by M. M. Blake
CHAPTER XIV.
HOW THE CONQUEROR DEALS WITH REBELS.
The days passed drearily for the Countess of East Anglia, mewed upwithin the protecting walls of Norwich Castle, and the anxiety she felton behalf of her husband and brother made the hours seem unutterablylong.
Her office of Castellan was no unusual one for women in those days. Theannals of chivalry teem with stories of noble ladies who held castlesfor their male relatives or feudal superiors, but as no enemy was, atpresent, near the castle, it did not afford her much occupation.
An occasional hawking or fishing party was organised for herentertainment, but the disturbed state of the country, the fear oftreachery, and the uncertainty of the whereabouts of the king's forces,rendered so large an escort necessary, and entailed so much trouble andpreparation, that the sport was robbed of all zest. If orders weregiven in the evening, it most frequently happened that the morningwould be wet and uninviting; if left till a suitable morning haddawned, all freshness had vanished before the advancing sun ere solarge a party could be put in motion.
Moreover, Emma had little heart for such entertainment, which chieflyserved to bring back memories of happier days, when Earl Roger andRalph de Guader had been beside her; and all the prowess of her Danishhawk did but remind her of her husband and his dangers. Soar, andstoop, and chancelier as he might, he failed to move her enthusiasm,and did but render her more sad, while the encomiums of Sir Alain DeGourin, who made a point of attending her on these expeditions, irkedrather than pleased her. His criticisms, admiring as they were, seemedto her impertinent when passed on a bird which Ralph de Guader hadpronounced as one of the most perfect he had ever seen.
So she strove to cheat the hours by embroidering a magnificent mantlefor her absent lord, using all the most elaborate Saxon stitches, whichshe had learned from Eadgyth, who sat ever at her elbow to help her, ifshe forgot her lesson. Such gorgeous mantles were much in fashion amongthe Norman exquisites.
Eadgyth herself was busy, by Emma's desire, making an altar-cloth forthe chapel of the castle, in which the De Guader and East Anglian armswere mingled somewhat incongruously with pictorial illustrations of thelife of St. Nicholas. The chaplain of the aforesaid chapel had drawnthe designs, being a very clever limner and illuminator, and he tookgreat interest in the progress of the pious work, losing no opportunityto visit the fair embroideress when she was engaged upon it.
He was a young Breton of good family, but had sunk his patronymic forthe priestly 'Father Pierre,' the venerable title being ratherincongruous to his boyish face and shy, shrinking ways. He was anascetic enthusiast, believing sternly in the mortification of theflesh, and his young cheeks were sunken, his large dark eyes hollow andglittering, and his tall figure painfully emaciated. But his sternnesswas all for himself; to his flock he was the kindest of pastors, and inhis humility he did not venture to enter upon political matters,accepting the judgment of his feudal superior as paramount, and not tobe questioned.
Emma did not feel drawn to him. Her practical nature could notcomprehend or draw comfort from his mystic and dreamy ecstasies, andshe needed a strong, clear-headed guide, to advise her on the tangibleand imminent perplexities that encircled her.
'Oh for an hour of Father Theodred!' she sighed one day, when FatherPierre had left the apartment, after making a vague reply to a questionshe had addressed to him, touching some small urgent duty of the hour.'Our good chaplain hath more anxiety regarding the ordering of thyneedlework warriors for the adornment of his chapel, than for thebodies of the living men who are defending it, methinks! In good sooth,Eadgyth, I feel tired of this stitchery. I would the wind blew not sokeenly on the battlements. I could be ever watching the horizon likesome sea-rover's deserted mate, looking out for the glint of sun on asteel headpiece, as such an one would watch for a sail. The stone wallswell-nigh stifle me! I feel entombed sitting here, where I cannot seeif any approach to bring tidings of my dear lord! Fetch me mantle andheadrail, sweet damsel. Methinks, if I sit here longer, chewing the cudof bitter reflection, I shall go stark staring mad. Let us go to thebattlements and fight the wind!'
Eadgyth, whose more phlegmatic temperament did not seek relief frommental pain in physical exercise, smiled at the restlessness of herfriend, but instantly laid aside her needlework, and sought her lady'stire-woman, who brought the wished-for garments.
In a few moments Emma and Eadgyth had left the lodge, ascended thespiral staircase in the great tower, and were pacing upon thebattlements. It was one of those grey chilly days, frequent in theEastern counties, when the north-west wind brings haze from theFenlands, and the Wash, and the North Sea; covering the sky with aleaden pall, and bringing winter into summer's heart. Columns of dustrose along the roadways, but the wind swept away all mist and fog, andthe country showed bleak and naked to the horizon.
The sentinels saluted their countess and her lady-in-waiting with adeep reverence, but they were accustomed to see their fair Castellanscanning the distance, as if distrusting that any eyes could be so keenand faithful as her own.
They paced the circuit of the battlements some five or six times, andplayed with the pigeons that crowded upon the merlons, and greeted themwith soft cooing and much fluttering of soft-coloured pinions, for theyknew well that Emma's gipsire was generally stored with peas for them.
Suddenly Emma caught her bower-maiden by the wrist.
'See!' she cried. 'My sail is in sight! Dost thou not catch the glintof a morion over yonder?'
They were on the southern side of the keep, and she indicated a farspeck upon the course of the Ikenield way.
'Nay,' replied Eadgyth, 'mine eyes reach not so far, the moreespecially as this stinging wind brings unbidden tears into them.'
'I am right, Eadgyth--it is a horseman approaching! Ho, sentinel! thyvigil is no very keen one!'
'In sooth, lady, I can see naught,' answered the sentinel, with arespectful salutation.
It had been a favourite amusement with Emma, when a girl at CliffordCastle, to challenge her maidens and squires, and any noble visitor whomight chance to be present, to a trial of sight, from the walls of thatgoodly fortress, and seldom had she found any who could rival her forlength of vision. She proved to be right on this occasion. A horsemanwas approaching, and at a gallop, and the sentinels soon acknowledgedhis coming and gave the fitting signal.
A while later, and the traveller had reached the barbican, and, after ashort parley, the portcullis was raised, the drawbridge lowered, and herode forward into the courtyard of the castle.
Emma descended full of tremulous excitement. Sir Alain de Gourin mether, on his way to the courtyard, to question the new-comer.
'I will send word at once, if he prove to be one of the earl's men, orbrings any message or news,' said Sir Alain.
'Nay,' replied Emma, 'I will myself go down. Each moment of waitingwill prove a year.'
So, with Eadgyth beside her, and her train of ladies following, shewent down to the great portal on the east side of the keep, whence ashort time before she had bidden 'God Speed' to her noble spouse andhis army.
The horseman was surrounded by a curious crowd of soldiers anddomestics. Archers and men-at-arms of all sorts and conditions from theguard-room, pages, squires, cooks, and scullions, had all come forth tosee. Certain of the garrison who had been trying their strength forpastime in a wrestling bout, had left their sport, and stood withbrawny arms akimbo, and mouths agape. Even the pale face of thechaplain was amongst the group, his dark eyes gazing with pity and aweupon the man who formed its centre.
The Tower Stairs.]
He was in sorry plight! His horse, flecked with foam and bloody withspurring, head down, nostrils red, and limbs trembling with fatigue,looked as though another mile had been utterly beyond his spent powers.The casque of the rider was battered, and his countenance so gashedwith wounds as to be beyond recognition, nor did his surcoat or harnessin any way help to show his identity, so stained and torn were they.Shield he had none, and his right
arm hung straightly at his side.
He took no heed of the crowd buzzing round him, nor of the countessstanding at the portal of the keep, with Sir Alain de Gourin at herright, and Sir Hoel de St. Brice on her left, and her train of ladiesand squires behind her, but sat on his panting steed, with his chinsunk on his breast.
Suddenly one from the circle around him cried, '_Mort de ma vie!_ Hehas lost a foot as well as a hand!'
A murmur of surprise burst round him.
'Those are no gashes gained in fair fighting! His nose is slit! Saintsand angels! He has been in the hands of the Bastard's men! We all knowhow William serves his prisoners!'
'Speak, Sir Fugitive, or Sir Messenger, or whatever your name is,'thundered De Gourin, 'and speedily! Is it so? Who art thou? For thybeauty is so spoiled we are at a loss by what title to greet thee! Bythe rood! his own mother would not know him!'
The countess hastily bade her leech be called, and shuddered, not onlywith pity, but with a dread presentiment of evil, as the ghastlywitness of men's merciless cruelty turned his maimed face towards them,his bloodshot eyes staring vacantly, half dazed with terror and pain.
'It is all over!' he muttered hoarsely, forcing his swollen lips toutter the words with difficulty. 'The earl is slain, and my master; andthe army is scattered like a flock of sheep! Flee, flee! They arecoming after me to storm the castle!'
He raised his right arm, from which the hand had been riven, the stumpblack with the searing of red-hot irons with which the flow of bloodhad been staunched, in a gesture of entreaty.
A fearful witness truly as to what might be expected to follow ondefeat.
A howl of fierce anger ran around the courtyard, and many a strongbreast heaved with an indignant sob of impotent rage; curses loud anddeep were showered on the heads of William of Normandy and hisvicegerents.
'Heed him not, noble Emma!' cried Sir Hoel de St. Brice hastily. 'Bythe Holy Virgin! 'tis but a recreant who has let himself be madeprisoner, and now repeats the story they have stuffed him with! Out ofhis wits with their rough treatment, and small wonder! May the FoulFiend seize them for their barbarity!'
'Christ be my witness, I speak sooth!' cried the unfortunate fugitive.'I am Stephen le Hareau, squire of the body to Sir Guy de Landerneau,and I swear by the Holy Cross, I saw the earl fall with mine own eyes!'
'Thou Stephen le Hareau? Thou?' shouted Sir Alain de Gourin, startledout of his equanimity as he looked at the pitiful object before hiseyes, and remembered the handsome gallant he had seen ride from thecastle gates a few weeks before.
A fresh hiss of execration burst from the bystanders, as the cruelty ofthe young man's fate came home to them.
Stephen le Hareau! The handsomest and most popular squire in the earl'sfollowing! They knew him, too, for a brave and dauntless soldier.
Sir Hoel looked towards the countess, wondering how she would bear theblow, for the difficulty with which she had maintained her self-controlwhen she had parted with her noble bridegroom had been manifest to all,and now the worst fears she could then have entertained were declaredto have come to pass.
But Emma, who had shrunk from the approach of evil, stood firm to meetits actual contact. Her face was white as marble, and her lipsquivered, but she said in a firm voice,--
'The cruelty this poor gentleman has undergone may well nerve ourhearts to resistance. St. Nicholas grant thou art in the right, SirHoel. He may well deem things blacker than they are! I prithee, keephim no longer answering our vain queries. Let him be lifted from hishorse and carried to the spital. I will tend him with my own hands. Hispoor steed also, let it be cared for.'
Eadgyth and several of the ladies were sobbing hysterically behind her.She turned to them.
'Courage, dames and damsels!' she said, with a simple dignity thatshamed them into self-control. 'I have heard as evil tales as this, andfound them vanish like dreams at the breaking of the morn.'
She gathered her robes around her and swept back into the keep, and,calling her tirewoman, ordered her to bring sundry essences andsimples, which, like every noble lady of the time, she kept by her, thescience of medicine being chiefly in feminine hands in those days.Then, bidding Eadgyth to attend her, she proceeded at once to thespital, to leech the unfortunate squire.
She stopped a few moments in the chapel, to direct the chaplain tooffer masses for the souls of those who had fallen in the battle. A sobcaught her breath as she remembered the earnest repetition with whichStephen le Hareau had declared that the earl was amongst them.
But she dare not think, and went on hurriedly to direct that othersshould be offered for the safety of those who had escaped, and for thesuccess of their undertaking.
Her ministrations to the wounded man kept at bay the fierce troop ofagonising thoughts that were thronging down upon her like a pack ofhungry wolves. Rolling bandages, and preparing salves and unguents, shehad scarce time to speculate upon the probability of the truth of herpatient's direful news. True, no doubt, it was as far as his knowledgewent, but there was hope, as Sir Hoel had suggested, that his report ofthe battle had been supplied by their opponents, and himself sent offby them, as a messenger of evil tidings, with the express intent ofdemoralising the garrison of Blauncheflour.
The physical sufferings of the poor squire were so terrible to witness,that Emma almost forgot the awful shadow of death and impending perilthat hung over her own head, and the hours flew past without hernoticing their flight. All that she and her leech and her ladies coulddo to lessen his pain was done, but it was not much.
Even in these days little could be done for such a case, with all theskill of advanced science.
Presently a page came to the countess with a message from the twoknights, St. Brice and De Gourin, begging her to give them audience inthe council-chamber.
'Watch over my sufferer, Eadgyth,' said Emma.
When she entered the apartment in which the two knights were awaitingher, she quivered with apprehension as she saw their grave faces. SirHoel's kindly visage was white as his silver hair, and even Sir Alain'sinflamed countenance was a shade less purple-red than usual, while hisexpression was distinctly anxious.
They both hesitated to speak, but the countess broke the pause.
'Tell me the worst, gentle sirs, I pray you. Suspense is ever hardestto bear, and I see you have ill news.'
Sir Hoel advanced and took her hand in both his own, a littleforgetting the ceremony due to her rank, in his huge pity for her youthand the forlorn fate that he feared too surely had befallen her.
'Alas, dear lady, the news is ill indeed! Sir Walter Deresfort, and theSaxon thegn, Alfnoth of Walsham, with some dozen men-at-arms, haveridden in from Cambridgeshire, and confirm'--a sob broke his voice--'inevery item the dire tidings brought by poor Stephen le Hareau.'
'Do they say, then, that I am a widow?' asked Emma in a strange, hardvoice, with so awful a calm in it, that the thick-skinned Sir Alain,who was little wont to heed the tears or shrieks of women, or to sparethem in any respect if they stood in his way, shuddered as he heard it.He thought the countess was going mad.
'I fear,' answered Sir Hoel, 'there is no doubt the earl is slain, St.Nicholas rest his soul!'
'Then, gentlemen,' asked Emma in the same strange tone, 'what is to bedone?'
'God knows!' exclaimed Sir Hoel, the great tears running down hisfurrowed face, and dripping upon his hauberk.
'Noble lady,' said Sir Alain eagerly, speaking for the first time, 'itis well known that the wrath of the Primate, and of his master, Williamthe Norman, is principally enkindled against the countrymen of the lateearl. Thy safety, most noble countess, is, of course, what every man inthe garrison would give his life to insure, therefore my humblecounsel, for what it may be worth, is that thou shouldest at once takeship with the trusty Bretons under my command, and make for Bretagne,and thy late husband's estates of Guader and Montfort.'
'What is thy counsel, Sir Hoel?' demanded Emma, still with the sameunnatural calm.
'Dear lady, I
would advise thee as doth Sir Alain.'
'But would not the garrison, thus bereft of half their numbers, fall aninstant prey to the enemy?' asked Emma.
'It is not William's policy to provoke the Saxons, and to his owncountrymen he is ever complacent,' urged De Gourin, with the sameeagerness. 'Therefore my meaning is, that the castle be surrendered atonce, in which case the garrison would probably be softly dealt with,we Bretons being out of the way; whereas further resistance will beuseless, and will but further provoke their vengeance, the style ofwhich we have seen.'
'Art thou of this advice also, Sir Hoel?' demanded Emma.
Sir Hoel bowed his head. 'Dear lady,' he said, 'there is no doubt thatthe Primate hath animosity against us Bretons, and may prove kinder toNormans and Saxons; yet methinks I will stand by them, and advise themnot to try his mercy sooner than is needful. I counsel, therefore, thatthou shouldest so far follow Sir Alain's advice, as to take ship withhimself and his band for Bretagne. For my part, I will fight for itwith the garrison remaining to me. Blauncheflour has been built tostand a siege, and we may well victual it before supplies can be cutoff. We may yet make good terms.'
'There spoke the spirit of a true knight!' cried Emma, turning on DeGourin with so fierce a flash in her eyes, that he started, so great achange was it from the stony indifference of her former manner.
'Go, fair sir, if it suits thee! Take all thy fainthearted mercenarieswith thee to their native Bretagne! I will stay with Sir Hoel anddefend this castle, which the earl gave into my charge. The _late_earl, thou said'st? Methinks thou art wondrous quick to make so certainof his death! Methinks all these gallant gentlemen who have gallopedback to the safe walls of Blauncheflour in such hot haste, scarcewaited to see if he was wounded or slain! For _me_ he will never be the_late_ earl. On earth or in heaven he is my husband still, and I willhold his castle, hoping, perhaps selfishly, that he will come to claimit. I will hold it if only to have vengeance on his foes!'
Sir Hoel watched her in delighted surprise. Sir Alain flushed hotlyunder her attack, but could not but admire the high-spirited beauty asshe hurled her indignant taunts at his head.
'Now, by all the saints! thou art unjust to me and my poor following,noble lady!' he exclaimed. 'My object was but to secure thy safety.'
'If the earl be indeed slain,' said Emma, with a tremor in her voice,'my safety boots me but little; if he be not, it is important thatBlauncheflour hold out to the last gasp. Besides, ye know not how itfares with my brother of Hereford; his arms have perchance prevailed,and he may be able to relieve us.'
'A slender hope,' said Sir Alain impatiently. 'But our lives are at thydisposal, noble Emma.'
He accompanied this speech with a smile of homage, which he meant to beirresistibly touching and pathetic; for a new idea had come into theadventurer's bullet-head, which somewhat gilded the pill of hardfighting without hope of plunder, which the countess's decision forcedhim to swallow. He remembered that if, as he fully believed, De Guaderwas slain, the beautiful Emma had become a widow with a goodly dower!for even if, as was probable, her late husband's possessions in Englandwere forfeit through his treason, and all English and Norman propertyof her own, the estates of Guader and Montfort were beyond William'sjurisdiction, and she would doubtless draw rich rents from them. Thisrich prize was here under his hand, and, to a great extent, in hispower. If he played his cards well, he might secure her for himself,albeit she was William of Normandy's kinswoman.
But the good old Sir Hoel looked at her fair, flushed face with verydifferent thoughts. 'God bless thee, dear young lady,' he said, with ahusky voice. 'He would be a coward indeed who grudged to give his lifefor thee! Though, for that matter, we must needs fight for our ownsakes, so we need not try to make out that all our valour is on thybehalf!'
Emma met his kind eyes, and scarce bore their sympathy.
She turned away hastily. 'There must be more wounded in the spital,'she said; 'I must tend them. Make what preparation needs for holdingout under a long siege.'
And so saying she quitted the apartment.
'Alas!' Sir Hoel murmured, more to himself than to De Gourin, when shewas gone, 'I doubt she is buoying herself with a false hope, and thatour noble De Guader will glad her eyes no more.'
'By the rood!' answered Sir Alain, 'I doubt so too. But methinks sofair a widow, and so well-dowered and youthful withal, may findconsolation on this side the grave. Holy Mary! A dame of spirit! If ourmotley garrison, Saxons, Danes, Flemings, and other, were of metal thatwould ring to the same tune, our case would not look so desperate.'
'Methinks the mercenaries under thy hand are the most doubtful metalwithin the walls, good sir,' answered Sir Hoel gravely, eyeing hiscompanion somewhat keenly. 'If thou canst get the right ring out of_them_, I think I can answer for the rest!'