CHAPTER VIII. THE VISIT TO THE WOODMAN.
"Raymond, I am glad of this chance to speak alone together, for sincethou hast turned into a man of books and letters I have scarce seenthee. I am glad of this errand into these dark woods. It seems liketimes of old come back again -- and yet not that either. I would notreturn to those days of slothful idleness, not for all the gold of theKing's treasury. But I have wanted words with thee alone, Brother.Knowest thou that we are scarce ten miles (as they measure distance herein England) from Basildene?"
Raymond turned an eager face upon his brother.
"Hast seen it, Gaston?"
"Nay. It has not been my hap to go that way; but I have heard enough andto spare about it. I fear me that our inheritance is but a sorry one,Raymond, and that it will be scarce worth the coil that would be setafoot were we to try to make good our claim."
"Tell me, what hast thou heard?" asked Raymond eagerly.
"Why, that it is but an ancient Manor, of no great value or extent, andthat the old man who dwells there with his son is little different froma sorcerer, whom it is not safe to approach -- at least not with intentto meddle. Men say that he is in league with the devil, and that he hassold his soul for the philosopher's stone, that changes all it touchesto gold. They say, too, that those who offend him speedily sicken ofsome fell disease that no medicine can cure. Though he must havewondrous wealth, he has let his house fall into gloomy decay. No manapproaches it to visit him, and he goes nowhither himself. His son,Peter, who seems as little beloved as his father, goes hither andthither as he will. But it is whispered that he shares in his father'sdealings with the Evil One, and that he will reap the benefit of thegolden treasure which has been secured to them. However that may be, allmen agree that the Sanghursts of Basildene are not to be meddled withwith impunity."
Raymond's face was very thoughtful. Such a warning as this, lightly asit would be regarded in the present century, meant something seriousthen; and Raymond instinctively crossed himself as he heard Gaston'swords. But after a moment's pause of thoughtful silence he said gravely:
"Yet perhaps on this very account ought we the rather to strive to winour inheritance out of such polluted hands. Have we not others to thinkof in this thing? Are there not those living beneath the shelter ofBasildene who must be suffering under the curse that wicked man is liketo bring upon it? For their sakes, Gaston, ought we not to do all in ourpower to make good our rights? Are they to be left to the mercy of onewhose soul is sold to Satan?"
Gaston looked quickly into his brother's flushed face, and wondered atthe sudden enthusiasm beaming out of his eyes. But he had alreadyrecognized that a change was passing over Raymond, even as a change of adifferent kind was coming upon himself. He did not entirely understandit, neither did he resent it; and now he threw his arm across hisbrother's shoulder in the old caressing fashion of their boyhood.
"Nay, I know not how that may be. There may be found those who dare towar against the powers of darkness, and with the help of the holy andblessed saints they may prevail. But that is not the strife after whichmy heart longs. Raymond, I fear me I love not Basildene, I love not thethought of making it our own. It is for the glory of the battlefield andthe pomp and strife of true warfare that I long. There are fairer landsto be won by force of arms than ever Basildene will prove, if all menspeak sooth. Who and what are we, to try our fortunes and temptdestruction by drawing upon ourselves the hatred of this wicked old man,who may do us to death in some fearful fashion, when else we might bewinning fame and glory upon the plains of France? Let us leave Basildenealone, Brother; let us follow the fortunes of the great King, and trustto his noble generosity for the reward of valour."
Raymond made no immediate reply, though he pressed his brother's handand looked lovingly into his face. Truth to tell, his affections werewinding themselves round his mother's country and inheritance, just asGaston's were turning rather to his father's land, and the thought ofthe rewards to be won there. Then, within Raymond's heart were growingup those new thoughts and aspirations engendered by long talks withJohn; and it seemed to him that possibly the very quest of which he wasin search might be found in freeing Basildene of a heavy curse. Ardent,sensitive, full of vivid imagination -- as the sons of the forest mostlyare -- Raymond felt that there was more in the truest and deepestchivalry than the mere feats of arms and acts of dauntless daring thatso often went by that name. Hazy and indistinct as his ideas were,tinged with much of the mysticism, much of the superstition of the age,they were beginning to assume definite proportions, and to threaten tocolour the whole future course of his life; and beneath all the dimnessand confusion one settled, leading idea was slowly unfolding itself, andforming a foundation for the superstructure that was to follow -- theidea that in self-denial, self-sacrifice, the subservience of selfishambition to the service of the oppressed and needy, chivalry in itshighest form was to be found.
But in his brother's silence Gaston thought he read disappointment, andwith another affectionate gesture he hastened to add:
"But if thy heart goes out to our mother's home, we will yet win itback, when time has changed us from striplings to tried warriors. See,Brother, I will tell thee what we will do. Men say that it can scarce bea year from now ere the war breaks out anew betwixt France and England,and then will come our opportunity. We will follow the fortunes of theKing. We will win our spurs fighting at the side of the Prince. We willdo as our kindred have done before us, and make ourselves honoured andrespected of all men. It may be that we shall then be lords of Saut oncemore. But be that as it may, we shall be strong, rich, powerful -- asour uncles are now. Then, if thou wilt so have it, we will think againof Basildene; and if we win it back, it shall be thine, and thine alone.Fight thou by my side whilst we are yet too young to bring to good anyprivate matter of our own. Then will I, together with thee, think againof our boyhood's dream; and it may be that we shall yet live to becalled the Twin Brothers of Basildene!"
Raymond smiled at the sound of that name, as he had smiled at Gaston'seager words before. Full of ardent longings and unbounded enthusiasm, aswere most well-born youths in those adventurous days, he was just alittle less confident than Gaston of the brilliant success that was toattend upon their feats of arms. Still there was much of the fightinginstinct in the boy, and there was certainly no hope of regainingBasildene in the present. So that he agreed willingly to his brother'sproposition, although he resolved before he left these parts to lookonce with his own eyes upon the home that had sheltered his mother'schildhood and youth.
And then they plunged into the thickest of the forest, and could talk nomore till they had reached the little clearing that lay around thewoodman's hut. The old man was not far away, as they heard by the soundof a falling axe a little to the right of them. Following this sound,they quickly came upon the object of their search -- the grizzled oldman, with the same look of unutterable woe stamped upon his face.
Gaston, who knew only one-half of the errand upon which they had come,produced the pieces of silver that the Rector and John had sent, with amessage of thanks to the old woodman for his help in directing thePrince and his company to the robbers' cave at such a favourable moment.The old man appeared bewildered at first by the sight of the money andthe words of thanks; but recollection came back by degrees, though heseemed as one who in constant brooding upon a single theme has come tolose all sense of other things, and scarce to observe the flight oftime, or to know one day from another.
This strange, wild melancholy, which had struck John at once, nowaroused in Raymond a sense of sympathetic interest. He had come to tryto seek the cause of the old man's sorrow, and he did not mean to leavewith his task unfulfilled.
Perhaps John could have found no fitter emissary than this Gascon lad,with his simple forest training, his quick sympathy and keenintelligence, and his thorough knowledge of the details of peasant life,which in all countries possess many features in common.
It was hard at first to get the old man to
care to understand what wassaid, or to take the trouble to reply. The habit of silence is one ofthe most difficult to break; but patience and perseverance generally winthe day: and when it dawned upon this strange old man that it was ofhimself and his own loss and grief that these youths had come to speak,a new look crossed his weatherbeaten face, and a strange gleam ofmingled fury and despair shone in the depths of his hollow eyes.
"My sorrow!" he exclaimed, in a voice from which the dreary cadence hadnow given place to a clearer, firmer ring: "is it of that you ask, youngsirs? Has it been told to you the cruel wrong that I have suffered?"
Then suddenly clinching his right hand and shaking it wildly above hishead, he broke into vehement and almost unintelligible invective,railing with frenzied bitterness against some foe, speaking so rapidly,and with such strange inflections of voice, that it was but a few wordsthat the brothers could distinguish out of the whole of the impassionedspeech. One of those words was "my son -- my boy," followed by the namesof Sanghurst and Basildene.
It was these names that arrested the attention of the brothers, causingthem to start and exchange quick glances. Raymond waited till the oldman had finished his railing, and then he asked gently:
"Had you then a son? Where is he now?"
"A son! ay, that had I -- the light and brightness of my life!" criedthe old man, with a sudden burst of rude eloquence that showed him tohave been at some former time something better than his presentcircumstances seemed to indicate. "Young sirs, I know not who you are; Iknow not why you ask me of my boy. But your faces are kind, andperchance there may be help in the world, though I have found it not. Iknow not how time has fled since that terrible sorrow fell upon me.Perchance not many years by the calendar, but in misery and suffering alifetime. Listen, and I will tell you all. I was not ever as you see menow. I was no lonely woodman buried in the heart of the forest. I wassecond huntsman to Sir Hugh Vavasour of Woodcrych, in favour with mymaster and well contented with my lot. I had a wife whom I loved, andshe had born me a lovely boy, who was the very light of my eyes and thejoy of my heart. I should weary you did I tell you of all his boldpranks and merry ways. He was, I verily believe, the loveliest childthat God's sun has ever looked down upon. When it pleased Him to take mywife away from me after seven happy years, I strove not to murmur; for Ihad still the child, and every day that passed made him more winsome,more loving, more mettlesome and bold. Even the master would draw reinas he passed my door to have a word with the boy; and little MistressJoan gave me many a silver groat to buy him a fairing with, and keep himalways dressed in the smartest little suit of forester's green. Thepriest noticed him too, and would have him to his house to teach himmany things, and told me he would live to carve out a fortune forhimself. I thought naught too good for him. I would have wondered littleif even the King had sent for him to make of him a companion for his son.
"Perchance I was foolish in the boastings I made. But the beauty and thewisdom of the boy struck all alike -- and thence came his destruction."
"His destruction?" echoed both brothers in a breath. "What! is he thendead?"
"He is worse than dead," answered the father, in a hollow, despairingvoice; "he has been bewitched -- undone by foul sorcery, bound over handand foot, and given to the keeping of Satan. Even the priest can donothing for us. He is lost, body and soul, for ever."
The brothers exchanged wondering glances as they made the sign of thecross, the old man watching the gesture with a bitter smile in his eye.Then Raymond spoke again:
"But what was it that happened? we do not yet understand."
"I will tell you all. If you know this part of the world, young sirs,you have doubtless heard of the old Manor of Basildene, where dwellsone, Peter Sanghurst by name, who is nothing more nor less than awizard, who should be hunted to death without pity. Men have told me (Iknow not with what truth) that these wizards, who give themselves overto the devil, are required by their master from time to time to furnishhim with new victims, and these victims are generally children -- fairand promising children, who can first be trained in the black arts oftheir earthly master, and are then handed over, body and soul, to thedevil, to be his slaves and his victims for ever."
The old man was speaking slowly now, with a steady yet despairingferocity that was terrible to hear. His sunken eyes gleamed in theirsockets, and his hands, that were tightly clinched over the handle ofhis axe, trembled with the emotion that had him in its clutches.
"I was sent upon a mission by my master. I was absent from my home someseven days. When I came back my boy was gone. I had left him in the careof the keeper of the hounds. He was an honest man, and told me all thetale. Perchance you know that Sir Hugh Vavasour is what men call aspendthrift. His estates will not supply him with the money he needs. Heis always in debt, he is always in difficulties. From that it comes thathe cares little what manner of men are his comrades or friends, providedonly that they can supply his needs when his own means fail. This iswhy, when all men else hate and loathe the very name of Sanghurst, hecalls himself their friend. He knows that the old man has the secret bywhich all things may be turned into gold, and therefore he welcomes hisson to Woodcrych. And men say that Mistress Joan is to be given inmarriage to his son one day, because he will take her without dowry; forshe is the fairest creature in the world, and he has vowed that sheshall wed him and none else."
The brothers were intensely interested by this tale, but were growing alittle confused by all the names introduced, and they wanted the storyof the woodman's son complete.
"Then was it the old man who took your boy, or was it his son? Are theynot both called Peter?"
"Ay, they have both the same name -- the same name and the same nature:evil, cruel, remorseless. I know not how nor where the old man first seteyes upon my boy; but he must have seen him, and have coveted possessionof him for his devilish practices; for upon the week that I was absentfrom home, he left the solitude of his house, and came with the masterhimself to the house where the boy was. And then Sir Hugh explained tohonest Stephen, who had charge of him, that Master Peter Sanghurst hadoffered the lad a place in his service, where he would learn many thingsthat would stand him in good stead all the days of his life. It soundedfair in all faith. But Stephen stoutly refused to let the boy go till Ireturned; whereupon Sir Hugh struck him a blow across the face with hisheavy whip, and young Peter Sanghurst, leaping to the ground, seized thechild and placed him in front of him upon the horse, and the threegalloped off laughing aloud, whilst the boy in vain implored to be setdown to run home. When I came back he had gone, and all men said thatthe old man had thus stolen him to satisfy the greed for souls of hismaster the devil."
"And hast thou not seen him since?" asked the boys breathlessly. "Whatdidst thou do when thou camest back?"
For a moment it seemed as though the old man would break out again intothose wild imprecations of frenzied anger which the brothers had heardhim utter before; but by a violent effort he checked the vehement flowof words that rose to his lips, and replied with a calmness far morereally impressive:
"I did all that a poor helpless man might do when his feudal lord was onthe side of the enemy, and met every prayer and supplication either withmockery or blows. I soon saw it all too well. Sir Hugh was under thespell of the wicked old man. What was my boy's soul to him? what myagony? Nothing -- nothing. The wizard had coveted the beautiful boy. Hehad doubtless made it worth my master's while to sell him to him; andwhat could I do? I tried everything I knew; but who would listen to me?Master Bernard de Brocas of Guildford, whom I met upon the road andbegged to listen to my tale, promised he would see if something mightnot be done. I waited and waited in anguish, and hope, and despair, andthere came a day when his palfrey stopped at my door, and he cameforward himself to speak with me. He told me he had spoken to the Masterof Basildene, and that he had promised to restore me my son if I wasresolved to have him back; but he had told the good priest that he knewthe boy would never be content to stay in a woodland cottage w
ith anunlettered father, when he had learned what life elsewhere was like. ButI laughed this warning to scorn, and demanded my boy back."
"And did he come?"
A strange look swept over the old man's face. His hands were tightlyclinched. His voice was very low, and full of suppressed awe and fury.
"Ay, he came back -- he came back that same night -- but so changed inthose few months that I scarce knew him. And ah, how he clung to me whenhe was set down at my door! How he sobbed on my breast, entreating me tohold him fast -- to save him -- to protect him! What fearful tales ofunhallowed sights and sounds did his white lips pour into my ears! Howmy own blood curdled at the tale, and how I vowed that never, never,never would I let him go from out my arms again! I held him fast. I tookhim within doors. I fastened the door safely. I fed him, comforted him,and laid him in mine own bed, lying wakeful beside him for fear eventhen that he should be taken from me; and thus the hours sped by. Butthe rest -- ah, how can I tell it? It wrings my very heart. O my child,my son -- my own heart's joy!"
The old man threw up his arms with a wild gesture of despair, and therewas something in his face so terrible that the twins dared ask him noquestion; but after that one cry and gesture, the stony look returnedupon his face, and he went on of his own accord.
"Midnight had come. I knew it by the position of the moon in theheavens. My boy had been sleeping like one dead beside me, never movingor stirring, scarce breathing; and I had at last grown soothed anddrowsy likewise. I had just fallen into a light sleep, when I wasaroused by feeling Roger stir beside me, and hastily sit up in the bed.His eyes were wide open, and in the moonlight they seemed to shine withunnatural brilliance. It was as if he were listening -- listening withevery fibre of his being, listening to a voice which he could hear and Icould not; for he made quick answers. 'I hear, Sire,' he said, in astrange, muffled voice. And he rose suddenly to his feet and cried, 'Icome, Master, I come.' Then a great rage and fear possessed me, for Iknew that my boy was being called by some foul spirit, and that he wasbewitched. I sprang up and seized him in my arms. 'Thou shalt not go!' Icried aloud. 'He has given thee back to me. I am thy father. Thy placeis here. I will not let thee go!' But I might have been speaking to adead corpse for all the understanding I received. My boy's eyes wereopened, but he saw me not. His ears, that heard other voices, were deafto mine. He struggled fiercely against my fatherly embrace; and when Ifelt the strength that had come into that frame, so worn and feeble buta few short hours ago, then I knew that it was the devil himself who hadentered into my child, and that it was his voice that was luring himback to his destruction. O my God! May I never have to live againthrough the agony of that hour in which I fought with the devil for mychild, and fought in vain. Like one possessed (as indeed he was) did hewrestle with me, crying out wildly all the while that he was coming --that he would quickly come; hearing nothing that I could hear, seeingnothing that I could see, and all the time struggling with me with astrength that I knew must at last prevail, albeit he was but a tenderchild and I a man in the prime of manhood's strength. But the devil wasin him that night. It was not my boy's own hand that struck the blowwhich forced me to leave my hold, and sent me staggering back againstthe wall. No, it was but the evil spirit within him; and even as Ireleased him from my embrace, he glided to the door, undid thefastenings, and still calling out that he was coming, that he would bethere anon, he slipped out into the still forest, and vanished amongstthe trees."
"Did he return to Basildene?"
"Ay, like a bird to its nest, a dog to its master's home. Spent andbreathless, despairing as I was, I yet gathered my strength and followedmy boy -- weeping and calling upon his name, though I knew he heard menot. Scarce could I keep the gliding figure in sight; yet I could notchoose but follow, lest some mischance should befall the child by theway. But he moved onwards as if he trod on air, neither stumbling norfalling, nor turning to the right hand or to the left. I watched him tothe end of the avenue of trees that leads to Basildene. As he reached ita dark figure stepped forth, and the child sank to the ground as ifexhausted. There was the sound of laughter -- fiends' laughter, if everdevils do laugh. It chilled the very blood in my veins, and I stoodrooted to the spot, whilst the hair of my head stood erect. The darkform bent over the boy and seemed to raise it.
"'You shall suffer for this,' I heard a cruel voice say in a hissingwhisper; 'you will not ask to leave again!' and at those evil words acry of anguish -- a human cry -- broke from my boy's lips, and with ayell of fury I sprang forward to save him or to die with him. But whathappened then I know not. Whether a human hand or a fiend's struck medown I shall never now know. I remember a blow -- the sense that hell'smouth was opening to receive me; that the mocking laughter of devils wasin my ears. Then I knew no more till (they tell me it was many weekslater) I awoke from a long strange sleep in yon cabin where I live. Anold woodman had found me, and had carried me there. Sir Hugh had givenhim a few silver pieces to take care of me. He had filled my place, andmy old home was occupied by another; but had it not been so, no power onearth would have taken me back there. I had grown old in one night. Ihad lost my strength, my cunning, my heart. I stayed on with the old manawhile, and as he fell sick and died when the next snow fell upon theground, Master Bernard de Brocas appointed me as woodman in his stead,and here I have remained ever since. I know not how the time has sped. Ihave no heart or hope in life. My child is gone -- possessed by fiendswho have him in their clutches, so that I may never win him back to me.I hate my life, yet fear to die; for then I might see him the sport ofdevils, and be, as before, powerless to succour him. I have long ceasedto be shriven for my sins. What good to me is forgiveness, if my childwill be doomed to hellfire for evermore? No hope in this world, no hopeafter death. Woe is me that ever I was born! Woe is me! woe is me!"
The energy which had supported the old man as he told his tale nowappeared suddenly to desert him. With a low moan he sank upon the groundand buried his face in his hands, whilst the boys stood and gazed athim, and then at one another, their faces full of interest and sympathy,their hearts burning with indignation against the wicked foe of theirown race, who seemed to bring misery and wrong wherever he moved.
"And thou hast never seen thy son again?" asked Raymond softly. "Is heyet alive, knowest thou?"
"I have never seen him again: they say that he still lives. But what islife to one who is sold and bound over, body and soul, to the powers ofdarkness?"
Then the old man buried his face once more in his hands, and seemed toforget even the presence of the boys; and Gaston and Raymond stolesilently away, with many backward glances at the bowed and strickenfigure, unable to find any words either to help or comfort him.
In the Days of Chivalry: A Tale of the Times of the Black Prince Page 8