by A. D. Crake
CHAPTER XVIII. AT THE ABBEY OF ABINGDON.
Upon the banks of the Isis, about eight miles above its junctionwith the Tame, stood the ancient town of Abingdon, which had grownup around the famous monastic foundation of Ina, King of Wessex{xvii}.
The river divides, at this point, into three branches, encirclingtwo islands {xviii}; partly on the southern bank, and partly onthe nearest of these islands, stood the mighty Abbey, one of thelargest and most renowned of the Benedictine houses of England.
And on the other island the Conqueror himself had built a countryseat whither he often retired, as convenient headquarters, whenceto enjoy the pleasures of the chase in the vale of White Horse,famous in the annals of the Anglo-Saxon race for Alfred's greatvictory over the Danes.
Few, alas, of the old English inhabitants lingered in the town,save as bondsmen; few of the old English brethren, save as drudges.
For had they not alike incurred the wrath of the victor? Had notthe chief vassals of the abbey led their men forth to fight underthe hapless Harold?--nevermore, alas! to return--and had not themonks blessed their banner and sanctified their patriotic zeal?
And since, on the one hand, William claimed to be the lawfulsovereign, and, on the other, the Pope had blessed the invaders, itwas clear that the Godrics and Thurkills who had committed theircause to God before the wonder-working black cross of St. Mary'sAltar, were but rebels, and that the monks who had blessed themwere schismatics.
Hence the Normans in their hour of victory had cleared out laymenand monks alike, root and branch, and the French tongue hadsuperseded the good old Anglo-Saxon dialect in the district.
It was a fine May evening, and the country was lovely in thefoliage of early summer.
A boat was descending the Isis, rowed by six stout rowers; it wasevidently from Oxenford, for the men bore the badges of RobertD'Oyly, the Norman lord of that city, who had just built the towerwhich yet stands, gray and old, beside the mound raised on Isisbanks by Ethelfleda, lady of Mercia, daughter of the great Alfred,and sister of Edward the Elder.
In the stern of the boat sat Etienne de Malville.
He had journeyed first to Warwick, where he met the fugitives fromAescendune, and heard their story; burning with revenge, he hadsought the aid of Henry de Beauchamp, the Norman governor of thecity; but that worthy, seeing the whole countryside in rebellion,bade Etienne repair to the king for further aid, while he himselfshut his gates, provisioned his castle, and promised to hold outagainst the whole force of the Midlands, until the royal bannercame to scatter the rebels, like chaff before the winds.
Then Etienne repaired to Oxenford, where he was the guest of thenew governor, Robert D'Oyly, for the night, who sent him on by boatto meet the king at Abingdon, whither William was daily expected toarrive to keep Ascensiontide, for he was still observant of suchduties.
The servitors, seeing a boat arrive thus manned, were sensible atonce it must contain a traveller or pilgrim of some importance--probably the latter; for, as we have already hinted, they had awonder-working relic, in the shape of a cross, said to have beengiven to the abbey by the Empress Helena, and to contain a fragmentof the true cross itself.
True, it had failed to prosper the poor English, who knelt beforeit, ere they went to die at Senlac; but of course that was becausethe Pope was against them, and had suspended the flow of spiritualbenediction.
At least, so said the Normans, and they extolled the Black Cross asmuch as their predecessors.
"Pax vobiscum, domine," said the chamberlain, who happened to be atthe quay; "thou art come, doubtless, to bewail thy sins before thecross of St. Mary's Abbey?"
"When my leisure permits, reverendissime pater; at present I seekan immediate audience of the abbot, for whom I bear sad news."
"He is riding to meet the king. Listen, dost thou not hear thetrumpets?--that blast tells of their return together."
"Wilt thou grant me a chamber, that I may don meet apparel for thepresence?"
"It is my duty; but of thy grace--tell me whom I entertain."
"The Lord of Aescendune, and patron of your branch house there."
The chamberlain bowed low, and turned to lead his guest within theprecincts. The rowers cried "largesse," and the young noble threwthem a handful of coin.
Soon Etienne was alone in a comfortable cell, and was attiring hisperson, a duty a Norman seldom neglected; nor did he despise theluxury of a bath, to the scorn of the un-laving natives. The Normanwas the gentleman of the period, alike in etiquette, attire, andfood.
And likewise, some of the most beautiful of the animal creation arethe fiercest carnivora.
The abbot had put off his riding attire; he had clothed his feet indainty slippers instead of sandals, and had thrown a soft robearound his monastic garb--contrasting strongly with the sternattire prescribed by St. Benedict, and he was about to descend tothe hall, when the chamberlain in person told him of the arrival ofEtienne.
"Bid him share our poor meal; we will hear no bad news till we havebroken our fast; they sit ill on an empty stomach."
The chamberlain retired.
And there at the guest table in the refectory sat Etienne, andmarvelled to see how well the ascetics fared. Yet there wasrefinement in their dishes; and there was little or no excess; theydrank the light wines of France, not the heavier ale and mead oftheir predecessors.
The Latin grace said, they fell to. The joints of meat were passedround, the game, the fish, and each used his fingers in the placeof forks, and then washed them in the finger glasses, which hadsome purpose then to serve, ere they waved them in the air, andthen wiped them on delicate napkins.
The meal over, the abbot retired to his chamber, a pleasant room,overlooking the river, and there he took his seat in a cosy chairnear the Gothic window, and sent for the visitor.
Etienne appeared; bent with the grace of youth, kissed the abbot'shand, and then standing before him, with all due modesty, waited tobe addressed.
Such etiquette was exacted of those who had not yet won theirspurs.
The abbot gave him a short benediction, a brief "Dens te custodiatfili," and quickly added, "I am told thou hast news for me of ourlittle patrimony at Aescendune."
"The wolves have ravaged it, father; our own pious brethren areejected; English swine root in its precincts."
The abbot coloured.
"Who has dared to do this impiety?" he thundered.
"The English rebels and outlaws, who have long lain hidden in thewoods, led by the son of the rebel lord who fell at Senlac."
"The brethren--are they safe?"
"They are on their journey hither; the saints have protectedthem--no thanks to the English."
"And how dared the stripling thou namest to do such deeds; wherewas thy father, the Baron?"
"He was foully slain in an ambush:" and Etienne, who strove to keepcool, could not restrain a strange quivering of the lips.
"Come, tell me all, my son; God comfort thee."
Etienne began his tale, and the reader will easily guess thatWilfred's character fared very badly at his hands--that without anywilful falsehood, of which indeed this proud young Norman wasincapable, so distorted a version of the facts known to our readerswas presented, that the abbot shuddered at the daring bloodthirstinessand impiety of one so young as this English lad.
"It is enough--thou shalt have audience with the king at once. Ican obtain it for thee; God's justice shall not ever sleep, andWilliam is His chosen instrument. Hark!"
The compline bell began to ring.
"William attends the service tonight. I will crave an audience forthee; meanwhile, compose thy thoughts for God's holy house. Come,my son, this is the way to the chapel."
If the reader has visited the old colleges in Oxford or Cambridge,he will easily conceive a fair idea of the general appearance ofthe abbey of Abingdon.
There were the same quadrangles (vulgarly called "quads"), the samecloisters, open to the air, but sheltered from sun and rain; whichfind their f
airest modern example, perhaps, in Magdalene College,Oxen. The cells of the monks resembled in size and position therooms of the undergraduates at the olden colleges, although theywere far less luxuriously furnished.
Nor was the element of learning wanting. The Benedictines wereindeed the scholars of Europe, and some hundred boys were educated,free of cost, at Abingdon--the cloisters in summer serving as theirclassrooms. And let me tell my schoolboy readers, the fare and thediscipline were alike very hard.
But the chapel in great abbeys--like the one we are writingabout--resembled a cathedral rather than a college chapel. And hewho has the general plan of a cathedral in his mind can easilyimagine the abbey church of St. Mary's at Abingdon.
The choir was devoted to the monks alone; the nave and aislesapportioned to the laity; the side chapels contained altarsdedicated to special saints, and occasional services.
Such was the building into which Etienne de Malville entered, notwithout religious awe, as the pealing organ--then recentlyintroduced by the Normans--rolled its volume of sound through thevaulted aisles.
The monks were all in the choir, which was lighted by torches andtapers. In the nave a few laity of the town were scattered--here aknight or soldier, there a mechanic.
Suddenly, as Etienne took his place, the tread of many armed heelsbroke the silence, and penetrated up the aisle.
The sound ceased; those who caused it were already in their chosenplaces, and the monks had begun the Psalms, when Etienne heard apeculiarly stern and deep voice near at hand taking up the sacredwords of Israel's royal singer, with which the worshipper seemedfamiliar.
Then, for the first time, he perceived that the Conqueror--themightiest of earth's warriors--was he from whom the voiceproceeded, kneeling without state in the midst of his subjects,lords and vassals, to join in the late evening service of thechurch {xix}.