CHAPTER XIV
A HEROINE IN DANGER
It must not be supposed that the England of King John bore much moreresemblance to the England of Queen Victoria than the London ofConstantine Fitzarnulph to the London of our own day. It was a countrywith much waste land, immense and widely-extending forests, chiefly ofbeech and oak trees, in whose branches the hawk built, and from whosebranches dropped acorns, on which herds of swine daily fed; and theforests were frequented by the bear, the wild boar, the wolf, and thewild bull, and not seldom tenanted by men without the pale of the law,and at war with society. Of course the aspect of the country waspicturesque. Here was a Norman castle, there a Saxon hall; here aflourishing walled town, there a poor hamlet; here a rich monastery,there the cell of some hermit--the entire population not exceeding twomillions. In fact, the eastern counties, from Lincoln to Sussex, weredreary swamps, almost undrained: and the whole of that once wealthy andgreat province beyond the Humber, known as “Northumbria,” thoughgradually recovering, still bore terrible traces of the devastationwrought by the Conqueror.
It was, however, through the more fertile and less rugged part ofEngland that William de Collingham and Oliver Icingla took their way,and for days rode on through bridle-roads which are now railways, andthrough forests which are now corn-fields, and past castle-protectedhamlets which are now considerable towns. Nor were there many signseither in the appearance of the country or in the manner of theinhabitants to indicate that national affairs had reached a crisis whichmade civil war too probable. The herdsman drove out his cattle, theshepherd his sheep, and the swineherd his grunting herd; thecharcoal-burner his cart, the waggoner his team of oxen; and thepeasantry, in their smock-frocks, girt round the loins, and barelyreaching to the knee, and their heads covered with a kind of hood--someof them with shoes and stockings, others with bare feet--went abouttheir usual occupations as if peace had smiled on the land. Once theknight and squire met a pilgrim from the Holy Land carrying apalm-branch to deposit on the altar of his parish church, and otherwayfarers whose errands, to judge by their looks, were equally peaceful.
“Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, An abbot on an ambling pad; Sometimes a curly shepherd lad, Or long-hair’d page in crimson clad.”
But it seemed as if the mandate sent throughout the land to lords andwarriors to join the baronial standard had not been readily respondedto, for hardly one band of armed men crossed their path. In fact, mostpeople, except those who were very nearly concerned with the disputebetween the king and the barons, were little disposed to involvethemselves in a contest which was so problematical in its issue, andwere rather inclined, so long as the contending parties left them atpeace, to look quietly on, and await the result of a struggle which,they felt strongly, was too serious for them to take part in unless as amatter of necessity.
It was a warm day in the month of June, and the sun shone bright onwoodland and plain, when Collingham and Oliver approached the royalpalace in the forest of Savernake, where the wife of King John was thenresiding, and suddenly found themselves in the vicinity of a merry partyof ladies, with hounds and hawks, and attended by falconers, huntsmen,and pages, and several men-at-arms to guard them from any danger thatmight present itself. The knight and the squire halted to survey theparty and watch the sport; and, in truth, the temptation was well-nighirresistible; for what with their rich dresses, their mettled palfreys,and their equestrian grace, the dames and demoiselles, whoever theymight be, were somewhat fascinating to the eye of chevaliers. But oneamong them arrested Collingham’s whole attention, and also, though amoment later, that of Oliver. She was a woman of thirty or thereabouts,with a fair and delicate complexion, an oval face, features of singularregularity and majesty, and a figure which, for grace and symmetry,might have compared to advantage with the finest creations of thesculptor. She wore a green habit which much became her, and a bonnetdecked with plumes; and she rode, not a palfrey but a steed which, sofar as spirit was concerned, seemed much fitter to have carried awarrior to battle-field than to amble with the fair being who was nowrestraining its fiery ardour with some difficulty, though evidentlywithout trepidation.
“By the mass!” exclaimed Collingham, gazing very intently on thisinteresting personage, “I should know that face and figure. What if shewere Queen Isabel?” asked he, laughing.
“On my faith!” exclaimed Oliver with enthusiasm, “she is fair andfascinating enough to be the Queen of Elfland. What if we approachnearer?”
“Nay, by no means,” replied Collingham in a jocular tone; “now that youtake her for a being of another world, I have no heart to intrude intoher presence, lest the fate of Young Tamlane or of Actæon should befallme for a lighter fault.”
“Actæon?” said Oliver, inquiringly. “I remember the story of YoungTamlane being carried away by the Queen of Faerie and her ladies intoElfland, and of his having a narrow escape of being devoured when thefoul fiend visited that region to claim his tithe of the inhabitants.But,” continued Oliver, musingly, “the name of the other dwells not inmy memory. I pray you, sir knight, to inform me what manner of man hewas, and what wondrous adventure befell him as you hint. Name you himActæon?” added he, inquiringly.
“Yes. Heard you never of Actæon, of whom ancient writers tell amarvellous adventure, which I lately heard my Lord Neville relate whenat the Tower? Well, be it known to you that this Actæon was a brave andaccomplished knight, who loved dogs and the chase above all things; andone day, being eager in pursuing a stag, he came to a large meadow,surrounded, like this before us, with high trees, in which was afountain where the goddess of chastity, whom they call Diana, wasbathing with her nymphs, and that so suddenly that he was too far toretreat ere they were aware of his approach; and the goddess, to punishhim for what was his misfortune and not his fault, cried out, ‘Actæon,whoever sent thee here has no great love for thee; and for the outragethou hast committed I will make thee perform a penance. I thereforechange thee into the form of the stag thou hast this day hunted.’ And,”added Collingham, “he was instantly transformed into a stag.”
“Ah,” said Oliver, gravely, “I now remember me of having, in the dayswhen I was being taught grammar and letters in the company ofConstantine Fitzarnulph, heard or read something of this Actæon of whomyou speak, and also how other goddesses besides Diana were wont tochange men whom they disliked into beasts, and women into birds; and Iknow full well that many believe that such things may have taken placewhen the world was full of pagans and idolaters; but, for my part, Ihold such stories as mere fables, and such as ought not to weigh with abrave man who holds the Christian faith; and as touching the dame beforeus--be she goddess or Queen of Elfland--I must own she is parloushandsome, and bewitching to look upon.”
“I gainsay not that,” said Collingham, gazing at the person alluded to;“but,” added he, “methinks that anyhow the fair lady has mistaken herstrength of wrist and hand when she mounted a steed which peradventureCœur de Lion had found less uneasy under him than he relished.”
“In good faith,” observed Oliver, gravely, “I cannot but deem that sheis in more peril than she fancies.”
At that moment, however, the hounds gave tongue, and the eyes both ofknight and squire were attracted by a heron which arose from a sedgypool. Immediately the lady whom they had been so attentively observinglet loose her falcon, and, followed by the party, went off in pursuit,every eye directed towards the soaring heron and the wheeling falcon.Sharing the excitement, Collingham and Oliver Icingla set spurs to theirhorses and followed, but at such a distance as not to attract theobservation of the party; and, while the ladies slackened their pace andreined in their steeds in a broad, grassy plain to watch the sport, theknight and squire halted at a spot where the plain was bounded by arivulet, with steep and precipitous banks, haunted by the eagle, and thebeaver, and the otter. And exciting was the spectacle which met theireye. Ascending in circles till they became mere specks, and almostdisappeared in the sky, the heron and falcon excited
the interest of thespectators to the highest degree, till, locked in a death struggle, theydropped screaming, leaving a track of plumes in the sky, and came downstruggling almost on the head of the fair horsewoman, the falconstriking his claws into the heron’s neck, almost under the feet of herhorse. It was enough. The steed instantly became more refractory thanbefore, bounded, plunged, and, wheeling round, broke away in spite ofher efforts, and rushed wildly, with outstretched neck and tail erect,towards the most precipitous part of the bank on which Collingham andOliver had taken their station. Both uttered a cry of horror. But theidea of rendering aid appeared so hopeless that Oliver could only muttera prayer for Heaven to interpose. Collingham’s presence of mind,however, did not desert him. Leaping from his charger at a bound, heplaced himself at the root of a tree that grew near the verge of theprecipice, and the steed came on, snorting fire. One chance onlyintervened between the lady and destruction. It was an awful moment forall concerned. But, even in this emergency, such was Collingham’s nervethat his heart was steady and his hand firm. One bound, one grasp, onetremendous effort such as might have torn an oak-tree from the ground,and the steed, arrested in its headlong and terrible course, was thrownback on its haunches, and next moment the lady, saved from the dangerwhich threatened her, was lifted by Oliver Icingla from its strugglinglimbs and laid gently on the grass, unhurt, but fainting from agitationand terror.
At this moment the pages, falconers, and demoiselles who formed thehunting party came gradually up; and, as means were taken to restore thefainting fair one to consciousness, Oliver, with much curiosity, asked afalconer--
“Who may she be?”
“Why, young gentleman,” replied the falconer, looking rathersuspiciously at his questioner, “I could have sworn that was a questionwhich thou hadst no occasion to ask. Marry, I’ll scarce credit but thatthy comrade knew better when he put his life so freely in peril to savehers. Would he have done as much to save a milkmaid, thinkest thou?”
“Mayhap the knight would, and mayhap he does know somewhat of the ladyhe has rescued,” remarked Oliver, not without exhibiting impatience thathe, albeit a young warrior who had fought in Castile and Flanders,should thus be played with. “I can answer only for myself and my ownknowledge, sir falconer; and I tell thee, on my faith, that I, on mypart, am ignorant who the lady is.”
“Why, then, I will tell thee, sir squire,” said the falconer, eyeingOliver with an air of good-humoured superiority; “she is no less aperson than our Lady the Queen.”
Runnymede and Lincoln Fair: A Story of the Great Charter Page 16