hoof ornot. Wilfred, dost thou know thou hast struck a gentleman?"

  "I have struck a young butcher."

  "Thanks; churls fight with words; knights, and would-be knights,with swords. Draw, then, and defend thyself; Pierre and Louis willsee fair play."

  "Nay," said the other two lads with one voice, "it were a sin andshame to fight thus, and we should have our knighthood deferred foryears did we permit it. Pages may not fight to the death withoutthe permission of their liege lord. The baron must givepermission."

  "Wilfred, dost thou accept my challenge? I honour thy base blood inmaking it."

  "My ancestors were as noble as thine; nay, they ruled here whilethine were but pirates and cutthroats. I do accept it."

  "Let us separate, then; we meet here at daybreak tomorrow."

  "But the permission of our lord?"

  "I will answer for that," replied his hopeful son.

  The party separated: Wilfred took his foster brother, who had notmade the least attempt to escape from the scene, trusting to thelove of his young lord for protection, and no sooner were theyalone than the poor lad overwhelmed his deliverer with thanks, inwhich tears were not unmixed, because he knew that a price had yetto be paid, and that his beloved master was in danger.

  "Nay, nay, Eadwin, I shall do very well--if not, there is not muchleft to live for now--only you must take care of yourself, or theymay avenge themselves on you; indeed, when the baron hears thetale, I doubt not that he will send for you, and then I may not beable to save you--you must fly."

  "Not till I know--"

  "Yes, this very night--thou knowest the Deadman's Swamp?"

  "Well."

  "The Normans could never find thee there, and thou and I havethreaded its recesses a hundred times; go to the hollow tree wherewe have slept before now in our hunting days. I will seek theetomorrow, if I live. If I do not appear before midday, you hadbetter seek our people, whom these tyrants have driven to thegreenwoods."

  "I know where to find them, but you will come; why not fly to thewoods with me now?"

  "Honour prevents. And after all, you had better say goodbye at onceto those at home, and be off: perhaps I had better say goodbye forthee--it will be safest."

  A few more parting instructions, and they separated; the youngthrall actually kneeling and kissing his young lord's hand withthat devoted love nought save such obligations could give.

  Wilfred was returning to the castle, when he met Pierre, who wasevidently seeking him.

  "Wilfred," he said, "I have come to offer you my services fortomorrow; you will want the offices of a friend."

  "Art thou my friend?"

  "Yes, since I see thou art not a coward. While I saw thee sufferinginsult after insult without ever resenting them, I thought theecraven, and could not speak thee fair; now thou art as one of us."

  "Thou art not like other Normans, then."

  "I am not Norman, but Breton, and perhaps we do not love theNormans over much in Brittany; at least, I can feel for one in thyposition."

  "Thanks," was all that Wilfred could stammer out.

  These were almost the first kind words he had heard since hismother's death, save in those stolen moments when he had been aloneamidst his English thralls and churls, and they had been but few.

  "Thou art not so skilled in fencing as Etienne; I should advise anhour or two in the tilt yard, and I can tell thee of some of hisfeints, which are not a little dangerous."

  "Thanks, I shall not have too much time."

  "Dost thou think the baron will give leave?"

  "Yes; he hates me in his heart. Were I the better swordsman, hemight not consent."

  "I agree with thee--wert thou dead, Etienne would be heir ofAescendune. At all events, thou wilt go to confession and get thysoul in order--betake thyself to thy holy gear--men fight none theworse for a clear conscience. And I would ask the intercession ofSt. Michael--men speak well of him in Brittany, and tell how hefought a combat a outrance with Satan, wherein the latter came offnone the better man."

  "I shall see Father Elphege tonight--we are not heathen, weEnglish."

  "Ah! here comes Louis. Well, what news dost thou bring?"

  "Good ones. Our lord permits the fight. You should have seen howstark and stern he looked when he saw his son's eyes. Wilfred, thouhast a fist like a smith. Wilt thou do as well with the sword?"

  "Tomorrow will show."

  "Well, it is quite right of thee to fight for thine own serfs; Iwould have fought for mine at Marmontier--none should have comebetween me and them. And I am glad we did not hurt the poor knave.Etienne will be a hard lord for thy people, if anything happens tothee."

  Oh, how the memory of his mother and her counsels came before thepoor orphan.

  Still, how could he help it? He had done rightly, he felt sure; andhe knew that his father would say so were hecums alive.

  "And so would my grandfather," thought
he, "once the friend of theIronside, of whose wondrous exploits he often told me in olden daysaround our winter fire. Would his spirit were with me now, and alittle of his skill in arms."

  And thus musing, he arrived at the castle and betook himself, withPierre, to the tilt yard. Louis went off to seek Etienne, whosesecond he was to be.