Runnymede and Lincoln Fair: A Story of the Great Charter
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CHAPTER XLIII
FOUND DYING
When Dame Isabel Icingla comprehended the cause of Wolf the varlet’sintrusion, and meditated for a moment on the intelligence he brought,she became pale as death, uttered an exclamation of terror, andshuddered with horror at the idea of herself and her household being atthe mercy of men who knew nothing of mercy but the name. Nevertheless,she was true to herself and her dignity. Falling on her knees, sheprayed earnestly for heavenly support, and called not only on St. Moden,the patron of the Morevilles, but on St. Edward and other Saxon saintswhom the Icinglas were in the habit of invoking at moments of anger andin times of trouble, to shield her from the danger that beset her; andhaving done this, the Norman lady doubtless felt that she had done herduty, at least, in placing herself under powerful and holy protection.
It appeared, however, that the three maidens who had been listening, orpretending to listen, while she read to them a narrative of saintlylife, did not thoroughly sympathise with Dame Isabel’s pious sentiments.At all events, they failed to follow her example in so far as concernedthe invoking of saintly aid. In fact, no sooner did they become aware oftheir peril than they fluttered, and started up, and screamed, and fledlike larks at the approach of the sparrowhawk, and, hurrying pell-mellfrom the room, followed the other inmates of Oakmede, who were rushingin haste and consternation to a hiding-hole which was formed by a kindof double wall in one wing of the old building, and in which, accordingto tradition, the Icinglas had found refuge when assailed by the Danesin the days of Harold Harefoot and other of the Danish kings who ruledin England before the coronation of the Confessor.
When, therefore, Dame Isabel rose from her knees and looked round, shefound herself unattended, save by the spaniel which had growled andbarked at Wolf’s entrance, and which now looked up in her face, and, indefault of the faculty of speech, seized the skirt of her russet robe,as if to implore her to fly. The instinct of self-preservation secondedthe suggestion of the dog, and after rushing into the passage, and invain summoning the fugitive nymphs to return, she, hesitating no longer,tottered tremblingly down the stair that led to the hall in which Oliverand De Moreville had supped on Christmas Eve, and, escaping by the rearof the house, she made for the little chapel dedicated to St. Dunstan,with some vague notion that she should be safe under the roof and beforethe altar of an edifice which in her eyes was so sacred.
But here Dame Isabel was exposed to a severe disappointment. In herhurry and tremor she had forgotten that the door of the chapel waslocked; and as she paused in extreme perplexity, and stood for a momentpondering what to do next, or where she was to betake herself, shealmost fainted from the intensity of her alarm as the tramp of steeds,and the ringing of bridles, and the clash of steel, and the voices ofmen, sounded in her ear, and intimated that the outlandish soldiers,whom she knew to be so brutal and bloodthirsty, were passing within astone’s throw of her, and that she was only concealed from their eyes bythe trees and the roofs of the outbuildings.
Under such circumstances, Dame Isabel hesitated no longer, but, attendedby the faithful spaniel, she passed with trembling steps through theorchard, and, just as darkness was about to descend on the earth, she,recking little of mud and mire, fled into the woodlands. For a time shewandered about, not knowing whither she went, and aware that thewoodland was not without its dangers, but fearing little from the bear,or the wolf, or the yellow hyæna, in comparison with her dread of themonsters in human form, at whose approach she had left the home wherefor years she had dwelt, sadly indeed, but in peace and safety. Fatiguedat length, after wandering for hours without reaching a house, she cameto a halt, and seating herself under a tree, in the moonlight, thefaithful dog at her side, she thought of her dead husband and her absentson, and shed bitter tears, and then stretched herself on the cold grassand fell asleep.
Next day, Styr the Anglo-Saxon made a diligent search for Dame Isabel inthe neighbourhood of Oakmede. But, though aided by Wolf and others, heutterly failed to discover any traces of the Norman lady, and wasdriven to the conclusion that she had perished in the fire. The old man,however, was not satisfied with the part which had been played by thedomestics; and when after his fruitless search he returned towardsevening to his cottage, he bitterly reflected on the conduct both of themen and maidens who had, on such an occasion, left the Hleafdian to herfate, not even sparing his own son. Indeed, Styr reproached Wolf sosharply, that the boy, to avoid a quarrel, left the cottage to lookafter Ayoub and Muradel, which, in the morning, were found quietlystanding near the spot where their stable had been, and apparentlywondering at the change that had been wrought by the fire in the aspectof everything around.
Wolf had not departed five minutes when Styr and his wife were startledby a strange scratching and whining at the other door, which causedtheir watch-dog to bark loudly, and when it was opened, Dame Isabel’sspaniel entered, looking the picture of woe, and ever and anon turningand pointing towards the door, and gazing earnestly in their faces, asif imploring them to follow. Styr and his wife guessed all, and withoutloss of time followed the dog into the woodland till they reached theleafless oak associated with traditions of Druidical rites, and there,within the broken circle of rough stones, lay a woman in a wimple and arusset gown, her hands clasped as if she prayed. It was Dame Isabel, andshe was not dead but dying.
The Anglo-Saxon and his wife carried her reverentially to their cottage,and used all the means in their power to restore her; but their effortsproved vain. She recovered, indeed, sufficiently to tell the sad storyof her flight and of her wanderings; but, this done, she sank into asleep from which she never awoke. Next morning she was a corpse, coldand rigid, and the monks from a neighbouring religious house, to whichshe had been a benefactress in the days when she was a great baronessand wife of one of Cœur-de-Lion’s most puissant knights, came andremoved the body to their church, where masses were said for the soulthat had departed under circumstances so melancholy, and then theremains of Dame Isabel were conveyed with all honour to Oakmede and laidamong the bones of the Icinglas in the little chapel dedicated to St.Dunstan.