by A. D. Crake
Chapter 15: The Crusader Sets Forth.
The hall of Walderne Castle was brilliantly illuminated by torchesstuck in iron cressets all round, and eke by waxen tapers insconces on the tables. All the retainers of the house were present,whether inmates of the castle or tenants of the soil. There weremen-at-arms of Norman or Poitevin blood, franklins and ceorls(churls) of Saxon lineage; all to gaze upon the face of their younglord, and acknowledge him as their liege, ere he left them for thetreacherous and burning East to accomplish his father's vow.
The Holy Land! That grave of warriors! How far away it seemed inthose days of slow locomotion.
A rude oak table of enormous strength extended two-thirds of thelength of the hall. At the end another "board," raised a foothigher, formed the letter T with the lower one; and in its centre,just opposite the junction, sat Sir Nicholas in a chair of state,surmounted by a canopy; on his right hand the Lady Sybil, on hisleft the hero of the night, our Hubert.
The walls of the hall were wainscoted with dark oak, richly carved;and hung round with suits of antique and modern armour, rudelydinted; with tattered banners, stained with the life blood of thosewho had borne them in many a bloody field at home and abroad. Therewere the horns of enormous deer, the tusks of patriarchal boars;war against man and beast was ever the burden of the chorus of lifethen.
And the supper--shall I give the bill of fare?
First, the fish. Everything that swam in the rivers of the Weald(they be coarse and small) was there; perch, roach, carp, tench(pike not come into England yet). And of sea fish--herrings,mackerel, soles, salmon, porpoises--a goodly number.
Secondly, the birds. A peacock at the high board, goodly to lookupon, bitter to eat; two swans (oh, how tough); vultures, puffins,herons, cranes, curlews, pheasants, partridges (out of season or inseason didn't matter); and scores of domestic fowls--hens, geese,pigeons, ducks, et id genus omne.
Thirdly, the beasts. Two deer, five boars from the forest, come topay their last respects to the young crusader; and to leaveindigestion, perhaps, as a reminder of their fealty. From thebarnyard, ten little porkers, roasted whole; one ox, foursheep--only the best joints of these, the rest given away; and twosucculent calves.
Of the pastry--twelve gallons cream, twenty gallons curds, threebushels of last autumn's apples were the foundation; two bushels offlour; almonds and raisins. Yes, they had already got them inEngland.
In point of variety, they a little overdid it; sometimes minglingwine, cheese, honey, raisins, olives, eggs, yea, and vinegar, allin one grand dish. It sets the teeth on edge to think of it.
As for the wines, there were Bordeaux (Gascon), and Malmsey(Rhenish), and Romeneye, Bastard and Osey (very sweet the lasttwo); and for liquors hippocras and clary (not claret).
All was profusion, not to say waste, but the poor had a good timeafterwards. And when the desire of eating and drinking wassatisfied, the harpers and gleemen began; and first the chiefharper, with hoary beard, sang his solo:
Sometimes in the night watch,Half seen in the gloaming,Come visions advancing, advancing, retreatingAll into the darkness.
And the harps responded in deep minor chords:All into the darkness.
We dream that we clasp them,The forms of our dear ones.When, lo, as we touch them,They leave us and vanishOn wings that beat lightlyThe still paths of slumber.
Very softly the harps:The still paths of slumber.
They left in high valourThe land of their boyhood,And sorrowful patienceAwaits their returningWhile love holds expectantTheir homes in our bosoms.
Sweetly the harps:Their homes in our bosoms.
In high hope they left usIn sorrow with weepingTheir loved ones await them.For lo, to their greetingInstead of our heroesCome only their phantoms.
The harps deep and low:Come only their phantoms.
We weep as we reckonThe deeds of their glory--Of this one the wisdom,Of that one the valour:And they in their beautySleep sound in their death shrouds.
The harps dismally:Sleep sound in their death shrouds {22}.
"Stop! stop!" said Sir Nicholas, for tears rose to his lady's eyes."No more of this. Strike up some more hopeful lay. What mean you bysuch boding?"
"Let the heir stay with us," cried the guests.
"Nay; I have striven in vain that so it might be, but his father,Sir Roger, wills otherwise, and the son can but obey. I see youlove him for his own fair face;" (Hubert blushed), "for the deed ofvalour by which he won his spurs; and for his blood and kindred.But go he will and must, and there is an end of it.
"One more announcement I have to make. The father of our Hubert,mindful of the past, wishes to make what reparation is in hispower. He bids me announce that he intends to take the life vows inthe Priory of Saint Pancras, and to be known from henceforth asBrother Roger; and that his son should be formally adopted by us.He is so in our hearts already, and should bear from henceforth thename of 'Radulphus,' or 'Ralph,' in memory of his grandfather.
"Now I have said all. Render him your homage, swear to be faithful,and acknowledge no other lord when I am gone and while he lives."
They all rose to their feet, and with the greatest enthusiasm sworeto acknowledge none but Hubert as Lord of Walderne while he lived.
And he thanked them in a "maiden" speech, so gracefully--just asyou would expect of our Hubert.
"The Holy Land," said Sir Nicholas, "is a long way off, and many,as the gleemen (not without justice) have told us, leave theirbones there. But we hope better things, and I trust the Lady Sybiland I may live to see his return. But should it be otherwise,acknowledge no other heir. Be true to Hubert, while he lives."
"We will, God being our helper."
"And now fill your cups, and drink to his safe journey and happyreturn."
It was done lustily: if mere drinking could do it, there was nofear that Hubert would not return safely.
Then the gleemen struck up a merrier song, a sweet and tender layof a Christian knight who fell into the power of "a Paynim sultan,"and whom the sultan's daughter delivered at the risk of herlife--all for love. How she followed him from clime to clime, onlyremembering the Christian name. How she found him at last in hisEnglish home, and was united to him, after being baptized, in holywedlock. How the issue of this marriage was no other than thesainted Archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas a Becket {23}.
And Hubert cast his eyes on Alicia de Grey, the orphan ward of hisaunt, and she blushed as she met his gaze. Shall we tell hissecret? He loved her, and had already plighted his troth.
"No pagan beauty," he seemed to whisper, "shall ever rob me of myheart. I leave it behind in England."
And even here he had a rival.
It was Drogo. The reader may ask, where was Drogo that night? AtHarengod, his mother's demesne, where he was to remain until Huberthad set sail, after which he might from time to time visit SirNicholas, his father's brother, a relationship which that goodknight could never forget, unworthy though Drogo was of his love.But the uncle was really afraid to let the youths come together,lest there should be a quarrel, perhaps not confined to words.
He had spoken his mind decidedly to Drogo about the question ofinheritance. Hubert should, if he survived the pilgrimage, be Lordof Walderne, as was just, Drogo of Harengod: if either died withoutissue, the other should have both domains.
Of course Sir Nicholas was quite unaware that the third child ofthe old lord, Mabel, had left issue. Do our readers remember it?Drogo had no real claim on Walderne, and could only succeed bydisposition of Sir Nicholas, in the absence of natural heirs.
When the party in the hall broke up about midnight, one partinginterview took place between the lovers in Lady Sybil's bower,while the kind lady got as far as her notions of propriety (whichwere very strict) permitted, out of earshot.
Oh, those poor young lovers! She cried, and although Hubert triedhard to restrain it, it was infectious, and he couldn't help atear. But he must go!
"Wilt thou be true to me till death?"the anxious lover cried."Ay
, while this mortal form hath breath,"Alicia replied.
"Come, go to bed," said Sir Nicholas, entering, and they went:To bed, but not to sleep.
On the morrow the sun shone brightly on the castle, on the church,on the hilltop, and on the wooded valley of Walderne. The householdassembled first for a brief parting service in the castle chapel,for it was an old proverb with them, "mass and meat hinder no man,"and then the breakfast table was duly honoured.
And then--the last parting. Oh how hard to speak the final words;how many longing, lingering looks behind; how many words, whichshould have been said, came to the mind of our hero as he rodethrough the woods, with his squire and six men-at-arms, who were toshare his perils and his glory.
Sir Nicholas was by his side, for he had determined to see the lastof Hubert, who had wound himself very closely round the oldknight's heart; and together they rode through Hailsham toPevensey.
The first part of their journey was through a dense and tangledforest, which extended nearly to Hailsham. It passed through thedistrict infested by the outlaws, and, although they had nevermolested Sir Nicholas, nor he them, they were dangerous totravellers of rank in general, and few dared traverse the forestroads unattended by an escort. In the depths of these hoary woodswere iron works, which had existed since the days of the earlyBritons, but had of late years been completely neglected, for allthe thoughts of the Norman gentlemen or the Saxon outlaws wereconcentrated on war or the chase.
Hailsham (or, as it was then called, Hamelsham) was the firstresting place, after a ride of nearly nine miles. It was an oldEnglish settlement in the woods, which had now become the abode ofa lord of Norman descent, who had built a castle, and held the townas his dependency. However, the races were no longer in deadlyhostility--the knights had their liberties and rights, and so longas they paid their tribute duly, all went as well as in the oldentime, before the Conquest; albeit the curfew from the old churchtower each night told its solemn tale of subjection and restraint,as it does even now, when the old ideas have quite departed, andfew realise what it once meant.
Over the flat marshes to Pevensey, marshes then covered at hightide--leaving on the left the high lands of Herstmonceux, where thefather of "Roaring Ralph" of that ilk still resided, lordparamount. The castle was hidden in the trees. The church stoodbravely out, and its bells were ringing a wedding peal in the earsof the parting knight. How tantalising!
Pevensey now reared its giant towers in front. There reigned theQueen's uncle, Peter of Savoy, specially exempted from the sentenceof exile which had fallen upon the rest of the king's foreignkindred.
There was scant time for hospitality. The vessel lay in the dockwhich was to bear the crusader away; there was to be a full moonthat night; wind and tide were favourable. Everything promised aquick passage, and, after a brief refection, Hubert bade hiskinsman and friends farewell, and embarked in the Rose of Pevensey.
England sank behind him. The last glimpse he had of his native landwas the gleam of the sunset on Beachy Head.
My native land--Good night.