Runnymede and Lincoln Fair: A Story of the Great Charter

by John G. Edgar

  CHAPTER XX

  OLIVER’S CAPTIVITY

  When Oliver Icingla was drawn away by Ralph Hornmouth from the presenceof Hugh de Moreville, he felt conscious that, for the time being, he wasendowed with more than the obstinacy of the mule--with an obstinacywhich he felt to be invincible. A strange reaction had taken place afterhis display of rage and excitement; and he was as calm as contempt couldmake a human being. As for the blind chamber to which the Norman baronhad ordered him to be consigned, he manned himself to face its horrors,be they what they might, without flinching; and he vowed internally, nomatter what torments they made him endure, that he would tell themnothing, but that he defied their worst malignity--not even that he wasquite unaware of the object of Collingham’s journey northward, which hemight have stated with perfect truth, for he only knew that the knightwas going, in the first place, to Lincoln.

  Much surprised, however, was Oliver when, after being conducted througha long gallery, he found himself led into an apartment which, so farfrom being a chamber of horrors, neither appeared worse nor moreuncomfortable than many it had been his lot to occupy; and still moresurprised was he, while gazing round sullenly, that Ralph Hornmouth,after carefully closing the door and ordering his comrade to keep watchoutside, undid the bands which fettered his hands, and left him free, asif, instead of being a captive, he was in the chamber as a guest.

  “By the rood, young gentleman,” said Hornmouth, in a more kindly tonethan he had yet used, “but that I know how loud young game-cocks cancrow when they are roused to excitement, I should marvel at yourcourage. I was in dread that my lord would strike you dead where youstood; and, had you been any other living mortal than you are such musthave been your fate. You little know him, or you would be lessventuresome. When he swears by his faith, he is safe enough; when heswears by St. Moden, his wrath is only rising; but when he swears bythe bones of St. Moden, his temper has reached such a pitch of heat,that it were safer to pull the Devil by the beard than to cross himfurther--even a hair’s breadth.”

  “Sir squire, is this what the Lord Hugh de Moreville calls the blindchamber?” asked Oliver, without noticing the henchman’s observations.

  “Nay, by rood and mass, and well for you that it is not,” answeredHornmouth, smiling grimly. “It is no place for birds of your feather, Iween, and so would you were you there till cock-crow. My lord spake inhis wrath, but he will think better of it ere another sun shines; andwere I simple enough to take a kinsman of his, with the blood ofMoreville in his veins, thither to-night, my reward would be the duletree on the morrow. I have more regard for my neck, Master Icingla, thanyou seem to have for your limbs. Cog’s wounds! but I cannot think enoughof the courage with which you flouted and defied my lord, at whose frownI have seen so many tremble;” and the rude soldier eyed Oliver with thegenuine admiration which a display of real courage seldom fails toinspire.

  Having given warning that any attempt to escape would be certaindestruction, and that any attempt to corrupt the gaolers would only leadto a close confinement, Hornmouth took the captive by the hand.

  “Beware,” whispered he, “of doing aught to place thee in the power ofthe governor of the castle. Sir Anthony Waledger detests thy race andthy name, and is marvellous valiant when dealing with enemies who cannotinjure him. Good night, and droop not; all will yet be well.”

  Oliver was then left to solitude and his own reflections, which werenone of the pleasantest. Of all men in England, Hugh de Moreville wasthe last into whose hands he could have wished to fall; and, thoughreassured in some measure by the words of the squire, he could not feelcertain, after what had passed, that he might not, in some unlucky hour,be exposed to personal violence. However, after worrying himself withgloomy thoughts for hours, he gradually felt sleep stealing over him,and soon exchanged his torturing reflections for dreams of the palace ofSavernake and the city of Gloucester. Nor did he awake till he wasshaken by the arm; and, as he looked up, one sight of the bronzed faceof Hornmouth brought all the events of yesterday to his memory.

  “Young gentleman,” said De Moreville’s squire, respectfully, “it is as Iforetold. My lord wishes you no harm; but I tell you frankly, that youhave no more chance of leaving this castle till the war is over than ofgoing to Fairyland, if such a place there be. Wherefore be ruled by myadvice, and content yourself. Make the best of a bad bargain, and makegood cheer. I will forthwith send the wherewithal, and give orders forall your wants being supplied, save thy liberty, which is not mine togive. I myself am on the point of undertaking an expedition to thecastle of Mount Moreville, and may not return for many months. But fearnot. Be quiet. Make no vain attempt to escape; and I swear to you, bymass and rood, that you are as safe in this chamber as if you sat inyour mother’s hall.”

  “By the Holy Cross!” exclaimed Oliver, “you give me cold comfort. Deemyou that it can be otherwise than irksome to an Icingla to lie here likea useless log, while others are pressing on in the race of life, andmarking their valour on the crests of foemen? True, I am an Englishman,and I have none of the vague aspirings about conquering kingdoms andprincipalities with which so many Norman warriors delude theirimaginations. Still I want to do my duty and to keep my sword fromrusting, and to enjoy freedom and free air. But I see you mean me well,good squire, and I thank you with all my heart; albeit I can hardly inmy heart forgive you for having come with such odds at your back, that Ihad not even a chance of avoiding what I loathe most--I mean captivity.”

  Ralph Hornmouth laughed and withdrew; and Oliver, rising from his couch,resolved to his utmost to reconcile himself to his fate, and, moreover,began to indulge in vague hopes.

  “Collingham may learn my fate, or the faithful Styr,” soliloquised he ashe devoured his morning meal with the appetite of a Saxon thane in thedays of King Ethelred; “and if they do, by the Holy Cross, Chas-Chateil,thick as may be its walls, and well guarded as may be its doors andgates, will not long hold me as a captive. Holy Edward be my aidmeanwhile!”

  But it cannot be very easy for a young warrior, in a fighting age, whohas fleshed his maiden sword, and taken part in two fields of fame,especially at the age of eighteen, to force himself to be philosophicalin captivity; and Oliver Icingla, being intended by nature for a man ofaction, soon grew weary of compelling himself to be patient. Indeed, asdays and weeks passed, the dulness and monotony of his existence, andthe thought of his home and his mother’s grief, depressed him to such apoint that he experienced something like intolerable woe. Hugh deMoreville he never saw. Ralph Hornmouth did not reappear to bid him takecomfort. The gaoler performed his functions in silence, and, whenquestioned, replied in monosyllables. During his brief captivity on thecontinent, Oliver had been in attendance on a great earl, and daily incontact with knights and squires, and he had borne it easily. But hefeared that this solitary incarceration would, if prolonged, break hisspirit.

  One advantage, indeed, he had in his imprisonment; for the window of hischamber commanded a prospect of the vale of the Kennet, and barred asthe window was, he could catch glances of the world from a distance, andsometimes even see not only peaceful travellers, but bands of armed men,passing and repassing. Still this only reminded him of his own sadplight, for everybody and everything seemed free but himself. The riverflowed on; the trout leaped in the clear water; the heron perched on thestones by the grassy margin; the eagle soared over the castle; thesquirrel climbed the trees; and the deer ran free in the chase. Even theserf who toiled in the fields around Chas-Chateil appeared to enjoy ahappy lot, in comparison with the only son of the woman to whomChas-Chateil rightfully belonged. But there was consolation at hand.

  It happened that the chamber appropriated to Oliver was on a level witha battlement or outer gallery constructed to resemble a terrace, andknown as “the ladies’ walk.” Nobody, however, seemed to frequent it; andOliver, whose knowledge of feudal strongholds enabled him to comprehendits purpose, had concluded that Hugh de Moreville’s daughter was beingeducated in a convent, or under the roof of
some noble matron; for,proud as they were, the feudal dames did not disdain to undertake thetuition of their sex; and he had concluded, moreover, that there were noladies under the roof of Chas-Chateil, not, perhaps, withoutspeculating whether or not there might be in the event of its becominghis own, when he was unexpectedly convinced that, on this point atleast, he was mistaken.

  It was the evening of a long, bright, merry summer day, about the closeof July, and Oliver was standing at his window looking out on thelandscape, now watching the men-at-arms engaged in athletic exercises,and now brooding dismally over his evil fortune, and cursing his cruelcaptivity, when his ear suddenly caught the sound of soft voices, andhis eye was attracted by an apparition which instantly changed the wholecurrent of his thoughts.

  And what was this apparition?

  A very lovely Norman demoiselle, dressed in a simple robe of white, andattended by two maidens almost as captivating as herself.