CHAPTER V
BARON AQUILA
Felix's own position was bitter in the extreme. He felt he had talent.He loved deeply, he knew that he was in turn as deeply beloved; but hewas utterly powerless. On the confines of the estate, indeed, the menwould run gladly to do his bidding. Beyond, and on his own account, hewas helpless. Manual labour (to plough, to sow, to work on shipboard)could produce nothing in a time when almost all work was done bybondsmen or family retainers. The life of a hunter in the woods wasfree, but produced nothing.
The furs he sold simply maintained him; it was barter for existence, notprofit. The shepherds on the hills roamed in comparative freedom, butthey had no wealth except of sheep. He could not start as a merchantwithout money; he could not enclose an estate and build a house orcastle fit for the nuptials of a noble's daughter without money, or thatpersonal influence which answers the same purpose; he could not evenhope to succeed to the hereditary estate, so deeply was it encumbered;they might, indeed, at any time be turned forth.
Slowly the iron entered into his soul. This hopelessness, helplessness,embittered every moment. His love increasing with the passage of timerendered his position hateful in the extreme. The feeling within that hehad talent which only required opportunity stung him like a scorpion.The days went by, and everything remained the same. Continual broodingand bitterness of spirit went near to drive him mad.
At last the resolution was taken, he would go forth into the world. Thatinvolved separation from Aurora, long separation, and withoutcommunication, since letters could be sent only by special messenger,and how should he pay a messenger? It was this terrible thought ofseparation which had so long kept him inactive. In the end thebitterness of hopelessness forced him to face it. He began the canoe,but kept his purpose secret, especially from her, lest tears should melthis resolution.
There were but two ways of travelling open to him: on foot, as thehunters did, or by the merchant vessels. The latter, of course, requiredpayment, and their ways were notoriously coarse. If on foot he could notcross the Lake, nor visit the countries on either shore, nor theislands; therefore he cut down the poplar and commenced the canoe.Whither he should go, and what he should do, was entirely at the mercyof circumstances. He had no plan, no route.
He had a dim idea of offering his services to some distant king orprince, of unfolding to him the inventions he had made. He tried toconceal from himself that he would probably be repulsed and laughed at.Without money, without a retinue, how could he expect to be received orlistened to? Still, he must go; he could not help himself, go he must.
As he chopped and chipped through the long weeks of early spring, whilethe easterly winds bent the trees above him, till the buds unfolded andthe leaves expanded--while his hands were thus employed, the whole map,as it were, of the known countries seemed to pass without volitionbefore his mind. He saw the cities along the shores of the great Lake;he saw their internal condition, the weakness of the social fabric, themisery of the bondsmen. The uncertain action of the League, the onlythread which bound the world together; the threatening aspect of theCymry and the Irish; the dread north, the vast northern forests, fromwhich at any time invading hosts might descend on the fertile south--itall went before his eyes.
What was there behind the immense and untraversed belt of forest whichextended to the south, to the east, and west? Where did the great Lakeend? Were the stories of the gold and silver mines of Devon and Cornwalltrue? And where were the iron mines, from which the ancients drew theirstores of metal?
Led by these thoughts he twice or thrice left his labour, and walkingsome twenty miles through the forests, and over the hills, reached thesummit of White Horse. From thence, resting on the sward, he watched thevessels making slow progress by oars, and some drawn with ropes by gangsof men or horses on the shore, through the narrow straits. North andSouth there nearly met. There was but a furlong of water between them.If ever the North came down there the armies would cross. _There_ wasthe key of the world. Excepting the few cottages where the owners of thehorses lived, there was neither castle nor town within twenty miles.
Forced on by these thoughts, he broke the long silence which had existedbetween him and his father. He spoke of the value and importance of thisspot; could not the Baron send forth his retainers and enclose a newestate there? There was nothing to prevent him. The forest was free toall, provided that they rendered due service to the Prince. Might not ahouse or castle built there become the beginning of a city? The Baronlistened, and then said he must go and see that a new hatch was put inthe brook to irrigate the water-meadow. That was all.
Felix next wrote an anonymous letter to the Prince pointing out thevalue of the place. The Prince should seize it, and add to his power. Heknew that the letter was delivered, but there was no sign. It hadindeed, been read and laughed at. Why make further efforts when theyalready had what they desired? One only, the deep and designingValentine, gave it serious thought in secret. It seemed to him thatsomething might come of it, another day, when he was himself inpower--if that should happen. But he, too, forgot it in a week. Somesecret effort was made to discover the writer, for the council were veryjealous of political opinion, but it soon ended. The idea, not beingsupported by money or influence, fell into oblivion.
Felix worked on, chipping out the canoe. The days passed, and the boatwas nearly finished. In a day or two now it would be launched, and soonafterwards he should commence his voyage. He should see Aurora once moreonly. He should see her, but he should not say farewell; she would notknow that he was going till he had actually departed. As he thought thusa dimness came before his eyes; his hand trembled, and he could notwork. He put down the chisel, and paused to steady himself.
Upon the other side of the stream, somewhat lower down, a yellowwood-dog had been lapping the water to quench its thirst, watching theman the while. So long as Felix was intent upon his work, the wildanimal had no fear; the moment he looked up, the creature sprang backinto the underwood. A dove was cooing in the forest not far distant, butas he was about to resume work the cooing ceased. Then a wood-pigeonrose from the ashes with a loud clapping of wings. Felix listened. Hishunter instinct told him that something was moving there. A rustling ofthe bushes followed, and he took his spear which had been leant againstthe adjacent tree. But, peering into the wood, in a moment he recognisedOliver, who, having walked off his rage, was returning.
"I though it might have been a Bushman," said Felix, replacing hisspear; "only they are noiseless."
"Any of them might have cut me down," said Oliver; "for I forgot myweapon. It is nearly noon; are you coming home to dinner?"
"Yes; I must bring my tools."
He put them in the basket, and together they returned to the ropeladder. As they passed the Pen by the river they caught sight of theBaron in the adjacent gardens, which were irrigated by his contrivancesfrom the stream, and went towards him. A retainer held two horses, onegaily caparisoned, outside the garden; his master was talking with SirConstans.
"It is Lord John," said Oliver. They approached slowly under thefruit-trees, not to intrude. Sir Constans was showing the courtier anearly cherry-tree, whose fruit was already set. The dry hot weather hadcaused it to set even earlier than usual. A suit of black velvet, anextremely expensive and almost unprocurable material, brought thecourtier's pale features into relief. It was only by the very oldestfamilies that any velvet or satin or similar materials were stillpreserved; if these were in pecuniary difficulties they might sell somepart of their store, but such things were not to be got for money in theordinary way.
Two small silver bars across his left shoulder showed that he was alord-in-waiting. He was a handsome man, with clear-cut features,somewhat rakish from late hours and dissipation, but not the lessinteresting on that account. But his natural advantages were so over-runwith the affectation of the Court that you did not see the man at all,being absorbed by the studied gesture to display the jewelled ring, andthe peculiarly low tone of voice in which i
t was the fashion to speak.
Beside the old warrior he looked a mere stripling. The Baron's arm wasbare, his sleeve rolled up; and as he pointed to the tree above, themuscles, as the limb moved, displayed themselves in knots, at which thecourtier himself could not refrain from glancing. Those mighty arms, hadthey clasped him about the waist, could have crushed his bending ribs.The heaviest blow that he could have struck upon that broad chest wouldhave produced no more effect than a hollow sound; it would not even haveshaken that powerful frame.
He felt the steel blue eye, bright as the sky of midsummer, glance intohis very mind. The high forehead bare, for the Baron had his hat in hishand, mocked at him in its humility. The Baron bared his head in honourof the courtier's office and the Prince who had sent him. The beard,though streaked with white, spoke little of age; it rather indicated anabundant, a luxuriant vitality.
Lord John was not at ease. He shifted from foot to foot, andoccasionally puffed a large cigar of Devon tobacco. His errand wassimple enough. Some of the ladies at the Court had a fancy for fruit,especially strawberries, but there were none in the market, nor to beobtained from the gardens about the town. It was recollected that SirConstans was famous for his gardens, and the Prince despatched Lord Johnto Old House with a gracious message and request for a basket ofstrawberries. Sir Constans was much pleased; but he regretted that thehot, dry weather had not permitted the fruit to come to any size orperfection. Still there were some.
The courtier accompanied him to the gardens, and saw the water-wheelwhich, turned by a horse, forced water from the stream into a small pondor elevated reservoir, from which it irrigated the ground. This supplyof water had brought on the fruit, and Sir Constans was able to gather asmall basket. He then looked round to see what other early product hecould send to the palace. There was no other fruit; the cherries, thoughset, were not ripe; but there was some asparagus, which had not yet beenserved, said Lord John, at the Prince's table.
Sir Constans set men to hastily collect all that was ready, and whilethis was done took the courtier over the gardens. Lord John felt nointerest whatever in such matters, but he could not choose but admirethe extraordinary fertility of the enclosure, and the variety of theproducts. There was everything; fruit of all kinds, herbs of everyspecies, plots specially devoted to those possessing medicinal virtue.This was only one part of the gardens; the orchards proper were fartherdown, and the flowers nearer the house. Sir Constans had sent a man tothe flower-garden, who now returned with two fine bouquets, which werepresented to Lord John: the one for the Princess, the Prince's sister;the other for any lady to whom he might choose to present it.
The fruit had already been handed to the retainer who had charge of thehorses. Though interested, in spite of himself, Lord John, acknowledgingthe flowers, turned to go with a sense of relief. This simplicity ofmanners seemed discordant to him. He felt out of place, and in some waylowered in his own esteem, and yet he despised the rural retirement andbeauty about him.
Felix and Oliver, a few yards distant, were waiting with rising tempers.The spectacle of the Baron in his native might of physique, humblystanding, hat in hand, before this Court messenger, discoursing oncherries, and offering flowers and fruit, filled them with anger anddisgust. The affected gesture and subdued voice of the courtier, on theother hand, roused an equal contempt.
As Lord John turned, he saw them. He did not quite guess theirrelationship, but supposed they were cadets of the house, it beingcustomary for those in any way connected to serve the head of thefamily. He noted the flag basket in Felix's hand, and naturally imaginedthat he had been at work.
"You have been to-to plough, eh?" he said, intending to be very graciousand condescending. "Very healthy employment. The land requires somerain, does it not? Still I trust it will not rain till I am home, for myplume's sake," tossing his head. "Allow me," and as he passed he offeredOliver a couple of cigars. "One each," he added; "the best Devon."
Oliver took the cigars mechanically, holding them as if they had beenvipers, at arm's length, till the courtier had left the garden, and thehedge interposed. Then he threw them into the water-carrier. The besttobacco, indeed the only real tobacco, came from the warm Devon land,but little of it reached so far, on account of the distance, thedifficulties of intercourse, the rare occasions on which the merchantsucceeded in escaping the vexatious interference, the downright robberyof the way. Intercourse was often entirely closed by war.
These cigars, therefore, were worth their weight in silver, and suchtobacco could be obtained only by those about the Court, as a matter offavour, too, rather than by purchase. Lord John would, indeed, havestared aghast had he seen the rustic to whom he had given so valuable apresent cast them into a ditch. He rode towards the Maple Gate, excusinghis haste volubly to Sir Constans, who was on foot, and walked besidehim a little way, pressing him to take some refreshment.
His sons overtook the Baron as he walked towards home, and walked by hisside in silence. Sir Constans was full of his fruit.
"The wall cherry," said he, "will soon have a few ripe."
Oliver swore a deep but soundless oath in his chest. Sir Constanscontinued talking about his fruit and flowers, entirely oblivious of thesilent anger of the pair beside him. As they approached the house, thewarder blew his horn thrice for noon. It was also the signal for dinner.
After London; Or, Wild England Page 11