CHAPTER XI.
THE LADY'S GAME.
"And if she will, she will! you may depend on't."
OLD SAYING.
It did not prove, in truth, a matter altogether so easy ofaccomplishment as Guendolen, in her warm enthusiasm and sympathy, hadboasted, to effect that small thing, as she had termed it in herthoughtless eagerness, the liberation of three human beings, and theposterity of two, through countless generations, from the curse anddegradation of hereditary bondage.
The value, in the first place, of the unhappy beings, to each of whom,as to a beast of burden, or to a piece of furniture, a regularmoney-price was attached, although they could not be sold away fromthe land to which they appertained, unless by their own consent, wasby no means inconsiderable even to one so rich as Sir Yvo deTaillebois; for in those days the wealth even of the greatest landedproprietors lay rather in the sources of revenue, than in revenueitself; and men, whose estates extended over many parishes, exceedingfar the limits of a modern German principality, whose forestscontained herds of deer to be numbered by the thousand head, whosecattle pastured over leagues of hill and valley, who could raisearmies, at the lifting of their banners, larger than many a sovereignprince of the nineteenth century, were often hard set to find thesmallest sums of ready money on emergency, unless by levying tax orscutage on their vassals, or by applying to the Jews and Lombards.
In the second place, the scruples of Kenric, which justly appeared sogenerous and noble to the fine, unsophisticated intellect of the younggirl, by no means appeared in the same light to the proud barons,accustomed to regard the Saxon, and more especially the serf, as abeing so palpably and manifestly inferior, that he was scarcely deemedto possess rights, much less sentiments or feelings, other than thoseof the lower animals.
To them, therefore, the Saxon's refusal to consent to his own sale asa step necessary to manumission, appeared an act of insolentoutrecuidance, or at the best a bold and impudent piece of chicanery,whereby to extort from his generous patrons a recompense three timesgreater than they had thought of conferring on him, in the firstinstance.
It was with scorn, therefore, and almost with anger, that Sir Yvolistened to the first solicitations of Guendolen in behalf of herclients; and he laughed at her high-flown sentiments of admiration andwonder at the self-devotion, the generosity, the immovable constancy,of the noble Saxon.
"The _noble_ Saxon! By the glory of Heaven!" he exclaimed, "thesewomen would talk one out of all sense of reason, with theirsympathetic jargon! Why, here's a sturdy knave, who has done what, towin all this mighty gratitude? Just stuck his whittle into a wildstag's weasard, and saved a lady's life, more by good luck than bygood service--as any man, or boy, of Norman blood, would have done ina trice, and thought no more of it; and then, when his freedom'stendered him as a reward for doing that for which ten-pence had wellpaid him, and for failing to do which he had deserved to be scourgedtill his bones lay bare, he is too mighty to accept it--marry! henames conditions, he makes terms, on which he will consent to obligehis lords by becoming free; and you--you plead for him. The _noble_Saxon! by the great gods, I marvel at you, Guendolen."
But she, with the woman's wily charm, replied not a word while he wasin the tide of indignation and invective; but when he paused,exhausted for the moment by his own vehemence, she took up the word--
"Ten-pence would have well paid him! At least, I am well content toknow," she said, "the value of my life, and that, too, at my ownfather's rating. The Saxons may be, as I have heard tell, but have notseen that they are, sordid, degraded, brutal, devoid of chivalry andcourtesy and love of fame; but I would wager my life there is not afree Saxon man--no, not the poorest Franklin, who would not rate thelife of his coarse-featured, sun-burned daughter at something higherthan the value of a heifer. But it is very well. I am rebuked. I willtrouble you no farther, valiant Sir Yvo de Taillebois. I have no_right_ to trouble you, beausire, for I must sure be base-born,though I dreamed not of it, that my blood should be dearly bought atten-pence. Were it of the pure current that mantled in the veins ofour high ancestors, it should fetch something more, I trow, in themarket."
"Nay! nay! thou art childish, Guendolen, peevish, and allunreasonable. I spoke not of thy life, and thou knowest it right well,but of the chance, the slight merit of his own, by which he saved it."
"Slight merit, father!"
"Pshaw! girl, thou hast gotten me on the mere play of words. But howcanst make it tally with the vast ideas of this churl's chivalry andheaven-aspiring nobility of soul, that he so little values liberty,the noblest, most divine of all things, not immortal, as to reject itthus ignobly?"
"It skills not to argue with you, sir," she answered, sadly; "for Isee you are resolved to refuse me my boon, as wherefore should younot, setting so little value on this poor life of mine. I know that Iam but a poor, weak child, that I was a disappointment to you in mycradle, seeing that I neither can win fresh honors to your house amidthe spears and trumpets, nor transmit even the name, of which you areso proud, to future generations; but I am, at least in pride, too mucha Taillebois to crave, as an importunate, unmannerly suitor, what isdenied to me as a free grace. Only this--were you and I in the handsof the Mussulman, captives and slaves together, and you should acceptfreedom as a gift, leaving your own blood in bondage, I think theNormans would hold you dishonored noble, and false knight; I am surethe Saxons would pronounce you _nidering_. I have done, sir. Letthe Saxon die a slave, if you think it comports with the dignity of DeTaillebois to be a slave's debtor. I thought, if you did not love me,that you loved the memory of my mother better."
"There! there!" replied Sir Yvo, quite overpowered, and half amused bythe mixture of art and artlessness, of real passion and affected senseof injury by which she had worked out her purpose. "There! there!enough said, Guendolen. You will have it as you will, depend on't. Imight have known you would, from the beginning, and so have sparedmyself the pains of arguing with you. It must be as you will have it,and I will go buy the brood of Sir Philip at once; pray Heaven onlythat they will condescend to be manumitted, without my praying them toaccept their liberty upon my knee. It will cost me a thousand zecchinsor more, I warrant me, at the first, and then I shall have to findthem lands of my lands, and to be security for their "were and mund,"and I know not what. Alack-a-day! women ever! ever women! when we areyoung it is our sisters, our mistresses, our wives; when we grow old,our daughters!--and by my hopes of Heaven, I believe the last plagueis the sorest!"
"My funeral expenses, with the dole and alms and masses, wouldscarcely have cost you so much, Sir Yvo. Pity he did not let the stagwork his will on me! Don't you think so, sir?"
"Leave off your pouting, silly child. You have your own way, and thatis all you care for; I don't believe you care the waving of a featherfor the Saxons, so you may gratify your love of ruling, and force yourfather, who should show more sense and firmness, to yield to every oneof your small caprices. So smooth that bent brow, and let us see asmile on those rosy lips again, and you may tell your Edith, if that'sher name, that she shall be a free woman before sunset."
"So you confess, after all this flurry, that it was but a _small_caprice, concerning which you have so thwarted me. Well, I forgiveyou, sir, by this token,"--and, as she spoke, she threw her white armsabout his neck, and kissed him on the forehead tenderly, before sheadded, "and now, to punish you, the next caprice I take shall be agreat one, and you shall grant it to me without wincing. Hark you,there are the trumpets sounding for dinner, and you not point-devicefor the banquet-hall! but never heed to-day. There are no ladies tothe feast, since I am not so well at ease as to descend the stair.Send me some ortolans and beccaficos from the table, sir; and aboveall, be sure, with the comfits and the Hypocras, you send me the deedsof manumission for Kenric and Edith, all in due form, else I willnever hold you true knight any more, or gentle father."
"Fare you well, my child, and be content. And if you rule yourhusband, when you get one, as you now rule your f
ather, Heaven in itsmercy help him, for he will have less of liberty to boast than thehardest-worked serf of them all. Fare you well, little wickedGuendolen."
And she laughed a light laugh as the affectionate father, who used solittle of the father's authority, left the Bower, and cried joyously,"Free, free! all free! I might have been sure that I should succeedwith him. Dear, gentle father! and yet once, once for a time, I wasafraid. Yet I was right, I was right; and the right must ever win theday. Edith! Edith!" she cried, as she heard her light foot without."You are free. I have conquered!"
It is needless, perhaps it were impossible, to describe the mingledfeelings of delight, gratitude, and wonder, coupled to something akinto incredulity, which were aroused in the simple breast of the Saxonmaiden, by the tidings of her certain manumission, and, perhaps evengladder yet, of her transference, in company with all those whom sheloved, to a new home among scenes which, if not more lovely than thosein which her joyless childhood and unregretted youth had elapsed, wereat least free from recollections of degradation and disgrace.
The news circulated speedily through the castle, how the gratitude ofthe Lady Guendolen had won the liberty of the whole family of herpreserver, with the sole exception of the gross thrall Eadwulf; and itwas easily granted to Edith, that she should be the bearer of thehappy tidings to the Saxon quarter.
Sweet ever to the captive's, to the slave's, ear must be the sound ofliberty, and hard the task, mighty the sacrifice, to reject it, on anyterms, however hard or painful; but if ever that delightful sound wasrendered doubly dear to the hearer, it was when the sweetest voice ofthe best beloved--even of her for whom the blessed boon had beenrefused, as without her nothing worth--conveyed it to the ears of thebrave and constant lover, enhanced by the certainty that she, too, whoannounced the happiness, had no small share in procuring it, as shewould have a large share of enjoying it, and in rendering happy thelife which she had crowned with the inestimable gift of freedom.
That was a happy hearth, a blessed home, on that calm summer evening,though death had been that very day borne from its darkened doors,though pain and suffering still dwelt within its walls. But when theheart is glad, and the soul contented and at peace, the pains of thebody are easily endured, if they are felt at all; and happier hearts,save one alone, which was discontent and bitter, perhaps bitterer fromthe contemplation of the unparticipated bliss of the others, werenever bowed in prayer, or filled with gratitude to the Giver of allgood.
Eadwulf sat, gloomy, sullen, and hard of heart, beside the cheerfulgroup, though not one of it, refusing to join in prayer, answeringharshly that he had nothing for which to praise God, or be thankful tohim; and that to pray for any thing to him would be useless, for thathe had never enjoyed his favor or protection.
His feelings were not those of natural regret at the continuance ofhis own unfortunate condition, so much as of unnatural spite at thealteration in the circumstances of his mother, his brother, and thatbrother's beautiful betrothed; and it was but too clear that, whetherhe should himself remain free or no, he had been better satisfied thatthey should continue in their original condition, rather than thatthey should be elevated above himself by any better fortune.
Kenric had in vain striven to soothe his morose and selfish mood, tocheer his desponding and angry, rather than sorrowful, anticipations--hehad pointed out to him that his own liberation from slavery, andelevation to the rank and position of a freeman and military tenant ofa fief of land, did not merely render it probable, but actually makeit certain, that Eadwulf also would be a freeman, and at liberty tojoin his kindred in a short time in their new home; "for it must belittle, indeed, that you know of my heart," said the brave and manlypeasant, "or of that of Edith, either, if you believe that either ofus could enjoy our own liberty, or feel our own happiness other thanunfinished and incomplete, so long as you, our own and only brother,remain in slavery and sorrow. Your price is not rated so high, brotherEadwulf, but that we may easily save enough from our earnings, whenonce free to labor for ourselves, within two years at the farthest, topurchase your freedom too from Sir Philip; and think how easy will bethe labor, and how grateful the earnings, when every day's toilfinished, and every zecchin saved, will bring us a day nearer to abrother's happy manumission."
"Words!" he replied, doggedly--"mighty fine words, in truth. I marvelhow eloquent we have become, all on the sudden. Your labor _will_be free, as you say, and your earnings your own; and wondrous littleshall I profit by them. I should think now, since you are so mightyand powerful with the pretty Lady Guendolen, all for a mere chancewhich might have befallen me, or any one, all as well as yourself, youmight have stipulated for my freedom--I had done so I am sure, thoughI do not pretend to your fine sympathies and heaven-reachingnotions----"
"And so have lost _their_ freedom!" replied Kenric, shaking hishead, as he waved his hand toward the women; "for that would have beenthe end of it. For the rest, I made no stipulations; I only refusedfreedom, if it were procurable only by leaving my aged mother and mybetrothed bride in slavery. As it was, I had lost my own liberty, andnot gained theirs, if it had not been for Edith, who won for us all,what I had lost for one."
"And no one thought of me, or my liberty! I was not worth thinking of,nor worthy, I trow, to be free."
"You say well, Eadwulf--you say right well," cried Edith, her fairface flushing fiery red, and her frame quivering with excitement. "Youare _not_ worthy to be free. There is no freedom, or truth, or love,or honor, in your heart. Your spirit, like your body, is a serf's, andone would do dishonor to the soul of a dog, if she likened it toyours. Had _you_ been offered freedom, you had left all, mother,brother, and betrothed--had any maiden been so ill-advised as betrothherself to so heartless a churl--to slavery, and misery, and infamy,or death, to win your own coveted liberty. Nay! I believe, if they hadbeen free, and you a serf, you would have betrayed them into slavery,so that you might be alone free. A man who can not feel and comprehendsuch a sacrifice as Kenric made for all of us, is capable of nosacrifice himself, and is not worthy to be called a man, or to be afreeman."
Thus passed away that evening, and with the morrow came fullconfirmation; and the bold Saxon stood upon his native soil, as freeas the air he breathed; the son, too, of a free mother, and with afree, fair maiden by his side, soon to be the free wife of a freeEnglishman. And none envied them, not one of their fellow-serfs, whoremained still condemned to toil wearily and woefully, until theirlife should be over--not one, save Eadwulf, the morose, selfish,slave-souled brother.
Wager of Battle: A Tale of Saxon Slavery in Sherwood Forest Page 13