The Siege of Norwich Castle: A story of the last struggle against the Conqueror

by M. M. Blake

  CHAPTER XIX.

  'STONE WALLS DO NOT A PRISON MAKE.'

  'Sir Aimand de Sourdeval a prisoner in this castle?' repeated thecountess in a tone of the most complete surprise, and her cheeks grewwhite with a sudden horror, for, to explain this thing, either, itseemed to her, the young knight, whose honest face and noble bearinghad won her respect and the heart of her best-loved bower-maiden, mustbe unworthy; or--and the thought gave her a keener pang than even shehad suffered from the rumour of his death--the master of the castle hadmade evil use of his power.

  'Wherefore is this? Knowest thou his offence, father?' demanded thecountess.

  The young priest bowed his head. 'Daughter, if thou wilt know thetruth, the offence of a too great fidelity to his suzerain, William ofNormandy,' he answered in a low voice.

  A spasm of pain crossed Emma's face at this objective presentment ofher worst fear, and the terrible heart-searchings with which she hadentered into the struggle against the Conqueror returned with renewedforce.

  'I would hear this prisoner's defence from his own lips, and judge formyself of his guilt,' she said, turning to Father Pierre with quickdecision, and a pale, set face. 'Lead me to him.'

  'Noble Emma, the dungeon in which he is chained is no seemly place forgold-embroidered slippers and ermined robes.'

  'Less seemly still, then, for an innocent man, if innocent he be,'cried Emma, each syllable sounding like a challenge thrown at a foe.'Show me the way. I will see myself to the lodgment of all under myroof.'

  Then a satisfied light gleamed from Father Pierre's unworldly darkeyes, and his thin, ascetic features relaxed into a smile. 'The HolyMother reward and sustain thee, my daughter!' he said softly. 'Comethen at once!'

  Emma followed him; outwardly calm, but in reality deeply moved, and notwithout terror at thought of entering those terrible dungeons, which,although she had passed her life in castles, had hitherto been known toher only by name.

  He led her through winding passages secured by more than one heavy,clangorous portal--the vaulted walls echoing to the creak of theirhinges--into the silence and the darkness of the basement.

  The chaplain was free to penetrate at will into these halls ofsuffering and despair in the prosecution of his sacred office, but thewarders who guarded the various portals half forgot to make theirreverence to the priest, as they stared with open-eyed surprise at thelady, till, on recognising her, they saluted with clumsy haste, andstrove to atone for momentary negligence by quick opening of the doorwhich formed their ward.

  Emma shuddered as the torch with which Father Pierre had providedhimself gleamed on the damp, massive walls. It seemed to her thatimprisonment between them would of itself bring death to her, and shemarvelled how any human creature should sustain life under suchconditions.

  'In sooth, noble Emma,' said Father Pierre, as the countess gaveexpression to this feeling, 'the holy saints have sent thee hither thisnight, because time grew pressing. A little while, and the man who isthe object of thine errand of mercy would be released by a sternerliberator--death. If thou shouldst deem him worthy of his dungeon, hewill not need guarding long!'

  'Ah!' sighed Emma, with a sharp pang of horror, and instinctivelyquickening her steps, as if a moment might be fatal.

  They had reached a narrow, ponderous door, studded with huge nails.Father Pierre produced a key which he had taken from a warder who stoodat the end of the passage. He turned it in the lock, and, drawing backtheir solid bolts, pushed open the door and entered the cell into whichit gave access, the countess following with shrinking steps.

  The cell was small, for it was hollowed in the wall of the keep, somethirteen feet in thickness at the outside; it was, perhaps, eight feetsquare. The walls were running with moisture, and the air was dank andfoetid. On a stone ledge raised a little higher than the ground, theprostrate figure of a man was revealed by the fitful gleam of thetorch, and Father Pierre went forward and bent over him.

  'Awake, my son!' he said gently, holding the torch so that the lightfell upon the slumberer's face.

  Emma's hands clung together in anguish as she saw the gaunt, cadaverousfeatures, the paled skin, and the wild matted hair and beard of theprisoner, and marked the fleshlessness of the limbs that were extendedin uneasy length upon the inhospitable couch. His appearance might havemoved the hardest-hearted to pity, and seemed all the more terrible incontrast with the image that was in Emma's mind, of the young knight asshe had last seen him, in all the bravery of the harness of thejousting-field, neat-shaven and close-cropped as any modern Englishgentleman, according to the fashion of the Normans.

  The unhappy knight opened his eyes with a nervous start, and spranginto a sitting posture; the rattle of chains that accompanied hismovement revealing to the ruthful eyes of the countess that his ankleswere loaded with heavy rings of iron, attached by chains to a stanchionin the floor.

  'Fear nothing, Sir Aimand,' said the priest reassuringly. 'It isI--Father Pierre; and I have brought thee hope, and at least the suretythat thy case will be inquired into and sifted to the ground. See, thenoble Countess Emma has herself deigned to visit thy prison. St.Michael has answered thy prayers!'

  The captive stared round him with haggard eyes, which seemed almostsupernaturally large and bright, and Emma quailed as they rested atlength upon her, with an expression of wonder and inquiry.

  'The Countess Emma?' he repeated in a faint voice,--'the bride?'

  Time for him had been standing still since the day of that fatalbride-ale, which brought evil in some form to all who partook of it!

  'Art thou indeed Sir Aimand de Sourdeval?' said Emma, crossing the celland standing before the prisoner, her beautiful face full of pity, yetnot all softness. 'Unhappy knight,' she added almost sternly, herclear, decisive utterance ringing round the cell, 'what crime hast thoucommitted against my lord, that thou art subject to such durance?'

  De Sourdeval threw back his head with a gesture of indignation; thenhis expression changed to one of sadness, and he threw himself on hisknee before the countess.

  'Noble Emma,' he said, 'the only crime I have committed against thylord and mine own liege, was that of being faithful to his suzerain andmine, nor can I believe the kind and generous De Guader knows my fate.'

  'Thank God!' cried Emma, with a sudden sob.

  'Thou hast been good to me always!' exclaimed De Sourdeval, withintense excitement, his breast heaving and his eyes shining as hespoke. 'Oh, gracious countess, bear my petition to thy lord, and tellhim that Aimand de Sourdeval was never unfaithful to him in word ordeed, and pray him to sift this matter to the bottom, for if he knowethaught, 'tis most like that his ears have been abused by the untruemalignities of my enemies.'

  'Knowest thou not that the earl is sped to Denmark, there to collectfresh forces wherewith to relieve us from the beleaguering host thatnow sits before the castle walls?' asked Emma, with less firmness,feeling for the first time the full weight of the responsibilities shehad undertaken. 'In my hands is the ruling of the castle; tell me,therefore, the burden of thy petition.'

  Then Sir Aimand related to her the story of his adventures on the nightof her bridal, and how Sir Alain de Gourin had foully entreated him, anarrative broken by terrible fits of coughing, showing how deeply thechills of his prison had wrought upon his frame, and by exclamations ofsurprise from the countess, who was much startled to discover theconduct of the Breton knight, and in great perplexity, for she feltkeenly that Sir Aimand had but acted the part of an honourable man, andthat to offer him a pardon under such circumstances would be but aninsult. Moreover, he seemed to ignore the earl's present position ofactive rebellion, and she could not gather how far he was aware of theposition of affairs.

  'Doubtless, Sir Knight,' she said, 'thine impulse to be faithful to thysuzerain was that of a true and loyal soul, and none can blame thee;but William of Normandy has made the land groan under his tyranny, andso haught and overbearing was he, that, for the mere delight of showinghis power, he crushed his most lovi
ng peers under his heel. Thouknowest that he strove to part my lord from me, and forbade ourmarriage; and so wroth was he at the breach of his capricious mandate,that, in self-defence, my lord was driven to take arms. Let the past beforgotten. Thou shalt be reinstated in all knightly honour, and shallprove thy faith to the earl thy lord, by defending his lady in hisabsence.'

  She held out her white jewelled hand to the gaunt, unkempt prisoner,looking in his face with a persuasive witchery that might have tempteda man to leave a palace for a dungeon. But De Sourdeval kept back hismeagre, unwashed hand.

  'Noble countess,' he exclaimed, with a long sobbing sigh, that showedhow great the effort was to speak words that might close for ever hishalf-opened prison door, 'against whom am I to defend thee? Am I tofight men who are faithful to their knightly vows, by the side oftraitors who have broken troth?'

  'My son! my son!' interposed Father Pierre anxiously. The knight's boldwords brought home the unvarnished truth of the situation with astartling clearness, which his own dreamy nature had enabled him toshirk facing hitherto.

  Emma proved cowardly; she evaded a direct answer, and sheltered herselfbehind the privileges of her sex.

  'Surely thy vow of chivalry binds thee to succour ladies in danger? Weare in danger, myself and my ladies. Eadgyth of Norwich,'--she pausedand looked in his face. De Sourdeval made a gesture of distress,--'DameAmicia, whose age and infirmity should nerve the arm of a brave youngknight and all our band, need the help of every stalwart friend who canbe found. Still further, Sir Aimand, famine is our most dread foe,' sheadded, half smiling at the inhospitable thought. 'We can ill supportidle mouths in Blancheflour.'

  'Let me then starve, dear lady,' replied De Sourdeval in a low voice ofdesperate earnest, and avoiding her too persuasive eyes. 'I cannot liftmy hand against my heart's witness to the right.'

  'Fight not then, noble Sir Aimand!' exclaimed the countess, deeplymoved. 'Only pass thy knightly pledge not to betray us to the foe, orto struggle to escape, and thou shalt be free! Nay, if we make aprisoner we will honourably exchange thee!'

  'Not even that can I do, noble countess,' said Sir Aimand withunwavering firmness. 'I cannot pledge myself not to help the right.'

  'Nay then, thou art obstinate!' cried Emma, stamping on the stones withone of the gold-embroidered slippers which Father Pierre had observedto be ill suited to dungeon floors, and turning away.

  Sir Aimand bowed his head in silence, and made no effort to recall her,as she swept towards the door, though his trembling lips and clenchedfingers showed the fierceness of the struggle he was making.

  But Emma paused before she reached the door. 'Thou art too proud, SirKnight,' she said coldly. 'But few can rival the Fitzosberns in thatquality, and I also have my pride. I scorn to make conditions with aman circumstanced as thou art. Abuse my generosity if thou list. Thouart free!'

  'Mary Mother in heaven bless thee for thy goodness, noble countess!'cried De Sourdeval, raising his head with a start of joy. 'Yet methinksI am scarce free yet!' He lifted his shackled limbs, and made the heavyirons clang upon the floor.

  'Ah, good St. Nicholas, no!' cried Emma, with a fresh shock, as sherealised what sufferings the prisoner must have undergone. 'But thoushalt be free before the sun is in the sky.'

  'Noble countess,' interrupted a harsh voice behind her, 'what means thypresence in this cell at such an hour? By the Rood! thou dost greathonour to the would-be murderer of thy husband.'

  'Liar!' hissed the prisoner between his set teeth.

  Emma turned with a start to face Sir Alain de Gourin, his cheeks purplewith passion, and his quivering hand on the hilt of his _misericorde_.The countess thought it politic to ignore his speech, although everyword had reached her ears.

  'Sir Alain!' she exclaimed, simulating pleasure at his appearance. 'Thycoming is most opportune. I was about to send a messenger to thee. Giveorders forthwith that the irons be struck from the limbs of this worthyknight without delay. He hath been shrewdly misunderstood, and my willis that he be set free!'

  She looked the mercenary hardily in the face as she gave him hercommand, and the villain quailed. He saw that he had come too late toprevent her from hearing Sir Aimand's statement of the case.

  He accepted the oblivion in which she had buried his first insultingspeech, and took an entirely different tone. 'Thy will is law, noblecountess,' he said obsequiously, and with a low bow.

  Emma did not retire to rest until she knew that the knight wascomfortably lodged in the state apartments of the castle.

  The Breton had been completely taken by surprise. He had imposed uponthe earl with a story which the latter, in the excitement attendantupon his ambitious enterprise, had neglected to verify, and it hadnever entered his head that the countess would trouble herself aboutthe matter. He supposed that the earl himself had at least spoken toher of Sir Aimand as a culprit, and that she was entirely ignorant ofhis presence as a prisoner in the castle; as she had been, until thestrange impulse which came to her to have a mass said for him, causedher to name him to the chaplain.

  Even in case of her finding the matter out and wishing to probe it, hehad an ingenious story ready, wherewith to put her off the scent.

  But the suddenness with which she had taken matters into her own hands,and had visited the prisoner and heard _his_ version of the facts,quite overcame the somewhat clumsy wit of the Breton.

  His first impulse, as usual, had been to bluster, but the firmness withwhich the countess confronted him had fairly cowed him for the moment,as he knew that he would have to justify himself, and to eat a goodmany of his words before Sir Hoel and the Norman knights of thegarrison, to whom he had accounted for De Sourdeval's absence byrepresenting that he had been sent on an embassy by the earl.

  Many were the curses that he inwardly showered on the devoted head ofFather Pierre, to whom he attributed the discovery of his schemes, andhe also reviled himself for having forgotten him as a possible channelof communication between the prisoner and the countess.

  His wits had not been the brighter for the hour at which Emma hadhappened on her inopportune discovery, for he had been indulging freelyin his favourite spiced hippocras during the evening, and therefore itseemed best to his clumsy cunning to offer no further open oppositionto the countess, and to carry out her orders himself, thus gaining timeto concoct plausible excuses before Sir Hoel should know of the affair.

  Emma also kept her own counsel, and did not say a word even to Eadgyth,when the Saxon maiden, who slept in her chamber, came to help her tounrobe.

  When Eadgyth ventured a question as to what had detained her to such alate hour, the countess smiled and kissed her.

  'Thou shalt know all in good time, dear donzelle,' she answered. 'Askme not to-night.'