The House of Walderne

by A. D. Crake

  Chapter 19: The Preaching Friar.

  The system of the early Franciscans bore a very remarkable likenessto that devised by John Wesley for his itinerant preachers, ifindeed the former did not suggest the latter. They were not tosupersede the parochial system, only to supplement it. They werenot to administer the sacraments, only to send people to theirordinary parish priest for them, save in the rare cases of friarsin full orders, who might exercise their offices, but so as not tointerfere with the ordinary jurisdiction. The consent of the bishopof the diocese was at first required, and ordinarily that of theparish priest; but in the not infrequent cases where a slothfulvicar would not allow any intrusion on his sinecure, his objectionswere disregarded. When the parish priest gave consent, the churchwas used if conveniently situated; otherwise the nearest barn orglade in the woods was utilised for the sermons. Like certainmodern religionists, they were free and easy in their modes,frequently addressing passers by with personal questions, and oftenresorting to eccentric means of attracting attention. But unliketheir modern imitators, they acted on very strict subordination toChurch authority, and all their influence was used on behalf of theChurch; although they strove as their one great aim to infusepersonal religion into the dry bones of the existing system, whichthey fully accepted, while teaching that "the letter without thespirit killeth."

  In short, their system was thoroughly evangelical at the outset,although it grievously degenerated in after days.

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  Martin's health was still far from strong. He yet felt the effectsof the terrible attack of the black fever or plague the precedingspring; and now he was once more prostrated by a comparativelyslight return of the feverish symptoms, the after effects of hisillness.

  But he had found his nurse now. What a delight it was to his motherto take his head, "that dear head," upon her knee, and to fondle itonce more, as if he were a child again. Now she had her reward forall her loving self denial in sending him away and feigning herselfdead.

  In the summer time, especially if the weather were warm and genial,the greenwood was not a bad place for an invalid, and Martin was aswell attended as if he had been in the infirmary at Michelham, andwith far more loving care. But under such care he rapidly gatheredstrength, and as he did so used it all in his master's service. Theimpression he produced on the followers of his forefathers wasprofound, but he traversed every corner of the forest, and not anoutlying hamlet or village church escaped his ministrations, sothat shortly his fame was spread through all the country side.

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  We must now pay a brief visit to Walderne.

  The first few months after the departure of Hubert brought littlechange in the dull routine of daily life there. Drogo speedilyreturned after the departure of his rival, and his whole energieswere spent in making himself acceptable to his uncle, Sir Nicholas.He attended him in the hunt. He assisted him in the management ofthe estate. He looked after the men-at-arms, the servants, and thegeneral retinue of a medieval castle. The days had passed indeedwhen war and violence were the natural occupation of a baron, andwhen the men-at-arms were never left idle long together, but theywere almost within memory of living men and might return again. Sothe defences of the castle were never neglected, and the arts ofwarfare ceased not to be objects of daily study in the Middle Ages.

  The Lady Sybil never trusted Drogo thoroughly. She had strongpredispositions against him: and quite accepted Hubert's version ofthe quarrel at Kenilworth which, under Drogo's manipulation,assumed a much more innocent aspect than the one in which it waspresented to our readers.

  Sir Nicholas was at last won over to believe that the youth was notso bad after all, the more so as Drogo disavowed all furtherdesigns or claims upon the inheritance of Walderne, now that theproper heir was so happily discovered. Harengod would content him,and when the clouds had blown over, he trusted that there wouldalways be peace between Harengod and Walderne.

  So the months of summer sped by. News arrived of Hubert's visit toFievrault, and of the dread portents described in a former chapter,whereat was much marvel. Nought was said of the prophecy, forHubert did not wish to put such forebodings in the minds of hisrelations. He had rather they should look hopefully to his return.Poor Hubert!

  Then they heard, a month later, of his departure from Marseilles.The news was brought by a pilgrim who had just returned from theHoly Land, and met Hubert and his party about to embark, purposingto sail to Acre, in a vessel called the Fleur de Lys, near whichspot lay a house of the brethren of Saint John, to which order hisfather owed so much. The reader may imagine how this good pilgrim,who had achieved his task, and come home crowned with honour andglory, was welcomed.

  He himself, "by the blessing of our Lady," had escaped all dangers,had worshipped at all the Holy Places, paying the usual tributedemanded by the Paynim. It was a time of truce, and if only Hubertwere as fortunate as he, they might hope to see him within anothertwelve months.

  But the months passed on. Autumn deepened into winter. The leavesput on their gayest and rarest garb of russet and gold to die, likevain things, clothed in their best. Winter, far more severe than inthese days, bound the earth in its icy grasp. And still he camenot.

  The spring came on again, and on a fine March day, one of thosedays when we have a foretaste of the coming summer, a deep calamitybefell the House of Walderne. Sir Nicholas was thrown from hishorse while hunting, and only brought home to die: he never spokeagain.

  The reader may imagine the desolation of the Lady Sybil, thusdeprived of the helpmeet on whom she had leaned so long and lovedso well. They buried him in the vaults of the Castle Chapel, whichhis lady had founded. There his friends and retainers followed him,with tears, to the grave.

  And now the very site of that chapel is hidden in a deep wood. Itlies in the dell beneath Walderne Church, and may be traced bythose who do not fear being scratched by brambles. There is nopathway to it. Sic transit.

  Not long after the death of Sir Nicholas, a palmer arrived at thecastle who had more to tell than usual, but not of a reassuringcharacter--he had been at Saint Jean d'Acre.

  Here the voice of the Lady Sybil was heard, and there was instantsilence.

  "How long ago was it that he had left Acre?"

  "It might be six months."

  "Had he heard of a young English knight, for whom all their heartswere very sore: Sir Hubert of Walderne?"

  "No, and yet if the knight had arrived at Acre he must have heardof it, for all travellers sought the hospitality of the brethren ofSaint John, with whom he lived for six months as a serving brother,waiting upon their guests."

  Dead silence. After a while the lady spoke.

  "And had he not heard of the arrival of a vessel from Marseilles,called the Fleur de Lys?"

  "Lady," he replied, "the name brings a sad remembrance of my voyagehomeward to my mind. Off the coast of Sicily is a mighty whirlpool,which men call Charybdis, where Aeneas of old narrowly escapedshipwreck. When the tide goes down the whirlpool belches forth thefragments of ships which have been sucked down, and when it returnsthe abyss again absorbs them.

  "Here, then, I stood one day, for we had landed at Syracuse, on therocks which commanded the swelling main, and at high tide I saw thehideous wreckage flow forth from the dark prison. One portion, afigurehead, came near me in its gyrations. It was the carved figureof the Fleur de Lys."

  "And you know no more?"

  "Only that the natives said a French vessel of that name had beenvainly striving, on a stormy day, to pass safely through thestraits, and evade the power of the Charybdis; that she was drawnin, and that every soul perished."

  A sudden tumult: Lady Sybil had fainted, and was conveyed to herchamber.

  From that day the health and spirits of the Lady of Walderne sankinto a state which gave great anxiety to her maidens and retainers;she was not indeed very old in years, but still no longer di
d shepossess the elasticity of youth. All her thoughts were absorbed byreligion. She heard mass daily, and went through all the formalroutine the customs of her age prescribed; went occasionally to theshrine of Saint Dunstan at Mayfield, and to sundry holy wells,notably that one in the glen near Hastings, well known to modernholiday makers. But while she was thus striving to work out her ownsalvation she knew little of the vital power of religion. It wasthe mere formal fulfilment of duty, not the spontaneous offering oflove; and her burdened and anxious spirit never found rest.

  Yet had she not herself built a chapel, and given nearly the halfof her goods to the poor, like Zaccheus of old? While, unlike him,she had never wronged any to whom she might restore fourfold. Well,like those of Cornelius, her prayers and alms had gone up beforeGod and brought a Peter.

  About four miles from her home was a favourite nook to which sheoft resorted. In a hollow of the hills, which rise gently to theirsummit behind Heathfield, overshadowed by tall trees, environed bypurple heather, was a dark deep pond: so black in the shade thatits waters looked like ink. But it had all the resplendency of amirror, and was indeed called "The mirror pond;" the upper sky, thebranches of the trees, were so vividly reflected that any one whohad a fancy for standing upon the head, on the brink of the pool,might have easily believed his posture was correct, and that helooked up into the azure void.

  At the north end of this sheltered and sequestered dell was arustic seat, looking over the pond; and hard by was a largecrucifix, life size, so that the devout might be stirred thereby tomeditation.

  Here came the Lady Sybil, and sat by the side in the arbour onebeautiful day; the autumn of the year of grace, at which we havenow arrived--twelve hundred and sixty. And she sat and mused uponher dead husband, and her absent nephew, and strove to learn thesecret of true resignation, as she gazed upon the representation ofsuffering Love Incarnate.

  All at once she heard a voice singing:

  Love sets my heart on fire,Love of the Crucified:To Him my heart He drew,Whilst hanging on the tree,From whence He said to me,I am thy Shepherd true;I am thy Bridegroom new.

  The sweet plaintive words struck her with deep emotion. And as shelistened eagerly, lo, the branches parted, and two brethren ofSaint Francis came out upon the edge of the pond.

  She paused as they knelt before the rood. At length they rose, andapproached the arbour wherein she sat.

  "Sister," said the foremost one, "hast thou met Him of Nazareth?for I know He has been seeking thee!"

  What was it which made her gaze upon the speaker with suchsurprise? Have any of my readers ever met a member of a well known,and perchance much loved, family, whom they have never seen before,and felt struck by the familiar tones of the voice, and by the mienof the stranger? She looked earnestly at our Martin, but of courseknew him not, only she wondered whether this were the "brother" ofwhom Hubert had spoken.

  "I know not whether He has found me, but I have long been seeking Him,"she said sadly.

  "Then, my sister, thou dost not yet know what He is to those who find?"

  Quam bonus es petentibusSed quid invenientibus {27}!

  "How may I find Him? I seek Him on the right hand and He is notthere, and on the left and He is not to be found. Oh, tell me allabout Him, and how I may find rest in that Love!"

  And there, beside that mirror pond, did a heart all afire withDivine Love kindle the dry wood, all ready for the blaze, in theheart of another. After the long colloquy, which we omit, the ladyadded:

  "Dost thou not know my nephew Hubert? Art thou not his friendMartin?"

  "I am, indeed. Tell me, hast thou yet heard aught of my brotherHubert?"

  "Nought! I might say naught, so sad are the tidings a wanderingpalmer brought us," and she told him the story of Charybdis.

  "Lady," he said, 'I hope better things. Nay, I am persuaded hisrace is not yet run, and that I shall yet see him again in theflesh; weaned by much affliction from some earthly dross which yetencrusts his loving nature."

  "What reason hast thou to give?"

  "Only a conviction borne upon me."

  "Wilt thou not return with me?"

  "I may not. I have a mission at Mayfield, whither I am bound."

  "But thou wilt come soon?"

  "On Sunday, if I may, I will preach in the chapel of thy castle."

  Need we add how eagerly the offer was accepted? So they parted forthe time.

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  It was a day of wondrous beauty, the first Sunday in July that year.

  Sweet day, so calm, so fine, so bright,The bridal of the earth and sky.

  The little chapel was full at the usual hour for the Sunday morningservice, which, with our forefathers, was nine o'clock, the hourhallowed by the descent of the Comforter on the day of Pentecost.The chaplain said mass. After the creed Martin preached, and hisdiscourse was from the epistle for the day, which was the fourthSunday after Trinity.

  "Ah," he said, "this day is indeed beauteous, as were the days inEden. It is a delight to live and move. There is joy in the veryair; yet beneath all lies the mystery of pain and suffering.

  "Gaze forth from the height, beside the mill at Cross-in-Hand, uponGod's beauteous world. See the graceful downs beyond the forest,stretching away as far as eye can reach, like a fairy scene. Howlovely it all is; but let us penetrate beneath the canopy of leavesand the cottage roof. Ah, what suffering of man or beast they hide,where on the one hand the wolf, the fox, the wild cat, the hawk,the stoat, and all the birds and beasts of prey tear their victims,and nature's hand is like a claw, red with blood--and on the other,beneath the cottage roofs, many a bed-ridden sufferer lies groaningwith painful disease, many children mourn their sires, many widowsand orphans feel that the light is withdrawn from the world, so faras they are concerned.

  "And yet is not God good? Doth He not love man and beast? Ah, yes;but sin hath brought death and pain into the world, and the wholecreation groaneth and travaileth in bondage until now.

  "But meanwhile He hath made suffering the path to glory, and ourlight affliction, which is but for a moment, shall be rewarded withan eternity of joy, if we but put our whole trust in Him who wasmade perfect by sufferings, and but calls His weary servants totread the road He trod before them."

  And so, with an eloquence unsurpassed in the experience of hishearers, he drew all hearts to the Incarnate Love who wept, bled,died for them, and bade them see that Passion pictured in the HolyMysteries, which were about to be celebrated before them, and togive Him their hearts' oblation in union with the sacrifice.

  After the service the noon meat was spread in the castle hall, andafterwards Martin was invited to a private conference with the LadySybil. She received her nephew, as she already suspected him to be,in a little chamber of the tower long since pulled down. The scentof honeysuckle was borne in on the summer night air, and the raysof a full moon shone brightly through an open casement. At firstthe conversation was confined to the topic of Martin's discourse,which we here omit, but afterwards the dame said:

  "My child, for thou art but a child in years to me, tell me why itis thy voice seems so familiar, and even the lineaments of thycountenance?"

  Martin was embarrassed and silent. He did not wish just now toreveal the secret of his relationship.

  "Tell me," said she, "doth thy mother yet live?"

  "She doth."

  "And proud must she be of her son."

  He was still silent.

  "Brother Martin," said she, "I had a sister once, a wilfulcapricious girl, but of a loving heart. We lost her early. She didnot die, but yet died to her family. She ran away and married anoutlaw chieftain. Our father said, leave her to the life she haschosen, and forbade all communication: but often has my heartyearned for my only sister."

  She continued after a long pause:

  "I heard that her husband, for whom she left us, died of woundsreceived in a foray, and that she actually married his successor, aman of low degree. Tha
t by her first husband, who was said to be ofnoble English blood, she had one child, a son."

  Again a long pause:

  "And since I have been told that that son has reappeared, a brotherof Saint Francis. The report has spread all through these parts.Tell me, is it true?"

  Martin saw that all was known, and concealed himself no longer.

  "It is true, aunt," he said.

  She embraced him, while the tears streamed down her cheeks.

  "Oh, my Martin: Hubert is no more: and thou shouldst have been Lordof Walderne."

  "I seek a better inheritance, and I have not lost my hope ofHubert's return."

  "I shall never see him, and I cannot trust Drogo, although he be thenephew of my late dear lord. I fear he will make a bad Lord of Walderne."

  "Then, my lady, leave the place simply in trust for Hubert, in caseought happen to you. Again I say Hubert will return."

  "What Drogo takes charge of, he will keep."

  "Then confer with the neighbouring gentry, with Earl Warrenne andothers, and ask their advice how to secure the property for thetrue heir."

  "It is wisely thought, and shall be done," she replied. "And now,my dear nephew, tell me all about my poor sister. Can she not beregained to her home, rescued from the wretched life of the woods?"

  "I fear it is useless, while Grimbeard yet lives; besides a wife'sfirst duty is to her husband. I live in hope that he may be broughtto submit to the authorities whom God has seen fit to place intrust over this land: then, if his pardon can be secured, all willbe well."

  What further they said we may not relate. Only that, with her earglued to the door, sat one of the tire women, drinking in all theirconversation from the adjoining closet.

  What could it avail to the wench? Nought personally, perhaps, butthe lady was surrounded by the creatures of Drogo, and hence whatshe said in the supposed secrecy of her bower (boudoir), might soonbe reported in his ear, and stimulate him to action.

  It was a dismal dell--no sunlight penetrated its dark recesses,overgrown with vegetation, overshadowed by dark pines, filled withnettles and brambles. Herein dwelt one of those wretched womensupposed to hold special communion with Satan by the credulouspeasantry, and whose natural death was the stake. But often theywere spared a long time, and sometimes, by accident, died in theirbeds. Love charms, philtres, she sold, and it was said dealt inpoisons, but the fact was never brought home to her, or SirNicholas would have hanged, if not have burned her. As it was sheowed a longer spell of time, wherein to work evil, to theintercession of the Lady Sybil.

  And now she was about to return evil for good. A dark visitor, ayoung man veiled in a cloak, sought her cell one day. There was along conference. He departed, concealing a small phial in hispouch. She dug a hole in the earth, after he was gone, and buriedsomething he had left behind.

  The reader must imagine the rest.

  It was again the Sunday morn, and Martin preached for the last timebefore Lady Sybil at Walderne Castle, and spent the day there. Andin the evening the lady summoned him to another private conference.She told him she felt it very much on her mind to have all thingsin order, in case of sudden death, such as had befallen her dearlord, Sir Nicholas: and therefore had arranged to go on the morrowto Lewes, to see Earl Warrenne of Lewes Castle, with whom she wouldtake advice how to secure Walderne Castle and its estates forHubert in the event of his return. She would also see the oldFather Roger at the priory, and together they would shape out someplan.

  At length the old dame said:

  "Martin, my beloved nephew, wilt thou fetch my sleeping potion fromthe hall? I shall take it more willingly from thine hands. Thebutler places it nightly on the sideboard."

  Let us precede Martin by only one minute.

  Ah! What is that shadow on the stairs? The likeness of one thatpours the contents of a small phial into a goblet. A light isbehind him and casts the shadow--The thing vanishes as Martin turnsthe corner. The sleeping potion was there, as left by the majordomofor his mistress, ere he retired early to rest, to be up with thelark.

  Martin himself gave it to his aunt. She drank it slowly, observedthat it had an unusual taste, but not an unpleasant one.

  "Martin," she said, "hast told my sister, thy mother, all that Ihave said?"

  "I have repeated your kind words."

  "And that her home is open for her, should she ever wish to returnhither? which may God grant."

  "I have."

  "And I will take care that a clause in her favour is put into mywill, which within the week will be witnessed by Earl Warrenne."

  Alas! man proposes but God disposes. On the following morning theLady Sybil did not arise at the usual time, nor did she, as was herwont, appear at the morning mass in her chapel. At length, alarmedby the continued silence, her handmaids ventured to the bedside toarouse her. She lay as in a peaceful sleep, but stirred not as theyapproached. They became alarmed, touched her forehead; it was icycold. Then their loud cries brought the household upstairs, Martin,Drogo, and all; and the truth forced itself upon them. She sleptthat sleep:

  Which men call death.

  Shall we describe the grief of the household? Nay, we forbear. Allthe retainers: all the neighbourhood, followed her to the tomb.Martin stood by the open grave; his head bowed in grief; he lovedto comfort others, but felt much in need of a consoler himself.

  Blessed are they which die in the Lord,for they rest from their labours.

  He said a few touching words from this text to those that stoodaround, as they mourned and wept, and comforting them was comfortedhimself.

  But what of her plans for the future? They died with her. Noneliving could gainsay the existing will, and the well-knownintentions of Sir Nicholas and his widow, that Drogo should holdall till Hubert returned--in trust for him.

  But would he then release his hold?

  Whether or not, there was no alternative, and Drogo became lord defacto of Walderne. The Father Roger was now a monk professed, andcould hold no property, nor did he see any reason for disputing thewill which made Drogo tenant in charge for his son Hubert. He knewnought of the change of mind in Lady Sybil--only Martin knewthis--and Martin could not prove it. Therefore he let things taketheir course, and hoped for the best. But he determined to watchnarrowly over his friend Hubert's interests, for he still believedthat he lived, and would return home again.

  "We are friends, Drogo?" said Martin, as he left Walderne to go tothe greenwood.

  "Friends," said Drogo. "We were friends at Kenilworth, were we not?Ah, yes, friends certainly: but I fear I may not often invite youto spend your Sundays here. I am not fond of sermons--keep to thegreenwood and I will keep to the castle. But if the earthen potcome into collision with the brazen one, the chances are that theweaker vessel will be broken."