The Last of the Vikings

by John Bowling

  CHAPTER VII.

  ALICE DE MONTFORT.

  "And thus I clothe my naked villainy With old odd ends, stol'n out of holy writ, And seem a saint, when most I play the devil."

  Shakespeare.

  My readers, I am sure, will pardon me for passing over the bittersufferings and humiliation I and the members of our Order had to endure,and the still more harrowing cruelties and bloodshed heaped upon thecommon people, who, despite the Earl's advice, still clung to theirhomes and their patches of land.

  We therefore proceed to follow the fortunes of certain characters whoare the central figures in our history. In reality the history of ourtime was made by the important actors, the common people playing a veryignoble part, and being little better than chattels and instruments ofthe leaders' wills.

  The Normans overran the adjacent country like a flood let loose, leavingdesolation behind them. Indeed, if the Saxons had not fled before, andsecreted themselves, their wives, their children, and their cattle,there would have been nothing but annihilation and utter extermination.The main body of the Normans swarmed forwards like locusts as soon asthey had devastated one part. But the castle of the youthful EaldormanOswald could not be taken without siege operations. Its splendidsituation and rich lands attracted the cupidity of the De Montfortalready mentioned, and he sat down before it with the determination totake possession of it and the splendid domain belonging thereto.

  Carefully De Montfort reconnoitred the castle from all points, andthough it had no pretension to invulnerability, yet it was plain to himthat some days must elapse before he would be sufficiently prepared toventure an assault upon it.

  In the meantime, however, he despatched heralds to summon Oswald tosurrender. The Saxon paced the walls, clad in complete armour, and inperson directed the labours of the housecarles who laboured atstrengthening and repairing the fortifications; whilst a score or so ofhis choicest bowmen, with well-stocked quivers, were set apart for thedefence of those who toiled.

  The heralds, three in number, rode up to the walls, and, after blowing ablast from their bugles, they accosted Oswald thus:--

  "What ho, there, Saxon!"

  To which Oswald responded,--

  "What ho, there! What message have ye from your master?--I perceive yeare messengers."

  "Our master, the valiant Count de Montfort, of great renown and valour,giveth thee summons to deliver up to him, within the space oftwenty-four hours, without let or hindrance, this castle, with theappurtenances thereof."

  "What conditions doth your master tender if we yield to his wishes, andwithout resistance obey his summons?"

  "De Montfort hath given us this message: 'Yield thee forthwith withoutconditions, and trust to our clemency.' Defiance of our summons istorture and death."

  "Tell your master that we have too many illustrations of his clemency,and that of Norman tyrants generally, to put any trust or reliance inhis word. If he would fain have possession of this castle, tell him hemust first take it, for we put no faith in his professions of clemency;and that we defy him and his myrmidons to wrest this castle from us."

  These were brave words, and intended to inspire his own followers; butno one knew better than he where victory must inevitably rest. Manytimes had he told over the number of the Norman tents pitched littlemore than a bowshot away. With sinking heart he had noted the masses ofarchers and men-at-arms who swarmed around the camp by day. In thestillness of night he had crept within earshot of wary sentinels incompany of Wulfhere the freeman, in the hope that some chance, or someoverweening confidence on the part of the enemy, might afford theopportunity for some desperate deed of valour. But de Montfort was fartoo wise and experienced a soldier to permit negligence orover-confidence to prevail. The pickets at all points were thicklyposted and kept on the alert by patrols.

  The tents of the Count de Montfort and his daughter, Lady Alice deMontfort, were pitched on a knoll in the centre of the encampment, whichwas sufficiently elevated to overlook every other tent and beyond themon every side. The tents of the maids and personal attendants weresituated to the rear, and were intercommunicable by a covered way. Theentrance to Lady Alice's tent was hung with richly embroidered curtains,whilst costly figured velvet carpets from the looms of Rouen were spreadover the soft carpet of nature. As already stated, Lady Alice had beenaffianced to Baron Vigneau by her father, for the most ignoble reason ofpolicy and personal ambition, Alice's wishes or preferences not beingconsulted in the least. But a union more abhorrent to her feelings couldnot possibly be imagined.

  Indeed, to one much less refined and gentle than Alice, this union wouldhave been most distasteful. Vigneau was at once drunken, licentious, andboorish, his habits being such as befitted the company of the besottedand brutal troopers whom he led, rather than that of one of the gentlestladies of Normandy. True, he had won for himself a large measure of fameon the battle-field, and in the lists at tournaments. He had undoubtedlya large measure of reckless valour, and enormous physical strength; buthe was utterly destitute of that chivalry and knightly courtesy whichwas reckoned only second to personal prowess. His chief recommendationin De Montfort's eyes was that he commanded a "free company" ofmercenaries as reckless and blood-thirsty as himself. De Montfortcherished a lofty ambition: he aspired to, and in fact held, an exaltedposition in the estimation of William; and this he well knew was due ingreat part to the number of lances in his retinue, and the men-at-armswho followed his standard.

  Need we say that Alice scorned this hateful yoke; for the warm currentof romance which ran in her southern blood demanded a nobler andcourtlier knight than Vigneau as the object of her love. Through a vistain the noble line of beeches and oaks which studded the park she had afull view of the castle and its defenders, and she shuddered as shecontemplated the impending carnage and bloodshed which hovered over thecamp and the castle alike. Thus, often as she sat in her tent did shewatch the mailed Saxon chief, as he paced his walls and directed thehousecarles as they laboured at the fortifications--far too often,indeed, for her peace of mind; for the contrast between Oswald's mienand Vigneau's was most glaring. Then the fact that Oswald was fightingagainst fearful odds, and for dear life, awoke the keenest interest inhim, whilst the stories current in the camp of his prowess threw aroundhim a glamour most piquant.

  Often Alice would turn to her favourite maid and confidante, Jeannette,for confirmation of her thoughts.

  "Methinks he is a comely knight, this Saxon, and valiant withal.Jeannette, how sayest thou? is it not so?"

  "He is a comely knight, my lady, and brave too, the fighting men say."

  "Didst thou notice, when he removed his visor to answer the Count'ssummons, his handsome visage? 'Twas, I thought, so like the statue ofMars in the old home in Normandy. The same curly locks; the sameinflexible cast of features, as though ready to front a host. Didst thounotice this, Jeannette?"

  "I marked it much, my lady."

  "Yet, didst thou notice, there was a nobility about the open brow whichbespeaks a magnanimity which wondrously beseemeth brave men?"

  "I noticed all this, my lady."

  "Ah me, Jeannette, I read those old romances in my father's hall, andlistened to the stories of Christian knights and warriors told me by thegood sisters of St. Justin's, until I came to think that all knights andsoldierly men must be brave to avenge the oppressed, and magnanimous tothe fallen and the weak, scorning to wreak vengeance upon helpless menand women. I thought all brave men must be at least chivalrous to mysex. I thought all brave men must be virtuous, too; for how could theybe brave to conquer their enemies, and yet be the slaves of their ownover-grown lusts like this Baron Vigneau?"

  "These are evil times, lady. I much fear me that nothing good thrivesnow; and the Baron may not be much worse than others, though I go indaily fear of him. His gloating eyes are ever upon me, and once hecaught me in his arms. But let him beware! I carry that in my bosom willteach him a lesson he will not need to learn over again!" and shedisplayed the flashing
blade of a small stiletto.

  "Listen, Jeannette! I saw the Baron lay hold upon a young and beautifullady, who had found shelter with the monks down at the abbey. I heardhis lascivious, gloating words, and I looked into his greedy eyes, andhis steely gaze made me shudder as though it were the gaze of a serpent.I hate him, but I fear him beyond expression!"

  "Hush, lady! Perhaps you will think better of him when these horridtimes have passed."

  "Never, Jeannette! My heart's revolt is complete. Let death come, andwelcome, but never wedlock with him. He is but a huge mountain ofevil-smelling carrion. I shall hie me to Normandy, and there in my booksI'll find a worthy knight, all brave and pure, and I'll wed him inimagination. But I will never share my young life with a knight besottedand cruel as Vigneau."

  "Hush, lady. He comes to your tent. Shall I retire?"

  "No, no! Stay by me, Jeannette. I shall feign sickness; let me lean myhead upon you."

  Baron Vigneau unceremoniously brushed aside the curtains and stalkedinto the tent. His gait was unsteady, and his eyes bloodshot;unmistakable evidences of a recent debauch.

  "What, Alice, how is this?" said he, taking her hand in his. But itinvoluntarily shrank from his grasp. "What! aren't we friends yet? I didbut drag the fair Saxon from among those monkish scoundrels to save herlife."

  "You seemed loth to part with her, Baron."

  "Well, well, we'll take a goose till we can get our swan. But no greatharm would have been done. They're jolly fellows, those monks, and knowwhat's what, I warrant. The wench wouldn't have suffered, exchangingsniffling priests for a valiant knight."

  Alice shuddered, and made haste to change the subject.

  "What says the Saxon knight to your latest summons?"

  "'Saxon whelp,' is much more like it, I trow. Well, he struts himselfupon his trumpery battlements like a valiant scarecrow. I would he werea true knight and worthy of my prowess, I would challenge him to singlecombat, and you should see how he would fare when matched with Normanvalour. But let him boast himself a day or two until we get our gearready; then, if he does not get a short shrift in the _melee_, we'llhave a little sport with him and make him dance to the music theseSaxons like least best."

  "Have you offered him honourable terms?"

  "Honourable terms to a dog of a Saxon! He'll get the same terms as otherSaxons, a sudden exit at the sword's point, or a slower process but arougher passage. I am hoping we shall see sport yet."

  Alice shuddered, for she knew too well that instruments of torture weremeant; and she well knew that the Baron would not only use them, butwould derive positive pleasure in watching the agonies of his victim.

  "I don't care about such practices; they are hideous and barbarous. Whatgood it can do to massacre and torture helpless men and women I can'ttell; indeed, I cannot help despising those who indulge in suchdetestable things."

  "You have been trained in too gentle a school to relish these roughtimes, Alice. We must exterminate these Saxon pests, especially theleaders, and those who have spirit in them. The churls may serve someuseful purpose, when we have knocked their freemen manners out of them.But they will need to be well knocked about, and ground into shape."

  "When will it all end? And if this castle is taken is it to be ourresting-place? I am aweary of being dragged at the heels of a soldierythirsting like wild beasts for blood and plunder."

  "Ha, ha! Softly, softly, my sweet one! This is to be the end of it forus. Then comes love and downy pillows--eh, my queen, is it not so?" saidhe, endeavouring to chuck her under the chin.

  Alice hastily fled, followed by her maid; for, sickening as wasVigneau's general conversation, his amorous advances begat in her anoverpowering disgust.

  A horrible scowl spread itself over Vigneau's base countenance, and hestood as though petrified with rage. Then his tongue gave vent to thispent-up storm, and, with a volley of oaths and threatenings, he strodeout of the tent, demoniacal hatred of his betrothed raging in his heart.