CHAPTER XXVIII
STYR THE ANGLO-SAXON AND HIS SON
It was August, 1215, and Oakmede, with its old house of timber and Romanbrick, and its great wooden gates, and irregular pile of outbuildings,reposed in the warmth and sunshine of a bright autumn day. All was stilland peaceful around the homely hall of the once mighty Icinglas; andthough the country was ringing with alarms and rumours of war, theinhabitants pursued their ordinary avocations, apparently taking aslittle interest in the quarrel of King John and the Anglo-Norman baronsas if Oakmede had been situated in the recesses of the forests ofServia.
The hinds were employed in the fields with the labours of harvest; theswineherd was in the woodlands with his grunting herd; and nobodyappeared in the shape of living mortal save an old cowherd, in a garmentmuch resembling the smock-frock still worn by English peasants, andWolf, the son of Styr, and half-a-dozen urchins from the neighbouringhamlet, who watched the varlet with interest and admiration as he fed acouple of the dogs which were then commonly used to hunt wild boars, andministered to the wants of two young hawks, which he had procured by along journey and by climbing a precipice at the risk of his life.
The urchins evidently regarded Wolf as a very important personage, andeven the old cowherd treated him with deference. Having embarked at aSpanish port, bound for London, with the servants and baggage of theEnglish knights and squires who fought at Muradel, and deemed it prudentto free themselves from all incumbrances before undertaking theiradventurous expedition to Flanders, Wolf had reached Oakmede many monthsbefore Oliver Icingla, and made the most of his and his master’sadventures in Castile and at the court of Burgos, telling such storiesand singing such songs as he had picked up, and playing on a smallmusical instrument which he had brought with him, and which the inmatesof Oakmede deemed very outlandish. However, he contrived to establishsuch a reputation for himself that, boy as he was, rivals bent beforehim. Even Dame Isabel’s steward could not hold his own against a varletwho had figured in yellow and scarlet at a king’s court; and theswineherd--great official as a swineherd was in a Saxon household--wasfain to content himself with being deemed of inferior interest.
No sooner, therefore, did Wolf ask the urchins to bear a hand than theyvied with each other in their efforts to have the pride of assistinghim. At length, however, they grew weary of watching the operationsgoing on in the stable-yard, and wandered forth to feast their eyes onthe apples clustering on the trees of an unguarded orchard--to rollamong the lambs that nibbled on the sunny sward--to gaze on the brindledcows reclining under the shady trees or cooling their hoofs in thepond--and to throw pebbles at the white pigeons cooing on the roofs ofthe brewhouses or winging their way over the stable-yard to settle andbask on the barn-tops; and Wolf--who, in default of older and moreexperienced functionaries, united at Oakmede the offices of falconer,huntsman, and groom in his own person--applied himself to the mostcongenial of all his duties--namely, attending to a young horse,iron-grey, which was own brother to Ayoub, and had lately beendistinguished by the name of Muradel, in honour of King Alphonso’sfamous victory over the Moors. Ayoub and Muradel were steeds of value,and had a great pedigree, being, in fact, the descendants of a Spanishhorse and a mare with which Cœur-de-Lion had gifted his good knightEdric Icingla. Some enthusiasts added that the said horse was theidentical Spanish charger which King Richard bestrode at Cyprus when hewent forth to chastise the Emperor Isaac Angelus; but this was more thandoubtful. Wolf, however, was happy in the company of these steeds: hehad been familiar with Ayoub and Muradel from the day they were foaled,and was in the habit of speaking to them almost as if they had beenhuman beings; and fierce as they were by nature, and intractable in thehands of strangers, they were in the hands of this boy quiet as lambsand patient as asses. It is true Wolf treated them with real kindness,and he was engaged combing and washing Muradel’s mane and tail, andsinging to the dumb animal snatches of a Spanish ballad about the Cid,and Bavieca, the Cid’s renowned charger, when he was interrupted by thesound of heavy footsteps. As he turned round, his father, Styr, theAnglo-Saxon, stood before him.
“All hail, father,” said Wolf, kindly, as he resumed his operations onthe mane of Muradel. “How farest thou?”
“Passing well, Wolf, boy,” answered Styr, examining the iron-grey withthe eye of a judge of horseflesh; “but I have tidings that sit heavy onmy heart. Knowest thou what has come of the young Hlaford?”
“Nought further than that he left the Tower of London with King John,and sent word to Dame Isabel that he had, with Holy Edward’s aid,escaped the peril that threatened him,” said Wolf, desisting from hiswork, and turning round to look in the old man’s face. “Wherefore askestthou, father?”
“Wherefore do I ask?” said Styr, repeating his son’s words. “Marry,because he is missing, and his friends know not what has befallen him.”
Wolf gave a long, low whistle, and then shrugged his shoulders, and drewa long face.
“Wolf, boy,” said Styr, after a pause, during which the expression ofhis countenance became very serious, “I wish he may not have come togrief. St. Dunstan forbid that it should so prove; but my fear is thathe has fallen into the hands of the Lord Hugh de Moreville, who is acruel man, and heir, as thou mayst have heard, of the Moreville whoimbrued his hands in the blood of St. Thomas of Canterbury; albeit theworld, in consideration of the son’s ill-gotten wealth and power, forgethis father’s crime. If so, peradventure the young Hlaford may lose hislife as well as his liberty; for as my departed master--may his soulhave gotten grace!--told King Richard the Lion-hearted, Hugh deMoreville is a man who would not spare his own child, if his own childstood in the way of his ambition. But say nought of all this to theHleafdian, for it might bring her down with sorrow to the grave.”
“But how came this to thine ear, father?” asked Wolf, after a briefsilence.
“In truth,” answered Styr, somewhat confused, “it was made known to meby him whom men call Will with the Club.”
“But methought Forest Will had saved the king’s life while hunting bytaking a bull by the horns, and been received into favour, and turnedout to be a great lord.”
“True; but matters did not go with him as he would fain have had themgo, and he has again taken to the greenwood.”
Wolf whistled, and, meditating the whilst, combed Muradel’s tail, thenlaid aside the comb, took off his light cap, smoothed his long yellowhair, and looked long up to the rafters of the stable, and then spoke.
“And hast thou any notion where the young Hlaford may be, father?” askedhe, suddenly.
“Certes, boy, I wot not where he is,” replied Styr; “but I deem it mostlike that, if he has fallen into Hugh de Moreville’s hands, he has beencarried either to Chas-Chateil, or to Mount Moreville on the Scottishmarches.” “If,” added the Saxon, “there was any means of gaining accessto De Moreville’s castle, and learning whether such a prisoner is there,all might be amended.”
Wolf cast his eyes on the ground, reflected long and earnestly, and thenlooked up with the exultation of one who has solved a difficult problem.
“Father,” said he, “I have it; leave the business to me. It is, I own,parlous ugly; yet, with the blessing of St. Edward, who is known tofavour the Icinglas and such as serve them, I will hazard limb and lifein the adventure.”
Styr the Saxon winced, and his paternal affection got the better of hishereditary devotion, as before his mind’s eye rose a vision of hisson--so young, so comely, and so slight of frame--at the mercy of Hughde Moreville, and in the clutches of De Moreville’s myrmidons.
“Wolf, boy,” said he, tenderly, “this may not be. Hugh de Moreville is aman whom it is not chancy to meddle with.”
“Hout, father!” exclaimed Wolf, who was waxing very valiant under theinfluence of his imagination. “What more dangerous is the Lord Hugh thanany other lord? Perchance, after all, his bark is worse than his bite.”
“But thou art young, Wolf, being as yet a boy, with years to grow; thyform is too slig
ht and thy strength all-insufficient to fight with sostormy a sea as that on which thou wouldst venture.”
“Fear not for me, father,” interrupted Wolf, half offended; “nor deemthat because I am not so big of body as Forest Will, my peril will,therefore, be the greater. Bulk is not craft, or the fox would be lesscunning than the ass; nor is size courage, or the sheep would not runbefore the dog; nor is stature swiftness, otherwise a cow couldout-race a hare. Anyhow, I will go, and time will try whether I havemettle enough in me or not, as frost tries the strange plants in thephysic garden of the monks of St. Alban’s. But speak on, father, that Imay be instructed by thy words, for does not the proverb tell us that asthe old cock crows the young one learns?”
Styr the Saxon, however, was not listening to his son’s remarks, for agreat struggle was taking place in his breast, and when Wolf turnedround for a reply his father’s chin was resting on his bosom, and hiseye directed to the ground.
“Wolf,” said he, at length raising his head, with a sigh, “this is notan adventure to be undertaken lightly, nor without asking leave of themother who bore thee. But pass through the woodland to thy home ateventide, and I will then tell thee more fully what I think concerningit.”
“As thou wiliest, father,” said Wolf, with filial reverence; “but failnot to consider what our grief would be, if, through our neglect, oraught of cowardice on our parts, evil befel the young Hlaford--the son,father, of him who is away.”
The eyes of Styr the Saxon filled with tears, and he did not attempt tospeak; but, abruptly leaving the stable, he strode away from Oakmede,and made his way through the forest.
Runnymede and Lincoln Fair: A Story of the Great Charter Page 30