Earl Hubert's Daughter

by Emily Sarah Holt

  CHAPTER SEVEN.

  THE SHADOW OF LONG AGO.

  "'Tis a fair, fair face, in sooth: Larger eyes and redder mouth Than mine were in my first youth."

  _Elizabeth Barrett Browning_.

  So faithfully had the Countess adhered to her plighted word that Belasezshould be seen by no one, that not one of the priests had yet beheld herexcept Father Nicholas, and the meeting in that case had been accidentaland momentary. But when Father Bruno announced to his brother priestshis intention of seeking an interview with the Jewish maiden, FatherNicholas shook his head waggishly.

  "Have a care of the toils of Satan, Brother Bruno!" said he. "Themaiden may have the soul of a fiend, for aught I wot, yet hath she theface of an angel."

  "I thank thee. There is no fear!" answered Bruno, with a smile whichmade him look sadder.

  The Countess had not returned from the coronation festivities, and thegirls were alone in Margaret's bower, when Father Bruno entered, with"God save all here!"

  Belasez rose hastily, and prepared to withdraw.

  "Wait, my child," said the priest, gently: "I would speak with thee."

  But when she turned in answer, and he saw her face, some strange andterrible emotion seemed to convulse his own.

  "_Domine, in Te speravi_!" fell from his trembling lips, as if hescarcely realised what he was saying.

  Belasez looked at him with an astonished expression. Whatever were thecause of his singular emotion, it was evidently neither understood norshared by her.

  With a manifest effort of self-control, Bruno recovered himself.

  "Sit down, daughters," he said: for all had risen in reverence to thepriest: and he seated himself on the settle, whence he had a full viewof Belasez.

  "And what is thy name, my daughter?"

  "Belasez, at your service."

  "And thy father's name?"

  "Abraham of Norwich, if it please you."

  "Abraham--of Norwich! Not--not the son of Ursel of Norwich?"

  "The same."

  Again that look of intense pain crossed Bruno's face.

  "No wonder!" he said, speaking not to Belasez. "The very face--the verylook! No wonder!--And thy mother?"

  "My mother is Licorice, the daughter of Kokorell of Lincoln."

  Bruno gave a little nod, as if he had known it before.

  "Hast thou any brethren or sisters?"

  "One brother only; his name is Delecresse."

  The reply seemed to extinguish Bruno's interest. For a moment, as ifhis thoughts were far elsewhere, he played with a morsel of sewing-silkwhich he had picked up from the floor.

  "The Lord is wiser than men," he said at last, as if that were theconclusion to which his unseen thoughts had led him.

  "Yes; and better," answered the young Jewess.

  "And better," dreamily repeated the priest. "We shall know that oneday, when we wake up to see His Face."

  "Amen," said Belasez. "`When we awake up after Thy likeness,' saithDavid the Prophet, `we shall be satisfied with it.'"

  "`Satisfied!' echoed Bruno. Art thou satisfied, my daughter?"

  The answering "No!" appeared to come from the depths of Belasez's heart.

  "Shall I tell thee wherefore? There is but one thing that satisfies thesoul of man. Neither in earth nor in Heaven is any man satisfied withaught else. My child, dost thou know what that is?"

  Belasez looked up, her own face working a little now.

  "You mean," she said, "the Man whom ye call Christ."

  "I mean Him."

  "I know nothing about Him." And Belasez resumed her embroidery, as ifthat were of infinitely greater consequence. "Dost thou know much abouthappiness?"

  "Happiness!" exclaimed the girl. "I know what mirth is. Do you meanthat? Or, I know what it is to feel as if one cared for nothing. Isthat your meaning?"

  "Happiness," said Bruno, "is what thy King meant when he said, `I shallbe satisfied with it.' Dost thou know that?"

  Belasez drew a long breath, and shook her head sadly.

  "No," she said. "I have never known that."

  "Because thou hast never known Jesus Christ."

  "I know He said, `I am the life,'" responded the girl slowly. "And lifeis not worth much. Perhaps it might be,--if one were satisfied."

  "Poor child! Is life not worth much to thee?" answered the priest in apitying tone. "And thou art very young--not much over twenty."

  "I am under twenty. I am just eighteen."

  Once more Bruno's face was convulsed.

  "Just eighteen!" he said. "Yes--Licorice's child! _Yet_ she had nopity. Aye me--just eighteen!"

  "Do you know my mother?" said Belasez in accents of mingled surprise andcuriosity.

  "I did--eighteen years ago."

  And Bruno rose hastily, as if he wished to dismiss the subject.Margaret dropped on her knees and requested his blessing, which he gaveas though his thoughts were far away: and then he left the room slowly,gazing on Belasez to the last.

  This was the first, but not by any means the last, interview betweenFather Bruno and the Jewish maiden. A month later, Doucebelle askedBelasez how she liked him.

  "I do not like him; I love him," said Belasez, with more warmth thanusual.

  "What a confession!" answered Doucebelle, playfully.

  "Oh, not that sort of love!" responded Belasez with a tinge of scorn."I think it must be the sort that we can take into Heaven with us."

  The next morning, Levina announced to the Countess, in a tone ofgratified spite, that two persons were in the hall--an old man, unknownto her, and the young Jew, Delecresse. He had come for his sister.

  Belasez received the news of her recall at first with a look of blankdismay, and then with a shower of passionate tears. Her deep attachmentto her Christian friends was most manifest. She kissed the hand of theCountess and Margaret, warmly embraced Doucebelle, and then looked roundas if something were wanting still.

  "What is it, my maid?" kindly asked the Countess.

  "Father Bruno!" faltered Belasez through her tears. "Oh, I must sayfarewell to Father Bruno!"

  The Countess looked astonished, for she knew not that Bruno and Belasezhad ever met. A few words from Doucebelle explained. Still theCountess was extremely dissatisfied.

  "My maid," she said, "thy father may think I have not kept my word. Iought to have told Father Bruno. I never thought of it, when he firstcame. I am very sorry. Has he talked with thee on matters of religionat all?"

  "Yes." Belasez explained no further.

  "Dear, dear!" said the Countess. "He meant well, I suppose. And ofcourse it is better thy soul should be saved. But I wish he had lesszeal and more discretion."

  "Lady," said Belasez, pausing for an instant, "if ever I enter thekingdom of the Blessed One above, I think I shall owe it to the Bishopof Lincoln and to Father Bruno."

  "That is well, no doubt," responded the Countess, in a very doubtfultone. "Oh dear! what did make Father Bruno think of coming up here?"

  As Belasez passed down towards the hall, Father Bruno himself met her onthe stairs.

  "Whither goest thou, my child?" he asked in some surprise.

  "I am going--away." Belasez's tears choked her voice.

  "To thy father's house?"

  She bowed.

  "Without Christ?"

  "No, Father, not without Him," sobbed the girl. "Nor,--if you willgrant it to me at this moment--without baptism."

  "Dost thou believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God?"

  "I do."

  Bruno hesitated a minute, while an expression of deep pain flitted overhis face.

  "I cannot do it, Belasez."

  "O Father! do you reject me?"

  "God forbid, my child! I do not reject thee in any wise: I only rejectmyself. Belasez, long years ago, Licorice thy mother did me a cruelwrong. If I baptise thee, I shall feel it to be my revenge on her. AndI have no right thus to defile the snow-white robe of thy baptismbecause my hands a
re not clean, nor to mingle the revenge of earth withthe innocence of Heaven. Wait a moment."

  And he turned and went rapidly down the stairs. Belasez waited till hecame back. He was accompanied by Father Warner. She trembled at theordeal which she guessed to await her, and soon found that she was notfar wrong. Father Warner took her into the empty chapel, and requiredher to repeat the Creed (which of course she could not do), to tell himwhich were the seven deadly sins, and what the five commandments of theChurch. Belasez had never heard of any of them. Warner shook his headsternly, and wondered what Brother Bruno could possibly mean bypresenting this ignorant heathen as a fit candidate for baptism.

  Belasez felt as if God and man alike would have none of her. Warnerrecommended her to put herself under the tuition of some priest atNorwich--which was to her a complete impossibility--and perhaps in ayear or thereabouts, if she were diligent and obedient in following theorders of her director, she might hope to receive the grace of holybaptism.

  She went out sobbing, and encountered Bruno at the head of the stairs.

  "O Father Bruno!" faltered the girl. "Father Warner will not do it!"

  "I was afraid so," said Bruno, sadly. "I should not have thought ofasking him had my Brother Nicholas been at home. Well, daughter, thisis no fault of thine. Remember, we baptise only with water: but Hewhose ministers we are can baptise thee with the Holy Ghost and withfire. Let Him be thy Shepherd to provide for thee; thy Priest toabsolve thee; thy King to command thine heart's allegiance. So dwellthou to Him in this world now, that hereafter thou mayest dwell with Himfor ever."

  Belasez stooped and kissed his hand. He gave her his blessing infervent tones, bade her a farewell which gave him unmistakable pain, andlet her depart. Belasez drew her veil closely over her face, and joinedDelecresse and her father's old friend Hamon in the hall.

  "What a time thou hast been!" said Delecresse, discontentedly. "Do letus go now. I want to be outside this accursed Castle."

  But to Belasez it seemed like stepping out of the sunlit fold into thedreary wilderness beyond.

  As they passed the upper end of the hall, Belasez paused for an instantto make a last reverence to Margaret, who sat there talking with herunacknowledged husband, Sir Richard de Clare. The black scowl on theface of her brother drew her attention at once.

  "Who is that young Gentile?" he demanded.

  "Sir Richard de Clare, Lord of Gloucester."

  "What hast thou against him?" asked old Hamon.

  "That is the youth that threw my cap into a pool, a year ago, and calledme a Jew cur," said Delecresse, between his teeth.

  "Pooh, pooh!" said old Hamon. "We all have to put up with those littleamenities. Never mind it, child."

  "I'll never mind it--till the time come!" answered Delecresse, in anundertone. "Then--I think I see how to wipe it off."

  Belasez found her mother returned from Lincoln. She received a warmwelcome from Abraham, a much cooler one from Licorice, and was veryglad, having arrived at home late, to go to bed in her own littlechamber, which was inside that of her parents. She soon dropped asleep,but was awoke ere long by voices in the adjoining room, distinctlyaudible through the curtain which alone separated the chambers. Theyspoke in Spanish, the language usually employed amongst themselves bythe English Sephardim.

  "_Ay de mi_, [`Woe is me!'] that it ever should have been so!" said thevoice of Licorice. "What did the shiksah [Note 1] want with her?"

  "I told thee, wife," answered Abraham, in a slightly injured tone, "shewanted the child to embroider a scarf."

  "And I suppose thou wert too anxious to fill thy saddle-bags to care forthe danger to her?"

  "There was no danger at all, wife. The Countess promised all I askedher. And I made thirteen gold pennies clear profit. Thou canst see thechild is no worse--they have been very kind to her: she said as much."

  "Abraham, son of Ursel, thou art a very wise man!"

  "What canst thou mean, Licorice?"

  "`Kind to her!' If they had starved her and beaten her, there mighthave been no harm done. Canst thou not see that the girl's heart iswith her Christian friends? Why, she had been crying behind her veil,quietly, all the journey."

  "Well, wife? What then?"

  "`What then?' Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob! `What then?' Why, then--shewill do like Anegay."

  "The God of our fathers forbid it!" cried Abraham, in tones of horrorand distress.

  "It is too late for that," said Licorice, with a short, contemptuouslaugh. "Thou shouldst have said that a year ago, and have kept thechild at home."

  "We had better marry her at once," suggested Abraham, still in a voiceof deep pain.

  "`There are no birds in last year's nest,' old man," was the response."Marry her or let it alone, the child's heart is gone from us. She hasleft behind her in yonder Castle those for whom she cares more than forus, and, I should not wonder also, a faith dearer to her than ours. Itwill be Anegay over again. Ah, well! Like to like! What else could weexpect?"

  "Can she hear us, Licorice?"

  "Not she! She was fast asleep an hour ago."

  "Wife, if it be so, have we not deserved it?"

  "Abraham, don't be a fool!" cried Licorice, so very snappishly that itsounded as if her conscience might have responded a little to theaccusation.

  "I cannot but think thou didst evil, Licorice,--thou knowest how andwhen."

  "I understand thee, of course. It was the only thing to do."

  "I know thou saidst so," answered Abraham in an unconvinced tone. "Yetit went to my heart to hear the poor child's sorrowful moan."

  "Thy heart is stuffed with feathers."

  "I would rather it were so than with stones."

  "Thanks for the compliment!"

  "Nay, I said nothing about thee. But, Licorice, if it be as thouthinkest, do not let us repeat that mistake."

  "I shall repeat no mistakes, I warrant thee."

  The conversation ceased rather suddenly, except for one mournfulexclamation from Abraham,--"Poor Anegay!"

  Anegay! where had Belasez heard that name before? It belonged to nofriend or relative, so far as she knew. Yet that she had heard itbefore, and that in interesting connection with something, she wasabsolutely certain.

  Belasez dropped asleep while she was thinking. It seemed to her thathardly a minute passed before she woke again, to hear her mother movingin the next room, and to see full daylight streaming in at the window.

  And suddenly, just as she awoke, it rushed upon her when and how she hadheard of Anegay.

  She saw herself, a little child, standing by the side of Licorice. Withthem was old Belya, the mother of Hamon, and before them stood anenormous illuminated volume at which they were looking. Belasez foundit impossible to remember what had been said by Belya; but her mother'sresponse was as vivid in her mind as if the whole scene were ofyesterday.

  "Hush! The child must not know. Yes, Belya, thou art right. That wastaken from Anegay's face."

  What was it that was taken? And dimly before Belasez's mental eyes apicture seemed to grow, in which a king upon his throne, and a womanfainting, were the principal figures. Esther before Ahasuerus!

  That was it, of course. And Belasez sprang up, with a determination tosearch through her father's books, and to find the picture which hadbeen taken from Anegay's face.

  But, after all, who was Anegay?

  Licorice was in full tide of business and porridge-making, in her littlekitchen, when Belasez presented herself with an apology for being late.

  "Nay, folks that go to bed at nine may well not rise till five," saidLicorice, graciously. "Throw more salt in here, child, and fetch theporringers whilst I stir it. Call thy father and Delecresse,--breakfastwill be ready by the time they are."

  Breakfast was half over when Licorice inquired of her daughter whom shehad seen at Bury Castle.

  "Oh! to speak to, only the Countess and her daughter, Damsel Margaret,and the other young damsels, Douce
belle, Eva, and Marie; and Levina, theLady's dresser. They showed me some others through the window, so thatI knew their names and faces."

  Belasez quietly left out the priests.

  "And what knights didst thou see there?"

  "Through the window? Sir Hubert the Earl, and Sir Richard ofGloucester, and Sir John the Earl's son, and Sir John de Averenches.Oh! I forgot Dame Hawise, Sir John's wife; but I never saw much ofher."

  "There was no such there as one named Bruno de Malpas, I suppose?" askedLicorice, with assumed carelessness. "No, there was no knight of thatname." But in her heart Belasez felt that the name belonged to thepriest, Father Bruno.

  A few more questions were asked her, of no import, and then they rose.When Licorice set her free from household duties, Belasez took her wayto the little closet over the porch which served as her father'slibrary. He was the happy possessor of eleven volumes,--a goodly numberat that date. Eight she passed by, knowing them to contain no pictures.The ninth was an illuminated copy of the Brut, which of course began,as all chronicles then did, with the creation; but Belasez lookedthrough it twice without finding any thing to satisfy her. Next camethe Chronicle of Benoit, but the illuminations in this were merelyinitials and tail-pieces in arabesque. There was only one left, and itwas the largest volume in the collection. Belasez could not rememberhaving ever opened it. She pulled it down now, just missing a sprainedwrist in the process, and found it to be a splendid copy of theHagiographa, with full-page pictures, glowing with colours and gold. Ofcourse, the illuminations had been executed by Christian hands; but allthese books had come to Abraham in exchange for bad debts, and he wasnot so consistent as to refuse to look at the representations of createdthings, however wicked he might account it to produce them. Belasezturned over the stiff leaves, one after another, till she reached theBook of Esther. Yes, surely that was the picture she remembered. Theresat the King Ahasuerus on a curule chair, wearing a floriated crown anda mantle clasped at the neck with a golden fibula; and there faintedQueen Esther in the arms of her ladies, arrayed in the tight gown, thepocketing sleeve, the wimple, and all other monstrosities of the earlyPlantagenet era. A Persian satrap, enclosed in a coat of mail and asurcoat with a silver shield, whereon an exceedingly rampant red lionwas disporting itself, appeared to be coming to the help of his liegelady; while a tall white lily, in a flower-pot about twice the size ofthe throne, occupied one side of the picture. To all these detailsBelasez paid no attention. The one thing at which she looked was theface of the fainting Queen, which was turned full towards the spectator.It was a very lovely face of a decidedly Jewish type. But what madeBelasez glance from it to the brazen mirror fixed to the wall opposite?Was it Anegay of whom Bruno had been thinking when he murmured that shewas so like some one? Undoubtedly there was a likeness. The same pureoval face, the smooth calm brow, the dark glossy hair: but it struckBelasez that her own features, as seen in the mirror, were the lessprominently Jewish.

  And, once more, who was Anegay?

  How little it is possible to know of the innermost heart of our nearestfriends! Belasez went through all her duties that day, without rousingthe faintest suspicion in the mind of her mother that she had heard asyllable of the conversation between her parents the night before. Yetshe thought of little else. Her household work was finished, and shesat in the deep recess of the window at her embroidery, when Delecressecame and stood beside her.

  "Belasez, who was that damsel that sat talking with my Lord ofGloucester in the hall when we passed through?"

  "That was the Damsel Margaret, daughter of Sir Hubert the Earl."

  "What sort of a maiden is she?"

  "Very sweet and gentle. I liked her extremely. She was always mostkind to me."

  "Is she attached to my Lord of Gloucester?"

  It was a new idea to Belasez.

  "Really, I never thought of that, Cress. But I should not at all wonderif she be. She is constantly talking of him."

  "Does he care for her?"

  "I fancy he does, by the way I have seen him look up at her windows."

  "Yes, I could tell that from his face."

  The tone of her brother's voice struck Belasez unpleasantly.

  "Cress! what dost thou mean?"

  "It is a pity that the innocent need suffer with the guilty," answeredDelecresse, contemptuously. "But it mostly turns out so in this world."

  Belasez grasped her brother's wrists.

  "Cress, thou hast no thought of revenging thyself on Sir Richard ofGloucester for that boyish trick he once played on thee?"

  "I'll be even with him, Belasez. No man--least of all a Christian dog--shall insult me with impunity."

  "O Cress, Cress! Thou must not do it. Hast thou forgotten thatvengeance belongeth to the Holy One, to whom be glory? And for such amere nothing as that!"

  "Nothing! Dost thou call it nothing for a son of Abraham to be termed aJew cur by one of those creeping things of Gentiles? Is not the day athand when they shall be our ploughmen and vine-dressers?"

  "Well, then," answered Belasez, assuming a playfulness which she was farfrom feeling, "when Sir Richard is thy ploughman, thou canst knock hiscap off."

  "Pish! They like high interest, these Christians. I'll let them haveit, the other way about."

  "Cress, what dost thou mean to do?"

  "I mean that he shall pay me every farthing that he owes," saidDelecresse through his clenched teeth. "I cannot have it in gold coins,perhaps. It will suit me as well in drops of blood,--either from hisveins or from his heart."

  "Delecresse, thou _shalt not_ touch the Damsel Margaret, if that be themeaning of those terrible words."

  "I am not going to touch her," replied Delecresse, scornfully, "evenwith the tongs he took to my cap. I would not touch one of the vileinsects for all the gold at Norwich!"

  "But what dost thou mean?"

  "Hold thou thy peace. I was a fool to tell thee."

  "What art thou going to do?" persisted Belasez.

  "What thou wilt hear when it is done," said Delecresse, walking away.

  He left poor Belasez in grief and terror. Some misery, of what sort shecould not even guess, was impending over her poor friend Margaret. Howwas it possible to warn her?--and of what was she to be warned?

  A few minutes were spent in reflection, and then Belasez's work washastily folded, and she went in search of her father. Abraham listenedwith a perplexed and annoyed face.

  "That boy always lets his hands go before his head! But what can I do,daughter? In good sooth, I would not willingly see any injury done tothe Christians that have been so kind to thee. Where is Cress?"

  "He went into the kitchen," said Belasez. Abraham shuffled off in thatdirection, in the loose yellow slippers which were one of the recognisedsigns of a Jew.

  "Delecresse is just gone out," he said, coming back directly. "I willtalk to him when he comes in."

  But twelve days elapsed before Delecresse returned.

  "Cress, thou wilt not do anything to Sir Richard of Gloucester?"earnestly pleaded Belasez, when she found him alone.

  "No," said Delecresse, with a glitter in his eyes which was notpromising.

  "Hast thou done any thing?"

  "All I mean to do."

  "O Cress, what hast thou done?"

  "Go to bed!" was the most lucid explanation which all the eagerentreaties of Belasez could obtain from her brother.

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  Note 1. The feminine singular of the Hebrew word rendered, in the A.V.,"creeping things." Dr Edersheim tells us that this flattering term iscommonly employed in speaking of a Gentile.