Part 8

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

The crowd had borne Alftrude away from her brother-in-law's side during the 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 two shining half-moons of cake in the other. Distaste and hesitancy were in the 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 this modesty? 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 the Scrob was now beside them: with the first missile to hand, his own money-bag, he struck at the head of Ulwin; and Ulwin reeled and sat down upon the ground with a curse and a roar.

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

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

"Look, look!" the ale-wife screamed. "His ill-gotten silver of itself runs from him! Gather, gather, I say--it is his no more! All these French 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 the muddy ground.

Thralls, boys, and children hurled themselves upon them; they struggled, 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 as death and still as a stone. Alftrude hid her face in her hands.

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

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

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

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

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

Alftrude had flung her arms about Ulwin. She seemed in a swoon: no, she was not fainting; her cheeks were aglow, and her finger-nails were embedded 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, had forgotten him. He ran between the outlying houses, followed by his servants, and upon the outskirts of the town they came face to face with 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 than by banishment!"

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

"Lord Abbot! Lord Abbot!"

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

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

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

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

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

"Indeed--and, Ednoth, art thou Witanagemot? Thou art too rash--ye are sadly unbridled, folk of Ludford. Hear the truth from me. There are surely many foreigners, Normans of the King's mother's people, who do craftily suck the wealth of England, and who bear not themselves truly towards blessed Edward our King; and Godwin and his Great Gemot have decreed that such shall go forth whither they came and leave the sway of England to Englishmen. But are there not some Normans, worthy fellows, whom no man could wish ill? Richard who dwells at Overton--has he not lived fifteen years among you, in good repute? In all Herefordshire is there no better dealer in corn and cattle: from Shrewsbury to Hereford is none more learned in the laws of English and of Welsh--none who can write a fairer hand--none of readier wit or smoother 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; I reasoned with stern Godwin; and ere I left London both had promised me my will. Yesterday the sheriff sent to me anent the outgoing of the French; and I have ridden since dawn, seeking Ricardus, that I might show him how Holy Church rewardeth goodwill for goodwill. Hugolin bideth about King Edward, they tell me, and Robert the Staller--they are faithful servants; as for the others, one Dumfrey--some outlandish name!... Hah! I have the sheriff's writing.... 'Banished be they all beyond 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 blessing upon you. I rede you repent of your rashness. Ye are not robbers and rioters--no, but law-abiding English. Ricardus, come to me to-morrow morning: I have much to talk over with thee." So saving, he signed to his attendants, and ambled away.

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

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

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

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

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

"What wouldst thou?" said Ulwin to Alftrude. "I bade thee leave the thing 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 likely thou 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 and half-thawed snow which represented the descending track from Ulwin's dwelling of the Moor to the highway between Ludford and Leominster. Upon him was Alftrude, closely muffled in a grey felt mantle, and beside him, holding the bridle, splashed and floundered a bare-legged boy, the bondman's son, with alder-clogs upon his feet. Alftrude rode in some discomfort, perched astride upon a man's saddle: her right arm supported a big wicker basket. The December sun shone out self-assertively: nevertheless the child slapped his free hand continually against his thigh, and often blew ruefully upon the fingers that clasped the reins. The widow, however, paid no heed to the moist chill 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 moment to listen. There was no sound but the purring of a brook beneath its perforated covering of ice. She urged on her stolid steed.

As they reached the heath, they heard the scrunch of a horse's hooves upon the ground they had just traversed. Alftrude turned her head nonchalantly; then she smote the cob such a sudden blow with her whip that 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 beside her.

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

"If ye be content, madame, I am honoured," said Richard. "It was no matter. The maltman's dunderhead son passed it about the ale-house that night. 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 rolled ten-deep upon him about the floor, until their sense of fair-play had obliged them to draw off.)

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

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

They had reached the steepest slope of the hill. Richard the Scrob dismounted.

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

"I must to Ludford," she answered. "What think ye of this? There are seven young children at home, and in the house no spices nor dried grapes to make them Yuletide broth or Yuletide cake, and the housewife will not send any for these! Yet our bairns must have their Christmas fare like other bairns! so I am for Hildred the ale-wife, who has such sweet stuffs to sell." But even as she enlarged upon her purpose, her cheeks blushed red.

"It is shameful!" said he, and his tone was full of warmth. "I like not their dealings with you, these kinsmen of your former lord!"

"Good friend," said Alftrude, "how wilt thou do now? Thy cattle--thy money--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--so have I done all the days of my life. When I first came over to join the train of Ralf the Earl, I had nothing but two silver pieces, my pen and inkhorn, and my wits. That was fifteen years ago.... They have been lonely 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 her off."

"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 silent laughter.

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

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

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

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

"There goes Burghild of Caynham," said Alftrude. "It is now five years since she took her holy oaths. I would not be she for all the world--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's daughter, and Godric the brother of Athelstane of Berrington loved her dearly, and she him. But his lands were small and barren, and he could offer her no fitting home, or so he thought. He would take service with some great lord, and store what wealth the saints might send him, that he might make yon maiden his wife. They met twice or thrice in the year, and I am sure each read the other's mind; but he never told her of his love and of his hopes. And she pined for him, and grew pale, and tart of mood. Godric went out with Earl Sweyn against the Welsh king, and was slain by the Welshmen. When Burghild heard these tidings, she fell sick of sorrow, even nigh unto death; but she is brave; she clung to life, and now she is the Church's bride. Oh, sad that lack of goods should sunder two true hearts!"

"How could he speak, being a man without wealth?" said Richard. "He might 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.... "Pardon my rough speech, Lady Alftrude; but I have marked how they treat you--you who were their brother's wife--better born than they, and better nurtured. As the dirt underfoot! Must ye abide beneath their roof? Is there none other with whom ye might dwell?"

"My brother is a thane about the King's court. I have not set eyes on him 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 have been widowed these five years. Since Winge my husband died, the land and goods with which he left me--aye, and mine own goods which I brought him--I may not call mine own. The first they till and order as they 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 your leave' to me! Ulwin would have sold my mirror of steel last week, but I hid it.... Richard Scrob's son, there are two of thine oxen among the cattle at the Moor. At least, I am sure I saw them at Martin's Fair within 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 fold of periwinkle blue from beneath her winter wrapping. "True, it is not of my weaving; but mine own corn did I sell to buy the cloth. I believe they grudge me my mother's own jewels! Ulwin, and Alward, and Ednoth, and their mother, and the wives of the three. There would be no pleasure for any but Ulwin, if he could have his way: others must scrape and lack for him. A bad husbandman, too, is Ulwin. Men will give him but little for his crops and cattle. And that little leaves his poke that he may feast and game, and bet on sparring-cocks. But I think the women are the worst to dwell with."

"And the housewife--your husband's mother? Has she no kindness for thee, 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 is yet before me."

"Here is Ludford. Now, God speed you, lord," said she, holding out her hand 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 it that 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 of a feeble struggle as though a heavy body strove vainly to extricate itself from glutinous, liquescent soil. Richard the Scrob got down from his horse, handed the reins to Perot, who walked beside him, and strode in among the alders. The light of the sinking moon revealed a man lying face downwards, his legs submerged in a marshy pool, his hands clinging to a tuft of rushes. Having chosen a firm foothold, Richard seized the unfortunate by the scruff of the neck, and hauled him on to more or less solid ground. The bloated visage, streaming with mud, was just recognizable as that of Ulwin of the Moor.

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

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

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

"No robber am I. Ulwin, I am Richard of Overton. Ye have known me this many 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! And Alward 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 left me 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 your horse. 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 upon them, how might I not do likewise? One hundred shillings have I lost to the men of Wigmore! And, Richard, I am burdened with debt: one hundred and forty shillings in all do I owe among my neighbours. I must sell myself into thralldom--my wife--my hapless bairns! Let me flee the shire...."

Richard brought a leather wallet from beneath his mantle.

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

"What?" shouted Ulwin, scrambling to his knees. "Money? Money? How comest thou by money? Art surely a sorcerer--a warlock--leagued with Satan and all his devils! Why, it is not three years since we--since thy cattle was driven loose and thy silver scattered and lost beneath the 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 forty shillings--such shalt thou borrow of me.... Nay, not now. At thine own dwelling, in the afternoon.... Give me Alftrude thy brother's widow to wife: that she will have me I know well. Half thy brother's morning-gift to her of land shalt thou keep; and if within ten years from this day thou owe me still that which I do pledge me here and now to lend thee, I will take again Ashford and its mill. They were truly holden 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 through Senlac slaughter," Grim replied. "This William is a stark man, they say; but he has sworn to abide by our old laws."

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

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

"Under seven kings have I dwelt," Ingelric the ancient murmured dreamily. "First Ethelred, then Sweyn, then Canute. Canute was a Dane, but a better man than Ethelred. Then Harefoot, then Hardicanute, then Edward whom they call the Blessed. Well, well, peace to his soul! There were 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 strongly and 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, with bright 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 him to observe. "I think there will be no more frost nor snow."

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

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

"Is it nothing to you all," cried Edric the Wild, "that England shall be no more England, but Normandy? What of Harold, our King and our Earl of late, and his bloody end? Must we all bow to the robber, because the men of the South loved their harvest-beer better than their motherland?"

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

"We have our hills and our woodlands," Edric continued. "When William sends his warriors amongst us, we will lead them jack-o'-lantern's dance, and utterly undo them. My men are all armed and ready to come forth whensoever I bid them; and I have the word of the Welsh lords that they will give us help."

"If Howel of Irchenfield were here," Kenric remarked ruminatively, "he would tell you to put no trust in the word of a Welshman. And Howel is right: they do never cleave to us, though time and again have they sworn faith and truth unto our kings. And I have not seen Howel this day...."

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