Part 9

“Not a whit, not a whit,” replied his companion, “do not I know the turnings and the windings of the way? Is it not the fourth time that I have journeyed with thee on this path? Firstly, when thou didst do penance at the Abbey of Brixhelm; secondly, when thou didst pillage the fat friar of Torney Low; thirdly, when thou wert, at thine own pleasure, a suitor to the miller’s daughter of Nesselray; fourthly, when thou art, at thy father’s pleasure, a suitor to the thane’s daughter of Kennet Hold. Truly the fool’s counsel is nought; but I hold the pillage more profitable than the penance, and the miller a cheaper bargain than the thane. Trust me, if there be in the hall of the Saxon another giant such as he that escaped from us even now, there will be stronger trust in the speed of black Launcelot than in the plating of thy Milan corselet.”

“He was, indeed.” said Reginald, “firm of sinew and large of bone; he was, withal, free in his deportment, and ruled that sorrel courser full knightly; and, as thou sayest, Robin, he bore in his hand a battle-axe, against which ribs of steel were but weak protection.”

They had now proceeded far on their journey, and were winding round a thick forest; the extremities of which were skirted by brushwood to a very considerable extent. Reginald continued to discuss the personal appearance of the herald of his father-in-law in a manner which showed he was by no means deficient in natural observation. “He had the tone of one not unused to command, and an eye right noble and piercing; nevertheless, he is but a Saxon; and ill betide the day when Reginald d’Arennes shall fear to cope with twenty Saxons.”

“Especially,” said Robin, with an expression of countenance more than usually arch, “when Reginald d’Arennes hath by his side so true an esquire. Well thou knowest I am a shrewd knave, and a wily!”

At this moment a shrill whistle rung in their ears, and five or six stout yeomen rushed from the thicket, seized Launcelot’s rein, and dragged his rider from the saddle ere he could raise his war-cry, or draw his sword from its sheath. Robin was treated with no more ceremony than his master, and both were hurried through the coppice. Reginald seemed lost in astonishment; he made no resistance, and uttered no word. Robin was not so quiet in his sufferings; his alarm broke out in various unconnected exclamations: “Saints be merciful to me! The limbs of a Roland or an Oliver could not stand this harrying! And the fair tunic that was given me but yester-even is rent like a withered leaf! Truly, my masters, these bushes are over-sharp for a delicate frame. Well I wot my sides are torn as it were with the barbed points of twenty arrows; and Sir Reginald heeds no more the brambles than if they were damosels’ arms! See now! Some are born to a corselet of steel, and some to a tunic of cloth! Saint Christopher befriend me! I confessed myself but yesterday! Bethink ye, my masters, why compass ye the death of an innocent man! The bough hath reft me of my cap! Hold, for the love of mercy! I am a poor knave and a witless!”

To such lamentations no answer was returned, save an occasional peal of laughter. Knight and knave were borne rapidly onward, through paths which not only seemed impervious to the tread, but were hardly penetrable to the sight. At length, a sudden winding in their track brought them into a large open space, which appeared to have been cleared out in the middle of the forest. Here an extraordinary scene burst upon them, which not a little heightened the astonishment of the young lord, and even checked for a space the wailings of his attendant.

In a spacious area, surrounded by lofty trees, which seemed admirably calculated for the concealment of parties met for the prosecution of illicit designs, various groups of men were widely scattered. They appeared to be principally composed of the lower sort of peasantry, who, having no dependence on any one but those to whom they had been born subject, were liable to be called, at a moment’s warning, to engage in the quarrels of their feudal lord. And such seemed to be the purpose which had collected together the force I am endeavouring to describe. Some few were clad in the complete defensive armour of that period, and might be supposed to be those retainers who were more immediately attached to the person of their chief. There were others who were prepared for less regular warfare by the boar-spear or the Norman cross-bow; and others, again, who made little military display beyond the knife which was stuck in their girdle or the rude mace that lay beside them.

A short distance apart from these groups two figures were engaged in conversation, one of whom appeared to be the leader of the party. He was a tall, powerful man, apparently little more than thirty years of age; he seemed to have been inured to toil and danger; and his manner, at once graceful and dignified, gave the idea of one who had been bred up alternately in the camp and the court from his earliest years. His countenance was handsome, but nevertheless unpleasing; for its features indicated a knowledge of the world which partook strongly of dissimulation, and a valour which would not scruple to exert itself in a bad cause. His dress was a mailed shirt, unadorned by any extraneous decoration; but the richly wrought hilt of the dagger which he wore by his side proved that he was a person of no ordinary rank. His attendant was an esquire, who appeared to receive with much deference the communications of his superior.

Reginald and his attendant were immediately conducted into the presence of this chieftain. He had been conversing with his companion in a manner and tone of much hauteur; but when, upon turning round, he beheld the heroes of my story, every appearance of this kind immediately vanished; his brow was in a moment perfectly calm, and his look wore all the pliability and condescension which an able diplomatist knows so well how to assume.

“Sir Knight,” he began, “I am, it is true, a stranger to thee, but I have confidence that those features, and that bearing, bespeak one of the house of d’Arennes.” Reginald bowed, in token of acquiescence; and his new acquaintance (who, by-the-by, had received pretty certain intelligence beforehand of the rank of the person he was addressing) proceeded: “The disturbed state of our realm, Sir Knight, must be my excuse for a measure which courtesy would else have shrunk from. It must also excuse the interrogation which it constrains me to put. With what purpose hast thou journeyed hither?”

Reginald seemed not sufficiently recovered from his surprise to make reply. Robin answered for him, “Marry, with the purpose of journeying back again.”

“Thou wouldest do well to keep thy counsel, friend,” said the querist; “thy flippant tongue might elsewhere procure thee a cap and bells; but here, trust me, it will exalt thee to little else than the bough that waves over my head. I would pray of thee,” he continued to Reginald, “brief answer and speedy.”

Reginald seemed somewhat roused from his torpidity by the overweening tone in which he was addressed: “Hither I came,” he said, “with the purpose of a bridal, and in bridal garment; mantle and cap have I already exchanged for hauberk and helm; and, by thy goodwill, wedding and wassail will briefly be transmuted to quarrel and fray.”

“Art thou so warm for a fray?” said the stranger. “It is the better; thou hast gentle blood within thee, although thy first address did belie it wofully. What if I were to lead thee to a fray, where an estate shall be had for the buckling on of thy harness, and an earldom shall be the requital of every blow? How sayest thou, Reginald d’Arennes? Is not prince’s favour more worth the winning than lady’s love? and is not the possession that is the guerdon of service in field more honourable than the dower that is sued for on bended knee?”

Reginald seemed again frozen into inanimation. Alike ignorant of the person who spoke to him, and of the purport of what he spoke, he had recourse to his never-failing response, “I doubt.” Robin again stepped forward with his ballad admonition, which I shall again endeavour to modernize, “albeit unused to the rhyming mood.”

’Tis merry, ’tis merry, in fair greenwood, When birds are blithely singing; ’Tis merry, ’tis merry, in foughten field, When blows are bravely ringing.

“On to the fight!” saith King Arthure, “Accurst be he that flies! Riches and fame to him that lives! And bliss to him that dies!

Why lingerest thou, Childe Celadon?” Out spoke that cunning knave, “The brightest gift thy crown can give, What boots it in the grave!”

The very prudent and natural suggestion of “Childe Celadon” seemed to have a marvellous effect upon Reginald, and would probably have influenced his reply, had not the attention of his interrogator been called off by another circumstance. To this we must also attribute the safety of the songster’s neck, which, had not this seasonable interruption taken place, would have been ill worth a minute’s purchase.

A messenger had suddenly arrived, and been conducted into the presence of their unknown captor. He appeared to have come from a long distance; and the disordered state of his dress, together with the fatigue which was apparent on his pale countenance, sufficiently proved that he had not spared whip or spur on the journey. He delivered to the chief the letters of which he was the bearer, and retired in silence. The chief broke open the packet; anxiety was strongly marked on his countenance; yet his features changed not, as he read his advices: it was difficult to form a conjecture whether he was rejoiced or displeased by their contents. He called to him his esquire. They held a brief conference apart.

“Cold news, Eustace! The Flemings have been beaten! The slaves fled as the first weapon leaped from its sheath. De Lucy’s powers are drawn together, and Bohun hath Leicester prisoner.”

“Then it were well to seek shelter while the tempest is yet coming on. It will blow a fierce wind ere long!”

“Let it blow,” said the chief, drawing himself up to the full height of his figure; “there are those that shall weather the gale. What, Eustace! Thinkest thou that in caves, or in castles, or in fastnesses, there is safety for those whom Henry calls traitors? Our refuge is in battle-field, our trust in ready sword. I have advanced my foot in this quarrel, and yon oak is not fixed more firmly.”

“I am ready to serve thee in good and in ill: I am ready to live and to die with thee; but it were sheer madness, with thy single force, to----”

The chief interrupted him by unfolding his letters and pointing to several names which were mentioned in them, speaking hastily as he went on. “Archetil is up in arms--Ferrars is with us--Roger de Moubray hath good bowmen--Hamo de Mascie will not flinch--Hugh Bigod will not be idle in a rising--Clare and Gloucester may be won; and, let but Williams hear the news of our arming, the North shall see a hundred thousand Scottish spears ere a hundred men are afoot against us. It is no time for dallying: and this place, though for forty-eight hours it hath concealed our ill-assorted levy, is no safe abode for men engaged in this warfare. We must endeavour to join my brother at the setting of to-morrow’s sun.” Eustace bowed, and was preparing to withdraw, but was recalled. A few sentences were exchanged, in which the name of Reginald was frequently mentioned, and he was then summoned before his captor.

“Reginald d’Arennes,” said the Knight, in a low tone of voice, “thou seest before thee Richard de Mallory. For himself he hath little claim to expect that his name should have been breathed in thine ear, but thou wilt know him better as the brother of the renowned Archetil de Mallory, who with many brave companions, which at a more fitting time shall be enumerated to thee, is now in arms against usurpation and tyranny. What sayest thou? Wilt thou continue to disgrace, by thine inactivity, the name of thine ancestor? or wilt thou join thy name to the list of these valiant nobles, buckle thy fortune to thy sword, and win an earldom by my side?”

Now Reginald was by no means deficient in natural penetration, although he had not the firmness of character which was requisite to act upon its suggestions; he saw, therefore, that the attempt of these “valiant nobles,” like the many other conspiracies by which the reign of Henry II. was perpetually threatened, would probably have for its conclusion confiscation and death. He was not very ready to embark in an undertaking of this nature, until he had conferred with the Baron upon its expediency, and had calculated the chances for and against success. Upon the present occasion, therefore, he succeeded with much difficulty in pleading his approaching bridal as an excuse for declining the offer of his new acquaintance.

Richard de Mallory, however, appeared by no means satisfied with the apology; the less so, when upon inquiry he heard that the lady whose unseen charms detained the young lord from the field was of Saxon descent. That the scion of so illustrious a stock should intermarry with that contemned race was an idea which startled the prejudices of the proud Norman; insomuch that he evidently entertained serious doubts of the truth of the narration. “Elfrida of Kennet Hold!” he muttered to himself; “named not the Saxon whom our spies brought hither this morning the name of Kennet Hold?”

“He did,” replied Eustace.

“Lead him hither,” said De Mallory; and instantly, from one of the avenues which led into the forest, some armed men brought forth a captive Saxon, in whom Reginald immediately recognized the messenger who had escaped from his baffled followers in the morning. The Saxon also bestowed a glance of recognition upon his fellow-captive. “Saxon,” said De Mallory scornfully, “what saidst thou was thy name? for in truth the appellations of thy race dwell not long in Norman remembrance.”

“I am called,” said the prisoner, looking on Reginald as he spoke, “Lothaire, the first-born of Leofwyn of Kennet Hold. Thy name, Richard de Mallory, is not unknown to me: thou art one of those who have raised up the subjects against the king, and the sons against the father. But the work needed not thine agency. It shall be long ere a Norman shall know peace on the throne of Harold; long ere the gods of the Saxons shall cease to revenge upon the head of his descendants the usurpation of the first William.”

“I asked not for thy forebodings; nor knew I that I had a prophet in my camp. One more question shall I ask thee. Shall Reginald d’Arennes wed thy father’s daughter?”

Lothaire seemed much embarrassed by the question: he hesitated for some time; until at last, smiling, as if he had found the means of releasing himself from some difficulty, he looked at Reginald with an unintelligible expression of countenance, and replied, “He rideth with that purpose.”

“It is enough,” exclaimed the chief. “The Norman knight that can stoop to wed with the daughter of a Saxon franklin is no fellow in arms for Richard de Mallory. Let them wend on their way together. Where is the fool? It were a pity to deny him such fit company.”

And with this sarcasm the three captives were suffered to depart, being first obliged to swear a binding oath not to divulge what they had seen and heard in their confinement. Reginald suffered himself to be reconducted to the place where he had been seized, without betraying any unusual emotion either of joy or resentment; but Lothaire cast back upon the Norman leader frequent glances expressive of the most determined hate, and a disposition to make a speedy and an ample return for his discourteous hospitality. Their horses were brought to them, and they again set forward upon their errand with no injury but what was occasioned by the long delay they had experienced. It was near sunset, and there seemed little possibility of their reaching Kennet Hold before nightfall. They pushed on, however, at a brisk pace. It may be doubted whether Reginald was altogether pleased with the new companion he had met with in the person of Lothaire, who accompanied him unasked, and threw upon him at whiles a look which spoke anything rather than brotherly love. Robin kept a respectful distance, for he seemed to have for the Saxon youth no stronger predilection than his master.

Meantime the mind of the rebel chief was little disturbed by the disastrous intelligence which he had received. The leader, upon whom his party had placed the greatest reliance, was taken; and the easy defeat of the Flemings had taught him a lesson which every one that embarks in a great undertaking should learn betimes--that it is a perilous thing to put trust in foreign auxiliaries. Yet so accustomed was he to this irregular mode of warfare, and so inured to all the vicissitudes to which the fickle temper of Dame Fortune might subject him, that his mind was at this moment perfectly calm, and hardly rested a thought upon the perilous situation in which he found himself placed. He seated himself at the rude banquet, which his followers were now preparing, with perfect indifference, although the possibility of his enjoying another tranquil meal was at least a matter of doubt. After some time spent in noisy revelling--for when their assistance was required in an affair of so much danger, the chief thought it no scorn to join in the merriment and court the goodwill of his vassals--Richard began to reflect upon his interview with his two captives; and, with a contemptuous smile, he asked who was the Saxon divinity to whom they must attribute the loss of so able a coadjutor in the person of Reginald d’Arennes.

A dozen sturdy voices were lifted up at once, in commendation of the Lady Elfrida. Her tall and commanding stature--her long flaxen hair--her dignified countenance--her cheeks, whose bright complexion invited the flattery which they blushed to hear--and her light blue eye, whose glance beamed so mildly on the meek, and met so proudly the gazes of the proud--were alternately the themes of admiration. At last the chieftain, impatient of these rapturous effusions, which he began to think were endless, poured out his last cup “To the health of the Rose of Kennet Hold,” and deserted the board. He busied himself for a time in giving the necessary orders for their departure early in the ensuing morning; and then, calling Eustace aside, exclaimed: “We will ourselves look upon this Saxon beauty: by our Lady, if she deserve but one half of the praises of these boors, she may haply be the companion of our onward march.” And with these words, attended by his esquire, De Mallory strode from the enclosure.

While this scene was going on, Reginald and his companion had made considerable progress on their journey, and were within a few miles of its termination; yet not a word had been exchanged between them. They looked from time to time towards each other, apparently with a mutual feeling of dislike, if not of apprehension. At last Lothaire led the way to conversation, in a tone which betrayed a strong disposition to offer an insult, although the disposition appeared to be checked or subdued for a time by the counter-agency of some equally powerful motive.

“Sir Reginald,” said he, “knowest thou the qualities which are required in him who would sue for the hand of my sister Elfrida?”

“I have doubts touching this matter,” replied Reginald.

“Methinks,” rejoined his companion, “it were worth the while to instruct thyself further, ere thou settest foot on my father’s threshold; for, of a truth, Elfrida hath a right Saxon spirit and a right Saxon speech: she hath proud eyes, that smile on whom they list and frown on whom they will; and proud thoughts, that respect not so much the glittering of the corselet as the valour of the knight that wears it.”

This was somewhat like a thunderclap to poor Reginald. He had anticipated no difficulties of this nature: the timidity of his nature would have shrunk back with horror from the mention of a protracted courtship. In short, he had expected a path strewn with roses, and he found it beset with briars; he came to wed an obedient and passive bride, and he began to suspect she was little better than an intractable virago. After having spent some moments in reflections of this nature, he gave utterance to his secret musings in a brief soliloquy:

“I am doubting whether or no I shall proceed.”

He was answered by a loud laugh from his intended brother-in-law, who proceeded forthwith to dispel the apprehensions which he had himself excited.

“Cheer thee, noble Knight; be not afraid for a woman. Thou hast, princely Reginald, many valorous and knightly qualities, the least of which might win a richer bride than the daughter of Leofwyn and the sister of Lothaire. Surely thou dost obtain honour at those splendid jousts, from which thou knowest our Saxon habits do utterly revolt; and, doubtless, thou hast skill in foreign music, which thou knowest our Saxon ears do utterly detest; and thou art also skilled in that foreign language which thou knowest a Saxon doth so loath, that he would have his tongue torn from his throat rather than give utterance to its accents.”

“Brother,” said Reginald, who began to perceive the necessity of conciliating Lothaire, “I have meddled but little with courts, and, in my ignorance of these accomplishments, I am a perfect Saxon. But I prithee tell me, in love and fellowship, by what means or endeavours it is possible for me to win the goodwill of thy sister.”

“I will show thee,” said Lothaire. “First, thou must learn to speak, not tardily through thy teeth, as is thy present method, but boldly, openly, and fearlessly, as one man should do to another.”

“Whether this be possible, I doubt,” observed Reginald.

“Secondly,” said his instructor, “at my father’s board thou must not be too ready to relinquish the goblet.”

“I will do thee reason--I will do thee reason, Sir Lothaire,” returned Reginald. “Marry, I shall need but little instruction upon that head.” And he strained his eye as he spoke in the direction of Kennet Hold, as if he would measure the space which lay between his lip and the flagon.

“Thirdly,” resumed Lothaire, “thou must hate a Norman as thou wouldest hate the foul fiend.”

“I do,” cried Reginald; “I do hate a Norman: the Norman we parted from e’en now, Richard de Mallory. A blight upon him! He hath bound me, scoffed at me, worried my body and my mind, until I can scarcely keep my saddle on my journey or recollect whither the journey tendeth. A murrain on the proud knight! Doth he fancy that I care aught whether the father or the son hath the better? whether the Henry I serve be called the second or the third?”

“If I may risk prophecy,” muttered the Saxon, “thou wilt never see the third Henry wearing his father’s crown. We have worn the yoke of your tyrants long enough; and it is time that the throne of Alfred should be again filled by one of his descendants. Despised and oppressed as we are, there are still true Saxons enow to drive ye headlong from the land ye have spoiled.”

The two young men continued to ride as far apart as courtesy and their roads would permit, and the line of conversation into which they had fallen did not seem likely to promote kinder feelings between them. Reginald’s national prejudices began to rise high within him, and to overpower the want of energy which was his failing. “Sir Lothaire,” he replied doggedly, “methinks thou hast forgotten Hastings.”