CHAPTER XXIV.

THE DUNGEON.

It was just before sunset of the disastrous day which saw the traitorous monks of Ely return from the castle at Cam-Bridge, that the Lord of Brunn and his trusty sword-bearer arrived at Turbutsey[240] (where the monks of old had landed the body of Saint Withburga) with the corn and wine for the abbey; and also with the dead body of the Salernitan, which they hoped to inter in the abbey church-yard. Turbutsey had but few in-dwellers; and the poor hinds that were there had heard nothing of the foul report of Lord Hereward’s death, which had wrought such mischief in the abbey. Lord Hereward, eager to be at his proper post in the Camp of Refuge, took the direct road, or path, which led thereunto, carrying with him, for the comfort of secular stomachs, only a few flagons of wine and a few measures of wheat, and ordering Elfric to go up to the abbey with all the rest of the provision, as soon as it should be all landed from the boats and skerries. But, before the landing was finished, there came down some gossips from the township of Ely, who reported with marvellous sad faces, that the gates of the abbey had been closed ever since the mid-day of yesterday; and that the whole house was as silent and sad as a pest-house, on account, no doubt, of the death of the good Lord of Brunn, the kind-hearted, open-handed lord, who had ever befriended the Saxon poor! Upon hearing them talk in this fashion, the sword bearer came up to the gossips, and told them that the Lord of Brunn was no more dead than he was.

“Verily,” said the people, “the sad news came down to the township yesterday before the hour of noon; and ever since then the abbey gates and church gates have been closed, and the township hath been in tears.”

Now, upon hearing this strange news, Elfric’s quick fancy began to work, and apprehending some evil, albeit he knew not what, he resolved not to carry up the stores, but to go up alone by himself to see what strange thing had happened in the abbey, that should have caused the monks to bar their doors, and even the doors of the church, against the faithful. He thought not of the want of rest for one night, or of the toils he had borne on that night and during two whole days, for he had borne as much before without any great discomfort; but he looked at the stark body of the Salernitan, as it lay with the face covered in one of the boats, and then he thought of Girolamo’s death-wound and dying moment, and of the ill-will which some of the convent had testified towards that stranger, and of the rumours he had heard of murmurings and caballings against the good Lord Abbat, and he said to himself, “My heart is heavy, or heavier than it ever was before, and my mind is haunted by misgivings. If the monks of Ely be traitors to their country, and rebels to their abbat, by all the blessed saints of the house of Ely they shall not taste of this bread, nor drink of this wine! And then this unburied, uncoffined, unanealed[241] body, and the dying prayer of Girolamo for Christian burial, and a grave whither the Normans should come not!... I must see to that, and provide against chances.” And having thus said to himself, he said aloud to his troop of fenners: “Unload no more corn and wine, but stay ye here at Turbutsey until ye see me back again; but if I come not back by midnight, or if any evil report should reach ye before then, cross the river, and carry all the corn and the wine with ye deep into the fens; and carry also with ye this the dead body of Girolamo, unto whom I bound myself to see it interred in some safe and consecrate place; and go by the straightest path towards Spalding! Do all this if ye love me and reverence the Lord of Brunn; and in the meanwhile rejoice your hearts with some of the good drink: only be wise and moderate.” And the fenners said that they would do it all, and would be moderate: and thereupon, leaving behind him the Ely gossips, and the fenners, the corn, the wine, and the dead body of Girolamo, Elfric took the road to the abbey, and arrived _ad magnam portam_, at the main-gate, before it was quite dark. A few of the town folk had followed him to the gate, shouting with all their main that Elfric the lucky sword-bearer had come back, that the Lord of Brunn had come back, and that they had brought good store of corn, meal, and wine for my Lord Abbat Thurstan: for, upon reflection, Elfric had thought it wise to tell them this much. But from within the abbey Elfric heard no sound, nor did he see the form or face of man, in the turret over the gate-way, or in the windows, or on the house-top. But there were those or the watch within who saw Elfric very clearly, and who heard the noise the town-folk were making: and anon the small wicket-gate was opened, and Elfric was bade enter; and the poor folk were commanded to go home, and cease making that outcry. Once, if not twice, Elfric thought of withdrawing with the Ely folk, and then of racing back to Turbutsey; for he liked not the aspect of things: but it was needful that he should have a clear notion of what was toward in the abbey, and so blaming himself, if not for his suspicions, for his own personal apprehensions, he stepped through the wicket, taking care to shout, at the top of his voice, as he got under the echoing archway, “Good news! brave news! The Lord Hereward is come back to the camp, and hath brought much corn and wine for this hallowed house! Lead me to Abbat Thurstan—I must speak with the Lord Abbat forthwith!

“Thou mayst speak with him in the bottomless pit,” said the sub-prior. And as the sub-prior spoke, under the dark archway within the gate, a half-score from among the traitorous monks leaped upon the faithful sword-bearer, and put a gag into his mouth, so that he could cry out no more, and whirled him across the court-yards, and through the cloisters, and down the steep wet staircase, and into the cell or vault, or living grave, within and under the deep foundations of the abbey: and there, in the bowels of the earth, and in utter solitude and utter darkness, and with three several iron-bound doors closed upon him, they left him, making great haste to return to the refectory, and hoping that their plan had been so well managed that none but the desperate members of their own faction had either seen Elfric enter, or heard his shouts, or the shouts of the town-folk.

So soon as Elfric could get the gag out of his mouth, and recover from his first astonishment, he began to think; and he thought that this was but a bad return for his fighting and risking death for the sake of the stomachs and bowels of the monks of Ely; and he became convinced in his own mind that the traitorous monks must have made away with the noble Abbat Thurstan, and have consummated their treachery: and then he thought of his friends in the Camp of Refuge, and at Hadenham, and of the Lord Hereward and the Ladie Alftrude, and, most of all, of the maid Mildred! And then there came before him the ghastly face of the Salernitan, and rang in his ears, like a knell, the words which the dying Girolamo had used in the morning, when speaking of the hard doom of his beloved! And, next to this, he bethought himself of the fearful legend of the house of Ely, which related how the blinded prince, who had pined so long in those dreary vaults, had ever since haunted them under the most frightful forms! Yet when his lively fancy had brought all these things before him, and even when he had become convinced that he would be buried alive, or left to starve and gnaw the flesh from his own bones in that truly hellish pit, which he knew was as dark by day as by night, a sudden and sweet calm came over his distraught mind; and he kneeled on the cold slimy floor of the dungeon and raised to heaven his hands, which he could not see himself, but which were well seen by the saints above, unto whom thick darkness is as bright light; and when he had said a short prayer for himself and for his Mildred, for his generous lord and most bountiful ladie, he threw himself along the ground, and laying his left arm under his head for a pillow, he made himself up for sleep. “Come what will,” said he, “I have been true to my God, to my saints, to my country, to my church, to my lord and master, and to my love! This martyrdom will soon be over! Not these deep hollows of the earth, nor all the weight of all the walls and arched roofs and springing towers of Ely Abbey can crush or confine, or keep down, the immortal spirit of man! Mildred! my Lord Hereward! my noble lady and mistress! and thou, oh joyous and Saxon-hearted Lord Abbat Thurstan! if traitors have it their own way here, we meet in heaven, where there be no Normans and no Saxon traitors!” And so saying, or thinking, and being worn out by excess of fatigue, or rather by the excessiveness of his late short moral anguish,—an agony sharper than that of the rack, upon which men are said to have fallen asleep,—Elfric in a very few moments fell into the soundest of all sleeps. The toads, which fatten in darkness, among the noxious and colourless weeds which grow where light is not, and the earth-worms crawled over and over him, but without awakening him, or giving him any disturbance in his deep sleep. And as he slept, that black and horrent dungeon, in which his body lay, was changed, by the bright visions which blessed his sleep, into scenes as bright as the chapel of Saint Etheldreda in the abbey church, on the great day of the saint’s festival, when a thousand waxen tapers are burning, and the whole air is loaded with incense and with music. It was the sunshine of a good conscience shining inwardly.

Now, while it fared thus with the captive below, much talk and discussion took place among divers of the honest monks above; for, notwithstanding the great care which had been taken to send away the Ely folk, and to seize and gag Elfric as soon as he came within the gate, the cry of the men of Ely, and the shout of the sword-bearer that Lord Hereward had come back, and had brought much corn and wine, were heard in almost every part of the house; and, upon hearing them, the monks that were not of the faction grievously lamented what had been done against the Lord Abbat, and in favour of the Normans, and very clearly perceived that a trick had been put upon them in the report of Lord Hereward’s death.

“I tell ye now, as I told ye then,” said Father Kynric, “that ye all make too much account of your meat and drink, and are all too impatient of temporary inconvenience. But what said the blessed Etheldreda? ‘The fashion of this world passeth away; and that only is to be accounted life which is purchased by submitting to temporal inconveniences.’”

“And tell me,” said that other good old Saxon monk, the Father Celred; “tell me, oh my brethren, tell me how Saint Etheldreda fared when she was in the flesh, and ruled this house as lady abbess?”

“Aye,” said good Father Elsin, “Saint Etheldreda never wore linen, but only woollen; she never returned to her bed after matins, which were then begun immediately after midnight; and, except on the great festivals of the church, she ate only once a day, nor cared nor knew whether her bread was white or brown.”

“Alack!” said Kenulph of Swaffham, a cloister-monk who had voted for the wicked prior solely because the cellars and the granaries were empty; “alack! man’s flesh is weak, and hunger is so strong! Saint Etheldreda was a woman, and a delicate princess; but, an she had been an upland man like me, and with such a sharp Saxon stomach as I have, she never could have lived upon one meal a day!”

“That is to say,” quoth Father Cranewys, “if she had not been sustained by permanent and wondrous miracle, for ye wis, Brother Kenulph, that there be ladie saints in hagiology that have lived for octaves, and for whole moons together, upon nothing but the scent of a rose. I wonder, and would fain know, how much corn and wine the Lord of Brunn hath brought with him.”

“Whatever he hath brought,” quoth Father Kynric, “the Normans will get it all! the prior and the sub-prior, and all the rest of the officials speak in riddles, but none of us can be so dull as not to see that Duke William will be here to-night or to-morrow morning, and that the prior went to invite him hither. The mischief is now done, and the prior is too strong to be resisted; but if there were but three cloister-monks of my mind, I would break out of this house in spite of the sub-prior’s calls, and locks, and bars! Yea, I would break out and release the brave boy Elfric, and away with him to the Camp of Refuge, to put my Lord Hereward and our other noble friends, and the whole Saxon host upon their guard. Everlasting infamy will rest upon the monks of Ely, if they be taken and massacred in their sleep.”

“If,” said the monk from Swaffham, “the supplies which the Lord Hereward hath brought be abundant, I would rather go and pass this autumn and coming winter in the fens, than stay here under the usurped rule of the prior, who beareth a mortal hatred against all of us that ever opposed him. Nay, I would rather continue to eat meat and fish without bread (provided only there was a little wine), than abide here to witness so foul a treason as thou talkest of. But prithee, brother Kynric, how much corn and wine may a man reasonably expect to have been brought down, and where is it?”

Kynric responded, that he only knew that the Ely folk had cried, that there was good store of corn, meal, and wine, and that Elfric had shouted within the gate that there was much corn and wine.

Father Elsin said that he had heard the cellarer say to the sub-sacrist, that the good store of provision would be at Turbutsey, inasmuch as Hereward had promised to land it there; and that at a very early hour in the morning it should all be sent for and brought into the abbey.

“In that case,” quoth the upland monk, “If a few of us could sally out before midnight, the corn and wine might be ours.”

“Of a surety,” said Father Kynric, “and we might carry it with us into the fens, which will not be conquered though the Camp of Refuge should fall; and we might share it with Lord Hereward and his true Saxons, and look to time and chance, and the bounty of the saints, for fresh supplies.”

“Then by all the saints that lie entombed in Ely,” said Kenulph of Swaffham, “I will break out and quit this dishonoured and dishallowed community! The porter at the great gate came like me from Swaffham; Tom of Tottington, the lay-brother that waits upon the sub-prior, the holder of the keys, was brought into this house by me: there be other lay brothers and servientes that would do my will or thy will, oh Kynric, or thine, Elsin, or thine, Celred, sooner than the will of the prior, and the rather since they have heard of the corn and wine! Assuredly they will unbar doors and break out with us when they are told that the store is so near at hand as at Turbutsey!”

“An we could but carry off with us our true Lord Abbat Thurstan,” said Father Kynric, “it were a glorious deed.”

“But it cannot be,” quoth Kenulph, “for the infirmarer told me anon that Thurstan is sick almost to death; and then he is watched and guarded by all the keenest of the faction, and the faction is too numerous and strong to allow us to proceed by force, or to attempt anything save by stratagem and in secrecy. But, silence! we are watched, and that fox, the sub-sacrist, is getting within ear-shot. So let us separate, and let each of us, before going into the dormitory, and into his cell, speak with such of the house as he can with entire faith depend upon. I will go unto the gate-keeper.”

It was the custom of the monks to walk and talk in the cloisters for a space between supper and bed time; and the above discourses were made in the quietest corner of the cloisters a very short time before the second watch of the night. Those who had made them separated, and very soon after they all withdrew to the dormitory; and the sub-prior, as was the bounden duty of his office, went through the dormitory and knocked at every cell-door, and called upon every monk by name, and heard and saw that each monk and each novice was in his cell for the night. And when the sub-prior had thus fulfilled what was _in statutis ordinis_, he went to his own chamber, which was in the turret over the great gateway; and being weary, he went straight to his bed, first putting under his pillow the key of the gate, and the keys of the foul dungeon into which Elfric had been whirled. The prior, the chamberlain, the cellarer, and other chiefs of the faction, sate up awhile in secret conference in the prior’s own private chamber; but then they too separated and went to their beds, comforting themselves with the prospect of the abundance which should henceforward reign in the house, and of the honours and advantages they should severally receive on the morrow from Duke William for their dark treason to their countrymen. Being all worn out with fatigue, they were soon fast asleep, each having proposed to himself to rise at a very early hour in the morning, in order to get in Lord Hereward’s supplies, and to see to the proper decorating of the church for the reception of Duke William, and his brother the fighting bishop, and the rest of the Norman crew. Above and below, the whole abbey of Ely was asleep when the good fathers Kynric, Elsin, Celred, Cranewys, and Kenulph, with two other cloister-monks who had determined to flee from the house, came one by one in perfect silence, and carrying their shoes and sandals in their hands, forth from the dormitory, and into the quadrangle of the abbey, and then under the low arched way, where the gatekeeper, that free layman from Swaffham, was standing ready to unbar the gate, and where the lay-brother that waited upon the sub-prior was waiting for his order to begin. A word from Father Kenulph in his ear, and away went the sub-prior’s man up into the chamber over the gateway. And before one might say three credos, the lay-brother was back again under the archway, with the four ponderous keys in his hand. Then they all went into the gatekeeper’s room, where two cressets were burning brightly; and by that light the cloister monks saw that there was blood upon the heaviest of the keys.

“Tom of Tottington,” said Kenulph, “what is this? What is it thou hast done?”

“Nothing;” said the serviens, “but only this: the sub-prior woke from his sleep as I drew the keys from under his pillow, and was going to cry out and alarm the house, and so I brained him. He was ever hard master unto me.”

“Well!” quoth Kenulph, “’tis better that the sub-prior perish in his sins and unconfessed, than that we fail in our enterprise, and leave our friends in the Camp to be taken unawares. So, Tom of Tottington, hurry thee down to the prison and bring up Elfric.”

The churl from Tottington grew quite pale, and said, “I dare not do it! I am no cloister-monk or mass-priest, and have no Latin whereby to lay spirits! I cannot adventure into the bowels of the earth to face the restless ghost of the blind prince.... I cannot go alone!”

“Well!” quoth Kenulph, who first crossed himself, “I will go with thee; so bear the keys, and I will carry the light, and say the prayer _Ab hoste maligno libera nos, Domine_, as we go.”

The sword-bearer was still sleeping happily when the monk and the lay-brother came into the dark vault with the bright shining cresset; but as the light fell upon his eyelids he awoke, and saw Father Kenulph standing over him; and then he started up and said, “I have been dreaming a true dream; for when did Father Kenulph do aught but good to honest man and true Saxon! Ah! Tom of Tottington, art thou here too? Then shall I not be buried alive or starved to death!”

“Elfric,” said Kenulph, “thou art safe and free, so rise and follow us. But tell me, good Elfric, what supply didst bring to Turbutsey?”

“We loaded with corn and with wine a score of upland pack-horses, and many more than a score of strong asses,” said the sword-bearer.

“’Tis well,” quoth Kenulph, licking his lips and rubbing his hands, “’tis better than well! So follow me, and when thou comest to the upper regions make no noise, for the Lord Abbat Thurstan is deposed from his authority and is sick unto death; the abbey is in the hands of the prior and his crew; and we and a few more honest members of the house are flying from it to get the stores at Turbutsey, and to give warning to the Lord of Brunn, that the false monks of Ely have sold and betrayed him.”

“I thought as much as all this,” quoth the sword-bearer; and without asking any questions, he followed the cloister-monk and the lay-brother to the gatekeeper’s chamber, praising and blessing the saints for this his so speedy deliverance. As he entered the room, reverentially saluting the other cloister-monks, the porter gave him his sword, which had been snatched from him upon his being first seized under the gateway. Next the stout porter took down some swords and spears, and fen-poles, that hung in his room, and armed his friends and himself with them; and then, in less than a Credo, the whole party got out of the monastery through the wicket-gate, and, first closing and fastening the wicket on the outside, they all took the broad high road that leads to Turbutsey. Six good cloister-monks, and ten good lay-brothers and servientes, were there in this company; but all the rest of the convent remained behind to await the slaughter of their countrymen in the Camp, to welcome the Normans to Ely, and to get from them—that which they deserved. Elfric and Tom of Tottington (an expert fenner, and much fitter to be a soldier than the waiting-man of a monk) presently quitted the road to take a rough path across the fens which led directly into the Camp: the rest hastened on to Turbutsey, and as they arrived there before the midnight, they were in good time to aid the true men Elfric had left there in getting the good stores across the river and well into the fens. Some of the party would have left the body of Girolamo behind at Turbutsey, or would have thrown it into the river; but the people said what Elfric had said to them concerning the dead body, and the fighting men who had fought the Normans near Brandon, and who had seen with their own eyes the Christian end the Salernitan had made, all declared that Girolamo must have Christian burial in some consecrated place where the Normans could not disturb his ashes.