Chapter 45

During these important negotiations two messengers arrived at Clitheroe, who in consequence of the deputy's absence for a season, held a secret conference with the Dean of Whalley ere they departed. An order was left that the castle should be forthwith in readiness for the reception of some distinguished guest. In those days tidings travelled slowly in such thinly-populated districts; like the heath-fire, which extends rapidly where the fuel is thickly strewn, but is tardy in spreading where it is less abundant.

The dean, having received the messengers, took special care that the knowledge of their arrival should be kept, if possible, from the ears and eyes of Adam de Dutton, who happened for several days at that season to be hunting in the forest, where a mighty slaughter of game--wolves, bears, and such like--was the result; in which dangerous pastime, Geoffery, the dean's only son, acted a distinguished part. This bold adventurer was accounted the most skilful hunter in the whole range of these vast forests, where the venison was so strictly kept that the life of a man was held in but little estimation, comparatively, with the care and preservation of a beast.

The Deans of Whalley, as we have before seen, were mighty hunters in those days; and a wild and picturesque story is told in Dugdale's _Mon. Angl._. v. i., to which we have before alluded--to wit, that the great-grandfather of the present incumbent, Liwlphus Cutwolph, cut off a wolf's tail whilst hunting, from which he acquired this surname. Geoffery inherited a more than ordinary passion for the chase. With his bow and hunting-spear he had been known to spend many days in these deep and trackless recesses, where the feet of man rarely trod, and the wild roe and the eagle had their almost inaccessible haunts. Adam was often his only companion; the seneschal's partiality for the sport having rendered these dissimilar spirits more akin than their nature had otherwise permitted.

On the evening of a sultry day Ulphilas had thrown himself on his couch, when, without warning or intimation, the Dean of Whalley stood beside him.

"The holy hermit hath betaken himself early to his repose. How fareth he in this hard cell? 'Tis long since we have met."

"Peradventure it might have been longer, had not news travelled to thine ear touching the safety of the Fitz-Eustace and his speedy arrival," said the hermit, without so much as turning his eyes toward his visitor. Robert de Whalley stood silent and aghast. This was a direct and unequivocal testimony to the prescience of the good father, for to no ears but his own had the tidings been communicated.

"Thou knowest of his return?"

"Yes, ere the knowledge was thine," said the hermit carelessly.

"There is little use in secrecy where the very walls possess a tongue; and seeing that the first part of mine errand is known, it may be thou art as well instructed in the latter, which is the true purport of my visit."

"I am," replied the other quickly, now for the first time fixing his eyes on the intruder, "and of the issue too, I trow."

"Ah!" said the dean, with a long-drawn exclamation of surprise, and a sudden gasp as though he would have held the secret more tightly to his bosom; "and who"--

"Nay, thou art but obeying the impulse of thy nature," said the hermit, musing. "The brutes ye hunt obey their common instinct--and thou--Yet the ravening wolf and the cunning fox ye follow, and worry to their death."

"Death!" cried the dean; "what meanest thou?"

"Did I not counsel thee to beware? But thou wilt tumble into thine own pitfall. The trap is laid for thine own feet!"

The hermit sat on the low couch, and he gazed wildly round the cell as though pursuing some object visible only to himself.

"Give me the parchments committed to thy trust by De Lacy, and I will build a house to thy good saint, enriching it with rare endowments."

"Thou wouldest drive a thrifty bargain with Heaven. Verily thou shouldst have the best on 't, though," replied the hermit, with a contemptuous smile.

"Truly I could but return to Heaven the bounties that it gave; yet would I, peradventure, build, for His honour and glory, to whom all things belong, a habitation, the like whereof hath not been seen for stateliness and grandeur," said the dean, with affected reverence and humility of spirit.

"Others may do that as well as thou."

"But will he, whose coming is now at hand, make so costly a sacrifice for the welfare of the Church? I will found an abbey, holy father, consecrate to thy patron, wherein thou shalt be the ruler. I purpose to enrich it with half my possessions, even of those whereby, through thy ministry, I do become entitled from the death of Robert de Lacy."

"Which meaneth, if I but aid thee to rob another of some large and goodly inheritance, thou wilt give to Heaven, forsooth, a portion of what belongs not to thee."

"Once thou didst promise me thine aid."

"To robbery and rapine?"

"I have not wronged _thee_!"

"Nor I"--

"Thou hast; the inheritance is mine; thou hast robbed me of my right, but I will regain these lands or perish on them."

"And so thou mayest, unblushing traitor."

"Traitor!--ah! this word to me?"

"Yes, to thee, Robert de Whalley!"

"Thou art in my power, old man; ere I entered thy cell I left a trusty keeper at the door," cried the dean, with a grin of savage exultation.

"In thy power!--never, miscreant."

"Give the deed to my keeping, and no harm shall happen thee; refuse, and thou art my prisoner. Force may accomplish my wishes without thy compliance."

The hermit's eyes glistened like twin fires in their hollow recesses. He stood erect, confronting his visitor, who, bold in audacity and guilt, repeated his demand.

"Never!" said the hermit.

"Then die, fond dotard!" cried De Whalley; and, sudden as the lightning-stroke, he drew a dagger from his vest, aiming a blow at the hermit's bosom; but, marvellous to relate, the steel hardly penetrated the folds of his drapery, glancing back with a dull sound, his person remaining uninjured. A look of unutterable scorn curled the features of the charmed, and apparently invulnerable, being before him.

"Cowardly assassin!" he cried, "I hold thy threats at less worth than a handful of this base dust beneath my feet, and utterly defy thy power. I am free as the untrammelled air, and thou mayest as well attempt to grasp the shadow or the sunbeam!"

Swift as the words he uttered the hermit disappeared! The effect was so sudden, aided, in all likelihood, by the dimness and obscurity of the cell, that, to the astonished apprehension of De Whalley, Ulphilas had made himself more impalpable than the air he breathed, sinking like a shadow through the rocky floor.

"Thou hast escaped me, fiend," said the dean, gnashing his teeth with vexation; "but I will overmatch thy spells: with the aid of this good hand I may yet retrieve the inheritance."

Saying this, he left the cell, and returned to his home at Whalley.

Early on the morrow the hermit entered the hall where Adam de Dutton was preparing for another expedition to the forest. The seneschal looked uneasy and surprised, but acknowledged his presence with great respect and humility.

"Adam de Dutton, thou hast other work to do," cried the holy man, "than rambling after these fools i' the forest! Thy lord will be here anon."

"How! whom meanest thou?" inquired the castellan, with a vacant stare of astonishment.

"Roger de Fitz-Eustace. He is at hand; see thou prepare to meet him."

"Surely thou mockest, Roger de"--

"Peace! The last beam of to-morrow's sun shall see the banner of the Fitz-Eustace beneath the gate."

"To-morrow! Why--how cometh my lord? Surely thou dreamest--or thy"--

"Once more I warn thee of his coming; see to his reception, or thy lord will be wroth; and Roger with the ready hand was not used to be over-nice, or loth in the administering of a rod to a fool's back."

The hermit departed without awaiting the reply.

But great was the stir and tumult in the stronghold of the Lacies on that memorable day. The hurrying to and fro of the victuallers and cooks--the clink of armourers and the din of horses prancing in their warlike equipments--kept up an incessant jingle and confusion. A watchman was stationed on the keep, whose duty it was to give warning when the dust, curling on the wind, should betoken the approach of strangers. The guards were set, the gates properly mounted, and the drawbridge raised, so that their future lord might be admitted in due form to his possession.

The sun went gloriously down towards the wide and distant verge of the forest, and the brow of Pendle flung back his burning glance. Nature seemed to welter in a wide atmosphere of light, from which there was no escape. Panting and oppressed, the hounds lay basking by the wall, and the shaggy wolf-dog crept, with slouching gait and lolling tongue, from the glare into the shadow of some protecting buttress. The watchman sat beneath the low battlements, hardly able to direct his aching eyes towards the forest path below the hill. The monotony of this dull and weary task was reiterated until the very effort became habitual, and he could scarcely recognise or identify any change of object from the absorption of his faculties by the listlessness it created. One slight curl of dust had already escaped him, another waved softly above the trees where the path wound upwards from the valley. Again it was visible, and the watchman seemed to awaken as from a lethargy or a dream. Strangers were surely approaching, but without retinue, as the wreath of dust, from its slight continuance, would seem to intimate. Just as he came to this conclusion, two horsemen swept into view, where a broad turn of the road was visible, disappearing again rapidly behind the arched boughs of the forest.

Bounding almost headlong down the narrow stair, he ran immediately to the hall, informing the deputy of what he had seen. Scarce had he concluded when a hoarse blast from the horn rang at the outer gate. Adam de Button hurried to the postern, where he saw two horsemen, bearing unequivocal signs of their allegiance to the renowned constable of Chester. They wore what was then considered a great novelty in dress, the tabord or _supertotus_, a sleeveless garment, consisting of only two pieces, which hung down before and behind, the sides being left open.[53] Low-crowned yellow caps covered their heads, and the upper tunic was yellow, richly embroidered, reaching only to the knees. They wore forked beards, well pointed, and gloves and boots of beautiful Spanish leather. Their horses were low, but of an exquisite symmetry, and the beasts were pawing and champing before the gate when Adam hastened down into the courtyard. These were avant couriers or messengers from Roger de Fitz-Eustace, whom they announced as being nigh, and to be expected ere nightfall, with his daughter Maud, a maiden much renowned for her beauty.

As the sun sank deeper into the gloom of the woods, and the shadows grew long on the green and sunny slope of the hill, the wild shrill notes of a clarion rung through the forest glades; a distant burst of martial music was heard, together with the roll of a drum--an instrument borrowed from the Saracens, and in use only after the crusades.

Now went forth Adam de Dutton and his train bareheaded to meet their lord, whom they found riding at a slow pace, conversing familiarly, but attentively, with the Dean of Whalley. Behind him came the blushing Maud on a beautiful white palfrey, and beside her a comely youth, in a fair hunting-suit, the son of De Whalley, who, by his fervid and impassioned glances, showed himself apt in other and nobler exercises than the upland chase and the forest cover could afford.

Roger de Fitz-Eustace, the terror and scourge of the Welsh, and by them called "Hell," from the great violence and ferocity of his temper, was then about forty years old. He was clothed in a light suit of armour, the hauberk, with the rings set edgewise, reaching down to the knees. His helmet was cylindrical, the _avantaille_, or face-guard, thrown up. He wore a coloured surcoat; a fashion that seems to have originated with the Crusaders, not only for the purpose of distinguishing the different leaders, but as a veil to protect the armour, so apt to heat excessively when exposed to the direct rays of the sun. It was of a violet colour, without any distinctive mark or badge. His highly-decorated shield was borne behind him, the three garbs and the lions being chiefly conspicuous in the marshalling: the former, the original bearing of Hugh Lupus, was often used by the constables of Chester, in compliment to their chief lord. Its shape was angular, and suspended from the neck by a strap called guige or gige, a Norman custom of great antiquity. A huge broadsword was carried by his armour-bearer, the person of the chief being without any further means of impediment or defence than a French stabbing sword, fastened on one side of his pommel, and a stout battle-axe on the other. The horse was decorated with great and costly profusion. At a short distance rode William de Bellomonte, the baron's inseparable companion. A small train of archers and cross-bowmen brought up the rear of the escort, save the baggage and sumpter horses, laden not only with provisions but cooking utensils, and even with furniture for the household. In those days it was a matter both of economy and necessity for the occupants or lords of several castles to travel with accompaniments of this sort; though possessing many residences, most of them had the means and even conveniences only for the furnishing of one.

The seneschal and his train alighted, doing homage to their lord, who was conducted with great pomp and ceremony into the fortress, now lapsed for ever from the blood and succession of the Lacies; yet Roger de Fitz-Eustace and his descendants, probably in commemoration of the source whence originated their great honours and endowments, were ever afterwards styled by the surname of De Lacy; and, strange as it may appear, his father, John, constable of Chester, who died fifteen years previously to this event, and who founded the Cistercian abbey of Stanlaw, the parent establishment of Whalley, though he had not the slightest pretensions to the name of Lacy, was popularly invested with the name. It is still more singular that the mistake should have been committed by Henry de Lacy, the last of the line of the Fitz-Eustace, third in descent from Roger, in the foundation-charter of Whalley Abbey, where he expressly styles his ancestor "Joh. de Lacy, Const. Cest."

Accompanied by her father and her female attendants, the "gentle" maiden entered the hall. She was stately and beautifully formed, with little show of her lineage except the high forehead and well-formed nose of the Fitz-Eustace. She was enveloped from head to foot in a long gown or habit; over this was cast a richly-embroidered purple silk surcoat or cloak, embellished with those ephemeral absurdities called pocketing-sleeves. These hung from the wrists almost to the ground, showing an opening or pocket which might have supplied the place of a lady's arm-bag in our own era. A wimple or peplus was thrown over the head; a sort of hood, which, instead of covering the shoulders, was brought round the neck beneath the chin like a warrior's gorget, giving an exceedingly stiff and muffled appearance to the upper part of the figure.

Geoffery was unremitting in his attentions, and his father seemed as assiduous in his court to the fierce Crusader, who listened intently to some private intelligence which the dean was evidently much interested in communicating. The following were the only words that could be distinguished at the dismissal of the courteous De Whalley, as he retired a few paces ere he departed:--

"To-morrow be it," said Fitz-Eustace, "after matins, and we will hear thee further in this matter: let him then be conveyed to our presence."

The dean retired, but at dawn he was again present in the chantry of St Michael, within the castle.

Fierce came the beams of the morning sun through the eastern oriel of the hall, and the guards and retainers of this feudal fortress were waiting the appearance of their lord. Lounging idly at the great entrance were those more immediately in attendance on their chief, some playing at _merelles_, or nine-men's morris; others tilting with mimic arms, and twanging the bowstring. The pikemen were drawn up in the courtyard, awaiting orders from their superior. Their glittering weapons flung back the morning light in sharp flashes to the sky; while on the tower the dark pennon hung motionless and drooping in the sultry air.

The news of his arrival had drawn hither not a few of the surrounding peasantry to gaze upon the pomp and to pay homage at the court of their feudal lord; and a crowd of idlers was accumulating beneath the walls of the fortress.

The breakfast meal being over, the baron entered through a side door behind a rude bench, overhung with faded drapery, which formed an elevation for the chief. His cheek was scorched and darkened with the burning suns of Palestine, while his beard seemed to have been whitened in that fiery clime. He was now habited in a rich purple cope or gown, fitting close, without sleeves or armholes, and embellished with a deep gold-coloured border, the Anglo-Saxon mantle being now discarded by persons of distinction. The tunic underneath was of scarlet, bordered with real ermine, which, together with the low square cap or coronet that he wore, gave him something of a regal appearance. A leash of hounds crouched at his feet. Before and below him the heralds and officers of the household arranged themselves, amongst whom Adam de Dutton was conspicuous by his ludicrously-solemn attitude and appearance. The whole scene had the aspect of a military tribunal, especially when Roger de Lacy (by which name we shall now distinguish him) ordered that silence should be proclaimed, and that the Dean of Whalley should be summoned to his presence.

Robert de Whalley immediately presented himself, with arms folded, and an air of great ceremony in his behaviour.

"Thou hast been prompt to our bidding; the lark, I trow, had but newly risen from her bed ere thou wast away from thine," said the baron.

"Three weary miles through this grim forest is good speed ere matins; but I knew the occasion was urgent, and my lord's commands admit not of delay. The palfrey which you so pleasantly noted yestereen is the sole companion of my pilgrimages to and fro for the good of this noble house. I did offer prayers for the soul of the deceased ere matins this morning, in the chapel."

"Hast heard aught of, or communicated with, the traitor thou didst denounce to me privily yesterday?"

"Being holden as one of great sanctity, by common report, peradventure it were dangerous to lay hands on him without an express warranty from our chief."

"He shall be summoned to our court. Adam de Dutton"--

"Stay, my lord," said the wily dean. "I would, with all due submission, urge that caution were best in this matter."

"Caution, De Whalley! and to what end? Are not the Lacies able to execute as well as to command? or is the lax ministration of justice now complained of throughout the realm prevailing here also? By the beard of Hugh Lupus, I will be heard, and obeyed too!"

"In good sooth, my lord, I see nor let nor hindrance in this matter, provided that he whom we seek were of such ordinary capacities that be common to flesh and blood, and subject to the same laws; but when we have to cope with the devil, we must use his subtilty. Pardon me, my lord," continued the accuser, seeing symptoms of impatience gathering on the brow of the haughty chieftain, "though I am plain of speech, yet is it the more easily understood. This delinquent of whom we speak hath not, as the general report testifieth, the same nature and existence as our own. He useth magic--I have credible testimony thereto, my lord;--and anointeth his body so that it shall be invisible. The free unconfined air is not more accessible to the scared bird than rocks and walls are to this impalpable mockery of our form; and yet he may be dealt with."

"Troth, a man of many faculties. How came he thus?"

"The vulgar do imagine that by dint of great maceration and humility, by prayer and fasting, he hath attained communion with angels; but I suspect they be those of the bottomless pit!"

"And why should he withhold the deed?"

"I know not, save that he purposeth by fraud and subtilty to cast these fair possessions into the treasury of the holy church, and build an abbey hereabout, the like whereof hath not been seen for glory and magnificence."

"Doth he then deny our right to the inheritance? The Lady Fitz-Eustace had a fair copy of the deed, purporting to be sent by the holy confessor who shrived the testator in his extremity. But how hath this canting hermit gotten the writing into his possession?"

"I know not, my lord, unless it be that the like arts have enabled him to appropriate it by other means than those of honesty and good faith. But give me a band of men, together with leave so to deal with him as I shall see fit, and I trust ere long to render a good account of the matter. I will come upon him unawares, ere he can render his body inaccessible, and lay hold of the traitor."

"Traitor!" echoed a voice from behind a screen at the lower extremity of the hall. Every eye was turned in that direction; when lo! the hermit himself, the end and object of their deliberations, stalked forth, unquestioned and unobstructed.

The baron rose, and his grim eyebrows were fiercely knit and contracted. He looked inquiringly towards the dean, who, for a moment, was confounded by this unexpected event. Yet his presence of mind and fertility of expedient did not forsake him.

"Let him be instantly bound, my lord," whispered De Whalley, "and holden by main force, or he will escape like a limed bird from the twigs. Let him be led forthwith to the dungeon, where I myself will question him. It is not fitting that this plotter should practise devilish devices upon our assembly."

At a signal from their chief the soldiers surrounded him; but the hermit, whose features were still hidden by the cowl, took hold of the foremost, and with an incredible strength, dashed him to the ground. The others drew back intimidated.

"Treason, my lord, treason!" cried the dean; "you behold him even in your presence exercising forbidden arts. Away with him to the dungeon! Guards, do your office."

"Miscreant, beware!" said the hermit. De Whalley, though bold and generally undaunted, started back at the sound.

"What, this lawless intromission to our face, and in our council too?" cried the baron. "Seize that hooded kite, knaves, or I will hang every one o' ye on the Furca ere the sun be two hours older!"

Roger de Lacy, in a threatening attitude, approached the guards, who now environed the hermit, using more caution than before. Suddenly they rushed upon him, and he was pinioned ere he could make the least resistance.

At this moment, so anxiously hoped for and expected by the dean, the latter pushed towards him. Thrusting his hand into the hermit's bosom, the long-coveted parchment was in his grasp, and in a twinkling it was conveyed to his own.

"How now!" cried the baron, "wherefore in such haste? I trow the deed is ours!"

With a great show of obedience and respect he drew the parchment again from beneath his robe, and holding it cautiously beside him, exclaimed--

"My lord, ere this be read is it not prudent that we convey the traitor to the dungeon, lest by his subtilty the writing be wrested from our grasp?"

The hermit, yet held in close custody of the guards, cried with a loud voice--