this ebook was produced by tapio riikonen and david widger book x. the sacrifice on the altar. chapter i. the good bishop alred, now raised to the see of york, had been summoned from his cathedral seat by edward, who had indeed undergone a severe illness, during the absence of harold; and that illness had been both preceded and followed by mystical presentiments of the evil days that were to fall on england after his death. he had therefore sent for the best and the holiest prelate in his realm, to advise and counsel with. the bishop had returned to his lodging in london (which was in a benedictine abbey, not far from the aldgate) late one evening, from visiting the king at his rural palace of havering; and he was seated alone in his cell, musing over an interview with edward, which had evidently much disturbed him, when the door was abruptly thrown open, and pushing aside in haste the monk, who was about formally to announce him, a man so travel-stained in garb, and of a mien so disordered, rushed in, that alred gazed at first as on a stranger, and not till the intruder spoke did he recognise harold the earl. even then, so wild was the earl's eye, so dark his brow, and so livid his cheek, that it rather seemed the ghost of the man than the man himself. closing the door on the monk, the earl stood a moment on the threshold, with a breast heaving with emotions which he sought in vain to master; and, as if resigning the effort, he sprang forward, clasped the prelate's knees, bowed his head on his lap, and sobbed aloud. the good bishop, who had known all the sons of godwin from their infancy, and to whom harold was as dear as his own child, folding his hands over the earl's head, soothingly murmured a benediction. "no, no," cried the earl, starting to his feet, and tossing the dishevelled hair from his eyes, "bless me not yet! hear my tale first, and then say what comfort, what refuge, thy church can bestow!" hurriedly then the earl poured forth the dark story, already known to the reader,--the prison at belrem, the detention at william's court, the fears, the snares, the discourse by the riverside, the oath over the relics. this told, he continued, "i found myself in the open air, and knew not, till the light of the sun smote me, what might have passed into my soul. i was, before, as a corpse which a witch raises from the dead, endows with a spirit not its own--passive to her hand-- life-like, not living. then, then it was as if a demon had passed from my body, laughing scorn at the foul things it had made the clay do. o, father, father! is there not absolution from this oath,--an oath i dare not keep? rather perjure myself than betray my land!" the prelate's face was as pale as harold's, and it was some moments before he could reply. "the church can loose and unloose--such is its delegated authority. but speak on; what saidst thou at the last to william?" "i know not, remember not--aught save these words. 'now, then, give me those for whom i placed myself in thy power; let me restore haco to his fatherland, and wolnoth to his mother's kiss, and wend home my way.' and, saints in heaven! what was the answer of this caitiff norman, with his glittering eye and venomed smile? 'haco thou shalt have, for he is an orphan and an uncle's love is not so hot as to burn from a distance; but wolnoth, thy mother's son, must stay with me as a hostage for thine own faith. godwin's hostages are released; harold's hostage i retain: it is but a form, yet these forms are the bonds of princes.' "i looked at him, and his eye quailed. and i said, 'that is not in the compact.' and william answered, 'no, but it is the seal to it.' then i turned from the duke and i called my brother to my side, and i said, 'over the seas have i come for thee. mount thy steed and ride by my side, for i will not leave the land without thee.' and wolnoth answered, 'nay, duke william tells me that he hath made treaties with thee, for which i am still to be the hostage; and normandy has grown my home, and i love william as my lord.' hot words followed, and wolnoth, chafed, refused entreaty and command, and suffered me to see that his heart was not with england! o, mother, mother, how shall i meet thine eye! so i returned with haco. the moment i set foot on my native england, that moment her form seemed to rise from the tall cliffs, her voice to speak in the winds! all the glamour by which i had been bound, forsook me; and i sprang forward in scorn, above the fear of the dead men's bones. miserable overcraft of the snarer! had my simple word alone bound me, or that word been ratified after slow and deliberate thought, by the ordinary oaths that appeal to god, far stronger the bond upon my soul than the mean surprise, the covert tricks, the insult and the mocking fraud. but as i rode on, the oath pursued me--pale spectres mounted behind me on my steed, ghastly fingers pointed from the welkin; and then suddenly, o my father--i who, sincere in my simple faith, had, as thou knowest too well, never bowed submissive conscience to priest and church--then suddenly i felt the might of some power, surer guide than that haughty conscience which had so in the hour of need betrayed me! then i recognised that supreme tribunal, that mediator between heaven and man, to which i might come with the dire secret of my soul, and say, as i say now, on my bended knee, o father--father--bid me die, or absolve me from my oath!" then alred rose erect, and replied, "did i need subterfuge, o son, i would say, that william himself hath released thy bond, in detaining the hostage against the spirit of the guilty compact; that in the very words themselves of the oath, lies the release--'if god aid thee.' god aids no child to parricide--and thou art england's child! but all school casuistry is here a meanness. plain is the law, that oaths extorted by compulsion, through fraud and in fear, the church hath the right to loose: plainer still the law of god and of man, that an oath to commit crime it is a deadlier sin to keep than to forfeit. wherefore, not absolving thee from the misdeed of a vow that, if trusting more to god's providence and less to man's vain strength and dim wit, thou wouldst never have uttered even for england's sake-- leaving her to the angels;--not, i say, absolving thee from that sin, but pausing yet to decide what penance and atonement to fix to its committal, i do in the name of the power whose priest i am, forbid thee to fulfil the oath; i do release and absolve thee from all obligation thereto. and if in this i exceed my authority as romish priest, i do but accomplish my duties as living man. to these grey hairs i take the sponsorship. before this holy cross, kneel, o my son, with me, and pray that a life of truth and virtue may atone the madness of an hour." so by the crucifix knelt the warrior and the priest. chapter ii. all other thought had given way to harold's impetuous yearning to throw himself upon the church, to hear his doom from the purest and wisest of its saxon preachers. had the prelate deemed his vow irrefragable, he would have died the roman's death, rather than live the traitor's life; and strange indeed was the revolution created in this man's character, that he, "so self-dependent," he who had hitherto deemed himself his sole judge below of cause and action, now felt the whole life of his life committed to the word of a cloistered shaveling. all other thought had given way to that fiery impulse-- home, mother, edith, king, power, policy, ambition! till the weight was from his soul, he was as an outlaw in his native land. but when the next sun rose, and that awful burthen was lifted from his heart and his being--when his own calm sense, returning, sanctioned the fiat of the priest,--when, though with deep shame and rankling remorse at the memory of the vow, he yet felt exonerated, not from the guilt of having made, but the deadlier guilt of fulfilling it--all the objects of existence resumed their natural interest, softened and chastened, but still vivid in the heart restored to humanity. but from that time, harold's stern philosophy and stoic ethics were shaken to the dust; re-created, as it were, by the breath of religion, he adopted its tenets even after the fashion of his age. the secret of his shame, the error of his conscience, humbled him. those unlettered monks whom he had so despised, how had he lost the right to stand aloof from their control! how had his wisdom, and his strength, and his courage, met unguarded the hour of temptation! yes, might the time come, when england could spare him from her side! when he, like sweyn the outlaw, could pass a pilgrim to the holy sepulchre, and there, as the creed of the age taught, win full pardon for the single lie of his truthful life, and regain the old peace of his stainless conscience! there are sometimes event and season in the life of man the hardest and most rational, when he is driven perforce to faith the most implicit and submissive; as the storm drives the wings of the petrel over a measureless sea, till it falls tame, and rejoicing at refuge, on the sails of some lonely ship. seasons when difficulties, against which reason seems stricken into palsy, leave him bewildered in dismay --when darkness, which experience cannot pierce, wraps the conscience, as sudden night wraps the traveller in the desert--when error entangles his feet in its inextricable web--when, still desirous of the right, he sees before him but a choice of evil; and the angel of the past, with a flaming sword, closes on him the gates of the future. then, faith flashes on him, with a light from the cloud. then, he clings to prayer as a drowning wretch to the plank. then, that solemn authority which clothes the priest, as the interpreter between the soul and the divinity, seizes on the heart that trembles with terror and joy; then, that mysterious recognition of atonement, of sacrifice, of purifying lustration (mystery which lies hid in the core of all religions), smoothes the frown on the past, removes the flaming sword from the future. the orestes escapes from the hounding furies, and follows the oracle to the spot where the cleansing dews shall descend on the expiated guilt. he who hath never known in himself, nor marked in another, such strange crisis in human fate, cannot judge of the strength and the weakness it bestows. but till he can so judge, the spiritual part of all history is to him a blank scroll, a sealed volume. he cannot comprehend what drove the fierce heathen, cowering and humbled, into the fold of the church; what peopled egypt with eremites; what lined the roads of europe and asia with pilgrim homicides; what, in the elder world, while jove yet reigned on olympus, is couched in the dim traditions of the expiation of apollo, the joy-god, descending into hades; or why the sinner went blithe and light-hearted from the healing lustrations of eleusis. in all these solemn riddles of the jove world and the christ's is involved the imperious necessity that man hath of repentance and atonement: through their clouds, as a rainbow, shines the covenant that reconciles the god and the man. now life with strong arms plucked the reviving harold to itself. already the news of his return had spread through the city, and his chamber soon swarmed with joyous welcomes and anxious friends. but the first congratulations over, each had tidings that claimed his instant attention, to relate. his absence had sufficed to loosen half the links of that ill-woven empire. all the north was in arms. northumbria had revolted as one man, from the tyrannous cruelty of tostig; the insurgents had marched upon york; tostig had fled in dismay, none as yet knew whither. the sons of algar had sallied forth from their mercian fortresses, and were now in the ranks of the northumbrians, who it was rumoured had selected morcar (the elder) in the place of tostig. amidst these disasters, the king's health was fast decaying; his mind seemed bewildered and distraught; dark ravings of evil portent that had escaped from his lip in his mystic reveries and visions, had spread abroad, bandied with all natural exaggerations, from lip to lip. the country was in one state of gloomy and vague apprehension. but all would go well, now harold the great earl--harold the stout, and the wise, and the loved--had come back to his native land! in feeling himself thus necessary to england,--all eyes, all hopes, all hearts turned to him, and to him alone,--harold shook the evil memories from his soul, as a lion shakes the dews from his mane. his intellect, that seemed to have burned dim and through smoke in scenes unfamiliar to its exercise, rose at once equal to the occasion. his words reassured the most despondent. his orders were prompt and decisive. while, to and fro, went forth his bodes and his riders, he himself leaped on his horse, and rode fast to havering. at length that sweet and lovely retreat broke on his sight, as a bower through the bloom of a garden. this was edward's favourite abode: he had built it himself for his private devotions, allured by its woody solitudes and gloom of its copious verdure. here it was said, that once that night, wandering through the silent glades, and musing on heaven, the loud song of the nightingales had disturbed his devotions; with vexed and impatient soul, he had prayed that the music might be stilled: and since then, never more the nightingale was heard in the shades of havering! threading the woodland, melancholy yet glorious with the hues of autumn, harold reached the low and humble gate of the timber edifice, all covered with creepers and young ivy; and in a few moments more he stood in the presence of the king. edward raised himself with pain from the couch on which he was reclined [ ], beneath a canopy supported by columns and surmounted by carved symbols of the bell towers of jerusalem: and his languid face brightened at the sight of harold. behind the king stood a man with a danish battle-axe in his hand, the captain of the royal house- carles, who, on a sign from the king, withdrew. "thou art come back, harold," said edward then, in a feeble voice; and the earl drawing near, was grieved and shocked at the alteration of his face. "thou art come back, to aid this benumbed hand, from which the earthly sceptre is about to fall. hush! for it is so, and i rejoice." then examining harold's features, yet pale with recent emotions, and now saddened by sympathy with the king, he resumed: "well, man of this world, that went forth confiding in thine own strength, and in the faith of men of the world like thee,--well, were my warnings prophetic, or art thou contented with thy mission?" "alas!" said harold, mournfully. "thy wisdom was greater than mine, o king; and dread the snares laid for me and our native land, under pretext of a promise made by thee to count william, that he should reign in england, should he be your survivor." edward's face grew troubled and embarrassed. "such promise," he said, falteringly, "when i knew not the laws of england, nor that a realm could not pass like house and hyde by a man's single testament, might well escape from my thoughts, never too bent upon earthly affairs. but i marvel not that my cousin's mind is more tenacious and mundane. and verily, in those vague words, and from thy visit, i see the future dark with fate and crimson with blood." then edward's eyes grew locked and set, staring into space; and even that reverie, though it awed him, relieved harold of much disquietude, for he rightly conjectured, that on waking from it edward would press him no more as to those details, and dilemmas of conscience, of which he felt that the arch-worshipper of relics was no fitting judge. when the king, with a heavy sigh, evinced return from the world of vision, he stretched forth to harold his wan, transparent hand, and said: "thou seest the ring on this finger; it comes to me from above, a merciful token to prepare my soul for death. perchance thou mayest have heard that once an aged pilgrim stopped me on my way from god's house, and asked for alms--and i, having nought else on my person to bestow, drew from my finger a ring, and gave it to him, and the old man went his way, blessing me." "i mind me well of thy gentle charity," said the earl; "for the pilgrim bruited it abroad as he passed, and much talk was there of it." the king smiled faintly. "now this was years ago. it so chanced this year, that certain englishers, on their way from the holy land, fell in with two pilgrims--and these last questioned them much of me. and one, with face venerable and benign, drew forth a ring and said, 'when thou reachest england, give thou this to the king's own hand, and say, by this token, that on twelfth-day eve he shall be with me. for what he gave to me, will i prepare recompense without bound; and already the saints deck for the new comer the halls where the worm never gnaws and the moth never frets.' 'and who,' asked my subjects amazed, 'who shall we say, speaketh thus to us?' and the pilgrim answered, 'he on whose breast leaned the son of god, and my name is john!' [ ] wherewith the apparition vanished. this is the ring i gave to the pilgrim; on the fourteenth night from thy parting, miraculously returned to me. wherefore, harold, my time here is brief, and i rejoice that thy coming delivers me up from the cares of state to the preparation of my soul for the joyous day." harold, suspecting under this incredible mission some wily device of the norman, who, by thus warning edward (of whose precarious health he was well aware), might induce his timorous conscience to take steps for the completion of the old promise,--harold, we say, thus suspecting, in vain endeavoured to combat the king's presentiments, but edward interrupted him, with displeased firmness of look and tone: "come not thou, with thy human reasonings, between my soul and the messenger divine; but rather nerve and prepare thyself for the dire calamities that lie greeding in the days to come! be thine, things temporal. all the land is in rebellion. anlaf, whom thy coming dismissed, hath just wearied me with sad tales of bloodshed and ravage. go and hear him;--go hear the bodes of thy brother tostig, who wait without in our hall;--go, take axe, and take shield, and the men of earth's war, and do justice and right; and on thy return thou shalt see with what rapture sublime a christian king can soar aloft from his throne! go!" more moved, and more softened, than in the former day he had been with edward's sincere, if fanatical piety, harold, turning aside to conceal his face, said: "would, o royal edward, that my heart, amidst worldly cares, were as pure and serene as thine! but, at least, what erring mortal may do to guard this realm, and face the evils thou foreseest in the far--that will i do; and perchance, then, in my dying hour, god's pardon and peace may descend on me!" he spoke, and went. the accounts he received from anlaf (a veteran anglo-dane), were indeed more alarming than he had yet heard. morcar, the bold son of algar, was already proclaimed, by the rebels, earl of northumbria; the shires of nottingham, derby, and lincoln, had poured forth their hardy dane populations on his behalf. all mercia was in arms under his brother edwin; and many of the cymrian chiefs had already joined the ally of the butchered gryffyth. not a moment did the earl lose in proclaiming the herr-bann; sheaves of arrows were splintered, and the fragments, as announcing the war- fyrd, were sent from thegn to thegn, and town to town. fresh messengers were despatched to gurth to collect the whole force of his own earldom, and haste by quick marches to london; and, these preparations made, harold returned to the metropolis, and with a heavy heart sought his mother, as his next care. githa was already prepared for his news; for haco had of his own accord gone to break the first shock of disappointment. there was in this youth a noiseless sagacity that seemed ever provident for harold. with his sombre, smileless cheek, and gloom of beauty, bowed as if beneath the weight of some invisible doom, he had already become linked indissolubly with the earl's fate, as its angel,--but as its angel of darkness! to harold's intense relief, githa stretched forth her hands as he entered, and said, "thou hast failed me, but against thy will! grieve not; i am content!" "now our lady be blessed, mother--" "i have told her," said haco, who was standing, with arms folded, by the fire, the blaze of which reddened fitfully his hueless countenance with its raven hair; "i have told thy mother that wolnoth loves his captivity, and enjoys the cage. and the lady hath had comfort in my words." "not in thine only, son of sweyn, but in those of fate; for before thy coming i prayed against the long blind yearning of my heart, prayed that wolnoth might not cross the sea with his kinsmen." "how!" exclaimed the earl, astonished. githa took his arm, and led him to the farther end of the ample chamber, as if out of the hearing of haco, who turned his face towards the fire, and gazed into the fierce blaze with musing, unwinking eyes. "couldst thou think, harold, that in thy journey, that on the errand of so great fear and hope, i could sit brooding in my chair, and count the stitches on the tremulous hangings? no; day by day have i sought the lore of hilda, and at night i have watched with her by the fount, and the elm, and the tomb; and i know that thou hast gone through dire peril; the prison, the war, and the snare; and i know also, that his fylgia hath saved the life of my wolnoth; for had he returned to his native land, he had returned but to a bloody grave!" "says hilda this?" said the earl, thoughtfully. "so say the vala, the rune, and the scin-laeca! and such is the doom that now darkens the brow of haco! seest thou not that the hand of death is in the hush of the smileless lip, and the glance of the unjoyous eye?" "nay, it is but the thought born to captive youth, and nurtured in solitary dreams. thou hast seen hilda?--and edith, my mother? edith is--" "well," said githa, kindly, for she sympathised with that love which godwin would have condemned, "though she grieved deeply after thy departure, and would sit for hours gazing into space, and moaning. but even ere hilda divined thy safe return, edith knew it; i was beside her at the time; she started up, and cried, 'harold is in england!'--'how?--why thinkest thou so?' said i. and edith answered, 'i feel it by the touch of the earth, by the breath of the air.' this is more than love, harold. i knew two twins who had the same instinct of each other's comings and goings, and were present each to each even when absent: edith is twin to my soul. thou goest to her now, harold: thou wilt find there thy sister thyra. the child hath drooped of late, and i besought hilda to revive her, with herb and charm. thou wilt come back, ere thou departest to aid tostig, thy brother, and tell me how hilda hath prospered with my ailing child?" "i will, my mother. be cheered!--hilda is a skilful nurse. and now bless thee, that thou hast not reproached me that my mission failed to fulfil my promise. welcome even our kinswoman's sayings, sith they comfort thee for the loss of thy darling!" then harold left the room, mounted his steed, and rode through the town towards the bridge. he was compelled to ride slowly through the streets, for he was recognised; and cheapman and mechanic rushed from house and from stall to hail the man of the land and the time. "all is safe now in england, for harold is come back!" they seemed joyous as the children of the mariner, when, with wet garments, he struggles to shore through the storm. and kind and loving were harold's looks and brief words, as he rode with vailed bonnet through the swarming streets. at length he cleared the town and the bridge; and the yellowing boughs of the orchards drooped over the road towards the roman home, when, as he spurred his steed, he heard behind him hoofs as in pursuit, looked back, and beheld haco. he drew rein,--"what wantest thou, my nephew?" "thee!" answered haco, briefly, as he gained his side. "thy companionship." "thanks, haco; but i pray thee to stay in my mother's house, for i would fain ride alone." "spurn me not from thee, harold! this england is to me the land of the stranger; in thy mother's house i feel but the more the orphan. henceforth i have devoted to thee my life! and my life my dead and dread father hath left to thee, as a doom or a blessing; wherefore cleave i to thy side;--cleave we in life and in death to each other!" an undefined and cheerless thrill shot through the earl's heart as the youth spoke thus; and the remembrance that haco's counsel had first induced him to abandon his natural hardy and gallant manhood, meet wile by wile, and thus suddenly entangle him in his own meshes, had already mingled an inexpressible bitterness with his pity and affection for his brother's son. but, struggling against that uneasy sentiment, as unjust towards one to whose counsel--however sinister, and now repented--he probably owed, at least, his safety and deliverance, he replied gently: "i accept thy trust and thy love, haco! ride with me, then; but pardon a dull comrade, for when the soul communes with itself the lip is silent." "true," said haco, "and i am no babbler. three things are ever silent: thought, destiny, and the grave." each then, pursuing his own fancies, rode on fast, and side by side; the long shadows of declining day struggling with a sky of unusual brightness, and thrown from the dim forest trees and the distant hillocks. alternately through shade and through light rode they on; the bulls gazing on them from holt and glade, and the boom of the bittern sounding in its peculiar mournfulness of toile as it rose from the dank pools that glistened in the western sun. it was always by the rear of the house, where stood the ruined temple, so associated with the romance of his life, that harold approached the home of the vala; and as now the hillock, with its melancholy diadem of stones, came in view, haco for the first time broke the silence. "again--as in a dream!" he said, abruptly. "hill, ruin, grave-mound-- but where the tall image of the mighty one?" "hast thou then seen this spot before?" asked the earl. "yea, as an infant here was i led by my father sweyn; here too, from thy house yonder, dim seen through the fading leaves, on the eve before i left this land for the norman, here did i wander alone; and there, by that altar, did the great vala of the north chaunt her runes for my future." "alas! thou too!" murmured harold; and then he asked aloud, "what said she?" "that thy life and mine crossed each other in the skein; that i should save thee from a great peril, and share with thee a greater." "ah, youth," answered harold, bitterly, "these vain prophecies of human wit guard the soul from no anger. they mislead us by riddles which our hot hearts interpret according to their own desires. keep thou fast to youth's simple wisdom, and trust only to the pure spirit and the watchful god." he suppressed a groan as he spoke, and springing from his steed, which he left loose, advanced up the hill. when he had gained the height, he halted, and made sign to haco, who had also dismounted, to do the same. half way down the side of the slope which faced the ruined peristyle, haco beheld a maiden, still young, and of beauty surpassing all that the court of normandy boasted of female loveliness. she was seated on the sward;--while a girl younger, and scarcely indeed grown into womanhood, reclined at her feet, and leaning her cheek upon her hand, seemed hushed in listening attention. in the face of the younger girl haco recognised thyra, the last-born of githa, though he had but once seen her before--the day ere he left england for the norman court--for the face of the girl was but little changed, save that the eye was more mournful, and the cheek was paler. and harold's betrothed was singing, in the still autumn air, to harold's sister. the song chosen was on that subject the most popular with the saxon poets, the mystic life, death, and resurrection of the fabled phoenix, and this rhymeless song, in its old native flow, may yet find some grace in the modern ear. the lay of the phoenix. [ ] "shineth far hence--so sing the wise elders far to the fire-east the fairest of lands. daintily dight is that dearest of joy fields; breezes all balmy-filled glide through its groves. there to the blest, ope the high doors of heaven, sweetly sweep earthward their wavelets of song. frost robes the sward not, rusheth no hail-steel; wind-cloud ne'er wanders, ne'er falleth the rain. warding the woodholt, girt with gay wonder, sheen with the plumy shine, phoenix abides. lord of the lleod, [ ] whose home is the air, winters a thousand abideth the bird. hapless and heavy then waxeth the hazy wing; year-worn and old in the whirl of the earth. then the high holt-top, mounting, the bird soars; there, where the winds sleep, he buildeth a nest;-- gums the most precious, and balms of the sweetest, spices and odours, he weaves in the nest. there, in that sun-ark, lo, waiteth he wistful; summer comes smiling, lo, rays smite the pile! burden'd with eld-years, and weary with slow time, slow in his odour-nest burneth the bird. up from those ashes, then, springeth a rare fruit; deep in the rare fruit there coileth a worm. weaving bliss-meshes around and around it, silent and blissful, the worm worketh on. lo, from the airy web, blooming and brightsome, young and exulting, the phoenix breaks forth. round him the birds troop, singing and hailing; wings of all glories engarland the king. hymning and hailing, through forest and sun-air, hymning and hailing, and speaking him 'king.' high flies the phoenix, escaped from the worm-web he soars in the sunlight, he bathes in the dew. he visits his old haunts, the holt and the sun-hill; the founts of his youth, and the fields of his love. the stars in the welkin, the blooms on the earth, are glad in his gladness, are young in his youth. while round him the birds troop, the hosts of the himmel, [ ] blisses of music, and glories of wings; hymning and hailing, and filling the sun-air with music, and glory and praise of the king." as the lay ceased, thyra said: "ah, edith, who would not brave the funeral pyre to live again like the phoenix!" "sweet sister mine," answered edith, "the singer doth mean to image out in the phoenix the rising of our lord, in whom we all live again." and thyra said, mournfully: "but the phoenix sees once more the haunts of his youth--the things and places dear to him in his life before. shall we do the same, o edith?" "it is the persons we love that make beautiful the haunts we have known," answered the betrothed. "those persons at least we shall behold again, and whenever they are--there is heaven." harold could restrain himself no longer. with one bound he was at edith's side, and with one wild cry of joy he clasped her to his heart. "i knew that thou wouldst come to-night--i knew it, harold," murmured the betrothed. chapter iii. while, full of themselves, harold and edith wandered, hand in hand, through the neighbouring glades--while into that breast which had forestalled, at least, in this pure and sublime union, the wife's privilege to soothe and console, the troubled man poured out the tale of the sole trial from which he had passed with defeat and shame,-- haco drew near to thyra, and sate down by her side. each was strangely attracted towards the other; there was something congenial in the gloom which they shared in common; though in the girl the sadness was soft and resigned, in the youth it was stern and solemn. they conversed in whispers, and their talk was strange for companions so young; for, whether suggested by edith's song, or the neighbourhood of the saxon grave-stone, which gleamed on their eyes, grey and wan through the crommell, the theme they selected was of death. as if fascinated, as children often are, by the terrors of the dark king, they dwelt on those images with which the northern fancy has associated the eternal rest, on--the shroud and the worm, and the mouldering bones--on the gibbering ghost, and the sorcerer's spell that could call the spectre from the grave. they talked of the pain of the parting soul, parting while earth was yet fair, youth fresh, and joy not yet ripened from the blossom--of the wistful lingering look which glazing eyes would give to the latest sunlight it should behold on earth; and then he pictured the shivering and naked soul, forced from the reluctant clay, wandering through cheerless space to the intermediate tortures, which the church taught that none were so pure as not for a whole to undergo; and hearing, as it wandered, the knell of the muffled bells and the burst of unavailing prayer. at length haco paused abruptly and said: "but thou, cousin, hast before thee love and sweet life, and these discourses are not for thee." thyra shook her head mournfully: "not so, haco; for when hilda consulted the runes, while, last night, she mingled the herbs for my pain, which rests ever hot and sharp here," and the girl laid her hand on her breast, "i saw that her face grew dark and overcast; and i felt, as i looked, that my doom was set. and when thou didst come so noiselessly to my side, with thy sad, cold eyes, o haco, methought i saw the messenger of death. but thou art strong, haco, and life will be long for thee; let us talk of life." haco stooped down and pressed his lips upon the girl's pale forehead. "kiss me too, thyra." the child kissed him, and they sate silent and close by each other, while the sun set. and as the stars rose, harold and edith joined them. harold's face was serene in the starlight, for the pure soul of his betrothed had breathed peace into his own; and, in his willing superstition, he felt as if, now restored to his guardian angel, the dead men's bones had released their unhallowed hold. but suddenly edith's hand trembled in his, and her form shuddered.-- her eyes were fixed upon those of haco. "forgive me, young kinsman, that i forget thee so long," said the earl. "this is my brother's son, edith; thou hast not, that i remember, seen him before?" "yes, yes;" said edith, falteringly. "when, and where?" edith's soul answered the question, "in a dream;" but her lips were silent. and haco, rising, took her by the hand, while the earl turned to his sister--that sister whom he was pledged to send to the norman court; and thyra said, plaintively: "take me in thine arms, harold, and wrap thy mantle round me, for the air is cold." the earl lifted the child to his breast, and gazed on her cheek long and wistfully; then questioning her tenderly, he took her within the house; and edith followed with haco. "is hilda within?" asked the son of sweyn. "nay, she hath been in the forest since noon," answered edith with an effort, for she could not recover her awe of his presence. "then," said haco, halting at the threshold, "i will go across the woodland to your house, harold, and prepare your ceorls for your coming." "i shall tarry here till hilda returns," answered harold, and it may be late in the night ere i reach home; but sexwolf already hath my orders. at sunrise we return to london, and thence we march on the insurgents." "all shall be ready. farewell, noble edith; and thou, thyra my cousin, one kiss more to our meeting again." the child fondly held out her arms to him, and as she kissed his cheek whispered: "in the grave, haco!" the young man drew his mantle around him, and moved away. but he did not mount his steed, which still grazed by the road; while harold's, more familiar with the place, had found its way to the stall; nor did he take his path through the glades to the house of his kinsman. entering the druid temple, he stood musing by the teuton tomb. the night grew deeper and deeper, the stars more luminous and the air more hushed, when a voice close at his side, said, clear and abrupt: "what does youth the restless, by death the still?" it was the peculiarity of haco, that nothing ever seemed to startle or surprise him. in that brooding boyhood, the solemn, quiet, and sad experience all fore-armed, of age, had something in it terrible and preternatural; so without lifting his eyes from the stone, he answered: "how sayest thou, o hilda, that the dead are still?" hilda placed her hand on his shoulder, and stooped to look into his face. "thy rebuke is just, son of sweyn. in time, and in the universe, there is no stillness! through all eternity the state impossible to the soul is repose!--so again thou art in thy native land?" "and for what end, prophetess? i remember, when but an infant, who till then had enjoyed the common air and the daily sun, thou didst rob me evermore of childhood and youth. for thou didst say to my father, that 'dark was the woof of my fate, and that its most glorious hour should be its last!'" "but thou wert surely too childlike, (see thee now as thou wert then, stretched on the grass, and playing with thy father's falcon!)--too childlike to heed my words." "does the new ground reject the germs of the sower, or the young heart the first lessons of wonder and awe? since then, prophetess, night hath been my comrade, and death my familiar. rememberest thou again the hour when, stealing, a boy, from harold's house in his absence-- the night ere i left my land--i stood on this mound by thy side? then did i tell thee that the sole soft thought that relieved the bitterness of my soul, when all the rest of my kinsfolk seemed to behold in me but the heir of sweyn, the outlaw and homicide, was the love that i bore to harold; but that that love itself was mournful and bodeful as the hwata [ ] of distant sorrow. and thou didst take me, o prophetess, to thy bosom, and thy cold kiss touched my lips and my brow; and there, beside this altar and grave-mound, by leaf and by water, by staff and by song, thou didst bid me take comfort; for that as the mouse gnawed the toils of the lion, so the exile obscure should deliver from peril the pride and the prince of my house--that, from that hour with the skein of his fate should mine be entwined; and his fate was that of kings and of kingdoms. and then, when the joy flushed my cheek, and methought youth came back in warmth to the night of my soul--then, hilda, i asked thee if my life would be spared till i had redeemed the name of my father. thy seidstaff passed over the leaves that, burning with fire-sparks, symbolled the life of the man, and from the third leaf the flame leaped up and died; and again a voice from thy breast, hollow, as if borne from a hill-top afar, made answer, 'at thine entrance to manhood life bursts into blaze, and shrivels up into ashes.' so i knew that the doom of the infant still weighed unannealed on the years of the man; and i come here to my native land as to glory and the grave. but," said the young man, with a wild enthusiasm, "still with mine links the fate which is loftiest in england; and the rill and the river shall rush in one to the terrible sea." "i know not that," answered hilda, pale, as if in awe of herself: "for never yet hath the rune, or the fount or the tomb, revealed to me clear and distinct the close of the great course of harold; only know i through his own stars his glory and greatness; and where glory is dim, and greatness is menaced, i know it but from the stars of others, the rays of whose influence blend with his own. so long, at least, as the fair and the pure one keeps watch in the still house of life, the dark and the troubled one cannot wholly prevail. for edith is given to harold as the fylgia, that noiselessly blesses and saves: and thou--" hilda checked herself, and lowered her hood over her face, so that it suddenly became invisible. "and i?" asked haco, moving near to her side. "away, son of sweyn; thy feet trample the grave of the mighty dead!" then hilda lingered no longer, but took her way towards the house. haco's eye followed her in silence. the cattle, grazing in the great space of the crumbling peristyle, looked up as she passed; the watch- dogs, wandering through the star-lit columns, came snorting round their mistress. and when she had vanished within the house, haco turned to his steed: "what matters," he murmured, "the answer which the vala cannot or dare not give? to me is not destined the love of woman, nor the ambition of life. all i know of human affection binds me to harold; all i know of human ambition is to share in his fate. this love is strong as hate, and terrible as doom,--it is jealous, it admits no rival. as the shell and the sea-weed interlaced together, we are dashed on the rushing surge; whither? oh, whither?" chapter iv. "i tell thee, hilda," said the earl, impatiently, "i tell thee that i renounce henceforth all faith save in him whose ways are concealed from our eyes. thy seid and thy galdra have not guarded me against peril, nor armed me against sin. nay, perchance--but peace: i will no more tempt the dark art, i will no more seek to disentangle the awful truth from the juggling lie. all so foretold me i will seek to forget,--hope from no prophecy, fear from no warning. let the soul go to the future under the shadow of god!" "pass on thy way as thou wilt, its goal is the same, whether seen or unmarked. peradventure thou art wise," said the vala, gloomily. "for my country's sake, heaven be my witness, not my own," resumed the earl, "i have blotted my conscience and sullied my truth. my country alone can redeem me, by taking my life as a thing hallowed evermore to her service. selfish ambition do i lay aside, selfish power shall tempt me no more; lost is the charm that i beheld in a throne, and, save for edith--" "no! not even for edith," cried the betrothed, advancing, "not even for edith shalt thou listen to other voice than that of thy country and thy soul." the earl turned round abruptly, and his eyes were moist. "o hilda," he cried, "see henceforth my only vala; let that noble heart alone interpret to us the oracles of the future." the next day harold returned with haco and a numerous train of his house-carles to the city. their ride was as silent as that of the day before; but on reaching southwark, harold turned away from the bridge towards the left, gained the river-side, and dismounted at the house of one of his lithsmen (a franklin, or freed ceorl). leaving there his horse, he summoned a boat, and, with haco, was rowed over towards the fortified palace which then rose towards the west of london, jutting into the thames, and which seems to have formed the outwork of the old roman city. the palace, of remotest antiquity, and blending all work and architecture, roman, saxon, and danish, had been repaired by canute; and from a high window in the upper story, where were the royal apartments, the body of the traitor edric streone (the founder of the house of godwin) had been thrown into the river. "whither go we, harold?" asked the son of sweyn. "we go to visit the young atheling, the natural heir to the saxon throne," replied harold in a firm voice. "he lodges in the old palace of our kings." "they say in normandy that the boy is imbecile." "that is not true," returned harold. "i will present thee to him,-- judge." haco mused a moment and said: "methinks i divine thy purpose; is it not formed on the sudden, harold?" "it was the counsel of edith," answered harold, with evident emotion. "and yet, if that counsel prevail, i may lose the power to soften the church and to call her mine." "so thou wouldest sacrifice even edith for thy country." "since i have sinned, methinks i could," said the proud man humbly. the boat shot into a little creek, or rather canal, which then ran inland, beside the black and rotting walls of the fort. the two earl- born leapt ashore, passed under a roman arch, entered a court the interior of which was rudely filled up by early saxon habitations of rough timber work, already, since the time of canute, falling into decay, (as all things did which came under the care of edward,) and mounting a stair that ran along the outside of the house, gained a low narrow door, which stood open. in the passage within were one or two of the king's house-carles who had been assigned to the young atheling, with liveries of blue and danish axes, and some four or five german servitors, who had attended his father from the emperor's court. one of these last ushered the noble saxons into a low, forlorn ante-hall; and there, to harold's surprise they found alred the archbishop of york, and three thegns of high rank, and of lineage ancient and purely saxon. alred approached harold with a faint smile on his benign face: "methinks, and may i think aright!--thou comest hither with the same purpose as myself, and you noble thegns." "and that purpose?" "is to see and to judge calmly, if, despite his years, we may find in the descendant of the ironsides such a prince as we may commend to our decaying king as his heir, and to the witan as a chief fit to defend the land." "thou speakest the cause of my own coming. with your ears will i hear, with your eyes will i see; as ye judge, will judge i," said harold, drawing the prelate towards the thegns, so that they might hear his answer. the chiefs, who belonged to a party that had often opposed godwin's house, had exchanged looks of fear and trouble when harold entered; but at his words their frank faces showed equal surprise and pleasure. harold presented to them his nephew, with whose grave dignity of bearing beyond his years they were favourably impressed, though the good bishop sighed when he saw in his face the sombre beauty of the guilty sire. the group then conversed anxiously on the declining health of the king, the disturbed state of the realm, and the expediency, if possible, of uniting all suffrages in favour of the fittest successor. and in harold's voice and manner, as in harold's heart, there was nought that seemed conscious of his own mighty stake and just hopes in that election. but as time wore, the faces of the thegns grew overcast; proud men and great satraps [ ] were they, and they liked it ill that the boy-prince kept them so long in the dismal ante-room. at length the german officer, who had gone to announce their coming, returned; and in words, intelligible indeed from the affinity between saxon and german, but still disagreeably foreign to english ears, requested them to follow him into the presence of the atheling. in a room yet retaining the rude splendour with which it had been invested by canute, a handsome boy, about the age of thirteen or fourteen, but seeming much younger, was engaged in the construction of a stuffed bird, a lure for a young hawk that stood blindfold on its perch. the employment made so habitual a part of the serious education of youth, that the thegns smoothed their brows at the sight, and deemed the boy worthily occupied. at another end of the room, a grave norman priest was seated at a table on which were books and writing implements; he was the tutor commissioned by edward to teach norman tongue and saintly lore to the atheling. a profusion of toys strewed the floor, and some children of edgar's own age were playing with them. his little sister margaret [ ] was seated seriously, apart from all the other children, and employed in needlework. when alred approached the atheling, with a blending of reverent obeisance and paternal cordiality, the boy carelessly cried, in a barbarous jargon, half german, half norman-french: "there, come not too near, you scare my hawk. what are you doing? you trample my toys, which the good norman bishop william sent me as a gift from the duke. art thou blind, man?" "my son," said the prelate kindly, "these are the things of childhood --childhood ends sooner with princes than with common men. leave thy lure and thy toys, and welcome these noble thegns, and address them, so please you, in our own saxon tongue." "saxon tongue!--language of villeins! not i. little do i know of it, save to scold a ceorl or a nurse. king edward did not tell me to learn saxon, but norman! and godfroi yonder says, that if i know norman well, duke william will make me his knight. but i don't desire to learn anything more to-day." and the child turned peevishly from thegn and prelate. the three saxon lords interchanged looks of profound displeasure and proud disgust. but harold, with an effort over himself, approached, and said winningly: "edgar the atheling, thou art not so young but thou knowest already that the great live for others. wilt thou not be proud to live for this fair country, and these noble men, and to speak the language of alfred the great?" "alfred the great! they always weary me with alfred the great," said the boy, pouting. "alfred the great, he is the plague of my life! if i am atheling, men are to live for me, not i for them; and if you tease me any more, i will run away to duke william in rouen; godfroi says i shall never be teased there!" so saying, already tired of hawk and lure, the child threw himself on the floor with the other children, and snatched the toys from their hands. the serious margaret then rose quietly, and went to her brother, and said, in good saxon: "fie! if you behave thus, i shall call you niddering!" at the threat of that word, the vilest in the language--that word which the lowest ceorl would forfeit life rather than endure--a threat applied to the atheling of england, the descendant of saxon heroes--the three thegns drew close, and watched the boy, hoping to see that he would start to his feet with wrath and in shame. "call me what you will, silly sister," said the child, indifferently, "i am not so saxon as to care for your ceorlish saxon names." "enow," cried the proudest and greatest of the thegns, his very moustache curling with ire. "he who can be called niddering shall never be crowned king!" "i don't want to be crowned king, rude man, with your laidly moustache: i want to be made knight, and have banderol and baldric.-- go away!" "we go, son," said alred, mournfully. and with slow and tottering step he moved to the door; there he halted, turned back,--and the child was pointing at him in mimicry, while godfroi, the norman tutor, smiled as in pleasure. the prelate shook his head, and the group gained again the ante-hall. "fit leader of bearded men! fit king for the saxon land!" cried a thegn. "no more of your atheling, alred my father!" "no more of him, indeed!" said the prelate, mournfully. "it is but the fault of his nurture and rearing,--a neglected childhood, a norman tutor, german hirelings. we may remould yet the pliant clay," said harold. "nay," returned alred, "no leisure for such hopes, no time to undo what is done by circumstance, and, i fear, by nature. ere the year is out the throne will stand empty in our halls." "who then," said haco, abruptly, "who then,--(pardon the ignorance of youth wasted in captivity abroad!) who then, failing the atheling, will save this realm from the norman duke, who, i know well, counts on it as the reaper on the harvest ripening to his sickle?" "alas, who then?" murmured alred. "who then?" cried the three thegns, with one voice, "why the worthiest, the wisest, the bravest! stand forth, harold the earl, thou art the man!" and without awaiting his answer, they strode from the hall. chapter v. around northampton lay the forces of morcar, the choice of the anglo- dane men of northumbria. suddenly there was a shout as to arms from the encampment; and morcar, the young earl, clad in his link mail, save his helmet, came forth, and cried: "my men are fools to look that way for a foe; yonder lies mercia, behind it the hills of wales. the troops that come hitherward are those which edwin my brother brings to our aid." morcar's words were carried into the host by his captains and warbodes, and the shout changed from alarm into joy. as the cloud of dust through which gleamed the spears of the coming force rolled away, and lay lagging behind the march of the host, there rode forth from the van two riders. fast and far from the rest they rode, and behind them, fast as they could, spurred two others, who bore on high, one the pennon of mercia, one the red lion of north wales. right to the embankment and palisade which begirt mortar's camp rode the riders; and the head of the foremost was bare, and the guards knew the face of edwin the comely, mortar's brother. morcar stepped down from the mound on which he stood, and the brothers embraced amidst the halloos of the forces. "and welcome, i pray thee," said morcar, "our kinsman caradoc, son of gryffyth [ ] the bold." so morcar reached his hand to caradoc, stepson to his sister aldyth, and kissed him on the brow, as was the wont of our fathers. the young and crownless prince was scarce out of boyhood, but already his name was sung by the bards, and circled in the halls of gwynedd with the hirlas horn; for he had harried the saxon borders, and given to fire and sword even the fortress of harold himself. but while these three interchanged salutations, and ere yet the mixed mercians and welch had gained the encampment, from a curve in the opposite road, towards towcester and dunstable, broke the flash of mail like a river of light, trumpets and fifes were heard in the distance; and all in morcar's host stood hushed but stern, gazing anxious and afar, as the coming armament swept on. and from the midst were seen the martlets and cross of england's king, and the tiger heads of harold; banners which, seen together, had planted victory on every tower, on every field, towards which they had rushed on the winds. retiring, then, to the central mound, the chiefs of the insurgent force held their brief council. the two young earls, whatever their ancestral renown, being yet new themselves to fame and to power, were submissive to the anglo-dane chiefs, by whom morcar had been elected. and these, on recognising the standard of harold, were unanimous in advice to send a peaceful deputation, setting forth their wrongs under tostig, and the justice of their cause. "for the earl," said gamel beorn (the head and front of that revolution,) is a just man, and one who would shed his own blood rather than that of any other freeborn dweller in england; and he will do us right." "what, against his own brother?" cried edwin. "against his own brother, if we convince but his reason," returned the anglo-dane. and the other chiefs nodded assent. caradoc's fierce eyes flashed fire; but he played with his torque, and spoke not. meanwhile, the vanguard of the king's force had defiled under the very walls of northampton, between the town and the insurgents; and some of the light-armed scouts who went forth from morcar's camp to gaze on the procession, with that singular fearlessness which characterised, at that period, the rival parties in civil war, returned to say that they had seen harold himself in the foremost line, and that he was not in mail. this circumstance the insurgent thegns received as a good omen; and, having already agreed on the deputation, about a score of the principal thegns of the north went sedately towards the hostile lines. by the side of harold,--armed in mail, with his face concealed by the strange sicilian nose-piece used then by most of the northern nations,--had ridden tostig, who had joined the earl on his march, with a scanty band of some fifty or sixty of his danish house-carles. all the men throughout broad england that he could command or bribe to his cause, were those fifty or sixty hireling danes. and it seemed that already there was dispute between the brothers, for harold's face was flushed, and his voice stern, as he said, "rate me as thou wilt, brother, but i cannot advance at once to the destruction of my fellow englishmen without summons and attempt at treaty,--as has ever been the custom of our ancient heroes and our own house." "by all the fiends of the north?" exclaimed tostig, "it is foul shame to talk of treaty and summons to robbers and rebels. for what art thou here but for chastisement and revenge?" "for justice and right, tostig." "ha! thou comest not, then, to aid thy brother?" "yes, if justice and right are, as i trust, with him." before tostig could reply, a line was suddenly cleared through the armed men, and, with bare heads, and a monk lifting the rood on high, amidst the procession advanced the northumbrian danes. "by the red sword of st. olave!" cried tostig, "yonder come the traitors, gamel beorn and gloneion! you will not hear them? if so, i will not stay to listen. i have but my axe for my answer to such knaves." "brother, brother, those men are the most valiant and famous chiefs in thine earldom. go, tostig, thou art not now in the mood to hear reason. retire into the city; summon its gates to open to the king's flag. i will hear the men." "beware how thou judge, save in thy brother's favour!" growled the fierce warrior; and, tossing his arm on high with a contemptuous gesture, he spurred away towards the gates. then harold, dismounting, stood on the ground, under the standard of his king, and round him came several of the saxon chiefs, who had kept aloof during the conference with tostig. the northumbrians approached, and saluted the earl with grave courtesy. then gamel beorn began. but much as harold had feared and foreboded as to the causes of complaint which tostig had given to the northumbrians, all fear, all foreboding, fell short of the horrors now deliberately unfolded; not only extortion of tribute the most rapacious and illegal, but murder the fiercest and most foul. thegns of high birth, without offence or suspicion, but who had either excited tostig's jealousy, or resisted his exactions, had been snared under peaceful pretexts into his castle [ ], and butchered in cold blood by his house-carles. the cruelties of the old heathen danes seemed revived in the bloody and barbarous tale. "and now," said the thegn, in conclusion, "canst thou condemn us that we rose?--no partial rising;--rose all northumbria! at first but two hundred thegns; strong in our course, we swelled into the might of a people. our wrongs found sympathy beyond our province, for liberty spreads over human hearts as fire over a heath. wherever we march, friends gather round us. thou warrest not on a handful of rebels,-- half england is with us!" "and ye,--thegns," answered harold, "ye have ceased to war against tostig, your earl. ye war now against the king and the law. come with your complaints to your prince and your witan, and, if they are just, ye are stronger than in yonder palisades and streets of steel." "and so," said gamel beorn, with marked emphasis, "now thou art in england, o noble earl,--so are we willing to come. but when thou wert absent from the land, justice seemed to abandon it to force and the battle-axe." "i would thank you for your trust," answered harold, deeply moved. "but justice in england rests not on the presence and life of a single man. and your speech i must not accept as a grace, for it wrongs both my king and his council. these charges ye have made, but ye have not proved them. armed men are not proofs; and granting that hot blood and mortal infirmity of judgment have caused tostig to err against you and the right, think still of his qualities to reign over men whose lands, and whose rivers, lie ever exposed to the dread northern sea- kings. where will ye find a chief with arm as strong, and heart as dauntless? by his mother's side he is allied to your own lineage. and for the rest, if ye receive him back to his earldom, not only do i, harold in whom you profess to trust, pledge full oblivion of the past, but i will undertake, in his name, that he shall rule you well for the future, according to the laws of king canute." "that will we not hear," cried the thegns, with one voice; while the tones of gamel beorn, rough with the rattling danish burr, rose above all, "for we were born free. a proud and bad chief is by us not to be endured; we have learned from our ancestors to live free or die!" a murmur, not of condemnation, at these words, was heard amongst the saxon chiefs round harold: and beloved and revered as he was, he felt that, had he the heart, he had scarce the power, to have coerced those warriors to march at once on their countrymen in such a cause. but foreseeing great evil in the surrender of his brother's interests, whether by lowering the king's dignity to the demands of armed force, or sending abroad in all his fierce passions a man so highly connected with norman and dane, so vindictive and so grasping, as tostig, the earl shunned further parley at that time and place. he appointed a meeting in the town with the chiefs; and requested them, meanwhile, to reconsider their demands, and at least shape them so as that they could be transmitted to the king, who was then on his way to oxford. it is in vain to describe the rage of tostig, when his brother gravely repeated to him the accusations against him, and asked for his justification. justification he could give not. his idea of law was but force, and by force alone he demanded now to be defended. harold, then, wishing not alone to be judge in his brother's cause, referred further discussion to the chiefs of the various towns and shires, whose troops had swelled the war-fyrd; and to them he bade tostig plead his cause. vain as a woman, while fierce as a tiger, tostig assented, and in that assembly he rose, his gonna all blazing with crimson and gold, his hair all curled and perfumed as for a banquet; and such, in a half- barbarous day, the effect of person, especially when backed by warlike renown, that the proceres were half disposed to forget, in admiration of the earl's surpassing beauty of form, the dark tales of his hideous guilt. but his passions hurrying him away ere he had gained the middle of his discourse, so did his own relation condemn himself, so clear became his own tyrannous misdeeds, that the englishmen murmured aloud their disgust, and their impatience would not suffer him to close. "enough," cried vebba, the blunt thegn from saxon kent; "it is plain that neither king nor witan can replace thee in thine earldom. tell us not farther of these atrocities; or by're lady, if the northumbrians had chased thee not, we would." "take treasure and ship, and go to baldwin in flanders," said thorold, a great anglo-dane from lincolnshire, "for even harold's name can scarce save thee from outlawry." tostig glared round on the assembly, and met but one common expression in the face of all. "these are thy henchmen, harold!" he said through his gnashing teeth, without vouchsafing farther word, strode from the council-hall. that evening he left the town and hurried to tell to edward the tale that had so miscarried with the chiefs. the next day, the northumbrian delegates were heard; and they made the customary proposition in those cases of civil differences, to refer all matters to the king and the witan; each party remaining under arms meanwhile. this was finally acceded to. harold repaired to oxford, where the king (persuaded to the journey by alred, foreseeing what would come to pass) had just arrived. chapter vi. the witan was summoned in haste. thither came the young earls morcar and edwin, but caradoc, chafing at the thought of peace, retired into wales with his wild band. now, all the great chiefs, spiritual and temporal, assembled in oxford for the decree of that witan on which depended the peace of england. the imminence of the time made the concourse of members entitled to vote in the assembly even larger than that which had met for the inlawry of godwin. there was but one thought uppermost in the minds of men, to which the adjustment of an earldom, however mighty, was comparatively insignificant--viz., the succession of the kingdom. that thought turned instinctively and irresistibly to harold. the evident and rapid decay of the king; the utter failure of all male heir in the house of cerdic, save only the boy edgar; whose character (which throughout life remained puerile and frivolous) made the minority which excluded him from the throne seem cause rather for rejoicing than grief: and whose rights, even by birth, were not acknowledged by the general tenor of the saxon laws, which did not recognize as heir to the crown the son of a father who had not himself been crowned [ ];--forebodings of coming evil and danger, originating in edward's perturbed visions; revivals of obscure and till then forgotten prophecies, ancient as the days of merlin; rumours, industriously fomented into certainty by haco, whose whole soul seemed devoted to harold's cause, of the intended claim of the norman count to the throne;--all concurred to make the election of a man matured in camp and council, doubly necessary to the safety of the realm. warm favourers, naturally, of harold, were the genuine saxon population, and a large part of the anglo-danish--all the thegns in his vast earldom of wessex, reaching to the southern and western coasts, from sandwich and the mouth of the thames to the land's end in cornwall; and including the free men of kent, whose inhabitants even from the days of caesar had been considered in advance of the rest of the british population, and from the days of hengist had exercised an influence that nothing save the warlike might of the anglo-danes counterbalanced. with harold, too, were many of the thegns from his earlier earldom of east anglia, comprising the county of essex, great part of hertfordshire, and so reaching into cambridge, huntingdon, norfolk, and ely. with him, were all the wealth, intelligence, and power of london, and most of the trading towns; with him all the veterans of the armies he had led; with him too, generally throughout the empire, was the force, less distinctly demarked, of public and national feeling. even the priests, save those immediately about the court, forgot, in the exigency of the time, their ancient and deep-rooted dislike to godwin's house; they remembered, at least, that harold had never, in foray or feud, plundered a single convent; or in peace, and through plot, appropriated to himself a single hide of church land; and that was more than could have been said of any other earl of the age--even of leofric the holy. they caught, as a church must do, when so intimately, even in its illiterate errors, allied with the people as the old saxon church was, the popular enthusiasm. abbot combined with thegn in zeal for earl harold. the only party that stood aloof was the one that espoused the claims of the young sons of algar. but this party was indeed most formidable; it united all. the old friends of the virtuous leofric, of the famous siward; it had a numerous party even in east anglia (in which earldom algar had succeeded harold); it comprised nearly all the thegns in mercia (the heart of the country) and the population of northumbria; and it involved in its wide range the terrible welch on the one hand, and the scottish domain of the sub-king malcolm, himself a cumbrian, on the other, despite malcolm's personal predilections for tostig, to whom he was strongly attached. but then the chiefs of this party, while at present they stood aloof, were all, with the exception perhaps of the young earls themselves, disposed, on the slightest encouragement, to blend their suffrage with the friends of harold; and his praise was as loud on their lips as on those of the saxons from kent, or the burghers from london. all factions, in short, were willing, in this momentous crisis, to lay aside old dissensions; it depended upon the conciliation of the northumbrians, upon a fusion between the friends of harold and the supporters of the young sons of algar, to form such a concurrence of interests as must inevitably bear harold to the throne of the empire. meanwhile, the earl himself wisely and patriotically deemed it right to remain neuter in the approaching decision between tostig and the young earls. he could not be so unjust and so mad as to urge to the utmost (and risk in the urging) his party influence on the side of oppression and injustice, solely for the sake of his brother; nor, on the other, was it decorous or natural to take part himself against tostig; nor could he, as a statesman, contemplate without anxiety and alarm the transfer of so large a portion of the realm to the vice- kingship of the sons of his old foe--rivals to his power, at the very time when, even for the sake of england alone, that power should be the most solid and compact. but the final greatness of a fortunate man is rarely made by any violent effort of his own. he has sown the seeds in the time foregone, and the ripe time brings up the harvest. his fate seems taken out of his own control: greatness seems thrust upon him. he has made himself, as it were, a want to the nation, a thing necessary to it; he has identified himself with his age, and in the wreath or the crown on his brow, the age itself seems to put forth its flower. tostig, lodging apart from harold in a fort near the gate of oxford, took slight pains to conciliate foes or make friends; trusting rather to his representations to edward, (who was wroth with the rebellious house of algar,) of the danger of compromising the royal dignity by concessions to armed insurgents. it was but three days before that for which the witan was summoned; most of its members had already assembled in the city; and harold, from the window of the monastery in which he lodged, was gazing thoughtfully into the streets below, where, with the gay dresses of the thegns and cnehts, blended the grave robes of ecclesiastic and youthful scholar;--for to that illustrious university (pillaged the persecuted by the sons of canute), edward had, to his honour, restored the schools,--when haco entered, and announced to him that a numerous body of thegns and prelates, headed by alred, archbishop of york, craved an audience. "knowest thou the cause, haco?" the youth's cheek was yet more pale than usual, as he answered slowly: "hilda's prophecies are ripening into truths." the earl started, and his old ambition reviving, flushed on his brow, and sparkled from his eye--he checked the joyous emotion, and bade haco briefly admit the visitors. they came in, two by two,--a body so numerous that they filled the ample chamber; and harold, as he greeted each, beheld the most powerful lords of the land--the highest dignitaries of the church-- and, oft and frequent, came old foe by the side or trusty friend. they all paused at the foot of the narrow dais on which harold stood, and alred repelled by a gesture his invitation to the foremost to mount the platform. then alred began an harangue, simple and earnest. he described briefly the condition of the country; touched with grief and with feeling on the health of the king, and the failure of cerdic's line. he stated honestly his own strong wish, if possible, to have concentrated the popular suffrages on the young atheling; and under the emergence of the case, to have waived the objection to his immature years. but as distinctly and emphatically he stated, that that hope and intent he had now formally abandoned, and that there was but one sentiment on the subject with all the chiefs and dignitaries of the realm. "wherefore," continued he, "after anxious consultations with each other, those whom you see around have come to you: yea, to you, earl harold, we offer our hands and hearts to do our best to prepare for you the throne on the demise of edward, and to seat you thereon as firmly as ever sate king of england and son of cerdic;--knowing that in you, and in you alone, we find the man who reigns already in the english heart; to whose strong arm we can trust the defence of our land; to whose just thoughts, our laws.--as i speak, so think we all!" with downcast eyes, harold heard; and but by a slight heaving of his breast under his crimson robe, could his emotion be seen. but as soon as the approving murmur that succeeded the prelate's speech, had closed, he lifted his head, and answered: "holy father, and you, right worthy my fellow-thegns, if ye could read my heart at this moment, believe that you would not find there the vain joy of aspiring man, when the greatest of earthly prizes is placed within his reach. there, you would see, with deep and wordless gratitude for your trust and your love, grave and solemn solicitude, earnest desire to divest my decision of all mean thought of self, and judge only whether indeed, as king or as subject, i can best guard the weal of england. pardon me, then, if i answer you not as ambition alone would answer; neither deem me insensible to the glorious lot of presiding, under heaven, and by the light of our laws, over the destinies of the english realm,--if i pause to weigh well the responsibilities incurred, and the obstacles to be surmounted. there is that on my mind that i would fain unbosom, not of a nature to discuss in an assembly so numerous, but which i would rather submit to a chosen few whom you yourselves may select to hear me, in whose cool wisdom, apart from personal love to me, ye may best confide;--your most veteran thegns, your most honoured prelates: to them will i speak, to them make clean my bosom; and to their answer, their counsels, will i in all things defer: whether with loyal heart to serve another, whom, hearing me, they may decide to choose; or to fit my soul to bear, not unworthily, the weight of a kingly crown." alred lifted his mild eyes to harold, and there were both pity and approval in his gaze, for he divined the earl. "thou hast chosen the right course, my son; and we will retire at once, and elect those with whom thou mayest freely confer, and by whose judgment thou mayest righteously abide." the prelate turned, and with him went the conclave. left alone with haco, the last said, abruptly: "thou wilt not be so indiscreet, o harold, as to confess thy compelled oath to the fraudful norman?" "that is my design," replied harold, coldly. the son of sweyn began to remonstrate, but the earl cut him short. "if the norman say that he has been deceived in harold, never so shall say the men of england. leave me. i know not why, haco, but in thy presence, at times, there is a glamour as strong as in the spells of hilda. go, dear boy; the fault is not in thee, but in the superstitious infirmities of a man who hath once lowered, or, it may be, too highly strained, his reason to the things of a haggard fancy. go! and send to me my brother gurth. i would have him alone of my house present at this solemn crisis of its fate." haco bowed his head, and went. in a few moments more, gurth came in. to this pure and spotless spirit harold had already related the events of his unhappy visit to the norman; and he felt, as the young chief pressed his hand, and looked on him with his clear and loving eyes, as if honour made palpable stood by his side. six of the ecclesiastics, most eminent for church learning,--small as was that which they could boast, compared with the scholars of normandy and the papal states, but at least more intelligent and more free from mere formal monasticism than most of their saxon contemporaries,--and six of the chiefs most renowned for experience in war or council, selected under the sagacious promptings of alred, accompanied that prelate to the presence of the earl. "close, thou! close! close! gurth," whispered harold "for this is a confession against man's pride, and sorely doth it shame;--so that i would have thy bold sinless heart beating near to mine." then, leaning his arm upon his brother's shoulder, and in a voice, the first tones of which, as betraying earnest emotion, irresistibly chained and affected his noble audience, harold began his tale. various were the emotions, though all more akin to terror than repugnance, with which the listeners heard the earl's plain and candid recital. among the lay-chiefs the impression made by the compelled oath was comparatively slight: for it was the worst vice of the saxon laws, to entangle all charges, from the smallest to the greatest, in a reckless multiplicity of oaths [ ], to the grievous loosening of the bonds of truth: and oaths then had become almost as much mere matter of legal form, as certain oaths--bad relic of those times!--still existing in our parliamentary and collegiate proceedings, are deemed by men, not otherwise dishonourable, even now. and to no kind of oath was more latitude given than to such as related to fealty to a chief: for these, in the constant rebellions which happened year after year, were openly violated, and without reproach. not a sub-king in wales who harried the border, not an earl who raised banner against the basileus of britain, but infringed his oath to be good man and true to the lord paramount; and even william the norman himself never found his oath of fealty stand in the way, whenever he deemed it right and expedient to take arms against his suzerain of france. on the churchmen the impression was stronger and more serious: not that made by the oath itself, but by the relics on which the hand had been laid. they looked at each other, doubtful and appalled, when the earl ceased his tale; while only among the laymen circled a murmur of mingled wrath at william's bold design on their native land, and of scorn at the thought that an oath, surprised and compelled, should be made the instrument of treason to a whole people. "thus," said harold, after a pause, "thus have i made clear to you my conscience, and revealed to you the only obstacle between your offers and my choice. from the keeping of an oath so extorted, and so deadly to england, this venerable prelate and mine own soul have freed me. whether as king or as subject, i shall alike revere the living and their long posterity more than the dead men's bones, and, with sword and with battle-axe, hew out against the invader my best atonement for the lip's weakness and the heart's desertion. but whether, knowing what hath passed, ye may not deem it safer for the land to elect another king,--this it is which, free and fore-thoughtful of every chance, ye should now decide." with these words he stepped from the dais, and retired into the oratory that adjoined the chamber, followed by gurth. the eyes of the priests then turned to alred, and to them the prelate spoke as he had done before to harold;--he distinguished between the oath and its fulfilment--between the lesser sin and the greater--the one which the church could absolve--the one which no church had the right to exact, and which, if fulfilled, no penance could expiate. he owned frankly, nevertheless, that it was the difficulties so created, that had made him incline to the atheling;--but, convinced of that prince's incapacity, even in the most ordinary times, to rule england, he shrank yet more from such a choice, when the swords of the norman were already sharpening for contest. finally he said, "if a man as fit to defend us as harold can be found, let us prefer him: if not----" "there is no other man!" cried the thegns with one voice. "and," said a wise old chief, "had harold sought to play a trick to secure the throne, he could not have devised one more sure than the tale he hath now told us. what! just when we are most assured that the doughtiest and deadliest foe that our land can brave, waits but for edward's death to enforce on us a stranger's yoke--what! shall we for that very reason deprive ourselves of the only man able to resist him? harold hath taken an oath! god wot, who among us have not taken some oath at law for which they have deemed it meet afterwards to do a penance, or endow a convent? the wisest means to strengthen harold against that oath, is to show the moral impossibility of fulfilling it, by placing him on the throne. the best proof we can give to this insolent norman that england is not for prince to leave, or subject to barter, is to choose solemnly in our witan the very chief whom his frauds prove to us that he fears the most. why, william would laugh in his own sleeve to summon a king to descend from his throne to do him the homage which that king, in the different capacity of subject, had (we will grant, even willingly) promised to render." this speech spoke all the thoughts of the laymen, and, with alred's previous remarks, reassured all the ecclesiastics. they were easily induced to believe that the usual church penances, and ample church gifts, would suffice for the insult offered to the relics: and,--if they in so grave a case outstripped, in absolution, an authority amply sufficing for all ordinary matters,--harold, as king, might easily gain from the pope himself that full pardon and shrift, which as mere earl, against the prince of the normans, he would fail of obtaining. these or similar reflections soon terminated the suspense of the select council; and alred sought the earl in the oratory, to summon him back to the conclave. the two brothers were kneeling side by side before the little altar; and there was something inexpressibly touching in their humble attitudes, their clasped supplicating hands, in that moment when the crown of england rested above their house. the brothers rose, and at alred's sign followed the prelate into the council-room. alred briefly communicated the result of the conference; and with an aspect, and in a tone, free alike from triumph and indecision, harold replied: "as ye will, so will i. place me only where i can most serve the common cause. remain you now, knowing my secret, a chosen and standing council: too great is my personal stake in this matter to allow my mind to be unbiassed; judge ye, then, and decide for me in all things: your minds should be calmer and wiser than mine; in all things i will abide by your counsel; and thus i accept the trust of a nation's freedom." each thegn then put his hand into harold's, and called himself harold's man. "now, more than ever," said the wise old thegn who had before spoken, "will it be needful to heal all dissension in the kingdom--to reconcile with us mercia and northumbria, and make the kingdom one against the foe. you, as tostig's brother, have done well to abstain from active interference; you do well to leave it to us to negotiate the necessary alliance between all brave and good men." "and to that end, as imperative for the public weal, you consent," said alred, thoughtfully, "to abide by our advice, whatever it be?" "whatever it be, so that it serve england," answered the earl. a smile, somewhat sad, flitted over the prelate's pale lips, and harold was once more alone with gurth. chapter vii. the soul of all council and cabal on behalf of harold, which has led to the determination of the principal chiefs, and which now succeeded it--was haco. his rank as son of sweyn, the first-born of godwin's house--a rank which might have authorised some pretensions on his own part, gave him all field for the exercise of an intellect singularly keen and profound. accustomed to an atmosphere of practical state-craft in the norman court, with faculties sharpened from boyhood by vigilance and meditation, he exercised an extraordinary influence over the simple understandings of the homely clergy and the uncultured thegns. impressed with the conviction of his early doom, he felt no interest in the objects of others; but equally believing that whatever of bright, and brave, and glorious, in his brief, condemned career, was to be reflected on him from the light of harold's destiny, the sole desire of a nature, which, under other auspices, would have been intensely daring and ambitious, was to administer to harold's greatness. no prejudice, no principle, stood in the way of this dreary enthusiasm. as a father, himself on the brink of the grave, schemes for the worldly grandeur of the son, in which he confounds and melts his own life, so this sombre and predestined man, dead to earth and to joy and the emotions of the heart, looked beyond his own tomb, to that existence in which he transferred and carried on his ambition. if the leading agencies of harold's memorable career might be, as it were, symbolised and allegorised, by the living beings with which it was connected--as edith was the representative of stainless truth--as gurth was the type of dauntless duty--as hilda embodied aspiring imagination--so haco seemed the personation of worldly wisdom. and cold in that worldly wisdom haco laboured on, now conferring with alred and the partisans of harold; now closeted with edwin and morcar; now gliding from the chamber of the sick king.--that wisdom foresaw all obstacles, smoothed all difficulties; ever calm, never resting; marshalling and harmonising the things to be, like the ruthless hand of a tranquil fate. but there was one with whom haco was more often than with all others--one whom the presence of harold had allured to that anxious scene of intrigue, and whose heart leapt high at the hopes whispered from the smileless lips of haco. chapter viii. it was the second day after that which assured him the allegiance of the thegns, that a message was brought to harold from the lady aldyth. she was in oxford, at a convent, with her young daughter by the welch king; she prayed him to visit her. the earl, whose active mind, abstaining from the intrigues around him, was delivered up to the thoughts, restless and feverish, which haunt the repose of all active minds, was not unwilling to escape awhile from himself. he went to aldyth. the royal widow had laid by the signs of mourning; she was dressed with the usual stately and loose-robed splendour of saxon matrons, and all the proud beauty of her youth was restored to her cheek. at her feet was that daughter who afterwards married the fleance so familiar to us in shakespeare, and became the ancestral mother of those scottish kings who had passed, in pale shadows, across the eyes of macbeth [ ]; by the side of that child, harold to his surprise saw the ever ominous face of haco. but proud as was aldyth, all pride seemed humbled into woman's sweeter emotions at the sight of the earl, and she was at first unable to command words to answer his greeting. gradually, however, she warmed into cordial confidence. she touched lightly on her past sorrows; she permitted it to be seen that her lot with the fierce gryffyth had been one not more of public calamity than of domestic grief, and that in the natural awe and horror which the murder of her lord had caused, she felt rather for the ill-starred king than the beloved spouse. she then passed to the differences still existing between her house and harold's, and spoke well and wisely of the desire of the young earls to conciliate his grace and favour. while thus speaking, morcar and edwin, as if accidentally, entered, and their salutations of harold were such as became their relative positions; reserved, not distant--respectful, not servile. with the delicacy of high natures, they avoided touching on the cause before the witan (fixed for the morrow), on which depended their earldoms or their exile. harold was pleased by their bearing, and attracted towards them by the memory of the affectionate words that had passed between him and leofric, their illustrious grandsire, over his father's corpse. he thought then of his own prayer: "let there be peace between thine and mine!" and looking at their fair and stately youth, and noble carriage, he could not but feel that the men of northumbria and of mercia had chosen well. the discourse, however, was naturally brief, since thus made general; the visit soon ceased, and the brothers attended harold to the door with the courtesy of the times. then haco said, with that faint movement of the lips which was his only approach to a smile: "will ye not, noble thegns, give your hands to my kinsman?" "surely," said edwin, the handsomer and more gentle of the two, and who, having a poet's nature, felt a poet's enthusiasm for the gallant deeds even of a rival,--"surely, if the earl will accept the hands of those who trust never to be compelled to draw sword against england's hero." harold stretched forth his hand in reply, and that cordial and immemorial pledge of our national friendships was interchanged. gaining the street, harold said to his nephew: "standing as i do towards the young earls, that appeal of thine had been better omitted." "nay," answered haco; "their cause is already prejudged in their favour. and thou must ally thyself with the heirs of leofric, and the successors of siward." harold made no answer. there was something in the positive tone of this beardless youth that displeased him; but he remembered that haco was the son of sweyn, godwin's first-born, and that, but for sweyn's crimes, haco might have held the place in england he held himself, and looked to the same august destinies beyond. in the evening a messenger from the roman house arrived, with two letters for harold; one from hilda, that contained but these words: "again peril menaces thee, but in the shape of good. beware! and, above all, of the evil that wears the form of wisdom." the other letter was from edith; it was long for the letters of that age, and every sentence spoke a heart wrapped in his. reading the last, hilda's warnings were forgotten. the picture of edith--the prospect of a power that might at last effect their union, and reward her long devotion--rose before him, to the exclusion of wilder fancies and loftier hopes; and his sleep that night was full of youthful and happy dreams. the next day the witan met. the meeting was less stormy than had been expected; for the minds of most men were made up, and so far as tostig was interested, the facts were too evident and notorious, the witnesses too numerous, to leave any option to the judges. edward, on whom alone tostig had relied, had already, with his ordinary vacillation, been swayed towards a right decision, partly by the counsels of alred and his other prelates, and especially by the representations of haco, whose grave bearing and profound dissimulation had gained a singular influence over the formal and melancholy king. by some previous compact or understanding between the opposing parties, there was no attempt, however, to push matters against the offending tostig to vindictive extremes. there was no suggestion of outlawry, or punishment, beyond the simple deprivation of the earldom he had abused. and in return for this moderation on the one side, the other agreed to support and ratify the new election of the northumbrians. morcar was thus formally invested with the vice- kingship of that great realm; while edwin was confirmed in the earldom of the principal part of mercia. on the announcement of these decrees, which were received with loud applause by all the crowd assembled to hear them, tostig, rallying round him his house-carles, left the town. he went first to githa, with whom his wife had sought refuge, and, after a long conference with his mother, he, and his haughty countess, journeyed to the sea- coast, and took ship for flanders. chapter ix. gurth and harold were seated in close commune in the earl's chamber, at an hour long after the complin (or second vespers), when alred entered unexpectedly. the old man's face was unusually grave, and harold's penetrating eye saw that he was gloomy with some matters of great moment. "harold," said the prelate, seating himself, "the hour has come to test thy truth, when thou saidst that thou wert ready to make all sacrifice to thy land, and further, that thou wouldst abide by the counsel of those free from thy passions, and looking on thee only as the instrument of england's weal." "speak on, father," said harold, turning somewhat pale at the solemnity of the address; "i am ready, if the council so desire, to remain a subject, and aid in the choice of a worthier king." "thou divinest me ill," answered alred; "i do not call on thee to lay aside the crown, but to crucify the heart. the decree of the witan assigns mercia and northumbria to the sons of algar. the old demarcations of the heptarchy, as thou knowest, are scarce worn out; it is even now less one monarchy, than various states retaining their own laws, and inhabitated by different races, who under the sub-kings, called earls, acknowledge a supreme head in the basileus of britain. mercia hath its march law and its prince; northumbria its dane law and its leader. to elect a king without civil war, these realms, for so they are, must unite with and sanction the witans elsewhere held. only thus can the kingdom be firm against foes without and anarchy within; and the more so, from the alliance between the new earls of those great provinces and the house of gryffyth, which still lives in caradoc his son. what if at edward's death mercia and northumbria refuse to sanction thy accession? what if, when all our force were needed against the norman, the welch broke loose from their hills, and the scots from their moors! malcolm of cumbria, now king of scotland, is tostig's dearest friend, while his people side with morcar. verily these are dangers enow for a new king, even if william's sword slept in its sheath." "thou speakest the words of wisdom," said harold, "but i knew beforehand that he who wears a crown must abjure repose." "not so; there is one way, and but one, to reconcile all england to thy dominion--to win to thee not the cold neutrality but the eager zeal of mercia and northumbria; to make the first guard thee from the welch, the last be thy rampart against the scot. in a word, thou must ally thyself with the blood of these young earls; thou must wed with aldyth their sister." the earl sprang to his feet aghast. "no--no!" he exclaimed; "not that!--any sacrifice but that!--rather forfeit the throne than resign the heart that leans on mine! thou knowest my pledge to edith, my cousin; pledge hallowed by the faith of long years. no--no, have mercy--human mercy; i can wed no other!--any sacrifice but that!" the good prelate, though not unprepared for this burst, was much moved by its genuine anguish; but, steadfast to his purpose, he resumed: "alas, my son, so say we all in the hour of trial--any sacrifice but that which duty and heaven ordain. resign the throne thou canst not, or thou leavest the land without a ruler, distracted by rival claims and ambitions, an easy prey to the norman. resign thy human affections thou canst and must; and the more, o harold, that even if duty compelled not this new alliance, the old tie is one of sin, which, as king, and as high example in high place to all men, thy conscience within, and the church without, summon thee to break. how purify the erring lives of the churchman, if thyself a rebel to the church? and if thou hast thought that thy power as king might prevail on the roman pontiff to grant dispensation for wedlock within the degrees, and that so thou mightest legally confirm thy now illegal troth; bethink thee well, thou hast a more dread and urgent boon now to ask--in absolution from thine oath to william. both prayers, surely, our roman father will not grant. wilt thou choose that which absolves from sin, or that which consults but thy carnal affections?" harold covered his face with his hands, and groaned aloud in his strong agony. "aid me, gurth," cried alred, "thou, sinless and spotless; thou, in whose voice a brother's love can blend with a christian's zeal; aid me, gurth, to melt the stubborn, but to comfort the human, heart." then gurth, with a strong effort over himself, knelt by harold's side, and in strong simple language, backed the representations of the priest. in truth, all argument drawn from reason, whether in the state of the land, or the new duties to which harold was committed, were on the one side, and unanswerable; on the other, was but that mighty resistance which love opposes ever to reason. and harold continued to murmur, while his hands concealed his face. "impossible!--she who trusted, who trusts--who so loves--she whose whole youth hath been consumed in patient faith in me!--resign her! and for another! i cannot--i cannot. take from me the throne!--oh vain heart of man, that so long desired its own curse!--crown the atheling; my manhood shall defend his youth.--but not this offering! no, no--i will not!" it were tedious to relate the rest of that prolonged and agitatated conference. all that night, till the last stars waned, and the bells of prime were heard from church and convent, did the priest and the brother alternately plead and remonstrate, chide and soothe; and still harold's heart clung to edith's, with its bleeding roots. at length they, perhaps not unwisely, left him to himself; and as, whispering low their hopes and their fears of the result of the self-conflict, they went forth from the convent, haco joined them in the courtyard, and while his cold mournful eye scanned the faces of priest and brother, he asked them "how they had sped?" alred shook his head and answered: "man's heart is more strong in the flesh than true to the spirit." "pardon me, father," said haco, "if i suggest that your most eloquent and persuasive ally in this, were edith herself. start not so incredulously; it is because she loves the earl more than her own life, that--once show her that the earl's safety, greatness, honour, duty, lie in release from his troth to her--that nought save his erring love resists your counsels and his country's claims--and edith's voice will have more power than yours." the virtuous prelate, more acquainted with man's selfishness than woman's devotion, only replied by an impatient gesture. but gurth, lately wedded to a woman worthy of him, said gravely: "haco speaks well, my father; and methinks it is due to both that edith should not, unconsulted, be abandoned by him for whom she has abjured all others; to whom she has been as devoted in heart as if sworn wife already. leave we awhile my brother, never the slave of passion, and with whom england must at last prevail over all selfish thought; and ride we at once to tell to edith what we have told to him; or rather--woman can best in such a case speak to woman--let us tell all to our lady--edward's wife, harold's sister, and edith's holy godmother--and abide by her counsel. on the third day we shall return." "go we so charged, noble gurth," said haco, observing the prelate's reluctant countenance, "and leave we our reverend father to watch over the earl's sharp struggle." "thou speakest well, my son," said the prelate, "and thy mission suits the young and the layman, better than the old and the priest." "let us go, haco," said gurth, briefly. "deep, sore, and lasting, is the wound i inflict on the brother of my love; and my own heart bleeds in his; but he himself hath taught me to hold england as a roman held rome." chapter x. it is the nature of that happiness which we derive from our affections to be calm; its immense influence upon our outward life is not known till it is troubled or withdrawn. by placing his heart at peace, man leaves vent to his energies and passions, and permits their current to flow towards the aims and objects which interest labour or arouse ambition. thus absorbed in the occupation without, he is lulled into a certain forgetfulness of the value of that internal repose which gives health and vigour to the faculties he employs abroad. but once mar this scarce felt, almost invisible harmony, and the discord extends to the remotest chords of our active being. say to the busiest man whom thou seest in mart, camp, or senate, who seems to thee all intent upon his worldly schemes, "thy home is reft from thee --thy household gods are shattered--that sweet noiseless content in the regular mechanism of the springs, which set the large wheels of thy soul into movement, is thine nevermore!"--and straightway all exertion seems robbed of its object--all aim of its alluring charm. "othello's occupation is gone!" with a start, that man will awaken from the sunlit visions of noontide ambition, and exclaim in his desolation anguish, "what are all the rewards to my labour now thou hast robbed me of repose? how little are all the gains wrung from strife, in a world of rivals and foes, compared to the smile whose sweetness i knew not till it was lost; and the sense of security from mortal ill which i took from the trust and sympathy of love?" thus was it with harold in that bitter and terrible crisis of his fate. this rare and spiritual love, which had existed on hope which had never known fruition, had become the subtlest, the most exquisite part of his being; this love, to the full and holy possession of which, every step in his career seemed to advance him, was it now to be evermore reft from his heart, his existence, at the very moment when he had deemed himself most secure of its rewards--when he most needed its consolations? hitherto, in that love he had lived in the future--he had silenced the voice of the turbulent human passion by the whisper of the patient angel, "a little while yet, and thy bride sits beside thy throne!" now what was that future! how joyless! how desolate! the splendour vanished from ambition--the glow from the face of fame--the sense of duty remained alone to counteract the pleadings of affection; but duty, no longer dressed in all the gorgeous colourings it took before from glory and power--duty stern, and harsh, and terrible, as the iron frown of a grecian destiny. and thus, front to front with that duty, he sate alone one evening, while his lips murmured, "oh fatal voyage, oh lying truth in the hell- born prophecy! this, then, this was the wife my league with the norman was to win to my arms!" in the streets below were heard the tramp of busy feet hurrying homeward, and the confused uproar of joyous wassail from the various resorts of entertainment crowded by careless revellers. and the tread of steps mounted the stairs without his door, and there paused;--and there was the murmur of two voices without; one the clear voice of gurth,--one softer and more troubled. the earl lifted his head from his bosom, and his heart beat quick at the faint and scarce heard sound of that last voice. the door opened gently, gently: a form entered, and halted on the shadow of the threshold; the door closed again by a hand from without. the earl rose to his feet, tremulously, and the next moment edith was at his knees; her hood thrown back, her face upturned to his, bright with unfaded beauty, serene with the grandeur of self-martyrdom. "o harold!" she exclaimed, "dost thou remember that in the old time i said, 'edith had loved thee less, if thou hadst not loved england more than edith?' recall, recall those words. and deemest thou now that i, who have gazed for years into thy clear soul, and learned there to sun my woman's heart in the light of all glories native to noblest man, deemest thou, o harold, that i am weaker now than then, when i scarce knew what england and glory were?" "edith, edith, what wouldst thou say?--what knowest thou?--who hath told thee?--what led thee hither, to take part against thyself?" "it matters not who told me; i know all. what led me? mine own soul, and mine own love!" springing to her feet and clasping his hand in both hers, while she looked into his face, she resumed: "i do not say to thee, 'grieve not to part;' for i know too well thy faith, thy tenderness--thy heart, so grand and so soft. but i do say, 'soar above thy grief, and be more than man for the sake of men!' yes, harold, for this last time i behold thee. i clasp thy hand, i lean on thy heart, i hear its beating, and i shall go hence without a tear." "it cannot, it shall not be!" exclaimed harold, passionately. "thou deceivest thyself in the divine passion of the hour: thou canst not foresee the utterness of the desolation to which thou wouldst doom thy life. we were betrothed to each other by ties strong as those of the church,--over the grave of the dead, under the vault of heaven, in the form of ancestral faith! the bond cannot be broken. if england demands me, let england take me with the ties it were unholy, even for her sake, to rend!" "alas, alas!" faltered edith, while the flush on her cheek sank into mournful paleness. "it is not as thou sayest. so has thy love sheltered me from the world--so utter was my youth's ignorance or my heart's oblivion of the stern laws of man, that when it pleased thee that we should love each other, i could not believe that that love was sin; and that it was sin hitherto i will not think;--now it hath become one." "no, no!" cried harold; all the eloquence on which thousands had hung, thrilled and spell-bound, deserting him in that hour of need, and leaving to him only broken exclamations,--fragments, in each of which has his heart itself seemed shivered; "no, no,--not sin!--sin only to forsake thee.--hush! hush!--this is a dream--wait till we wake! true heart! noble soul!--i will not part from thee!" "but i from thee! and rather than thou shouldst be lost for my sake-- the sake of woman--to honour and conscience, and all for which thy sublime life sprang from the hands of nature--if not the cloister, may i find the grave!--harold, to the last let me be worthy of thee; and feel, at least, that if not thy wife--that bright, that blessed fate not mine!--still, remembering edith, just men may say, 'she would not have dishonoured the hearth of harold!'" "dost thou know," said the earl, striving to speak calmly, "dost thou know that it is not only to resign thee that they demand--that it is to resign thee, and for another?" "i know it," said edith; and two burning tears, despite her strong and preternatural self-exaltation, swelled from the dark fringe, and rolled slowly down the colourless cheek, as she added, with proud voice, "i know it: but that other is not aldyth, it is england! in her, in aldyth, behold the dear cause of thy native land; with her enweave the love which thy native land should command. so thinking, thou art reconciled, and i consoled. it is not for woman that thou desertest edith." "hear, and take from those lips the strength and the valour that belong to the name of hero!" said a deep and clear voice behind; and gurth,--who, whether distrusting the result of an interview so prolonged, or tenderly desirous to terminate its pain, had entered unobserved,--approached, and wound his arm caressingly round his brother. "oh, harold!" he said, "dear to me as the drops in my heart is my young bride, newly wed; but if for one tithe of the claims that now call thee to the torture and trial--yea, if but for one hour of good service to freedom and law--i would consent without a groan to behold her no more. and if men asked me how i could so conquer man's affections, i would point to thee, and say, 'so harold taught my youth by his lessons, and my manhood by his life.' before thee, visible, stand happiness and love, but with them, shame; before thee, invisible, stands woe, but with woe are england and eternal glory! choose between them." "he hath chosen," said edith, as harold turned to the wall, and leaned against it, hiding his face; then, approaching softly, she knelt, lifted to her lips the hem of his robe, and kissed it with devout passion. harold turned suddenly, and opened his arms. edith resisted not that mute appeal; she rose, and fell on his breast, sobbing. wild and speechless was that last embrace. the moon, which had witnessed their union by the heathen grave, now rose above the tower of the christian church, and looked wan and cold upon their parting. solemn and clear paused the orb--a cloud passed over the disk--and edith was gone. the cloud rolled away, and again the moon shone forth; and where had knelt the fair form and looked the last look of edith, stood the motionless image, and gazed the solemn eye, of the dark son of sweyn. but harold leant on the breast of gurth, and saw not who had supplanted the soft and loving fylgia of his life--saw nought in the universe but the blank of desolation! this ebook was produced by tapio riikonen and david widger book iv. the heathen altar and the saxon church. chapter i. while harold sleeps, let us here pause to survey for the first time the greatness of that house to which sweyn's exile had left him the heir. the fortunes of godwin had been those which no man not eminently versed in the science of his kind can achieve. though the fable which some modern historians of great name have repeated and detailed, as to his early condition as the son of a cow-herd, is utterly groundless [ ], and he belonged to a house all-powerful at the time of his youth, he was unquestionably the builder of his own greatness. that he should rise so high in the early part of his career was less remarkable than that he should have so long continued the possessor of a power and state in reality more than regal. but, as has been before implied, godwin's civil capacities were more prominent than his warlike. and this it is which invests him with that peculiar interest which attracts us to those who knit our modern intelligence with the past. in that dim world before the norman deluge, we are startled to recognise the gifts that ordinarily distinguish a man of peace in a civilised age. his father, wolnoth, had been "childe" [ ] of the south saxons, or thegn of sussex, a nephew of edric streone, earl of mercia, the unprincipled but able minister of ethelred, who betrayed his master to canute, by whom, according to most authorities, he was righteously, though not very legally, slain as a reward for the treason. "i promised," said the dane king, "to set thy head higher than other men's, and i keep my word." the trunkless head was set on the gates of london. wolnoth had quarrelled with his uncle brightric, edric's brother, and before the arrival of canute, had betaken himself to the piracy of a sea chief, seduced twenty of the king's ships, plundered the southern coasts, burnt the royal navy, and then his history disappears from the chronicles; but immediately afterwards the great danish army, called thurkell's host, invaded the coast, and kept their chief station on the thames. their victorious arms soon placed the country almost at their command. the traitor edric joined them with a power of more than , men; and it is probable enough that the ships of wolnoth had before this time melted amicably into the armament of the danes. if this, which seems the most likely conjecture, be received, godwin, then a mere youth, would naturally have commenced his career in the cause of canute; and as the son of a formidable chief of thegn's rank, and even as kinsman to edric, who, whatever his crimes, must have retained a party it was wise to conciliate, godwin's favour with canute, whose policy would lead him to show marked distinction to any able saxon follower, ceases to be surprising. the son of wolnoth accompanied canute in his military expedition to the scandinavian continent, and here a signal victory, planned by godwin and executed solely by himself and the saxon band under his command, without aid from canute's danes, made the most memorable military exploit of his life, and confirmed his rising fortunes. edric, though he is said to have been low born, had married the sister of king ethelred; and as godwin advanced in fame, canute did not disdain to bestow his own sister in marriage on the eloquent favourite, who probably kept no small portion of the saxon population to their allegiance. on the death of this, his first wife, who bore him but one son [ ] (who died by accident), he found a second spouse in the same royal house; and the mother of his six living sons and two daughters was the niece of his king, and sister of sweyn, who subsequently filled the throne of denmark. after the death of canute, the saxon's predilections in favour of the saxon line became apparent; but it was either his policy or his principles always to defer to the popular will as expressed in the national council; and on the preference given by the witan to harold the son of canute over the heirs of ethelred, he yielded his own inclinations. the great power of the danes, and the amicable fusion of their race with the saxon which had now taken place, are apparent in this decision; for not only did earl leofric, of mercia, though himself a saxon (as well as the earl of northumbria, with the thegns north of the thames), declare for harold the dane, but the citizens of london were of the same party; and godwin represented little more than the feeling of his own principality of wessex. from that time, godwin, however, became identified with the english cause; and even many who believed him guilty of some share in the murder, or at least the betrayal, of alfred [ ], edward's brother, sought excuses in the disgust with which godwin had regarded the foreign retinue that alfred had brought with him, as if to owe his throne to norman swords, rather than to english hearts. hardicanute, who succeeded harold, whose memory he abhorred, whose corpse he disinterred and flung into a fen [ ], had been chosen by the unanimous council both of english and danish thegns; and despite hardicanute's first vehement accusations of godwin, the earl still remained throughout that reign as powerful as in the two preceding it. when hardicanute dropped down dead at a marriage banquet, it was godwin who placed edward upon the throne; and that great earl must either have been conscious of his innocence of the murder of edward's brother, or assured of his own irresponsible power, when he said to the prince who knelt at his feet, and, fearful of the difficulties in his way, implored the earl to aid his abdication of the throne and return to normandy. "you are the son of ethelred, grandson of edgar. reign, it is your duty; better to live in glory than die in exile. you are of mature years, and having known sorrow and need, can better feel for your people. rely on me, and there will be none of the difficulties you dread; whom i favour, england favours." and shortly afterwards, in the national assembly, godwin won edward his throne. "powerful in speech, powerful in bringing over people to what he desired, some yielded to his words, some to bribes." [ ] verily, godwin was a man to have risen as high, had he lived later! so edward reigned, and agreeably, it is said, with previous stipulations, married the daughter of his king-maker. beautiful as edith the queen was in mind and in person, edward apparently loved her not. she dwelt in his palace, his wife only in name. tostig (as we have seen) had married the daughter of baldwin, count of flanders, sister to matilda, wife to the norman duke: and thus the house of godwin was triply allied to princely lineage--the danish, the saxon, the flemish. and tostig might have said, as in his heart william the norman said, "my children shall descend from charlemagne and alfred." godwin's life, though thus outwardly brilliant, was too incessantly passed in public affairs and politic schemes to allow the worldly man much leisure to watch over the nurture and rearing of the bold spirits of his sons. githa his wife, the dane, a woman with a haughty but noble spirit, imperfect education, and some of the wild and lawless blood derived from her race of heathen sea-kings, was more fitted to stir their ambition and inflame their fancies, than curb their tempers and mould their hearts. we have seen the career of sweyn; but sweyn was an angel of light compared to his brother tostig. he who can be penitent has ever something lofty in his original nature; but tostig was remorseless as the tiger, as treacherous and as fierce. with less intellectual capacities than any of his brothers, he had more personal ambition than all put together. a kind of effeminate vanity, not uncommon with daring natures (for the bravest races and the bravest soldiers are usually the vainest; the desire to shine is as visible in the fop as in the hero), made him restless both for command and notoriety. "may i ever be in the mouths of men," was his favourite prayer. like his maternal ancestry, the danes, he curled his long hair, and went as a bridegroom to the feast of the ravens. two only of that house had studied the humane letters, which were no longer disregarded by the princes of the continent; they were the sweet sister, the eldest of the family, fading fast in her loveless home, and harold. but harold's mind,--in which what we call common sense was carried to genius,--a mind singularly practical and sagacious, like his father's, cared little for theological learning and priestly legend--for all that poesy of religion in which the woman was wafted from the sorrows of earth. godwin himself was no favourite of the church, and had seen too much of the abuses of the saxon priesthood, (perhaps, with few exceptions, the most corrupt and illiterate in all europe, which is saying much,) to instil into his children that reverence for the spiritual authority which existed abroad; and the enlightenment, which in him was experience in life, was in harold, betimes, the result of study and reflection. the few books of the classical world then within reach of the student opened to the young saxon views of human duties and human responsibilities utterly distinct from the unmeaning ceremonials and fleshly mortifications in which even the higher theology of that day placed the elements of virtue. he smiled in scorn when some dane, whose life had been passed in the alternate drunkenness of wine and of blood, thought he had opened the gates of heaven by bequeathing lands gained by a robber's sword, to pamper the lazy sloth of some fifty monks. if those monks had presumed to question his own actions, his disdain would have been mixed with simple wonder that men so besotted in ignorance, and who could not construe the latin of the very prayers they pattered, should presume to be the judges of educated men. it is possible--for his nature was earnest--that a pure and enlightened clergy, that even a clergy, though defective in life, zealous in duty and cultivated in mind,--such a clergy as alfred sought to found, and as lanfranc endeavoured (not without some success) to teach--would have bowed his strong sense to that grand and subtle truth which dwells in spiritual authority. but as it was, he stood aloof from the rude superstition of his age, and early in life made himself the arbiter of his own conscience. reducing his religion to the simplest elements of our creed, he found rather in the books of heathen authors than in the lives of the saints, his notions of the larger morality which relates to the citizen and the man. the love of country; the sense of justice; fortitude in adverse and temperance in prosperous fortune, became portions of his very mind. unlike his father, he played no actor's part in those qualities which had won him the popular heart. he was gentle and affable; above all, he was fair- dealing and just, not because it was politic to seem, but his nature to be, so. nevertheless, harold's character, beautiful and sublime in many respects as it was, had its strong leaven of human imperfection in that very self-dependence which was born of his reason and his pride. in resting so solely on man's perceptions of the right, he lost one attribute of the true hero--faith. we do not mean that word in the religious sense alone, but in the more comprehensive. he did not rely on the celestial something pervading all nature, never seen, only felt when duly courted, stronger and lovelier than what eye could behold and mere reason could embrace. believing, it is true, in god, he lost those fine links that unite god to man's secret heart, and which are woven alike from the simplicity of the child and the wisdom of the poet. to use a modern illustration, his large mind was a "cupola lighted from below." his bravery, though inflexible as the fiercest sea-king's, when need arose for its exercise, was not his prominent characteristic. he despised the brute valour of tostig,--his bravery was a necessary part of a firm and balanced manhood--the bravery of hector, not achilles. constitutionally averse to bloodshed, be could seem timid where daring only gratified a wanton vanity, or aimed at a selfish object. on the other hand, if duty demanded daring, no danger could deter, no policy warp him;--he could seem rash; he could even seem merciless. in the what ought to be, he understood a must be. and it was natural to this peculiar, yet thoroughly english temperament, to be, in action, rather steadfast and patient than quick and ready. placed in perils familiar to him, nothing could exceed his vigour and address; but if taken unawares, and before his judgment could come to his aid, he was liable to be surprised into error. large minds are rarely quick, unless they have been corrupted into unnatural vigilance by the necessities of suspicion. but a nature more thoroughly unsuspecting, more frank, trustful, and genuinely loyal than that young earl's, it was impossible to conceive. all these attributes considered, we have the key to much of harold's character and conduct in the later events of his fated and tragic life. but with this temperament, so manly and simple, we are not to suppose that harold, while rejecting the superstitions of one class, was so far beyond his time as to reject those of another. no son of fortune, no man placing himself and the world in antagonism, can ever escape from some belief in the invisible. caesar could ridicule and profane the mystic rites of roman mythology, but he must still believe in his fortune, as in a god. and harold, in his very studies, seeing the freest and boldest minds of antiquity subjected to influences akin to those of his saxon forefathers, felt less shame in yielding to them, vain as they might be, than in monkish impostures so easily detected. though hitherto he had rejected all direct appeal to the magic devices of hilda, the sound of her dark sayings, heard in childhood, still vibrated on his soul as man. belief in omens, in days lucky or unlucky, in the stars, was universal in every class of the saxon. harold had his own fortunate day, the day of his nativity, the th of october. all enterprises undertaken on that day had hitherto been successful. he believed in the virtue of that day, as cromwell believed in his d of september. for the rest, we have described him as he was in that part of his career in which he is now presented. whether altered by fate and circumstances, time will show. as yet, no selfish ambition leagued with the natural desire of youth and intellect for their fair share of fame and power. his patriotism, fed by the example of greek and roman worthies, was genuine, pure, and ardent; he could have stood in the pass with leonidas, or leaped into the gulf with curtius. chapter ii. at dawn, harold woke from uneasy and broken slumbers, and his eyes fell upon the face of hilda, large, and fair, and unutterably calm, as the face of egyptian sphinx. "have thy dreams been prophetic, son of godwin?" said the vala. "our lord forfend," replied the earl, with unusual devoutness. "tell them, and let me read the rede; sense dwells in the voices of the night." harold mused, and after a short pause, he said: "methinks, hilda, i can myself explain how those dreams came to haunt me." then raising himself on his elbow, he continued, while he fixed his clear penetrating eyes upon his hostess: "tell me frankly, hilda, didst thou not cause some light to shine on yonder knoll, by the mound and stone, within the temple of the druids?" but if harold had suspected himself to be the dupe of some imposture, the thought vanished when he saw the look of keen interest, even of awe, which hilda's face instantly assumed. "didst thou see a light, son of godwin, by the altar of thor, and over the bautastein of the mighty dead? a flame, lambent and livid, like moonbeams collected over snow?" "so seemed to me the light." "no human hand ever kindled that flame, which announces the presence of the dead," said hilda, with a tremulous voice; "though seldom, uncompelled by the seid and the rune, does the spectre itself warn the eyes of the living." "what shape, or what shadow of shape, does that spectre assume?" "it rises in the midst of the flame, pale as the mist on the mountain, and vast as the giants of old; with the saex, and the spear, and the shield, of the sons of woden.--thou hast seen the scin-laeca," continued hilda, looking full on the face of the earl. "if thou deceivest me not," began harold, doubting still. "deceive thee! not to save the crown of the saxon dare i mock the might of the dead. knowest thou not--or hath thy vain lore stood in place of the lore of thy fathers--that where a hero of old is buried, his treasures lie in his grave; that over that grave is at times seen at night the flame that thou sawest, and the dead in his image of air? oft seen in the days that are gone, when the dead and the living had one faith--were one race; now never marked, but for portent, and prophecy, and doom:--glory or woe to the eyes that see! on yon knoll, aesc (the first-born of cerdic, that father-king of the saxons,) has his grave where the mound rises green, and the stone gleams wan by the altar of thor. he smote the britons in their temple, and he fell smiting. they buried him in his arms, and with the treasures his right hand had won. fate hangs on the house of cerdic, or the realm of the saxon, when woden calls the laeca of his son from the grave." hilda, much troubled bent her face over her clasped hands, and, rocking to and fro, muttered some runes unintelligible to the ear of her listener. then she turned to him, commandingly, and said: "thy dreams now, indeed, are oracles, more true than living vala could charm with the wand and the rune: unfold them." thus adjured, harold resumed: "methought, then, that i was on a broad, level plain, in the noon of day; all was clear to my eye, and glad to my heart. i was alone and went on my way rejoicing. suddenly the earth opened under my feet, and i fell deep, fathom-deep;--deep, as if to that central pit, which our heathen sires called niffelheim--the home of vapour--the hell of the dead who die without glory. stunned by the fall, i lay long, locked as in a dream in the midst of a dream. when i opened my eyes, behold, i was girt round with dead men's bones; and the bones moved round me, undulating, as the dry leaves that wirble round in the winds of the winter. and from midst of them peered a trunkless skull, and on the skull was a mitre, and from the yawning jaws a voice came hissing, as a serpent's hiss, 'harold, the scorner, thou art ours!' then, as from the buzz of an army, came voices multitudinous, 'thou art ours!' i sought to rise, and behold my limbs were bound, and the gyves were fine and frail, as the web of the gossamer, and they weighed on me like chains of iron. and i felt an anguish of soul that no words can speak--an anguish both of horror and shame; and my manhood seemed to ooze from me, and i was weak as a child new born. then suddenly there rushed forth a freezing wind, as from an air of ice, and the bones from their whirl stood still, and the buzz ceased, and the mitred skull grinned on me still and voiceless; and serpents darted their arrowy tongues from the eyeless sockets. and, lo, before me stood (o hilda, i see it now!) the form of the spectre that had risen from yonder knoll. with his spear, and saex, and his shield, he stood before me; and his face, though pale as that of one long dead, was stern as the face of a warrior in the van of armed men; he stretched his hand, and he smote his saex on his shield, and the clang sounded hollow; the gyves broke at the clash--i sprang to my feet, and i stood side by side with the phantom, dauntless. then, suddenly, the mitre on the skull changed to a helm; and where the skull had grinned, trunkless and harmless, stood a shape like war, made incarnate;--a thing above giants, with its crest to the stars and its form an eclipse between the sun and the day. the earth changed to ocean, and the ocean was blood, and the ocean seemed deep as the seas where the whales sport in the north, but the surge rose not to the knee of that measureless image. and the ravens came round it from all parts of the heaven, and the vultures with the dead eyes and dull scream. and all the bones, before scattered and shapeless, sprung to life and to form, some monks and some warriors; and there was a hoot, and a hiss, and a roar, and the storm of arms. and a broad pennon rose out of the sea of blood, and from the clouds came a pale hand, and it wrote on the pennon, 'harold, the accursed!' then said the stern shape by my side, 'harold, fearest thou the dead men's bones?' and its voice was as a trumpet that gives strength to the craven, and i answering, 'niddering, indeed, were harold, to fear the bones of the dead!'" "as i spoke, as if hell had burst loose, came a gibber of scorn, and all vanished at once, save the ocean of blood. slowly came from the north, over the sea, a bird like a raven, save that it was blood- red, like the ocean; and there came from the south, swimming towards me, a lion. and i looked to the spectre; and the pride of war had gone from its face, which was so sad that methought i forgot raven and lion, and wept to see it. then the spectre took me in its vast arms, and its breath froze my veins, and it kissed my brow and my lips, and said, gently and fondly, as my mother in some childish sickness, 'harold, my best beloved, mourn not. thou hast all which the sons of woden dreamed in their dreams of valhalla!' thus saying, the form receded slowly, slowly, still gazing on me with its sad eyes. i stretched forth my hand to detain it, and in my grasp was a shadowy sceptre. and, lo! round me, as if from the earth, sprang up thegns and chiefs, in their armour; and a board was spread, and a wassail was blithe around me. so my heart felt cheered and light, and in my hand was still the sceptre. and we feasted long and merrily; but over the feast flapped the wings of the blood-red raven, and over the blood-red sea beyond, swam the lion, near and near. and in the heavens there were two stars, one pale and steadfast, the other rushing and luminous; and a shadowy hand pointed from the cloud to the pale star, and a voice said, 'lo, harold! the star that shone on thy birth.' and another hand pointed to the luminous star, and another voice said, 'lo, the star that shone on the birth of the victor.' then, lo! the bright star grew fiercer and larger; and, rolling on with a hissing sound, as when iron is dipped into water, it rushed over the disc of the mournful planet, and the whole heavens seemed on fire. so methought the dream faded away, and in fading, i heard a full swell of music, as the swell of an anthem in an aisle; a music like that which but once in my life i heard; when i stood on the train of edward, in the halls of winchester, the day they crowned him king." harold ceased, and the vala slowly lifted her head from her bosom, and surveyed him in profound silence, and with a gaze that seemed vacant and meaningless. "why dost thou look on me thus, and why art thou so silent?" asked the earl. "the cloud is on my sight, and the burthen is on my soul, and i cannot read thy rede," murmured the vala. "but morn, the ghost-chaser, that waketh life, the action, charms into slumber life, the thought. as the stars pale at the rising of the sun, so fade the lights of the soul when the buds revive in the dews, and the lark sings to the day. in thy dream lies thy future, as the wing of the moth in the web of the changing worm; but, whether for weal or for woe, thou shalt burst through thy mesh, and spread thy plumes in the air. of myself i know nought. await the hour when skulda shall pass into the soul of her servant, and thy fate shall rush from my lips as the rush of the waters from the heart of the cave." "i am content to abide," said harold, with his wonted smile, so calm and so lofty; "but i cannot promise thee that i shall heed thy rede, or obey thy warning, when my reason hath awoke, as while i speak it awakens, from the fumes of the fancy and the mists of the night." chapter iii. githa, earl godwin's wife, sate in her chamber, and her heart was sad. in the room was one of her sons, the one dearer to her than all, wolnoth, her darling. for the rest of her sons were stalwart and strong of frame, and in their infancy she had known not a mother's fears. but wolnoth had come into the world before his time, and sharp had been the travail of the mother, and long between life and death the struggle of the newborn babe. and his cradle had been rocked with a trembling knee, and his pillow been bathed with hot tears. frail had been his childhood--a thing that hung on her care; and now, as the boy grew, blooming and strong, into youth, the mother felt that she had given life twice to her child. therefore was he more dear to her than the rest; and, therefore, as she gazed upon him now, fair and smiling, and hopeful, she mourned for him more than for sweyn, the outcast and criminal, on his pilgrimage of woe, to the waters of jordan, and the tomb of our lord. for wolnoth, selected as the hostage for the faith of his house, was to be sent from her arms to the court of william the norman. and the youth smiled and was gay, choosing vestment and mantle, and ateghars of gold, that he might be flaunting and brave in the halls of knighthood and the beauty,--the school of the proudest chivalry of the christian world. too young, and too thoughtless, to share the wise hate of his elders for the manners and forms of the foreigners, their gaiety and splendour, as his boyhood had seen them, relieving the gloom of the cloister court, and contrasting the spleen and the rudeness of the saxon temperament, had dazzled his fancy and half normanised his mind. a proud and happy boy was he, to go as hostage for the faith, and representative of the rank, of his mighty kinsmen; and step into manhood in the eyes of the dames of rouen. by wolnoth's side stood his young sister, thyra, a mere infant; and her innocent sympathy with her brother's pleasure in gaud and toy saddened githa yet more. "o my son!" said the troubled mother, "why, of all my children, have they chosen thee? harold is wise against danger, and tostig is fierce against foes, and gurth is too loving to awake hate in the sternest, and from the mirth of sunny leofwine sorrow glints aside, as the shaft from the sheen of a shield. but thou, thou, o beloved!--cursed be the king that chose thee, and cruel was the father that forgot the light of the mother's eyes!" "tut, mother the dearest," said wolnoth, pausing from the contemplation of a silk robe, all covered with broidered peacocks, which had been sent him as a gift from his sister the queen, and wrought with her own fair hands; for a notable needle-woman, despite her sage lere, was the wife of the saint king, as sorrowful women mostly are,--"tut! the bird must leave the nest when the wings are fledged. harold the eagle, tostig the kite, gurth the ring-dove, and leofwine the stare. see, my wings are the richest of all, mother, and bright is the sun in which thy peacock shall spread his pranked plumes." then, observing that his liveliness provoked no smile from his mother, he approached and said more seriously: "bethink thee, mother mine. no other choice was left to king or to father. harold, and tostig, and leofwine, have their lordships and offices. their posts are fixed, and they stand as the columns of our house. and gurth is so young, and so saxish and so the shadow of harold, that his hate to the norman is a by-word already among our youths; for hate is the more marked in a temper of love, as the blue of this border seems black against the white of the woof. but i;--the good king knows that i shall be welcome, for the norman knights love wolnoth, and i have spent hours by the knees of montgommeri and grantmesnil, listening to the feats of rolf-ganger, and playing with their gold chains of knighthood. and the stout count himself shall knight me, and i shall come back with the spurs of gold which thy ancestors, the brave kings of norway and daneland, wore ere knighthood was known. come, kiss me, my mother, and come see the brave falcons harold has sent me:--true welch!" githa rested her face on her son's shoulder, and her tears blinded her. the door opened gently, and harold entered; and with the earl, a pale dark-haired boy, haco; the son of sweyn. but githa, absorbed in her darling wolnoth, scarce saw the grandchild reared afar from her knees, and hurried at once to harold. in his presence she felt comfort and safety; for wolnoth leant on her heart, and her heart leant on harold. "o son, son!" she cried, "firmest of hand, surest of faith, and wisest of brain, in the house of godwin, tell me that he yonder, he thy young brother, risks no danger in the halls of the normans!" "not more than in these, mother," answered harold, soothing her, with caressing lip and gentle tone. "fierce and ruthless, men say, is william the duke against foes with their swords in their hands, but debonnair and mild to the gentle [ ], frank host and kind lord. and these normans have a code of their own, more grave than all morals, more binding than even their fanatic religion. thou knowest it well, mother, for it comes from thy race of the north, and this code of honour, they call it, makes wolnoth's head as sacred as the relics of a saint set in zimmes. ask only, my brother, when thou comest in sight of the norman duke, ask only 'the kiss of peace,' and, that kiss on thy brow, thou wilt sleep more safe than if all the banners of england waved over thy couch." [ ] "but how long shall the exile be?" asked githa, comforted. harold's brow fell. "mother, not even to cheer thee will i deceive. the time of the hostageship rests with the king and the duke. as long as the one affects fear from the race of godwin, as long as the other feigns care for such priests or such knights as were not banished from the realm, being not courtiers, but scattered wide and far in convent and homestead, so long will wolnoth and haco be guests in the norman halls." githa wrung her hands. "but comfort, my mother; wolnoth is young, his eye is keen, and his spirit prompt and quick. he will mark these norman captains, he will learn their strength and their weakness, their manner of war, and he will come back, not as edward the king came, a lover of things un- saxon, but able to warn and to guide us against the plots of the camp- court, which threatens more, year by year, the peace of the world. and he will see there arts we may worthily borrow: not the cut of a tunic, and the fold of a gonna, but the arts of men who found states and build nations. william the duke is splendid and wise; merchants tell us how crafts thrive under his iron hand, and war-men say that his forts are constructed with skill and his battle-schemes planned as the mason plans key-stone and arch, with weight portioned out to the prop, and the force of the hand made tenfold by the science of the brain. so that the boy will return to us a man round and complete, a teacher of greybeards, and the sage of his kin; fit for earldom and rule, fit for glory and england. grieve not, daughter of the dane kings, that thy son, the best loved, hath nobler school and wider field than his brothers." this appeal touched the proud heart of the niece of canute the great, and she almost forgot the grief of her love in the hope of her ambition. she dried her tears and smiled upon wolnoth, and already, in the dreams of a mother's vanity, saw him great as godwin in council, and prosperous as harold in the field. nor, half norman as he was, did the young man seem insensible of the manly and elevated patriotism of his brother's hinted lessons, though he felt they implied reproof. he came to the earl, whose arm was round his mother, and said with a frank heartiness not usual to a nature somewhat frivolous and irresolute: "harold, thy tongue could kindle stones into men, and warm those men into saxons. thy wolnoth shall not hang his head with shame when he comes back to our merrie land with shaven locks and spurs of gold. for if thou doubtest his race from his look, thou shalt put thy right hand on his heart, and feel england beat there in every pulse." "brave words, and well spoken," cried the earl, and he placed his hand on the boy's head as in benison. till then, haco had stood apart, conversing with the infant thyra, whom his dark, mournful face awed and yet touched, for she nestled close to him, and put her little hand in his; but now, inspired no less than his cousin by harold's noble speech, he came proudly forward by wolnoth's side, and said: "i, too, am english, and i have the name of englishman to redeem." ere harold could reply, githa exclaimed: "leave there thy right hand on my child's head, and say, simply: 'by my troth and my plight, if the duke detain wolnoth, son of githa, against just plea, and king's assent to his return, i, harold, will, failing letter and nuncius, cross the seas, to restore the child to the mother.'" [ ] harold hesitated. a sharp cry of reproach that went to his heart broke from githa's lips. "ah! cold and self-heeding, wilt thou send him to bear a peril from which thou shrinkest thyself?" "by my troth and my plight, then," said the earl, "if, fair time elapsed, peace in england, without plea of justice, and against my king's fiat, duke william of normandy detain the hostages;--thy son and this dear boy, more sacred and more dear to me for his father's woes,--i will cross the seas, to restore the child to the mother, the fatherless to his fatherland. so help me, all-seeing one, amen and amen!" chapter iv. we have seen, in an earlier part of this record, that harold possessed, amongst his numerous and more stately possessions, a house, not far from the old roman dwelling-place of hilda. and in this residence he now (save when with the king) made his chief abode. he gave as the reasons for his selection, the charm it took, in his eyes, from that signal mark of affection which his ceorls had rendered him, in purchasing the house and tilling the ground in his absence; and more especially the convenience of its vicinity to the new palace at westminster; for, by edward's special desire, while the other brothers repaired to their different domains, harold remained near his royal person. to use the words of the great norwegian chronicler, "harold was always with the court itself, and nearest to the king in all service." "the king loved him very much, and kept him as his own son, for he had no children."' this attendance on edward was naturally most close at the restoration to power of the earl's family. for harold, mild and conciliating, was, like alred, a great peacemaker, and edward had never cause to complain of him, as he believed he had of the rest of that haughty house. but the true spell which made dear to harold the rude building of timber, with its doors open all day to his lithsmen, when with a light heart he escaped from the halls of westminster, was the fair face of edith his neighbour. the impression which this young girl had made upon harold seemed to partake of the strength of a fatality. for harold had loved her before the marvellous beauty of her womanhood began; and, occupied from his earliest youth in grave and earnest affairs, his heart had never been frittered away on the mean and frivolous affections of the idle. now, in that comparative leisure of his stormy life, he was naturally most open to the influence of a charm more potent than all the glamoury of hilda. the autumn sun shone through the golden glades of the forest-land, when edith sate alone on the knoll that faced forestland and road, and watched afar. and the birds sung cheerily; but that was not the sound for which edith listened: and the squirrel darted from tree to tree on the sward beyond; but not to see the games of the squirrel sat edith by the grave of the teuton. by-and-by, came the cry of the dogs, and the tall gre-hound [ ] of wales emerged from the bosky dells. then edith's heart heaved, and her eyes brightened. and now, with his hawk on his wrist, and his spear [ ] in his hand, came, through the yellowing boughs, harold the earl. and well may ye ween, that his heart beat as loud and his eye shone as bright as edith's, when he saw who had watched for his footsteps on the sepulchral knoll; love, forgetful of the presence of death;--so has it ever been, so ever shall it be! he hastened his stride, and bounded up the gentle hillock, and his dogs, with a joyous bark, came round the knees of edith. then harold shook the bird from his wrist, and it fell, with its light wing, on the altar-stone of thor. "thou art late, but thou art welcome, harold my kinsman," said edith, simply, as she bent her face over the hounds, whose gaunt heads she caressed. "call me not kinsman," said harold, shrinking, and with a dark cloud on his broad brow. "and why, harold?" "oh, edith, why?" murmured harold; and his thought added, "she knows not, poor child, that in that mockery of kinship the church sets its ban on our bridals." he turned, and chid his dogs fiercely as they gambolled in rough glee round their fair friend. the hounds crouched at the feet of edith; and edith looked in mild wonder at the troubled face of the earl. "thine eyes rebuke me, edith, more than my words the hounds!" said harold, gently. "but there is quick blood in my veins; and the mind must be calm when it would control the humour. calm was my mind, sweet edith, in the old time, when thou wert an infant on my knee, and wreathing, with these rude hands, flower-chains for thy neck like the swan's down, i said, 'the flowers fade, but the chain lasts when love weaves it.'" edith again bent her face over the crouching hounds. harold gazed on her with mournful fondness; and the bird still sung and the squirrel swung himself again from bough to bough. edith spoke first: "my godmother, thy sister, hath sent for me, harold, and i am to go to the court to-morrow. shalt thou be there?" "surely," said harold, in an anxious voice, "surely, i will be there! so my sister hath sent for thee: wittest thou wherefore?" edith grew very pale, and her tone trembled as she answered: "well-a-day, yes." "it is as i feared, then!" exclaimed harold, in great agitation; "and my sister, whom these monks have demented, leagues herself with the king against the law of the wide welkin and the grand religion of the human heart. oh!" continued the earl, kindling into an enthusiasm, rare to his even moods, but wrung as much from his broad sense as from his strong affection, "when i compare the saxon of our land and day, all enervated and decrepit by priestly superstition, with his forefathers in the first christian era, yielding to the religion they adopted in its simple truths, but not to that rot of social happiness and free manhood which this cold and lifeless monarchism--making virtue the absence of human ties--spreads around--which the great bede [ ], though himself a monk, vainly but bitterly denounced;--yea, verily, when i see the saxon already the theowe of the priest, i shudder to ask how long he will be folk-free of the tyrant." he paused, breathed hard, and seizing, almost sternly, the girl's trembling arm, he resumed between his set teeth: "so they would have thee be a nun?--thou wilt not,--thou durst not,--thy heart would perjure thy vows!" "ah, harold!" answered edith, moved out of all bashfulness by his emotion and her own terror of the convent, and answering, if with the love of a woman, still with all the unconsciousness of a child: "better, oh better the grate of the body than that of the heart!--in the grave i could still live for those i love; behind the grate, love itself must be dead. yes, thou pitiest me, harold; thy sister, the queen, is gentle and kind; i will fling myself at her feet, and say: 'youth is fond, and the world is fair: let me live my youth, and bless god in the world that he saw was good!'" "my own, own dear edith!" exclaimed harold, overjoyed. "say this. be firm: they cannot and they dare not force thee! the law cannot wrench thee against thy will from the ward of thy guardian hilda; and, where the law is, there harold at least is strong,--and there at least our kinship, if my bane, is thy blessing." "why, harold, sayest thou that our kinship is thy bane? it is so sweet to me to whisper to myself, 'harold is of thy kith, though distant; and it is natural to thee to have pride in his fame, and joy in his presence!' why is that sweetness to me, to thee so bitter?" "because," answered harold, dropping the hand he had clasped, and folding his arms in deep dejection, "because but for that i should say: 'edith, i love thee more than a brother: edith, be harold's wife!' and were i to say it, and were we to wed, all the priests of the saxons would lift up their hands in horror, and curse our nuptials, and i should be the bann'd of that spectre the church; and my house would shake to its foundations; and my father, and my brothers, and the thegns and the proceres, and the abbots and prelates, whose aid makes our force, would gather round me with threats and with prayers, that i might put thee aside. and mighty as i am now, so mighty once was sweyn my brother; and outlaw as sweyn is now, might harold be; and outlaw if harold were, what breast so broad as his could fill up the gap left in the defence of england? and the passions that i curb, as a rider his steed, might break their rein; and, strong in justice, and child of nature, i might come, with banner and mail, against church, and house, and fatherland; and the blood of my countrymen might be poured like water: and, therefore, slave to the lying thraldom he despises, harold dares not say to the maid of his love, 'give me thy right hand, and be my bride!'" edith had listened in bewilderment and despair, her eyes fixed on his, and her face locked and rigid, as if turned to stone. but when he had ceased, and, moving some steps away, turned aside his manly countenance, that edith might not perceive its anguish, the noble and sublime spirit of that sex which ever, when lowliest, most comprehends the lofty, rose superior both to love and to grief; and rising, she advanced, and placing her slight hand on his stalwart shoulder, she said, half in pity, half in reverence: "never before, o harold, did i feel so proud of thee: for edith could not love thee as she doth, and will till the grave clasp her, if thou didst not love england more than edith. harold, till this hour i was a child, and i knew not my own heart: i look now into that heart, and i see that i am woman. harold, of the cloister i have now no fear: and all life does not shrink--no, it enlarges, and it soars into one desire--to be worthy to pray for thee!" "maid, maid!" exclaimed harold, abruptly, and pale as the dead, "do not say thou hast no fear of the cloister. i adjure, i command thee, build not up between us that dismal everlasting wall. while thou art free hope yet survives--a phantom, haply but hope still." "as thou wilt i will," said edith, humbly: "order my fate so as pleases thee the best." then, not daring to trust herself longer, for she felt the tears rushing to her eyes, she turned away hastily, and left him alone beside the altar-stone and the tomb. chapter v. the next day, as harold was entering the palace of westminster, with intent to seek the king's lady, his father met him in one of the corridors, and, taking him gravely by the hand said: "my son, i have much on my mind regarding thee and our house; come with me." "nay," said the earl, "by your leave let it be later. for i have it on hand to see my sister, ere confessor, or monk, or schoolman, claim her hours!" "not so, harold," said the earl, briefly. "my daughter is now in her oratory, and we shall have time enow to treat of things mundane ere she is free to receive thee, and to preach to thee of things ghostly, the last miracle at st. alban's, or the last dream of the king, who would be a great man and a stirring, if as restless when awake as he is in his sleep. come." harold, in that filial obedience which belonged, as of course, to his antique cast of character, made no farther effort to escape, but with a sigh followed godwin into one of the contiguous chambers. "harold," then said earl godwin, after closing the door carefully, "thou must not let the king keep thee longer in dalliance and idleness: thine earldom needs thee without delay. thou knowest that these east angles, as we saxons still call them, are in truth mostly danes and norsemen; people jealous and fierce, and free, and more akin to the normans than to the saxons. my whole power in england hath been founded, not less on my common birth with the freefolk of wessex --saxons like myself, and therefore easy for me, a saxon, to conciliate and control--than on the hold i have ever sought to establish, whether by arms or by arts, over the danes in the realm. and i tell and i warn thee, harold, as the natural heir of my greatness, that he who cannot command the stout hearts of the anglo-danes, will never maintain the race of godwin in the post they have won in the vanguard of saxon england." "this i wot well, my father," answered harold; "and i see with joy, that while those descendants of heroes and freemen are blended indissolubly with the meeker saxon, their freer laws and hardier manners are gradually supplanting, or rather regenerating, our own." godwin smiled approvingly on his son, and then his brow becoming serious, and the dark pupil of his blue eye dilating, he resumed: "this is well, my son; and hast thou thought also, that while thou art loitering in these galleries, amidst the ghosts of men in monk cowls, siward is shadowing our house with his glory, and all north the humber rings with his name? hast thou thought that all mercia is in the hands of leofric our rival, and that algar his son, who ruled wessex in my absence, left there a name so beloved, that had i stayed a year longer, the cry had been 'algar', not 'godwin'?--for so is the multitude ever! now aid me, harold, for my soul is troubled, and i cannot work alone; and though i say naught to others, my heart received a death-blow when tears fell from its blood-springs on the brow of sweyn, my first-born." the old man paused, and his lip quivered. "thou, thou alone, harold, noble boy, thou alone didst stand by his side in the hall; alone, alone, and i blessed thee in that hour over all the rest of my sons. well, well! now to earth again. aid me, harold. i open to thee my web: complete the woof when this hand is cold. the new tree that stands alone in the plain is soon nipped by the winter; fenced round with the forest, its youth takes shelter from its fellows [ ]. so is it with a house newly founded; it must win strength from the allies that it sets round its slender stein. what had been godwin, son of wolnoth, had he not married into the kingly house of great canute? it is this that gives my sons now the right to the loyal love of the danes. the throne passed from canute and his race, and the saxons again had their hour; and i gave, as jephtha gave his daughter, my blooming edith, to the cold bed of the saxon king. had sons sprung from that union, the grandson of godwin, royal alike from saxon and dane, would reign on the throne of the isle. fate ordered otherwise, and the spider must weave web anew. thy brother, tostig, has added more splendour than solid strength of our line, in his marriage with the daughter of baldwin the count. the foreigner helps us little in england. thou, o harold, must bring new props to the house. i would rather see thee wed to the child of one of our great rivals than to the daughter of kaisar, or outland king. siward hath no daughter undisposed of. algar, son of leofric, hath a daughter fair as the fairest; make her thy bride that algar may cease to be a foe. this alliance will render mercia, in truth, subject to our principalities, since the stronger must quell the weaker. it doth more. algar himself has married into the royalty of wales [ ]. thou wilt win all those fierce tribes to thy side. their forces will gain thee the marches, now held so feebly under rolf the norman, and in case of brief reverse, or sharp danger, their mountains will give refuge from all foes. this day, greeting algar, he told me he meditated bestowing his daughter on gryffyth, the rebel under-king of north wales. therefore," continued the old earl, with a smile, "thou must speak in time, and win and woo in the same breath. no hard task, methinks, for harold of the golden tongue." "sir, and father," replied the young earl, whom the long speech addressed to him had prepared for its close, and whose habitual self- control saved him from disclosing his emotion, "i thank you duteously, for your care for my future, and hope to profit by your wisdom. i will ask the king's leave to go to my east anglians, and hold there a folkmuth, administer justice, redress grievances, and make thegn and ceorl content with harold, their earl. but vain is peace in the realm, if there is strife in the house. and aldyth, the daughter of algar, cannot be house-wife to me." "why?" asked the old earl, calmly, and surveying his son's face with those eyes so clear yet so unfathomable. "because, though i grant her fair, she pleases not my fancy, nor would give warmth to my hearth. because, as thou knowest well, algar and i have ever been opposed, both in camp and in council; and i am not the man who can sell my love, though i may stifle my anger. earl harold needs no bride to bring spearmen to his back at his need; and his lordships he will guard with the shield of a man, not the spindle of a woman." "said in spite and in error," replied the old earl, coolly. "small pain had it given thee to forgive algar old quarrels, and clasp his hand as a father-in-law--if thou hadst had for his daughter what the great are forbidden to regard save as a folly." "is love a folly, my father?" "surely, yes," said the earl, with some sadness--"surely, yes, for those who know that life is made up of business and care, spun out in long years, nor counted by the joys of an hour. surely, yes; thinkest thou that i loved my first wife, the proud sister of canute, or that edith, thy sister, loved edward, when he placed the crown on her head?" "my father, in edith, my sister, our house has sacrificed enow to selfish power." "i grant it, to selfish power," answered the eloquent old man, "but not enow for england's safety. look to it, harold; thy years, and thy fame, and thy state, place thee free from my control as a father, but not till thou sleepest in thy cerements art thou free from that father--thy land! ponder it in thine own wise mind--wiser already than that which speaks to it under the hood of grey hairs. ponder it, and ask thyself if thy power, when i am dead, is not necessary to the weal of england? and if aught that thy schemes can suggest would so strengthen that power, as to find in the heart of the kingdom a host of friends like the mercians;--or if there could be a trouble and a bar to thy greatness, a wall in thy path, or a thorn in thy side, like the hate or the jealousy of algar, the son of leofric?" thus addressed, harold's face, before serene and calm, grew overcast; and he felt the force of his father's words when appealing to his reason--not to his affections. the old man saw the advantage he had gained, and prudently forbore to press it. rising, he drew round him his sweeping gonna lined with furs, and only when he reached the door, he added: "the old see afar; they stand on the height of experience, as a warder on the crown of a tower; and i tell thee, harold, that if thou let slip this golden occasion, years hence--long and many--thou wilt rue the loss of the hour. and that, unless mercia, as the centre of the kingdom, be reconciled to thy power, thou wilt stand high indeed--but on the shelf of a precipice. and if, as i suspect, thou lovest some other who now clouds thy perception, and will then check thy ambition, thou wilt break her heart with thy desertion, or gnaw thine own with regret. for love dies in possession--ambition has no fruition, and so lives forever." "that ambition is not mine, my father," exclaimed harold, earnestly; "i have not thy love of power, glorious in thee, even in its extremes. i have not thy----" "seventy years!" interrupted the old man, concluding the sentence. "at seventy all men who have been great will speak as i do; yet all will have known love. thou not ambitious, harold? thou knowest not thyself, nor knowest thou yet what ambition is. that which i see far before me as thy natural prize, i dare not, or i will not say. when time sets that prize within reach of thy spear's point, say then, 'i am not ambitious!' ponder and decide." and harold pondered long, and decided not as godwin could have wished. for he had not the seventy years of his father, and the prize lay yet in the womb of the mountains; though the dwarf and the gnome were already fashioning the ore to the shape of a crown. chapter vi. while harold mused over his father's words, edith, seated on a low stool beside the lady of england, listened with earnest but mournful reverence to her royal namesake. the queen's [ ] closet opened like the king's on one hand to an oratory, on the other to a spacious ante-room; the lower part of the walls was covered with arras, leaving space for a niche that contained an image of the virgin. near the doorway to the oratory, was the stoupe or aspersorium for holy-water; and in various cysts and crypts, in either room, were caskets containing the relics of saints. the purple light from the stained glass of a high narrow window, shaped in the saxon arch, streamed rich and full over the queen's bended head like a glory, and tinged her pale cheek, as with a maiden blush; and she might have furnished a sweet model for early artist, in his dreams of st. mary the mother, not when, young and blest, she held the divine infant in her arms, but when sorrow had reached even the immaculate bosom, and the stone had been rolled over the holy sepulchre. for beautiful the face still was, and mild beyond all words; but, beyond all words also, sad in its tender resignation. and thus said the queen to her godchild: "why dost thou hesitate and turn away? thinkest thou, poor child, in thine ignorance of life, that the world ever can give thee a bliss greater than the calm of the cloister? pause, and ask thyself, young as thou art, if all the true happiness thou hast known, is not bounded to hope. as long as thou hopest, thou art happy." edith sighed deeply, and moved her young head in involuntary acquiescence. "and what is life to the nun, but hope. in that hope, she knows not the present, she lives in the future; she hears ever singing the chorus of the angels, as st. dunstan heard them sing at the birth of edgar [ ]. that hope unfolds to her the heiligthum of the future. on earth her body, in heaven her soul!" "and her heart, o lady of england?" cried edith, with a sharp pang. the queen paused a moment, and laid her pale hand kindly on edith's bosom. "not beating, child, as thine does now, with vain thoughts, and worldly desires; but calm, calm as mine. it is in our power," resumed the queen, after a second pause, "it is in our power to make the life within us all soul; so that the heart is not, or is felt not; so that grief and joy have no power over us; so that we look tranquil on the stormy earth, as yon image of the virgin, whom we make our example, looks from the silent niche. listen, my godchild and darling." "i have known human state, and human debasement. in these halls i woke lady of england, and, ere sunset, my lord banished me, without one mark of honour, without one word of comfort, to the convent of wherwell;--my father, my mother, my kin, all in exile; and my tears falling fast for them, but not on a husband's bosom." "ah then, noble edith," said the girl, colouring with anger at the remembered wrong for her queen, "ah then, surely, at least, thy heart made itself heard." "heard, yea verily," said the queen, looking up, and pressing her hands; "heard, but the soul rebuked it. and the soul said, 'blessed are they that mourn;' and i rejoiced at the new trial which brought me nearer to him who chastens those he loves." "but thy banished kin--the valiant, the wise; they who placed thy lord on the throne?" "was it no comfort," answered the queen simply, "to think that in the house of god my prayers for them would be more accepted than in the halls of kings? yes, my child, i have known the world's honour, and the world's disgrace, and i have schooled my heart to be calm in both." "ah, thou art above human strength, queen and saint," exclaimed edith; "and i have heard it said of thee, that as thou art now, thou wert from thine earliest years [ ]; ever the sweet, the calm, the holy-- ever less on earth than in heaven." something there was in the queen's eyes, as she raised them towards edith at this burst of enthusiasm, that gave for a moment, to a face otherwise so dissimilar, the likeness to her father; something, in that large pupil, of the impenetrable unrevealing depth of a nature close and secret in self-control. and a more acute observer than edith might long have been perplexed and haunted with that look, wondering if, indeed, under the divine and spiritual composure, lurked the mystery of human passion. "my child," said the queen, with the faintest smile upon her lips, and drawing edith towards her, "there are moments when all that breathe the breath of life feel, or have felt, alike. in my vain youth i read, i mused, i pondered, but over worldly lore. and what men called the sanctity of virtue, was perhaps but the silence of thought. now i have put aside those early and childish dreams and shadows, remembering them not, save (here the smile grew more pronounced) to puzzle some poor schoolboy with the knots and riddles of the sharp grammarian [ ]. but not to speak of my self have i sent for thee. edith, again and again, solemnly and sincerely, i pray thee to obey the wish of my lord the king. and now, while yet in all the bloom of thought, as of youth, while thou hast no memory save the child's, enter on the realm of peace." "i cannot, i dare not, i cannot--ah, ask me not," said poor edith, covering her face with her hands. those hands the queen gently withdrew; and looking steadfastly in the changeful and half-averted face, she said mournfully, "is it so, my godchild? and is thy heart set on the hopes of earth--thy dreams on the love of man?" "nay," answered edith, equivocating; "but i have promised not to take the veil." "promised to hilda?" "hilda," exclaimed edith readily, "would never consent to it. thou knowest her strong nature, her distaste to--to----" "the laws of our holy church--i do; and for that reason it is, mainly, that i join with the king in seeking to abstract thee from her influence. but it is not hilda that thou hast promised?" edith hung her head. "is it to woman or to man?" before edith could answer the door from the ante-room opened gently, but without the usual ceremony, and harold entered. his quick quiet eye embraced both forms, and curbed edith's young impulse, which made her start from her seat, and advance joyously towards him as a protector. "fair day to thee, my sister," said the earl, advancing; and pardon, if i break thus rudely on thy leisure; for few are the moments when beggar and benedictine leave thee free to receive thy brother." "dost thou reproach me, harold?" "no, heaven forfend!" replied the earl, cordially, and with a look at once of pity and admiration; "for thou art one of the few, in this court of simulators, sincere and true; and it pleases thee to serve the divine power in thy way, as it pleases me to serve him in mine." "thine, harold?" said the queen, shaking her head, but with a look of some human pride and fondness in her fair face. "mine; as i learned it from thee when i was thy pupil, edith; when to those studies in which thou didst precede me, thou first didst lure me from sport and pastime; and from thee i learned to glow over the deeds of greek and roman, and say, 'they lived and died as men; like them may i live and die!'" "oh, true--too true!" said the queen, with a sigh; "and i am to blame grievously that i did so pervert to earth a mind that might otherwise have learned holier examples;--nay, smile not with that haughty lip, my brother; for believe me--yea, believe me--there is more true valour in the life of one patient martyr than in the victories of caesar, or even the defeat of brutus." "it may be so," replied the earl, "but out of the same oak we carve the spear and the cross; and those not worthy to hold the one, may yet not guiltily wield the other. each to his path of life--and mine is chosen." then, changing his voice, with some abruptness, he said, "but what hast thou been saying to thy fair godchild, that her cheek is pale, and her eyelids seem so heavy? edith, edith, my sister, beware how thou shapest the lot of the martyr without the peace of the saint. had algive the nun been wedded to sweyn our brother, sweyn were not wending, barefooted and forlorn, to lay the wrecks of desolated life at the holy tomb." "harold, harold!" faltered the queen, much struck with his words. "but," the earl continued--and something of the pathos which belongs to deep emotion vibrated in the eloquent voice, accustomed to command and persuade--"we strip not the green leaves for our yulehearths--we gather them up when dry and sere. leave youth on the bough--let the bird sing to it--let it play free in the airs of heaven. smoke comes from the branch which, cut in the sap, is cast upon the fire, and regret from the heart which is severed from the world while the world is in its may." the queen paced slowly, but in evident agitation, to and fro the room, and her hands clasped convulsively the rosary round her neck; then, after a pause of thought, she motioned to edith and, pointing to the oratory, said with forced composure, "enter there, and there kneel; commune with thyself, and be still. ask for a sign from above--pray for the grace within. go; i would speak alone with harold." edith crossed her arms on her bosom meekly, and passed into the oratory. the queen watched her for a few moments tenderly, as the slight, child-like form bent before the sacred symbol. then she closed the door gently, and coming with a quick step to harold, said, in a low but clear voice, "dost thou love the maiden?" "sister," answered the earl sadly, "i love her as a man should love woman--more than my life, but less than the ends life lives for." "oh, world, world, world!" cried the queen, passionately, "not even to thine own objects art thou true. o world! o world! thou desirest happiness below, and at every turn, with every vanity, thou tramplest happiness under foot! yes, yes; they said to me, 'for the sake of our greatness, thou shalt wed king edward.' and i live in the eyes that loathe me--and--and----" the queen, as if conscience-stricken, paused aghast, kissed devoutly the relic suspended to her rosary, and continued, with such calmness that it seemed as if two women were blent in one, so startling was the contrast. "and i have had my reward, but not from the world! even so, harold the earl, and earl's son, thou lovest yon fair child, and she thee; and ye might be happy, if happiness were earth's end; but, though high-born, and of fair temporal possessions, she brings thee not lands broad enough for her dowry, nor troops of kindred to swell thy lithsmen, and she is not a markstone in thy march to ambition; and so thou lovest her as man loves woman--'less than the ends life lives for!'" "sister," said harold, "thou speakest as i love to hear thee speak--as my bright-eyed, rose-lipped sister spoke in the days of old; thou speakest as a woman with warm heart, and not as the mummy in the stiff cerements of priestly form; and if thou art with me, and thou wilt give me countenance, i will marry thy godchild, and save her alike from the dire superstitions of hilda, and the grave of the abhorrent convent." "but my father--my father!" cried the queen, "who ever bended that soul of steel?" "it is not my father i fear; it is thee and thy monks. forgettest thou that edith and i are within the six banned degrees of the church?" "true, most true," said the queen, with a look of great terror; "i had forgotten. avaunt, the very thought! pray--fast--banish it--my poor, poor brother!" and she kissed his brow. "so, there fades the woman, and the mummy speaks again!" said harold, bitterly. "be it so: i bow to my doom. well, there may be a time when nature on the throne of england shall prevail over priestcraft; and, in guerdon for all my services, i will then ask a king who hath blood in his veins to win me the pope's pardon and benison. leave me that hope, my sister, and leave thy godchild on the shores of the living world." the queen made no answer, and harold, auguring ill from her silence, moved on and opened the door of the oratory. but the image that there met him, that figure still kneeling, those eyes, so earnest in the tears that streamed from them fast and unheeded, fixed on the holy rood--awed his step and checked his voice. nor till the girl had risen, did he break silence; then he said, gently, "my sister will press thee no more, edith----" "i say not that!" exclaimed the queen. "or if she doth, remember thy plighted promise under the wide cope of blue heaven, the old nor least holy temple of our common father." with these words he left the room. chapter vii. harold passed into the queen's ante-chamber. here the attendance was small and select compared with the crowds which we shall see presently in the ante-room to the king's closet; for here came chiefly the more learned ecclesiastics, attracted instinctively by the queen's own mental culture, and few indeed were they at that day (perhaps the most illiterate known in england since the death of alfred [ ]); and here came not the tribe of impostors, and the relic-venders, whom the infantine simplicity and lavish waste of the confessor attracted. some four or five priests and monks, some lonely widow, some orphan child, humble worth, or protected sorrow, made the noiseless levee of the sweet, sad queen. the groups turned, with patient eyes, towards the earl as he emerged from that chamber, which it was rare indeed to quit unconsoled, and marvelled at the flush in his cheek; and the disquiet on his brow; but harold was dear to the clients of his sister; for, despite his supposed indifference to the mere priestly virtues (if virtues we call them) of the decrepit time, his intellect was respected by yon learned ecclesiastics; and his character, as the foe of all injustice, and the fosterer of all that were desolate, was known to yon pale-eyed widow and yon trembling orphan. in the atmosphere of that quiet assembly, the earl seemed to recover his kindly temperament, and he paused to address a friendly or a soothing word to each; so that when he vanished, the hearts there felt more light; and the silence hushed before his entrance, was broken by many whispers in praise of the good earl. descending a staircase without the walls--as even in royal halls the principal staircases were then--harold gained a wide court, in which loitered several house-carles [ ] and attendants, whether of the king or the visitors; and, reaching the entrance of the palace, took his way towards the king's rooms, which lay near, and round, what is now called "the painted chamber," then used as a bedroom by edward on state occasions. and now he entered the ante-chamber of his royal brother-in-law. crowded it was, but rather seemed it the hall of a convent than the ante-room of a king. monks, pilgrims, priests, met his eye in every nook; and not there did the earl pause to practise the arts of popular favour. passing erect through the midst, he beckoned forth the officer, in attendance at the extreme end, who, after an interchange of whispers, ushered him into the royal presence. the monks and the priests, gazing towards the door which had closed on his stately form, said to each other: "the king's norman favourites at least honoured the church." "that is true," said an abbot; "and an it were not for two things, i should love the norman better than the saxon." "what are they, my father?" asked an aspiring young monk. "inprinis," quoth the abbot, proud of the one latin word he thought he knew, but, that, as we see, was an error; "they cannot speak so as to be understood, and i fear me much they incline to mere carnal learning." here there was a sanctified groan: "count william himself spoke to me in latin!" continued the abbot, raising his eyebrows. "did he?--wonderful!" exclaimed several voices. "and what did you answer, holy father?" "marry," said the abbot solemnly, "i replied, inprinis." "good!" said the young monk, with a look of profound admiration. "whereat the good count looked puzzled--as i meant him to be:--a heinous fault, and one intolerant to the clergy, that love of profane tongues! and the next thing against your norman is (added the abbot, with a sly wink), that he is a close man, who loves not his stoup; now, i say, that a priest never has more hold over a sinner than when he makes the sinner open his heart to him." "that's clear!" said a fat priest, with a lubricate and shining nose. "and how," pursued the abbot triumphantly, "can a sinner open his heavy heart until you have given him something to lighten it? oh, many and many a wretched man have i comforted spiritually over a flagon of stout ale; and many a good legacy to the church hath come out of a friendly wassail between watchful shepherd and strayed sheep! but what hast thou there?" resumed the abbot, turning to a man, clad in the lay garb of a burgess of london, who had just entered the room, followed by a youth, bearing what seemed a coffer, covered with a fine linen cloth. "holy father!" said the burgess, wiping his forehead, "it is a treasure so great, that i trow hugoline, the king's treasurer, will scowl at me for a year to come, for he likes to keep his own grip on the king's gold." at this indiscreet observation, the abbot, the monks, and all the priestly bystanders looked grim and gloomy, for each had his own special design upon the peace of poor hugoline, the treasurer, and liked not to see him the prey of a layman. "inprinis!" quoth the abbot, puffing out the word with great scorn; "thinkest thou, son of mammon, that our good king sets his pious heart on gew-gaw, and gems, and such vanities? thou shouldst take the goods to count baldwin of flanders; or tostig, the proud earl's proud son." "marry!" said the cheapman, with a smile; "my treasure will find small price with baldwin the scoffer, and tostig the vain! nor need ye look at me so sternly, my fathers; but rather vie with each other who shall win this wonder of wonders for his own convent; know, in a word, that it is the right thumb of st. jude, which a worthy man bought at rome for me, for lb. weight of silver; and i ask but lb. over the purchase for my pains and my fee." [ ] "humph!" said the abbot. "humph!" said the aspiring young monk; the rest gathered wistfully round the linen cloth. a fiery exclamation of wrath and disdain was here heard; and all turning, saw a tall, fierce-looking thegn, who had found his way into that group, like a hawk in a rookery. "dost thou tell me, knave," quoth the thegn, in a dialect that bespoke him a dane by origin, with the broad burr still retained in the north; "dost thou tell me that the king will waste his gold on such fooleries, while the fort built by canute at the flood of the humber is all fallen into ruin, without a man in steel jacket to keep watch on the war fleets of swede and norwegian?" "worshipful minister," replied the cheapman, with some slight irony in his tone, "these reverend fathers will tell thee that the thumb of st. jude is far better aid against swede and norwegian than forts of stone and jackets of steel; nathless, if thou wantest jackets of steel, i have some to sell at a fair price, of the last fashion, and helms with long nose-pieces, as are worn by the normans." "the thumb of a withered old saint," cried the dane, not heeding the last words, "more defence at the mouth of the humber than crenellated castles and mailed men!" "surely, naught son," said the abbot, looking shocked, and taking part with the cheapman. "dost thou not remember that, in the pious and famous council of , it was decreed to put aside all weapons of flesh against thy heathen countrymen, and depend alone on st. michael to fight for us? thinkest thou that the saint would ever suffer his holy thumb to fall into the hands of the gentiles?--never! go to, thou art not fit to have conduct of the king's wars. go to, and repent, my son, or the king shall hear of it." "ah, wolf in sheep's clothing!" muttered the dane, turning on his heel; "if thy monastery were but built on the other side the humber!" the cheapman heard him, and smiled. while such the scene in the ante- room, we follow harold into the king's presence. on entering, he found there a man in the prime of life, and though richly clad in embroidered gonna, and with gilt ateghar at his side, still with the loose robe, the long moustache, and the skin of the throat and right hand punctured with characters and devices, which proved his adherence to the fashions of the saxon [ ]. and harold's eye sparkled, for in this guest he recognized the father of aldyth, earl algar, son of leofric. the two nobles exchanged grave salutations, and each eyed the other wistfully. the contrast between the two was striking. the danish race were men generally of larger frame and grander mould than the saxon [ ]; and though in all else, as to exterior, harold was eminently saxon, yet, in common with his brothers, he took from the mother's side the lofty air and iron frame of the old kings of the sea. but algar, below the middle height, though well set, was slight in comparison with harold. his strength was that which men often take rather from the nerve than the muscle; a strength that belongs to quick tempers and restless energies. his light blue eye, singularly vivid and glittering; his quivering lip, the veins swelling at each emotion on the fair white temples; the long yellow hair, bright as gold, and resisting, in its easy curls, all attempts to curb it into the smooth flow most in fashion; the nervous movements of the gesture; the somewhat sharp and hasty tones of the voice; all opposed, as much as if the two men were of different races, the steady, deep eye of harold, his composed mien, sweet and majestic, his decorous locks parted on the king-like front, with their large single curl where they touched the shoulder. intelligence and will were apparent in both the men; but the intelligence of one was acute and rapid, that of the other profound and steadfast; the will of one broke in flashes of lightning, that of the other was calm as the summer sun at noon. "thou art welcome, harold," said the king, with less than his usual listlessness, and with a look of relief as the earl approached him. "our good algar comes to us with a suit well worthy consideration, though pressed somewhat hotly, and evincing too great a desire for goods worldly; contrasting in this his most laudable father our well- beloved leofric, who spends his substance in endowing monasteries and dispensing alms; wherefore he shall receive a hundred-fold in the treasure-house above." "a good interest, doubtless, my lord the king," said algar; quickly, "but one that is not paid to his heirs; and the more need, if my father (whom i blame not for doing as he lists with his own) gives all he hath to the monks--the more need, i say, to take care that his son shall be enabled to follow his example. as it is, most noble king, i fear me that algar, son of leofric, will have nothing to give. in brief, earl harold," continued algar, turning to his fellow-thegn--"in brief, thus stands the matter. when our lord the king was first graciously pleased to consent to rule in england, the two chiefs who most assured his throne were thy father and mine: often foes, they laid aside feud and jealousy for the sake of the saxon line. now, since then, thy father hath strung earldom to earldom, like links in a coat-mail. and, save northumbria and mercia; well-nigh all england falls to him and his sons: whereas my father remains what he was, and my father's son stands landless and penceless. in thine absence the king was graciously pleased to bestow on me thy father's earldom; men say that i ruled it well. thy father returns, and though" (here algar's eyes shot fire, and his hand involuntarily rested on his ateghar) "i could have held it, methinks, by the strong hand, i gave it up at my father's prayer and the king's hest, with a free heart. now, therefore, i come to my lord, and i ask, 'what lands and what lordships canst thou spare in broad england to algar, once earl of wessex, and son to the leofric whose hand smoothed the way to thy throne?' my lord the king is pleased to preach to me contempt of the world; thou dost not despise the world, earl of the east angles,--what sayest thou to the heir of leofric?" "that thy suit is just," answered harold, calmly, "but urged with small reverence." earl algar bounded like a stag that the arrow hath startled. "it becomes thee, who hast backed thy suits with warships and mail, to talk of reverence, and rebuke one whose fathers reigned over earldoms [ ], when thine were, no doubt, ceorls at the plough. but for edric streone, the traitor and low-born, what had been wolnoth, thy grandsire?" so rude and home an assault in the presence of the king, who, though personally he loved harold in his lukewarm way, yet, like all weak men, was not displeased to see the strong split their strength against each other, brought the blood into harold's cheek; but he answered calmly: "we live in a land, son of leofric, in which birth, though not disesteemed, gives of itself no power in council or camp. we belong to a land where men are valued for what they are, not for what their dead ancestors might have been. so has it been for ages in saxon england, where my fathers, through godwin, as thou sayest, might have been ceorls; and so, i have heard, it is in the land of the martial danes, where my fathers, through githa, reigned on the thrones of the north." "thou dost well," said algar, gnawing his lip, "to shelter thyself on the spindle side, but we saxons of pure descent think little of your kings of the north, pirates and idolaters, and eaters of horseflesh; but enjoy what thou hast, and let algar have his clue." "it is for the king, not his servant, to answer the prayer of algar," said harold, withdrawing to the farther end of the room. algar's eye followed him, and observing that the king was fast sinking into one of the fits of religious reverie in which he sought to be inspired with a decision, whenever his mind was perplexed, he moved with a light step to harold, put his band on his shoulder, and whispered: "we do ill to quarrel with each other--i repent me of hot words-- enough. thy father is a wise man, and sees far--thy father would have us friends. be it so. hearken my daughter aldyth is esteemed not the least fair of the maidens in england; i will give her to thee as thy wife, and as thy morgen gift, thou shalt will for me from the king the earldom forfeited by thy brother sweyn, now parcelled out amongst sub- earls and thegns--easy enow to control. by the shrine of st. alban, dost thou hesitate, man?" "no, not an instant," said harold, stung to the quick. "not, couldst thou offer me all mercia as her dower, would i wed the daughter of algar; and bend my knee, as a son to a wife's father, to the man who despises my lineage, while he truckles to my power." algar's face grew convulsed with rage; but without saying a word to the earl he strode back to edward, who now with vacant eyes looked up from the rosary over which he had been bending, and said abruptly: "my lord the king, i have spoken as i think it becomes a man who knows his own claims, and believes in the gratitude of princes. three days will i tarry in london for your gracious answer; on the fourth i depart. may the saints guard your throne, and bring around it its best defence, the thegn-born satraps whose fathers fought with alfred and athelstan. all went well with merrie england till the hoof of the dane king broke the soil, and mushrooms sprung up where the oak-trees fell." when the son of leofric had left the chamber, the king rose wearily and said in norman french, to which language he always yearningly returned when with those who could speak it: "beau frere and bien aime, in what trifles must a king pass his life! and, all this while, matters grave and urgent demand me. know that eadmer, the cheapman, waits without, and hath brought me, dear and good man, the thumb of st. jude! what thought of delight! and this unmannerly son of strife, with his jay's voice and wolf's eyes, screaming at me for earldoms!--oh the folly of man! naught, naught, very naught!" "sir and king," said harold; "it ill becomes me to arraign your pious desires, but these relics are of vast cost; our coasts are ill defended, and the dane yet lays claim to your kingdom. three thousand pounds of silver and more does it need to repair even the old wall of london and southweorc." "three thousand pounds!" cried the king; "thou art mad, harold! i have scarce twice that sum in the treasury; and besides the thumb of st. jude, i daily expect the tooth of st. remigius--the tooth of st. remigius!" harold sighed. "vex not yourself, my lord, i will see to the defences of london. for, thanks to your grace, my revenues are large, while my wants are simple. i seek you now to pray your leave to visit my earldom. my lithsmen murmur at my absence, and grievances, many and sore, have arisen in my exile." the king stared in terror; and his look was that of a child when about to be left in the dark. "nay, nay; i cannot spare thee, beau frere. thou curbest all these stiff thegns--thou leavest me time for the devout; moreover, thy father, thy father, i will not be left to thy father! i love him not!" "my father," said harold, mournfully, "returns to his own earldom; and of all our house you will have but the mild face of your queen by your side!" the king's lip writhed at that hinted rebuke, or implied consolation. "edith the queen," he said, after a slight pause, "is pious and good; and she hath never gainsaid my will, and she hath set before her as a model the chaste susannah, as i, unworthy man, from youth upward, have walked in the pure steps of joseph [ ]. but," added the king, with a touch of human feeling in his voice, "canst thou not conceive, harold, thou who art a warrior, what it would be to see ever before thee the face of thy deadliest foe--the one against whom all thy struggles of life and death had turned into memories of hyssop and gall?" "my sister!" exclaimed harold, in indignant amaze, "my sister thy deadliest foe! she who never once murmured at neglect, disgrace--she whose youth hath been consumed in prayers for thee and thy realm--my sister! o king, i dream?" "thou dreamest not, carnal man," said the king, peevishly. "dreams are the gifts of the saints, and are not granted to such as thou! dost thou think that, in the prune of my manhood, i could have youth and beauty forced on my sight, and hear man's law and man's voice say, 'they are thine, and thine only,' and not feel that war was brought to my hearth, and a snare set on my bed, and that the fiend had set watch on my soul? verily, i tell thee, man of battle, that thou hast known no strife as awful as mine, and achieved no victory as hard and as holy. and now, when my beard is silver, and the adam of old is expelled at the precincts of death; now, thinkest thou, that i can be reminded of the strife and temptation of yore, without bitterness and shame; when days were spent in fasting, and nights in fierce prayer; and in the face of woman i saw the devices of satan?" edward coloured as he spoke, and his voice trembled with the accents of what seemed hate. harold gazed on him mutely, and felt that at last he had won the secret that had ever perplexed him, and that in seeking to be above the humanity of love, the would-be saint had indeed turned love into the hues of hate--a thought of anguish, and a memory of pain. the king recovered himself in a few moments, and said, with some dignity, "but god and his saints alone should know the secrets of the household. what i have said was wrung from me. bury it in thy heart. leave me, then, harold, sith so it must be. put thine earldom in order, attend to the monasteries and the poor, and return soon. as for algar, what sayest thou?" "i fear me," answered the large-souled harold, with a victorious effort of justice over resentment, "that if you reject his suit you will drive him into some perilous extremes. despite his rash and proud spirit, he is brave against foes, and beloved by the ceorls, who oft like best the frank and hasty spirit. wherefore some power and lordship it were wise to give, without dispossessing others, and not more wise than due, for his father served you well." "and hath endowed more houses of god than any earl in the kingdom. but algar is no leofric. we will consider your words and heed them. bless you, beau frere! and send in the cheapman. the thumb of st. jude! what a gift to my new church of st. peter! the thumb of st. jude! non nobis gloria! sancta maria! the thumb of st. jude!" faire em by william shakespeare (apocryphal) a pleasant commodie of faire em the millers daughter of manchester with the love of william the conquerour dramatis personae. william the conqueror. zweno, king of denmark. duke dirot. marquis of lubeck. mountney. manville. rozilio. dimarch. danish embassador. the miller of manchester. trotter, his man. citizen of chester. blanch, princess of denmark. mariana, princess of suethia. fair em, the miller's daughter. eliner, the citizen's daughter. english and danish nobles. soldiers, countrymen, and attendants. actus primus. scaena prima. windsor. a state apartment. act i. [enter william the conqueror; marques lubeck, with a picture; mountney; manville; valingford; and duke dirot.] marques. what means fair britain's mighty conqueror so suddenly to cast away his staff, and all in passion to forsake the tylt? d. dirot. my lord, this triumph we solemnise here is of mere love to your increasing joys, only expecting cheerful looks for all; what sudden pangs than moves your majesty to dim the brightness of the day with frowns? william the conqueror. ah, good my lords, misconster not the cause; at least, suspect not my displeased brows: i amorously do bear to your intent, for thanks and all that you can wish i yield. but that which makes me blush and shame to tell is cause why thus i turn my conquering eyes to cowards looks and beaten fantasies. mountney. since we are guiltless, we the less dismay to see this sudden change possess your cheer, for if it issue from your own conceits bred by suggestion of some envious thoughts, your highness wisdom may suppress it straight. yet tell us, good my lord, what thought it is that thus bereaves you of your late content, that in advise we may assist your grace, or bend our forces to revive your spirits. william the conqueror. ah, marques lubeck, in thy power it lies to rid my bosom of these thralled dumps: and therefore, good my lords, forbear a while that we may parley of these private cares, whose strength subdues me more than all the world. valingford. we go and wish thee private conference publicke afffects in this accustomed peace. [exit all but william and the marques.] william. now, marques, must a conquerer at arms disclose himself thrald to unarmed thoughts, and, threatnd of a shadow, yield to lust. no sooner had my sparkling eyes beheld the flames of beauty blazing on this piece, but suddenly a sense of miracle, imagined on thy lovely maistre's face, made me abandon bodily regard, and cast all pleasures on my wounded soul: then, gentle marques, tell me what she is, that thus thou honourest on thy warlike shield; and if thy love and interest be such as justly may give place to mine, that if it be, my soul with honors wing may fly into the bosom of my dear; if not, close them, and stoop into my grave! marques. if this be all, renowned conquerer, advance your drooping spirits, and revive the wonted courage of your conquering mind; for this fair picture painted on my shield is the true counterfeit of lovely blaunch, princess and daughter to the king of danes, whose beauty and excess of ornaments deserves another manner of defence, pomp and high person to attend her state then marques lubeck any way presents. therefore her vertues i resign to thee, already shrined in thy religious breast, to be advanced and honoured to the full; nor bear i this an argument of love, but to renown fair blaunch, my sovereigns child in every place where i by arms may do it. william. ah, marques, thy words bring heaven unto my soul, and had i heaven to give for thy reward, thou shouldst be throned in no unworthy place. but let my uttermost wealth suffice thy worth, which here i vow; and to aspire the bliss that hangs on quick achievement of my love, thy self and i will travel in disguise, to bring this lady to our brittain court. marques. let william but bethink what may avail, and let me die if i deny my aide. william. then thus: the duke dirot, and therle dimarch, will i leave substitutes to rule my realm, while mighty love forbids my being here; and in the name of sir robert of windsor will go with thee unto the danish court. keep williams secrets, marques, if thou love him. bright blaunch, i come! sweet fortune, favour me, and i will laud thy name eternally. [exeunt.] scene ii. manchester. the interior of a mill. [enter the miller and em, his daughter.] miller. come, daughter, we must learn to shake of pomp, to leave the state that earst beseemd a knight and gentleman of no mean discent, to undertake this homelie millers trade: thus must we mask to save our wretched lives, threatned by conquest of this hapless yle, whose sad invasions by the conqueror have made a number such as we subject their gentle necks unto their stubborn yoke of drudging labour and base peasantry. sir thomas godard now old goddard is, goddard the miller of fair manchester. why should not i content me with this state, as good sir edmund trofferd did the flaile? and thou, sweet em, must stoop to high estate to join with mine that thus we may protect our harmless lives, which, led in greater port, would be an envious object to our foes, that seek to root all britains gentry from bearing countenance against their tyranny. em. good father, let my full resolved thoughts with settled patiens to support this chance be some poor comfort to your aged soul; for therein rests the height of my estate, that you are pleased with this dejection, and that all toils my hands may undertake may serve to work your worthiness content. miller. thanks, my dear daughter. these thy pleasant words transfer my soul into a second heaven: and in thy settled mind my joys consist, my state revived, and i in former plight. although our outward pomp be thus abased, and thralde to drudging, stayless of the world, let us retain those honorable minds that lately governed our superior state, wherein true gentry is the only mean that makes us differ from base millers borne. though we expect no knightly delicates, nor thirst in soul for former soverainty, yet may our minds as highly scorn to stoop to base desires of vulgars worldliness, as if we were in our precedent way. and, lovely daughter, since thy youthful years must needs admit as young affections, and that sweet love unpartial perceives her dainty subjects through every part, in chief receive these lessons from my lips, the true discovers of a virgins due, now requisite, now that i know thy mind something enclined to favour manvils suit, a gentleman, thy lover in protest; and that thou maist not be by love deceived, but try his meaning fit for thy desert, in pursuit of all amorous desires, regard thine honour. let not vehement sighs, nor earnest vows importing fervent love, render thee subject to the wrath of lust: for that, transformed to form of sweet delight, will bring thy body and thy soul to shame. chaste thoughts and modest conversations, of proof to keep out all inchaunting vows, vain sighs, forst tears, and pitiful aspects, are they that make deformed ladies fair, poor rich: and such intycing men, that seek of all but only present grace, shall in perseverance of a virgins due prefer the most refusers to the choice of such a soul as yielded what they thought. but ho: where is trotter? [here enters trotter, the millers man, to them: and they within call to him for their gryste.] trotter. wheres trotter? why, trotter is here. yfaith, you and your daughter go up and down weeping and wamenting, and keeping of a wamentation, as who should say, the mill would go with your wamenting. miller. how now, trotter? why complainest thou so? trotter. why, yonder is a company of young men and maids, keep such a stir for their grist, that they would have it before my stones be ready to grind it. but, yfaith, i would i could break wind enough backward: you should not tarry for your gryst, i warrant you. miller. content thee, trotter, i will go pacify them. trotter. iwis you will when i cannot. why, look, you have a mill-- why, whats your mill without me? or rather, mistress, what were i without you? [here he taketh em about the neck.] em. nay, trotter, if you fall achyding, i will give you over. trotter. i chide you, dame, to amend you. you are too fine to be a millers daughter; for if you should but stoop to take up the tole dish, you will have the cramp in your finger at least ten weeks after. miller. ah, well said, trotter; teach her to play the good huswife, and thou shalt have her to thy wife, if thou canst get her good will. trotter. ah, words wherein i see matrimony come loaden with kisses to salute me! now let me alone to pick the mill, to fill the hopper, to take the tole, to mend the sails, yea, and to make the mill to go with the very force of my love. [here they must call for their gryst within.] trotter. i come, i come; yfaith, now you shall have your gryst, or else trotter will trot and amble himself to death. [they call him again. exit.] scene iii. the danish court. [enter king of denmark, with some attendants, blanch his daughter, mariana, marques lubeck, william disguised.] king of denmark. lord marques lubecke, welcome home. welcome, brave knight, unto the denmark king, for williams sake, the noble norman duke, so famous for his fortunes and success, that graceth him with name of conqueror: right double welcome must thou be to us. robert windsor. and to my lord the king shall i recount your graces courteous entertainment, that for his sake vouchsafe to honor me, a simple knight attendant on his grace. king of denmark. but say, sir knight, what may i call your name? robert windsor. robert windsor, and like your majesty. king of denmark. i tell thee, robert, i so admire the man as that i count it heinous guilt in him that honors not duke william with his heart. blanch, bid this stranger welcome, good my girl. blanch. sir, shouyld i neglect your highness charge herein, it might be thought of base discourtesy. welcome, sir knight, to denmark, heartily. robert windsor. thanks gentle lady. lord marques, who is she? lubeck. that same is blanch, daughter to the king. the substance of the shadow that you saw. robert windsor. may this be she, for whom i crost the seas? i am ashamed to think i was so fond. in whom there's nothing that contents my mind: ill head, worse featured, uncomely, nothing courtly; swart and ill favoured, a colliers sanguine skin. i never saw a harder favoured slut. love her? for what? i can no whit abide her. kind of denmark. mariana, i have this day received letters from swethia, that lets me understand your ransom is collecting there with speed, and shortly shalbe hither sent to us. mariana. not that i find occasion of mislike my entertainment in your graces court, but that i long to see my native home-- king of denmark. and reason have you, madam, for the same. lord marques, i commit unto your charge the entertainment of sir robert here; let him remain with you within the court, in solace and disport to spend the time. robert windsor. i thank your highness, whose bounden i remain. [exit king of denmark. blanch speaketh this secretly at one end of the stage.] unhappy blanch, what strange effects are these that works within my thoughts confusedly? that still, me thinks, affection draws me on, to take, to like, nay more, to love this knight? robert windsor. a modest countenance; no heavy sullen look; not very fair, but richly deckt with favour; a sweet face, an exceeding dainty hand; a body were it framed of wax by all the cunning artists of the world, it could not better be proportioned. lubeck. how now, sir robert? in a study, man? here is no time for contemplation. robert windsor. my lord, there is a certain odd conceit, which on the sudden greatly troubles me. lubeck. how like you blanch? i partly do perceive the little boy hath played the wag with you. sir robert. the more i look the more i love to look. who says that mariana is not fair? i'll gage my gauntlet gainst the envious man that dares avow there liveth her compare. lubeck. sir robert, you mistake your counterfeit. this is the lady which you came to see. sir robert. yes, my lord: she is counterfeit in deed, for there is the substance that best contents me. lubeck. that is my love. sir robert, you do wrong me. robert. the better for you, sir, she is your love-- as for the wrong, i see not how it grows. lubeck. in seeking that which is anothers right. robert. as who should say your love were privileged, that none might look upon her but your self. lubeck. these jars becomes not our familiarity, nor will i stand on terms to move your patience. robert. why, my lord, am not i of flesh and blood as well as you? then give me leave to love as well as you. lubeck. to love, sir robert? but whom? not she i love? nor stands it with the honor my state to brook corrivals with me in my love. robert. so, sir, we are thorough for that lady. ladies, farewell. lord marques, will you go? i will find a time to speak with her, i trowe. lubeck. with all my heart. come, ladies, will you walk? [exit.] scene iv. the english court. [enter manvile alone, disguised.] manvile. ah, em! the subject of my restless thoughts, the anvil whereupon my heart doth be framing thy state to thy desert-- full ill this life becomes thy heavenly look, wherein sweet love and vertue sits enthroned. bad world, where riches is esteemd above them both, in whose base eyes nought else is bountifull! a millers daughter, says the multitude, should not be loved of a gentleman. but let them breath their souls into the air, yet will i still affect thee as my self, so thou be constant in thy plighted vow. but here comes one--i will listen to his talk. [manvile stays, hiding himself.] [enter valingford at another door, disguised.] valingford. go, william conqueror, and seek thy love seek thou a minion in a foreign land, whilest i draw back and court my love at home. the millers daughter of fair manchester hath bound my feet to this delightsome soil, and from her eyes do dart such golden beams that holds my heart in her subjection. manvile. he ruminates on my beloved choice: god grant he come not to prevent my hope. but here's another, him i'll listen to. [enter mountney, disguised, at another door.] lord mountney. nature unjust, in utterance of thy art, to grace a peasant with a princes fame! peasant am i, so to misterm my love: although a millers daughter by her birth, yet may her beauty and her vertues well suffice to hide the blemish of her birth in hell, where neither envious eyes nor thought can pierce, but endless darkness ever smother it. go, william conqueror, and seek thy love, whilest i draw back and court mine own the while, decking her body with such costly robes as may become her beauties worthiness; that so thy labors may be laughed to scorn, and she thou seekest in foreign regions be darkened and eclipst when she arrives by one that i have chosen nearer home. manvile. what! comes he too, to intercept my love? then hie thee manvile to forestall such foes. [exit manvile.] mountney. what now, lord valingford, are you behind? the king had chosen you to go with him. valingford. so chose he you, therefore i marvel much that both of us should linger in this sort. what may the king imagine of our stay? mountney. the king may justly think we are to blame: but i imagined i might well be spared, and that no other man had borne my mind. valingford. the like did i: in friendship then resolve what is the cause of your unlookt for stay? mountney. lord valingford, i tell thee as a friend, love is the cause why i have stayed behind. valingford. love, my lord? of whom? mountney. em, the millers daughter of manchester. valingford. but may this be? mountney. why not, my lord? i hope full well you know that love respects no difference of state, so beauty serve to stir affection. valingford. but this it is that makes me wonder most: that you and i should be of one conceit i such a strange unlikely passion. mountney. but is that true? my lord, i hope you do but jest. valingford. i would i did; then were my grief the less. mountney. nay, never grieve; for if the cause be such to join our thoughts in such a simpathy, all envy set aside, let us agree to yield to eithers fortune in this choice. valingford. content, say i: and what so ere befall, shake hands, my lord, and fortune thrive at all. [exeunt.] act ii. scene i. manchester. the mill. [enter em and trotter, the millers man, with a kerchife on his head, and an urinall in his hand.] em. trotter, where have you been? trotter. where have i been? why, what signifies this? em. a kerchiefe, doth it not? trotter. what call you this, i pray? em. i say it is an urinall. trotter. then this is mystically to give you to understand, i have been at the phismicaries house. em. how long hast thou been sick? trotter. yfaith, even as long as i have not been half well, and that hath been a long time. em. a loitering time, i rather imagine. trotter. it may be so: but the phismicary tells me that you can help me. em. why, any thing i can do for recovery of thy health be right well assured of. trotter. then give me your hand. em. to what end? trotter. that the ending of an old indenture is the beginning of a new bargain. em. what bargain? trotter. that you promised to do any thing to recover my health. em. on that condition i give thee my hand. trotter. ah, sweet em! [here he offers to kiss her.] em. how now, trotter! your masters daughter? trotter. yfaith, i aim at the fairest. ah, em, sweet em! fresh as the flower, that hath pour to wound my heart, and ease my smart, of me, poor thief, in prison bound-- em. so all your rhyme lies on the ground. but what means this? trotter. ah, mark the device-- for thee, my love, full sick i was, in hazard of my life. thy promise was to make me whole, and for to be my wife. let me enjoy my love, my dear, and thou possess thy trotter here. em. but i meant no such matter. trotter. yes, woos, but you did. i'll go to our parson, sir john, and he shall mumble up the marriage out of hand. em. but here comes one that will forbid the banes. [here enters manvile to them.] trotter. ah, sir, you come too late. manvile. what remedy, trotter? em. go, trotter, my father calls. trotter. would you have me go in, and leave you two here? em. why, darest thou not trust me? trotter. yes, faith, even as long as i see you. em. go thy ways, i pray thee heartily. trotter. that same word (heartily) is of great force. i will go. but i pray, sir, beware you come not too near the wench. [exit trotter.] manvile. i am greatly beholding to you. ah, maistres, sometime i might have said, my love, but time and fortune hath bereaved me of that, and i, an object in those gratious eyes, that with remorse earst saw into my grief, may sit and sigh the sorrows of my heart. em. in deed my manvile hath some cause to doubt, when such a swain is rival in his love! manvile. ah, em, were he the man that causeth this mistrust, i should esteem of thee as at the first. em. but is my love in earnest all this while? manvile. believe me, em, it is not time to jest, when others joys, what lately i possest. em. if touching love my manvile charge me thus, unkindly must i take it at his hands, for that my conscience clears me of offence. manvile. ah, impudent and shameless in thy ill, that with thy cunning and defraudful tongue seeks to delude the honest meaning mind! was never heard in manchester before of truer love then hath been betwixt twain: and for my part how i have hazarded displeasure of my father and my friends, thy self can witness. yet notwithstanding this, two gentlemen attending on duke william, mountney and valingford, as i heard them named, oft times resort to see and to be seen walking the street fast by thy fathers door, whose glauncing eyes up to the windows cast gives testies of their maisters amorous heart. this, em, is noted and too much talked on, some see it without mistrust of ill-- others there are that, scorning, grin thereat, and saith, 'there goes the millers daughters wooers'. ah me, whom chiefly and most of all it doth concern, to spend my time in grief and vex my soul, to think my love should be rewarded thus, and for thy sake abhor all womenkind! em. may not a maid look upon a man without suspitious judgement of the world? manvile. if sight do move offence, it is the better not to see. but thou didst more, unconstant as thou art, for with them thou hadst talk and conference. em. may not a maid talk with a man without mistrust? manvile. not with such men suspected amorous. em. i grieve to see my manviles jealousy. manvile. ah, em, faithful love is full of jealousy. so did i love thee true and faithfully, for which i am rewarded most unthankfully. [exit in a rage. manet em.] em. and so away? what, in displeasure gone, and left me such a bittersweet to gnaw upon? ah, manvile, little wottest thou how near this parting goeth to my heart. uncourteous love, whose followers reaps reward of hate, disdain, reproach and infamy, the fruit of frantike, bedlome jealousy! [here enter mountney to em.] but here comes one of these suspitious men: witness, my god, without desert of me, for only manvile, honor i in heart, nor shall unkindness cause me from him to start. mountney. for this good fortune, venus, be thou blest, to meet my love, the mistress of my heart, where time and place gives opportunity at full to let her understand my love. [he turns to em and offers to take her by the hand, and she goes from him.] fair mistress, since my fortune sorts so well, hear you a word. what meaneth this? nay, stay, fair em. em. i am going homewards, sir. mountney. yet stay, sweet love, to whom i must disclose the hidden secrets of a lovers thoughts, not doubting but to find such kind remorse as naturally you are enclined to. em. the gentle-man, your friend, sir, i have not seen him this four days at the least. mountney. whats that to me? i speak not, sweet, in person of my friend, but for my self, whom, if that love deserve to have regard, being honourable love, not base affects of loose lascivious love, whom youthful wantons play and dally with, but that unites in honourable bands of holy rites, and knits the sacred knot that gods-- [here em cuts him off.] em. what mean you, sir, to keep me here so long? i cannot understand you by your signs; you keep a pratling with your lips, but never a word you speak that i can hear. mountney. what, is she deaf? a great impediment. yet remedies there are for such defects. sweet em, it is no little grief to me, to see, where nature in her pride of art hath wrought perfections rich and admirable-- em. speak you to me, sir? mountney. to thee, my only joy. em. i cannot hear you. mountney. oh, plague of fortune! oh hell without compare! what boots it us to gaze and not enjoy? em. fare you well, sir. [exit em. manet mountney.] mountney. fare well, my love. nay, farewell life and all! could i procure redress for this infirmity, it might be means she would regard my suit. i am acquainted with the kings physicians, amongst the which theres one mine honest friend, seignior alberto, a very learned man. his judgement will i have to help this ill. ah, em, fair em, if art can make thee whole, i'll buy that sence for thee, although it cost me dear. but, mountney, stay: this may be but deceit, a matter fained only to delude thee, and, not unlike, perhaps by valingford. he loves fair em as well as i-- as well as i? ah, no, not half so well. put case: yet may he be thine enemy, and give her counsell to dissemble thus. i'll try the event and if it fall out so, friendship, farewell: love makes me now a foe. [exit mountney.] scene ii. an ante-chamber at the danish court. [enter marques lubeck and mariana.] mariana. trust me, my lord, i am sorry for your hurt. lubeck. gramercie, madam; but it is not great: only a thrust, prickt with a rapiers point. mariana. how grew the quarrel, my lord? lubeck. sweet lady, for thy sake. there was this last night two masks in one company, my self the formost. the other strangers were: amongst the which, when the musick began to sound the measures, each masker made choice of his lady; and one, more forward than the rest, stept towards thee, which i perceiving, thrust him aside, and took thee my self. but this was taken in so ill part that at my coming out of the court gate, with justling together, it was my chance to be thrust into the arm. the doer thereof, because he was the original cause of the disorder at that inconvenient time, was presently committed, and is this morning sent for to answer the matter. and i think here he comes. [here enters sir robert of windsor with a gaylor.] what, sir robert of windsor, how now? sir robert. yfaith, my lord, a prisoner: but what ails your arm? lubeck. hurt the last night by mischance. sir robert. what, not in the mask at the court gate? lubeck. yes, trust me, there. sir robert. why then, my lord, i thank you for my nights lodging. lubeck. and i you for my hurt, if it were so. keeper, away, i discharge you of your prisoner. [exit the keeper.] sir robert. lord marques, you offered me disgrace to shoulder me. lubeck. sir, i knew you not, and therefore you must pardon me, and the rather it might be alleged to me of mere simplicity to see another dance with my maistris, disguised, and i my self in presence. but seeing it was our happs to damnify each other unwillingly, let us be content with our harms, and lay the fault where it was, and so become friends. sir robert. yfaith, i am content with my nights lodging, if you be content with your hurt. lubeck. not content that i have it, but content to forget how i came by it. sir robert. my lord, here comes lady blaunch, lets away. [enter blaunch.] lubeck. with good will. lady, you will stay? [exit lubeck and sir robert.] mariana. madam-- blaunch. mariana, as i am grieved with thy presence: so am i not offended for thy absence; and were it not a breach to modesty, thou shouldest know before i left thee. mariana. how near is this humor to madness! if you hold on as you begin, you are in a pretty way to scolding. blaunch. to scolding, huswife? mariana. madam, here comes one. [here enters one with a letter.] blaunch. there doth in deed. fellow, wouldest thou have any thing with any body here? messenger. i have a letter to deliver to the lady mariana. blaunch. give it me. messenger. there must none but she have it. [blaunch snatcheth the letter from him. et exit messenger.] blaunch. go to, foolish fellow. and therefore, to ease the anger i sustain, i'll be so bold to open it. whats here? sir robert greets you well? you, mastries, his love, his life? oh amorous man, how he entertains his new maistres; and bestows on lubeck, his od friend, a horn night cap to keep in his witt. mariana. madam, though you have discourteously read my letter, yet i pray you give it me. blaunch. then take it: there, and there, and there! [she tears it. et exit blaunch.] mariana. how far doth this differ from modesty! yet will i gather up the pieces, which happily may shew to me the intent thereof, though not the meaning. [she gathers up the pieces and joins them.] 'your servant and love, sir robert of windsor, alias william the conqueror, wisheth long health and happiness'. is this william the conqueror, shrouded under the name of sir robert of windsor? were he the monarch of the world he should not disposess lubeck of his love. therefore i will to the court, and there, if i can, close to be friends with lady blaunch; and thereby keep lubeck, my love, for my self, and further the lady blaunch in her suit, as much as i may. [exit.] scene iii. manchester. the mill. [enter em sola.] em. jealousy, that sharps the lovers sight, and makes him conceive and conster his intent, hath so bewitched my lovely manvils senses that he misdoubts his em, that loves his soul; he doth suspect corrivals in his love, which, how untrue it is, be judge, my god! but now no more--here commeth valingford; shift him off now, as thou hast done the other. [enter valingford.] valingford. see how fortune presents me with the hope i lookt for. fair em! em. who is that? valingford. i am valingford, thy love and friend. em. i cry you mercy, sir; i thought so by your speech. valingford. what aileth thy eyes? em. oh blind, sir, blind, stricken blind, by mishap, on a sudden. valingford. but is it possible you should be taken on such a sudden? infortunate valingford, to be thus crost in thy love! fair em, i am not a little sorry to see this thy hard hap. yet nevertheless, i am acquainted with a learned phisitian that will do any thing for thee at my request. to him will i resort, and enquire his judgement, as concerning the recovery of so excellent a sense. em. oh lord sir: and of all things i cannot abide phisicke, the very name thereof to me is odious. valingford. no? not the thing will do thee so much good? sweet em, hether i cam to parley of love, hoping to have found thee in thy woonted prosperity; and have the gods so unmercifully thwarted my expectation, by dealing so sinisterly with thee, sweet em? em. good sir, no more, it fits not me to have respect to such vain fantasies as idle love presents my ears withall. more reason i should ghostly give my self to sacred prayers for this my former sin, for which this plague is justly fallen upon me, then to harken to the vanities of love. valingford. yet, sweet em, accept this jewell at my hand, which i bestowe on thee in token of my love. em. a jewell, sir! what pleasure can i have in jewels, treasure, or any worldly thing that want my sight that should deserne thereof? ah, sir, i must leave you: the pain of mine eyes is so extreme, i cannot long stay in a place. i take my leave. [exit em.] valingford. zounds, what a cross is this to my conceit! but, valingford, search the depth of this devise. why may not this be fained subteltie, by mountneys invention, to the intent that i seeing such occasion should leave off my suit and not any more persist to solicit her of love? i'll try the event; if i can by any means perceive the effect of this deceit to be procured by his means, friend mountney, the one of us is like to repent our bargain. [exit.] act iii. scene i. the danish court. [enter mariana and marques lubeck.] lubeck. lady, since that occasion, forward in our good, presenteth place and opportunity, let me intreat your woonted kind consent and friendly furtherance in a suit i have. mariana. my lord, you know you need not to intreat, but may command mariana to her power, be it no impeachment to my honest fame. lubeck. free are my thoughts from such base villainy as may in question, lady, call your name: yet is the matter of such consequence, standing upon my honorable credit, to be effected with such zeal and secrecy as, should i speak and fail my expectation, it would redound greatly to my prejudice. mariana. my lord, wherein hath mariana given you occasion that you should mistrust, or else be jealous of my secrecy? lubeck. mariana, do not misconster of me: i not mistrust thee, nor thy secrecy; nor let my love misconster my intent, nor think thereof but well and honorable. thus stands the case: thou knowest from england hether came with me robert of windsor, a noble man at arms, lusty and valiant, in spring time of his years: no marvell then though he prove amorous. mariana. true, my lord, he came to see fair blanch. lubeck. no, mariana, that is not it. his love to blanch was then extinct, when first he saw thy face. 'tis thee he loves; yea, thou art only she that is maistres and commander of his thoughts. mariana. well, well, my lord, i like you, for such drifts put silly ladies often to their shifts. oft have i heard you say you loved me well, yea, sworn the same, and i believed you too. can this be found an action of good faith thus to dissemble where you found true love? lubeck. mariana, i not dissemble, on mine honour, nor fails my faith to thee. but for my friend, for princely william, by whom thou shalt possess the title of estate and majesty, fitting thy love, and vertues of thy mind-- for him i speak, for him do i intreat, and with thy favour fully do resign to him the claim and interest of my love. sweet mariana, then, deny me not: love william, love my friend, and honour me, who else is clean dishonored by thy means. mariana. borne to mishap, my self am only she on whom the sun of fortune never shined: but planets ruled by retrogard aspect foretold mine ill in my nativity. lubeck. sweet lady, cease, let my intreaty serve to pacify the passion of thy grief, which, well i know, proceeds of ardent love. mariana. but lubeck now regards not mariana. lubeck. even as my life, so love i mariana. mariana. why do you post me to another then? lubeck. he is my friend, and i do love the man. mariana. then will duke william rob me of my love? lubeck. no, as his life mariana he doth love. mariana. speak for your self, my lord, let him alone. lubeck. so do i, madam, for he and i am one. mariana. then loving you i do content you both. lubeck. in loveing him, you shall content us both: me, for i crave that favour at your hands, he, for he hopes that comfort at your hands. mariana. leave off, my lord, here comes the lady blaunch. [enter blaunch to them.] lubeck. hard hap to break us of our talk so soon! sweet mariana, do remember me. [exit lubeck.] mariana. thy mariana cannot chose but remember thee. blaunch. mariana, well met. you are very forward in your love? mariana. madam, be it in secret spoken to your self, if you will but follow the complot i have invented, you will not think me so forward as your self shall prove fortunate. blaunch. as how? mariana. madam, as thus: it is not unknowen to you that sir robert of windsor, a man that you do not little esteem, hath long importuned me of love; but rather then i will be found false or unjust to the marques lubeck, i will, as did the constant lady penelope, undertake to effect some great task. blaunch. what of all this? mariana. the next time that sir robert shall come in his woonted sort to solicit me with love, i will seem to agree and like of any thing that the knight shall demaund, so far foorth as it be no impeachment to my chastity: and, to conclude, point some place for to meet the man, for my conveyance from the denmark court: which determined upon, he will appoint some certain time for our departure: whereof you having intelligence, you may soon set down a plot to wear the english crown, and than-- blanch. what then? mariana. if sir robert prove a king and you his queen, how than? blanch. were i assured of the one, as i am persuaded of the other, there were some possibility in it. but here comes the man. mariana. madam, begone, and you shall see i will work to your desire and my content. [exit blanch.] william con. lady, this is well and happily met. fortune hetherto hath beene my foe, and though i have oft sought to speak with you, yet still i have been crot with sinister happs. i cannot, madam, tell a loving tale or court my maistres with fabulous discourses, that am a souldier sworn to follow arms: but this i bluntly let you understand, i honor you with such religious zeal as may become an honorable mind. nor may i make my love the siege of troy, that am a stranger in this country. first, what i am i know you are resolved, for that my friend hath let you that to understand, the marques lubeck, to whom i am so bound that whilest i live i count me only his. mariana. surely you are beholding to the marques, for he hath been an earnest spokes-man in your cause. william. and yields my lady, then, at his request, to grace duke william with her gratious love? mariana. my lord, i am a prisoner, and hard it were to get me from the court. william. an easy matter to get you from the court, if case that you will thereto give consent. mariana. put case i should, how would you use me than? william. not otherwise but well and honorably. i have at sea a ship that doth attend, which shall forthwith conduct us into england, where when we are, i straight will marry thee. we may not stay deliberating long, least that suspicion, envious of our weal, set in a foot to hinder our pretence. mariana. but this i think were most convenient, to mask my face, the better to scape unknowen. william. a good devise: till then, farwell, fair love. mariana. but this i must intreat your grace, you would not seek by lust unlawfully to wrong my chaste determinations. william. i hold that man most shameless in his sin that seeks to wrong an honest ladies name whom he thinks worthy of his marriage bed. mariana. in hope your oath is true, i leave your grace till the appointed time. [exit mariana.] william. o happy william, blessed in th love, most fortunate in mariana's love! well, lubeck, well, this courtesy of thine i will requite, if god permit me life. [exit.] scene ii. manchester. near the mill. [enter valingford and mountney at two sundry doors, looking angrily each on other with rapiers drawn.] mountney. valingford, so hardly i disgest an injury thou hast profered me, as, were it not that i detest to do what stands not with the honor of my name, thy death should pay thy ransom of thy fault. valingford. and, mountney, had not my revenging wrath, incenst with more than ordinary love, been loth for to deprive thee of thy life, thou hadst not lived to brave me as thou doest. wretch as thou art, wherein hath valingford offended thee? that honourable bond which late we did confirm in presence of the gods, when with the conqueror we arrived here, for my part hath been kept inviolably, till now too much abused by thy villainy, i am inforced to cancel all those bands, by hating him which i so well did love. mountney. subtle thou art, and cunning in thy fraud, that, giving me occasion of offence, thou pickst a quarrell to excuse thy shame. why, valingford, was it not enough for thee to be a rival twixt me and my love, but counsell her, to my no small disgrace, that, when i came to talk with her of love, she should seem deaf, as faining not to hear? valingford. but hath she, mountney, used thee as thou sayest? mountney. thou knowest too well she hath: wherein thou couldest not do me greater injury. valingford. then i perceive we are deluded both. for when i offered many gifts of gold, and jewels to entreat for love, she hath refused them with a coy disdain, alledging that she could not see the sun. the same conjectured i to be thy drift, that faining so she might be rid of me. mountney. the like did i by thee. but are not these naturall impediments? valingford. in my conjecture merely counterfeit: therefore lets join hands in friendship once again, since that the jar grew only by conjecture. mountney. with all my heart: yet lets try the truth hereof. valingford. with right good will. we will straight unto her father, and there to learn whither it be so or no. [exeunt.] scene iii. outside the danish palace. [enter william and blanch disguised, with a mask over her face.] william. come on, my love, the comfort of my life. disguised thus we may remain unknowen, and get we once to seas, i force no then, we quickly shall attain the english shore. blaunch. but this i urge you with your former oath: you shall not seek to violate mine honour, until our marriage rights be all performed. william. mariana, here i swear to thee by heaven, and by the honour that i bear to arms, never to seek or crave at hands of thee the spoil of honourable chastity, until we do attain the english coast, where thou shalt be my right espoused queen. blanch. in hope your oath proceedeth from your heart, let's leave the court, and betake us to his power that governs all things to his mighty will, and will reward the just with endless joy, and plague the bad with most extreme annoy. william. lady, as little tarriance as we may, lest some misfortune happen by the way. [exit blanch and william.] scene iv. manchester. the mill. [enter the miller, his man trotter, and manville.] miller. i tell you, sir, it is no little grief to me, you should so hardly conseit of my daughter, whose honest report, though i say it, was never blotted with any title of defamation. manville. father miller, the repair of those gentlemen to your house hath given me great occasion to mislike. miller. as for those gentlemen, i never saw in them any evil intreaty. but should they have profered it, her chaste mind hath proof enough to prevent it. trotter. those gentlemen are so honest as ever i saw: for yfaith one of them gave me six pence to fetch a quart of seck.--see, maister, here they come. [enter mountney and valingford.] miller. trotter, call em. now they are here together, i'll have this matter throughly debated. [exit trotter.] mountney. father, well met. we are come to confer with you. manville. nay, with his daughter rather. valingford. thus it is, father, we are come to crave your friendship in a matter. miller. gentlemen, as you are strangers to me, yet by the way of courtesy you shall demand any reasonable thing at my hands. manville. what, is the matter so forward they came to crave his good will? valingford. it is given us to understand that your daughter is sodenly become both blind and deaf. miller. marie, god forbid! i have sent for her. in deed, she hath kept her chamber this three days. it were no little grief to me if it should be so. manville. this is god's judgement for her treachery. [enter trotter, leading em.] miller. gentlemen, i fear your words are too true. see where trotter comes leading of her.--what ails my em? not blind, i hope? em. [aside.] mountney and valingford both together! and manville, to whom i have faithfully vowed my love! now, em, suddenly help thy self. mountney. this is no desembling, valingford. valingford. if it be, it is cunningly contrived of all sides. em. [aside to trotter.] trotter, lend me thy hand, and as thou lovest me, keep my counsell, and justify what so ever i say and i'll largely requite thee. trotter. ah, thats as much as to say you would tell a monstrous, terrible, horrible, outragious lie, and i shall sooth it-- no, berlady! em. my present extremity will me,--if thou love me, trotter. trotter. that same word love makes me to do any thing. em. trotter, wheres my father? trotter. why, what a blind dunce are you, can you not see? he standeth right before you. [he thrusts em upon her father.] em. is this my father?--good father, give me leave to sit where i may not be disturbed, sith god hath visited me both of my sight and hearing. miller. tell me, sweet em, how came this blindness? thy eyes are lovely to look on, and yet have they lost the benefit of their sight. what a grief is this to thy poor father! em. good father, let me not stand as an open gazing stock to every one, but in a place alone, as fits a creature so miserable. miller. trotter, lead her in, the utter overthrow of poor goddards joy and only solace. [exit the miller, trotter and em.] manville. both blind and deaf! then is she no wife for me; and glad am i so good occasion is hapned: now will i away to chester, and leave these gentlemen to their blind fortune. [exit manville.] mountney. since fortune hath thus spitefully crost our hope, let us leave this quest and harken after our king, who is at this day landed at lirpoole. [exit mountney.] valingford. go, my lord, i'll follow you.--well, now mountney is gone, i'll stay behind to solicit my love; for i imagine that i shall find this but a fained invention, thereby to have us leave off our suits. [exit valingford.] scene v. the danish court. [enter marques lubeck and the king of denmark, angerly with some attendants.] zweno k. well, lubeck, well, it is not possible but you must be consenting to this act? is this the man so highly you extold? and play a part so hateful with his friend? since first he came with thee into the court, what entertainment and what coutenance he hath received, none better knows than thou. in recompence whereof, he quites me well to steal away fair mariana my prisoner, whose ransom being lately greed upon, i am deluded of by this escape. besides, i know not how to answer it, when she shall be demanded home to swethia. lubeck. my gracious lord, conjecture not, i pray, worser of lubeck than he doth deserve: your highness knows mariana was my love, sole paragon and mistress of my thoughts. is it likely i should know of her departure, wherein there is no man injured more than i? zweno. that carries reason, marques, i confess. call forth my daughter. yet i am pesuaded that she, poor soul, suspected not her going: for as i hear, she likewise loved the man, which he, to blame, did not at all regard. [enter rocillio and mariana.] rocillio. my lord, here is the princess mariana; it is your daughter is conveyed away. zweno. what, my daughter gone? now, marques, your villainy breaks forth. this match is of your making, gentle sir, and you shall dearly know the price thereof. lubeck. knew i thereof, or that there was intent in robert thus to steal your highness daughter, let leavens in justice presently confound me. zweno. not all the protestations thou canst use shall save thy life. away with him to prison! and, minion, otherwise it cannot be but you are an agent in this treachery. i will revenge it throughly on you both. away with her to prison! heres stuff in deed! my daughter stolen away!-- it booteth not thus to disturb my self, but presently to send to english william, to send me that proud knight of windsor hither, here in my court to suffer for his shame, or at my pleasure to be punished there, withall that blanch be sent me home again, or i shall fetch her unto windsors cost, yea, and williams too, if he deny her me. [exit zweno and the rest.] scene vi. england. camp of the earl demarch. [enter william, taken with soldiers.] william. could any cross, could any plague be worse? could heaven or hell, did both conspire in one to afflict my soul, invent a greater scourge then presently i am tormented with? ah, mariana, cause of my lament, joy of my heart, and comfort of my life! for tho i breath my sorrows in the air and tire my self, or silently i sigh, my sorrows afficts my soul with equal passion. soldier. go to, sirha, put up, it is to small purpose. william. hency, villains, hence! dare you lay your hands upon your soveraigne? soldier. well, sir, we will deal for that. but here comes one will remedy all this. [enter demarch.] my lord, watching this night in the camp, we took this man, and know not what he is: and in his company was a gallant dame, a woman fair in outward shew she seemed, but that her face was masked, we could not see the grace and favour of her countenance. demarch. tell me, good fellow, of whence and what thou art. soldier. why do you not answer my lord? he takes scorn to answer. demarch. and takest thou scorn to answer my demand? thy proud behaviour very well deserves this misdemeanour at the worst be construed. why doest thou neither know, nor hast thou heard, that in the absence of the saxon duke demarch is his especial substitute to punish those that shall offend the laws? william. in knowing this, i know thou art a traitor; a rebel, and mutinous conspirator. why, demarch, knowest thou who i am? demarch. pardon, my dread lord, the error of my sense, and misdemeaner to your princely excellencie. william. why, demarch, what is the cause my subjects are in arms? demarch. free are my thoughts, my dread and gratious lord, from treason to your state and common weal; only revengement of a private grudge by lord dirot lately profered me, that stands not with the honor of my name, is cause i have assembled for my guard some men in arms that may withstand his force, whose settled malice aimeth at my life. william. where is lord dirot? demarch. in arms, my gratious lord, not past two miles from hence, as credibly i am assertained. william. well; come, let us go. i fear i shall find traitors of you both. [exit.] act iv. scene i. chester. before the citizen's house. [enter the citizen of chester, and his daughter elner, and manville.] citizen. in deed, sir, it would do very well if you could intreat your father to come hither: but if you think it be too far, i care not much to take horse and ride to manchester. i am sure my daughter is content with either. how sayest thou, elner, art thou not? elner. as you shall think best i must be contented. manville. well, elner, farewell. only thus much, i pray: make all things in a readiness, either to serve here, or to carry thither with us. citizen. as for that, sir, take you no care; and so i betake you to your journey. [exit manville.] [enter valingford.] but soft, what gentleman is this? valingford. god speed, sir. might a man crave a word or two with you? citizen. god forbid else, sir; i pray you speak your pleasure. valingford. the gentleman that parted from you, was he not of manchester, his father living there of good account? citizen. yes, marry is he, sir. why do you ask? belike you have had some acquaintance with him. valingford. i have been acquainted in times past, but, through his double dealing, i am growen weary of his company. for, be it spoken to you, he hath been acquainted with a poor millers daughter, and diverse times hath promist her marriage. but what with his delays and flouts he hath brought her into such a taking that i fear me it will cost her her life. citizen. to be plain with you, sir, his father and i have been of old acquaintance, and a motion was made between my daughter and his son, which is now throughly agreed upon, save only the place appointed for the marriage, whether it shall be kept here or at manchester; and for no other occasion he is now ridden. elner. what hath he done to you, that you should speak so ill of the man? valingford. oh, gentlewoman, i cry you mercy: he is your husband that shall be. elner. if i knew this to be true, he should not be my husband were he never so good: and therefore, good father, i would desire you to take the pains to bear this gentleman company to manchester, to know whether this be true or no. citizen. now trust me, gentleman, he deals with me very hardly, knowing how well i meant to him; but i care not much to ride to manchester, to know whether his fathers will be he should deal with me so badly. will it please you, sir, to go in? we will presently take horse and away. valingford. if it please you to go in, i'll follow you presently. [exit elner and her father.] now shall i be revenged on manville, and by this means get em to my wife; and therefore i will straight to her fathers and inform them both of all that is happened. [exit.] scene ii. the english court. [enter william, the ambassador of denmark, demarch, and other attendants.] william. what news with the denmark embassador? embassador. marry, thus: the king of denmark and my sovereign doth send to know of thee what is the cause that injuriously, against the law of arms, thou hast stolen away his only daughter blaunch, the only stay and comfort of his life. therefore by me he willeth thee to send his daughter blaunch, or else foorthwith he will levy such an host, as soon shall fetch her in dispite of thee. william. embassador, this answer i return thy king. he willeth me to send his daughter blaunch, saying, i conveyed her from the danish court, that never yet did once as think thereof. as for his menacing and daunting threats, i nill regard him nor his danish power; for if he come to fetch her foorth my realm i will provide him such a banquet here, that he shall have small cause to give me thanks. embassador. is this your answer, then? william. it is; and so begone. embassador. i go; but to your cost. [exit embassador.] william. demarch, our subjects, earst levied in civil broils, muster foorthwith, for to defend the realm. in hope whereof, that we shall find you true, we freely pardon this thy late offence. demarch. most humble thanks i render to your grace. [exeunt.] scene iii. manchester. the mill. [enter the miller and valingford.] miller. alas, gentleman, why should you trouble your self so much, considering the imperfections of my daughter, which is able to with-draw the love of any man from her, as already it hath done in her first choice. maister manville hath forsaken her, and at chester shall be married to a mans daughter of no little wealth. but if my daughter knew so much, it would go very near her heart, i fear me. valingford. father miller, such is the entire affection to your daughter, as no misfortune whatsoever can alter. my fellow mountney, thou seest, gave quickly over; but i, by reason of my good meaning, am not so soon to be changed, although i am borne off with scorns and denial. [enter em to them.] miller. trust me, sir, i know not what to say. my daughter is not to be compelled by me; but here she comes her self: speak to her and spare not, for i never was troubled with love matters so much before. em. [aside.] good lord! shall i never be rid of this importunate man? now must i dissemble blindness again. once more for thy sake, manville, thus am i inforced, because i shall complete my full resolved mind to thee. father, where are you? miller. here, sweet em. answer this gentleman, that would so fayne enjoy thy love. em. where are you, sir? will you never leave this idle and vain pursuit of love? is not england stord enough to content you, but you must still trouble the poor contemptible maid of manchester? valingford. none can content me but the fair maid of manchester. em. i perceive love is vainly described, that, being blind himself, would have you likewise troubled with a blind wife, having the benefit of your eyes. but neither follow him so much in folly, but love one in whom you may better delight. valingford. father miller, thy daughter shall have honor by graunting me her love. i am a gentleman of king williams court, and no mean man in king williams favour. em. if you be a lord, sir, as you say, you offer both your self and me great wrong: yours, as apparent, in limiting your love so unorderly, for which you rashly endure reprochement; mine, as open and evident, when, being shut from the vanities of this world, you would have me as an open gazing stock to all the world; for lust, not love, leads you into this error. but from the one i will keep me as well as i can, and yield the other to none but to my father, as i am bound by duty. valingford. why, fair em, manville hath forsaken thee, and must at chester be married: which if i speak otherwise than true, let thy father speak what credibly he hath heard. em. but can it be manville will deal so unkindly to reward my justice with such monstrous ungentleness? have i dissembled for thy sake, and doest thou now thus requite it? in deed these many days i have not seen him, which hath made me marvel at his long absence. but, father, are you assured of the words he spake were concerning manville? miller. in sooth, daughter, now it is foorth i must needs confirm it: maister manville hath forsaken thee, and at chester must be married to a mans daughter of no little wealth. his own father procures it, and therefore i dare credit it; and do thou believe it, for trust me, daughter, it is so. em. then, good father, pardon the injury that i have done to you, only causing your grief, by over-fond affecting a man so trothless. and you likewise, sir, i pray hold me excused, a i hope this cause will allow sufficiently for me: my love to manville, thinking he would requite it, hath made me double with my father and you, and many more besides, which i will no longer hide from you. that inticing speeches should not beguile me, i have made my self deaf to any but to him; and lest any mans person should please me more than his, i have dissembled the want of sight: both which shadows of my irrevocable affections i have not spared to confirm before him, my father, and all other amorous soliciters--wherewith not made acquainted, i perceive my true intent hath wrought mine own sorrow, and seeking by love to be regarded, am cut of with contempt, and dispised. miller. tell me, sweet em, hast thou but fained all this while for his love, that hath so descourteously forsaken thee? em. credit me, father, i have told you the troth; wherewith i desire you and lord valingford not to be displeased. for ought else i shall say, let my present grief hold me excused. but, may i live to see that ungrateful man justly rewarded for his treachery, poor em would think her self not a little happy. favour my departing at this instant; for my troubled thought desires to meditate alone in silence. [exit em.] valingford. will not em shew one cheerful look on valingford? miller. alas, sir, blame her not; you see she hath good cause, being so handled by this gentleman: and so i'll leave you, and go comfort my poor wench as well as i may. [exit the miller.] valingford. farewell, good father. [exit valingford.] act v. scene i. open country in england. [enter zweno, king of denmark, with rosilio and other attendants.] zweno. rosilio, is this the place whereas the duke william should meet me? rosilio. it is, and like your grace. zweno. go, captain! away, regard the charge i gave: see all our men be martialed for the fight. dispose the wards as lately was devised; and let the prisoners under several guards be kept apart, until you hear from us. let this suffise, you know my resolution. if william, duke of saxons, be the man, that by his answer sent us, he would seem, not words, but wounds: not parlays, but alarms, must be decider of this controversy. rosilio, stay with me; the rest begone. [exeunt.] [enter william, and demarch with other attendants.] william. all but demarch go shroud you out of sight; for i will go parlay with the prince my self. demarch. should zweno by this parlay call you foorth, upon intent injuriously to deal, this offereth too much opportunity. william. no, no, demarch, that were a breach against the law of arms: therefore begone, and leave us here alone. [exeunt.] i see that zweno is maister of his word. zweno, william of saxony greeteth thee, either well or ill, according to thy intent. if well thou wish to him and saxony, he bids thee friendly welcome as he can. if ill thou wish to him and saxony, he must withstand thy malice as he may. zweno. william, for other name and title give i none to him, who, were he worthy of those honours that fortune and his predecessors left, i ought, by right and humaine courtesy, to grace his style with duke of saxony; but, for i find a base, degenerate mind, i frame my speech according to the man, and not the state that he unworthy holds. william. herein, zweno, dost thou abase thy state, to break the peace which by our ancestors hath heretofore been honourably kept. zweno. and should that peace for ever have been kept, had not thy self been author of the breach: nor stands it with the honor of my state, or nature of a father to his child, that i should so be robbed of my daughter, and not unto the utmost of my power revenge so intolerable an injury. william. is this the colour of your quarrel, zweno? i well perceive the wisest men may err. and think you i conveyed away your daughter blanch? zweno. art thou so impudent to deny thou didst, when that the proof thereof is manifest? william. what proof is there? zweno. thine own confession is sufficient proof. william. did i confess i stole your daughter blanch? zweno. thou didst confess thou hadst a lady hence. william. i have, and do. zweno. why, that was blanch, my daughter. william. nay, that was mariana, who wrongfully thou detainest prisoner. zweno. shameless persisting in thy ill! thou doest maintain a manifest untroth, as she shall justify unto thy teeth. rosilio, fetch her and the marques hether. [exit rosilio for mariana.] william. it cannot be i should be so deceived. demarch. i heard this night among the souldiers that in their watch they took a pensive lady, who, at the appointment of the lord dirot, is yet in keeping. what she is i know not: only thus much i over-heard by chance. william. and what of this? demarch. i may be blaunch, the kind of denmarks daughter. william. it may be so: but on my life it is not; yet, demarch, go, and fetch her straight. [exit demarch.] [enter rosilio with the marques.] rosilio. pleaseth your highness, here is the marques and mariana. zweno. see here, duke william, your competitors, that were consenting to my daughters scape. let them resolve you of the truth herein. and here i vow and solemnly protest, that in thy presence they shall lose their heads, unless i hear where as my daughter is. william. oh, marques lubeck, how it grieveth me, that for my sake thou shouldest indure these bonds, be judge my soul that feels the marytrdom! marques. duke william, you know it is for your cause, it pleaseth thus the king to misconceive of me, and for his pleasure doth me injury. [enter demarch with the lady blaunch.] demarch. may it please your highness, here is the lady whom you sent me for. william. away, demarch! what tellest thou me of ladies? i so detest the dealing of their sex, as that i count a lovers state to be the base and vildest slavery in the world. demarch. what humors are these? here's a strange alteration! zweno. see, duke william, is this blaunch or no? you know her if you see her, i am sure. william. zweno, i was deceived, yea utterly deceived; yet this is she: this same is lady blaunch. and for mine error, here i am content to do whatsoever zweno shall set down. ah, cruel mariana, thus to use the man which loved and honored thee with his heart! mariana. when first i came into your highness court, and william often importing me of love, i did devise, to ease the grief your daughter did sustain, she should meet sir william masked, as i it were. this put in proof did take so good effect, as yet it seems his grace is not resolved, but is was i which he conveyed away. william. may this be true? it cannot be but true. was it lady blaunch which i conveyed away? unconstant mariana, thus to deal with him which meant to thee nought but faith! blaunch. pardon, dear father, my follies that are past, wherein i have neglected my duty, which i in reverence ought to shew your grace; for, led by love, i thus have gone astray, and now repent the errors i was in. zweno. stand up, dear daughter: though thy fault deserves for to be punisht in the extremest sort, yet love, that covers multitude of sins, makes love in parents wink at childrens faults. sufficeth, blaunch, thy father loves thee so, thy follies past he knows but will not know. and here, duke william, take my daughter to thy wife, for well i am assured she loves thee well. william. a proper conjunction! as who should say, lately come out of the fire, i would go thrust my self into the flame. let maistres nice go saint it where she list, and coyly quaint it with dissembling face. i hold in scorn the fooleries that they use: i being free, will never subject my self to any such as she is underneath the sun. zweno. refusest thou to take my daughter to thy wife? i tell thee, duke, this rash denial may bring more mischief on thee then thou canst avoid. william. conseit hath wrought such general dislike, through the false dealing of mariana, that utterly i do abhore their sex. they are all disloyal, unconstant, all unjust: who tries as i have tried, and finds as i have found, will say theres so such creatures on the ground. blanch. unconstant knight, though some deserve no trust, theres others faithful, loving, loyal, and just. [enter to them valingford with em and the miller, and mountney, and manville, and elner.] william. how now, lord valingford, what makes these women here? valingford. here be two women, may it please your grace, that are contracted to one man, and are in strife whether shall have him to their husband. william. stand foorth, women, and say, to whether of you did he first give his faith. em. to me, forsooth. elner. to me, my gratious lord. william. speak, manville: to whether didst thou give thy faith? manville. to say the troth, this maid had first my love. elner. yes, manville, but there was no witness by. em. thy conscience, manville, is a hundred witnesses. elner. she hath stolen a conscience to serve her own turn; but you are deceived, yfaith, he will none of you. manville. in deed, dread lord, so dear i held her love as in the same i put my whole delight; but some impediments, which at that instant hapned, made me forsake her quite; for which i had her fathers frank consent. william. what were the impediments? manville. why, she could neither hear nor see. william. now she doth both. maiden, how were you cured? em. pardon, my lord, i'll tell your grace the troth, be it not imputed to me as discredit. i loved this manville so much, that still my thought, when he was absent, did present to me the form and feature of that countenance which i did shrine an idol in mine heart. and never could i see a man, methought, that equaled manville in my partial eye. nor was there any love between us lost, but that i held the same in high regard, until repair of some unto our house, of whom my manville grew thus jealous as if he took exception i vouchsafed to hear them speak, or saw them when they came: on which i straight took order with my self, to void the scrupule of his conscience, by counterfaiting that i neither saw nor heard, any ways to rid my hands of them. all this i did to keep my manvilles love, which he unkindly seeks for to reward. manville. and did my em, to keep her faith with me, dissemble that she neither heard nor saw? pardon me, sweet em, for i am only thine. em. lay off thy hands, disloyal as thou art! nor shalt thou have possession of my love, that canst so finely shift thy matters off. put case i had been blind, and could not see-- as often times such visitations falls that pleaseth god, which all things doth dispose-- shouldest thou forsake me in regard of that? i tell thee manville, hadst thou been blind, or deaf, or dumb, or else what impediments might befall to man, em would have loved and kept, and honoured thee: yea begged, if wealth had failed, for thy relief. manville. forgive me, sweet em. em. i do forgive thee, with my heart, and will forget thee too, if case i can: but never speak to me, nor seem to know me. manville. then farewell, frost! well fare a wench that will! now, elner, i am thine own, my girl. elner. mine, manville? thou never shalt be mine. i so detest thy villainy, that whilest i live i will abhor thy company. manville. is it come to this? of late i had choice of twain, on either side, to have me to her husband, and now am utterly rejected of them both. valingford. my lord, this gentleman, when time was, stood some-thing in our light, and now i think it not amiss to laugh at him that sometime scorned at us. mountney. content my lord, invent the form. valingford. then thus.-- william. i see that women are not general evils, blanch is fair: methinks i see in her a modest countenance, a heavenly blush. zweno, receive a reconciled for, not as thy friend, but as thy son in law, if so that thou be thus content. zweno. i joy to see your grace so tractable. here, take my daughter blanch; and after my decease the denmark crown. william. now, sir, how stands the case with you? manville. i partly am persuaded as your grace is, my lord, he is best at ease that medleth least. valingford. sir, may a man be so bold as to crave a word with you? manville. yea, two or three: what are they? valingford. i say, this maid will have thee to her husband. mountney. and i say this: and thereof will i lay an hundred pound. valingford. and i say this: whereon i will lay as much. manville. and i say neither: what say you to that? mountney. if that be true, then are we both deceived. manville. why, it is true, and you are both deceived. marques. in mine eyes this is the proprest wench; might i advise thee, take her unto thy wife. zweno. it seems to me, she hath refused him. marques. why, theres the spite. zweno. if one refuse him, yet may he have the other. marques. he will ask but her good will, and all her friends. zweno. might i advise thee, let them both alone. manville. yea, thats the course, and thereon will i stand. such idle love hencefoorth i will detest. valingford. the fox will eat no grapes, and why? mountney. i know full well, because they hand too high. william. and may it be a millers daughter by her birth? i cannot think but she is better borne. valingford. sir thomas goddard hight this reverent man famed for his vertues, and his good success: whose fame hath been renowmed through the world. william. sir thomas goddard, welcome to thy prince; and, fair em, frolic with thy good father; as glad am i to find sir thomas goddard, as good sir edmund treford, on the plains: he like a sheepheard, and thou our country miller. miller. and longer let not goddard live a day then he in honour loves his soveraigne. william. but say, sir thomas, shall i give thy daughter? miller. goddard, and all that he hath, doth rest at the pleasure of your majesty. william. and what says em to lovely valingford? it seemed he loved you well, that for your sake durst leave his king. em. em rests at the pleasure of your highness: and would i were a wife for his desert. william. then here, lord valingford, receive fair em. here take her, make her thy espoused wife. then go we in, that preparation may be made, to see these nuptials solemnly performed. [exeunt all. sound drums and trumpets.] finis this ebook was produced by tapio riikonen and david widger book v. death and love. chapter i. harold, without waiting once more to see edith, nor even taking leave of his father, repaired to dunwich [ ], the capital of his earldom. in his absence, the king wholly forgot algar and his suit; and in the mean while the only lordships at his disposal, stigand, the grasping bishop, got from him without an effort. in much wrath, earl algar, on the fourth day, assembling all the loose men-at-arms he could find around the metropolis, and at the head of a numerous disorderly band, took his way into wales, with his young daughter aldyth, to whom the crown of a welch king was perhaps some comfort for the loss of the fair earl; though the rumour ran that she had long since lost her heart to her father's foe. edith, after a long homily from the king, returned to hilda; nor did her godmother renew the subject of the convent. all she said on parting, was, "even in youth the silver cord may be loosened, and the golden bowl may be broken; and rather perhaps in youth than in age, when the heart has grown hard, wilt thou recall with a sigh my counsels." godwin had departed to wales; all his sons were at their several lordships; edward was left alone to his monks and relic-venders. and so months passed. now it was the custom with the old kings of england to hold state and wear their crowns thrice a year, at christmas, at easter, and at whitsuntide; and in those times their nobles came round them, and there was much feasting and great pomp. so, in the easter of the year of our lord , king edward kept his court at windshore [ ], and earl godwin and his sons, and many others of high degree, left their homes to do honour to the king. and earl godwin came first to his house in london--near the tower palatine, in what is now called the fleet--and harold the earl, and tostig, and leofwine, and gurth, were to meet him there, and go thence, with the full state of their sub-thegns, and cnehts, and house-carles, their falcons, and their hounds, as become men of such rank, to the court of king edward. earl godwin sate with his wife, githa, in a room out of the hall, which looked on the thames,--awaiting harold, who was expected to arrive ere nightfall. gurth had ridden forth to meet his brother, and leofwine and tostig had gone over to southwark, to try their band-dogs on the great bear, which had been brought from the north a few days before, and was said to have hugged many good hounds to death, and a large train of thegns and house-carles had gone with them to see the sport; so that the old earl and his lady the dane sate alone. and there was a cloud upon earl godwin's large forehead, and he sate by the fire, spreading his hands before it, and looking thoughtfully on the flame, as it broke through the smoke which burst out into the cover, or hole in the roof. and in that large house there were no less than three "covers," or rooms, wherein fires could be lit in the centre of the floor; and the rafters above were blackened with the smoke; and in those good old days, ere chimneys, if existing, were much in use, "poses, and rheumatisms, and catarrhs," were unknown, so wholesome and healthful was the smoke. earl godwin's favourite hound, old, like himself, lay at his feet, dreaming, for it whined and was restless. and the earl's old hawk, with its feathers all stiff and sparse, perched on the dossal of the earl's chair and the floor was pranked with rushes and sweet herbs--the first of the spring; and githa's feet were on her stool, and she leaned her proud face on the small hand which proved her descent from the dane, and rocked herself to and fro, and thought of her son wolnoth in the court of the norman. "githa," at last said the earl, "thou hast been to me a good wife and a true, and thou hast borne me tall and bold sons, some of whom have caused us sorrow, and some joy; and in sorrow and in joy we have but drawn closer to each other. yet when we wed thou wert in thy first youth, and the best part of my years was fled; and thou wert a dane and i a saxon; and thou a king's niece, and now a king's sister, and i but tracing two descents to thegn's rank." moved and marvelling at this touch of sentiment in the calm earl, in whom indeed such sentiment was rare, githa roused herself from her musings, and said, simply and anxiously: "i fear my lord is not well, that he speaks thus to githa!" the earl smiled faintly. "thou art right with thy woman's wit, wife. and for the last few weeks, though i said it not to alarm thee, i have had strange noises in my ears, and a surge, as of blood, to the temples." "o godwin! dear spouse," said githa, tenderly, "and i was blind to the cause, but wondered why there was some change in thy manner! but i will go to hilda to-morrow; she hath charms against all disease." "leave hilda in peace, to give her charms to the young; age defies wigh and wicca. now hearken to me. i feel that my thread is nigh spent, and, as hilda would say, my fylgia forewarns me that we are about to part. silence, i say, and hear me. i have done proud things in my day; i have made kings and built thrones, and i stand higher in england than ever thegn or earl stood before. i would not, githa, that the tree of my house, planted in the storm, and watered with lavish blood, should wither away." the old earl paused, and githa said, loftily: "fear not that thy name will pass from the earth, or thy race from power. for fame has been wrought by thy hands, and sons have been born to thy embrace; and the boughs of the tree thou hast planted shall live in the sunlight when we its roots, o my husband, are buried in the earth." "githa," replied the earl, "thou speakest as the daughter of kings and the mother of men; but listen to me, for my soul is heavy. of these our sons, or first-born, alas! is a wanderer and outcast--sweyn, once the beautiful and brave; and wolnoth, thy darling, is a guest in the court of the norman, our foe. of the rest, gurth is so mild and so calm, that i predict without fear that he will be warrior of fame, for the mildest in hall are ever the boldest in field. but gurth hath not the deep wit of these tangled times; and leofwine is too light, and tostig too fierce. so wife mine, of these our six sons, harold alone, dauntless as tostig, mild as gurth, hath his father's thoughtful brain. and, if the king remains as aloof as now from his royal kinsman, edward the atheling, who"--the earl hesitated and looked round--"who so near to the throne when i am no more, as harold, the joy of the ceorls, and the pride of the thegns?--he whose tongue never falters in the witan, and whose arm never yet hath known defeat in the field?" githa's heart swelled, and her cheek grew flushed. "but what i fear the most," resumed the earl, "is, not the enemy without, but the jealousy within. by the side of harold stands tostig, rapacious to grasp, but impotent to hold--able to ruin, strengthless to save." "nay, godwin, my lord, thou wrongest our handsome son." "wife, wife," said the earl, stamping his foot, "hear me and obey me; for my words on earth may be few, and while thou gainsayest me the blood mounts to my brain, and my eyes see through a cloud." "forgive me, sweet lord," said githa, humbly. "mickle and sore it repents me that in their youth i spared not the time from my worldly ambition to watch over the hearts of my sons; and thou wert too proud of the surface without, to look well to the workings within, and what was once soft to the touch is now hard to the hammer. in the battle of life the arrows we neglect to pick up, fate, our foe, will store in her quiver; we have armed her ourselves with the shafts--the more need to beware with the shield. wherefore, if thou survivest me, and if, as i forebode, dissension break out between harold and tostig, i charge thee by memory of our love, and reverence for my grave, to deem wise and just all that harold deems just and wise. for when godwin is in the dust, his house lives alone in harold. heed me now, and heed ever. and so, while the day yet lasts, i will go forth into the marts and the guilds, and talk with the burgesses, and smile on their wives, and be, to the last, godwin the smooth and the strong." so saying; the old earl arose, and walked forth with a firm step; and his old hound sprang up, pricked its ears, and followed him; the blinded falcon turned its head towards the clapping door, but did not stir from the dossel. then githa again leant her cheek on her hand, and again rocked herself to and fro, gazing into the red flame of the fire,--red and fitful through the blue smoke,--and thought over her lord's words. it might be the third part of an hour after godwin had left the house, when the door opened, and githa, expecting the return of her sons, looked up eagerly, but it was hilda, who stooped her head under the vault of the door; and behind hilda came two of her maidens, bearing a small cyst, or chest. the vala motioned to her attendants to lay the cyst at the feet of githa, and that done, with lowly salutation they left the room. the superstitions of the danes were strong in githa; and she felt an indescribable awe when hilda stood before her, the red light playing on the vala's stern marble face, and contrasting robes of funereal black. but, with all her awe, githa, who, not educated like her daughter edith, had few feminine resources, loved the visits of her mysterious kinswoman. she loved to live her youth over again in discourse on the wild customs and dark rites of the dane; and even her awe itself had the charm which the ghost tale has to the child;--for the illiterate are ever children. so, recovering her surprise, and her first pause, she rose to welcome the vala, and said: "hail, hilda, and thrice hail! the day has been warm and the way long; and, ere thou takest food and wine, let me prepare for thee the bath for thy form, or the bath for thy feet. for as sleep to the young, is the bath to the old." hilda shook her head. "bringer of sleep am i, and the baths i prepare are in the halls of valhalla. offer not to the vala the bath for mortal weariness, and the wine and the food meet for human guests. sit thee down, daughter of the dane, and thank thy new gods for the past that hath been thine. not ours is the present, and the future escapes from our dreams; but the past is ours ever, and all eternity cannot revoke a single joy that the moment hath known." then seating herself in godwin's large chair, she leant over her seid- staff, and was silent, as if absorbed in her thoughts. "githa," she said at last, "where is thy lord? i came to touch his hands and to look on his brow." "he hath gone forth into the mart, and my sons are from home; and harold comes hither, ere night, from his earldom." a faint smile, as of triumph, broke over the lips of the vala, and then as suddenly yielded to an expression of great sadness. "githa," she said, slowly, "doubtless thou rememberest in thy young days to have seen or heard of the terrible hell-maid belsta?" "ay, ay," answered githa shuddering; "i saw her once in gloomy weather, driving before her herds of dark grey cattle. ay, ay; and my father beheld her ere his death, riding the air on a wolf, with a snake for a bridle. why askest thou?" "is it not strange," said hilda, evading the question, that belsta, and heidr, and hulla of old, the wolf-riders, the men-devourers, could win to the uttermost secrets of galdra, though applied only to purposes the direst and fellest to man, and that i, though ever in the future,--i, though tasking the nornas not to afflict a foe, but to shape the careers of those i love,--i find, indeed, my predictions fulfilled; but how often, alas! only in horror and doom!" "how so, kinswoman, how so?" said githa, awed yet charmed in the awe, and drawing her chair nearer to the mournful sorceress. "didst thou not fortell our return in triumph from the unjust outlawry, and, lo, it hath come to pass? and hast thou not" (here githa's proud face flushed) "foretold also that my stately harold shall wear the diadem of a king?" "truly, the first came to pass," said hilda; "but----" she paused, and her eye fell on the cyst; then breaking off she continued, speaking to herself rather than to githa--"and harold's dream, what did that portend? the runes fail me, and the dead give no voice. and beyond one dim day, in which his betrothed shall clasp him with the arms of a bride, all is dark to my vision--dark--dark. speak not to me, githa; for a burthen, heavy as the stone on a grave, rests on a weary heart!" a dead silence succeeded, till, pointing with her staff to the fire, the vala said, "lo, where the smoke and the flame contend--the smoke rises in dark gyres to the air, and escapes, to join the wrack of clouds. from the first to the last we trace its birth and its fall; from the heart of the fire to the descent in the rain, so is it with human reason, which is not the light but the smoke; it struggles but to darken us; it soars but to melt in the vapour and dew. yet, lo, the flame burns in our hearth till the fuel fails, and goes at last, none know whither. but it lives in the air though we see it not; it lurks in the stone and waits the flash of the steel; it coils round the dry leaves and sere stalks, and a touch re-illumines it; it plays in the marsh--it collects in the heavens--it appals us in the lightning--it gives warmth to the air--life of our life, and the element of all elements. o githa, the flame is the light of the soul, the element everlasting; and it liveth still, when it escapes from our view; it burneth in the shapes to which it passes; it vanishes, but its never extinct." so saying, the vala's lips again closed; and again both the women sate silent by the great fire, as it flared and flickered over the deep lines and high features of githa, the earl's wife, and the calm, unwrinkled, solemn face of the melancholy vala. chapter ii. while these conferences took place in the house of godwin, harold, on his way to london, dismissed his train to precede him to his father's roof, and, striking across the country, rode fast and alone towards the old roman abode of hilda. months had elapsed since he had seen or heard of edith. news at that time, i need not say, was rare and scarce, and limited to public events, either transmitted by special nuncius or passing pilgrim, or borne from lip to lip by the talk of the scattered multitude. but even in his busy and anxious duties, harold had in vain sought to banish from his heart the image of that young girl, whose life he needed no vala to predict to him was interwoven with the fibres of his own. the obstacles which, while he yielded to, he held unjust and tyrannical, obstacles allowed by his reluctant reason and his secret ambition--not sanctified by conscience--only inflamed the deep strength of the solitary passion his life had known; a passion that, dating from the very childhood of edith, had, often unknown to himself, animated his desire of fame, and mingled with his visions of power. nor, though hope was far and dim, was it extinct. the legitimate heir of edward the confessor was a prince living in the court of the emperor, of fair repute, and himself wedded; and edward's health, always precarious, seemed to forbid any very prolonged existence to the reigning king. therefore, he thought that through the successor, whose throne would rest in safety upon harold's support, he might easily obtain that dispensation from the pope which he knew the present king would never ask--a dispensation rarely indeed, if ever, accorded to any subject, and which, therefore, needed all a king's power to back it. so in that hope, and fearful lest it should be quenched for ever by edith's adoption of the veil and the irrevocable vow, with a beating, disturbed, but joyful heart he rode over field and through forest to the old roman house. he emerged at length to the rear of the villa, and the sun, fast hastening to its decline, shone full upon the rude columns of the druid temple. and there, as he had seen her before, when he had first spoken of love and its barriers, he beheld the young maiden. he sprang from his horse, and leaving the well-trained animal loose to browse on the waste land, he ascended the knoll. he stole noiselessly behind edith, and his foot stumbled against the grave-stone of the dead titan-saxon of old. but the apparition, whether real or fancied, and the dream that had followed, had long passed from his memory, and no superstition was in the heart springing to the lips, that cried "edith" once again. the girl started, looked round, and fell upon his breast. it was some moments before she recovered consciousness, and then, withdrawing herself gently from his arms, she leant for support against the teuton altar. she was much changed since harold had seen her last: her cheek had grown pale and thin, and her rounded form seemed wasted; and sharp grief, as he gazed, shot through the soul of harold. "thou hast pined, thou hast suffered," said he, mournfully: "and i, who would shed my life's blood to take one from thy sorrows, or add to one of thy joys, have been afar, unable to comfort, perhaps only a cause of thy woe." "no, harold," said edith, faintly, "never of woe; always of comfort, even in absence. i have been ill, and hilda hath tried rune and charm all in vain. but i am better, now that spring hath come tardily forth, and i look on the fresh flowers, and hear the song of the birds." but tears were in the sound of her voice, while she spoke. "and they have not tormented thee again with the thoughts of the convent?" "they? no;--but my soul, yes. o harold, release me from my promise; for the time already hath come that thy sister foretold to me; the silver cord is loosened, and the golden bowl is broken, and i would fain take the wings of the dove, and be at peace." "is it so?--is there peace in the home where the thought of harold becomes a sin?" "not sin then and there, harold, not sin. thy sister hailed the convent when she thought of prayer for those she loved." "prate not to me of my sister!" said harold, through his set teeth. "it is but a mockery to talk of prayer for the heart that thou thyself rendest in twain. where is hilda? i would see her." "she hath gone to thy father's house with a gift; and it was to watch for her return that i sate on the green knoll." the earl then drew near and took her hand, and sate by her side, and they conversed long. but harold saw with a fierce pang that edith's heart was set upon the convent, and that even in his presence, and despite his soothing words, she was broken-spirited and despondent. it seemed as if her youth and life had gone from her, and the day had come in which she said, "there is no pleasure." never had he seen her thus; and, deeply moved as well as keenly stung, he rose at length to depart; her hand lay passive in his parting clasp, and a slight shiver went over her frame. "farewell, edith; when i return from windshore, i shall be at my old home yonder, and we shall meet again." edith's lips murmured inaudibly, and she bent her eyes to the ground. slowly harold regained his steed, and as he rode on, he looked behind and waved oft his hand. but edith sate motionless, her eyes still on the ground, and he saw not the tears that fell from them fast and burning; nor heard he the low voice that groaned amidst the heathen ruins, "mary, sweet mother, shelter me from my own heart!" the sun had set before harold gained the long and spacious abode of his father. all around it lay the roofs and huts of the great earl's special tradesmen, for even his goldsmith was but his freed ceorl. the house itself stretched far from the thames inland, with several low courts built only of timber, rugged and shapeless, but filled with bold men, then the great furniture of a noble's halls. amidst the shouts of hundreds, eager to hold his stirrup, the earl dismounted, passed the swarming hall, and entered the room, in which he found hilda and githa, and godwin, who had preceded his entry but a few minutes. in the beautiful reverence of son to father, which made one of the loveliest features of the saxon character [ ] (as the frequent want of it makes the most hateful of the norman vices), the all-powerful harold bowed his knee to the old earl, who placed his hand on his head in benediction, and then kissed him on the cheek and brow. "thy kiss, too, dear mother," said the younger earl; and githa's embrace, if more cordial than her lord's, was not, perhaps, more fond. "greet hilda, my son," said godwin, "she hath brought me a gift, and she hath tarried to place it under thy special care. thou alone must heed the treasure, and open the casket. but when and where, my kinswoman?" "on the sixth day after thy coming to the king's hall," answered hilda, not returning the smile with which godwin spoke,--"on the sixth day, harold, open the chest, and take out the robe which hath been spun in the house of hilda for godwin the earl. and now, godwin, i have clasped thine hand, and i have looked on thy brow, and my mission is done, and i must wend homeward." "that shalt thou not, hilda," said the hospitable earl; "the meanest wayfarer hath a right to bed and board in this house for a night and a day, and thou wilt not disgrace us by leaving our threshold, the bread unbroken, and the couch unpressed. old friend, we were young together, and thy face is welcome to me as the memory of former days." hilda shook her head, and one of those rare, and for that reason most touching, expressions of tenderness of which the calm and rigid character of her features, when in repose, seemed scarcely susceptible, softened her eye, and relaxed the firm lines of her lips. "son of wolnoth," said she, gently, "not under thy roof-tree should lodge the raven of bode. bread have i not broken since yestere'en, and sleep will be far from my eyes to-night. fear not, for my people without are stout and armed, and for the rest there lives not the man whose arm can have power over hilda." she took harold's hand as she spoke, and leading him forth, whispered in his ear, "i would have a word with thee ere we part." then, reaching the threshold, she waved her hand thrice over the floor, and muttered in the danish tongue a rude verse, which, translated, ran somewhat thus: "all free from the knot glide the thread of the skein, and rest to the labour, and peace to the pain!" "it is a death-dirge," said githa, with whitening lips, but she spoke inly, and neither husband nor son heard her words. hilda and harold passed in silence through the hall, and the vala's attendants, with spears and torches, rose from the settles, and went before to the outer court, where snorted impatiently her black palfrey. halting in the midst of the court, she said to harold, in a low voice: "at sunset we part--at sunset we shall meet again. and behold, the star rises on the sunset; and the star, broader and brighter, shall rise on the sunset then! when thy hand draws the robe from the chest, think on hilda, and know that at that hour she stands by the grave of the saxon warrior, and that from the grave dawns the future. farewell to thee!" harold longed to speak to her of edith, but a strange awe at his heart chained his lips; so he stood silent by the great wooden gates of the rude house. the torches flamed round him, and hilda's face seemed lurid in the glare. there he stood musing long after torch and ceorl had passed away, nor did he wake from his reverie till gurth, springing from his panting horse, passed his arm round the earl's shoulder, and cried: "how did i miss thee, my brother? and why didst thou forsake thy train?" "i will tell thee anon. gurth, has my father ailed? there is that in his face which i like not." "he hath not complained of misease," said gurth, startled; "but now thou speakest of it, his mood hath altered of late, and he hath wandered much alone, or only with the old hound and the old falcon." then harold turned back, and, his heart was full; and, when he reached the house, his father was sitting in the hall on his chair of state; and githa sate on his right hand, and a little below her sate tostig and leofwine, who had come in from the bear-hunt by the river-gate, and were talking loud and merrily; and thegns and cnehts sate all around, and there was wassail as harold entered. but the earl looked only to his father, and he saw that his eyes were absent from the glee, and that he was bending his head over the old falcon, which sate on his wrist. chapter iii. no subject of england, since the race of cerdic sate on the throne, ever entered the courtyard of windshore with such train and such state as earl godwin.--proud of that first occasion, since his return, to do homage to him with whose cause that of england against the stranger was bound, all truly english at heart amongst the thegns of the land swelled his retinue. whether saxon or dane, those who alike loved the laws and the soil, came from north and from south to the peaceful banner of the old earl. but most of these were of the past generation, for the rising race were still dazzled by the pomp of the norman; and the fashion of english manners, and the pride in english deeds, had gone out of date with long locks and bearded chins. nor there were the bishops and abbots and the lords of the church,--for dear to them already the fame of the norman piety, and they shared the distaste of their holy king to the strong sense and homely religion of godwin, who founded no convents, and rode to war with no relics round his neck. but they with godwin were the stout and the frank and the free, in whom rested the pith and marrow of english manhood; and they who were against him were the blind and willing and fated fathers of slaves unborn. not then the stately castle we now behold, which is of the masonry of a prouder race, nor on the same site, but two miles distant on the winding of the river shore (whence it took its name), a rude building partly of timber and partly of roman brick, adjoining a large monastery and surrounded by a small hamlet, constituted the palace of the saint-king. so rode the earl and his four fair sons, all abreast, into the courtyard of windshore [ ]. now when king edward heard the tramp of the steeds and the hum of the multitudes, as he sate in his closet with his abbots and priests, all in still contemplation of the thumb of st. jude, the king asked: "what army, in the day of peace, and the time of easter, enters the gates of our palace?" then an abbot rose and looked out of the narrow window, and said with a groan: "army thou mayst well call it, o king!--and foes to us and to thee head the legions----" "inprinis," quoth our abbot the scholar; "thou speakest, i trow, of the wicked earl and his sons." the king's face changed. "come they," said he, "with so large a train? this smells more of vaunt than of loyalty; naught--very naught." "alack!" said one of the conclave, "i fear me that the men of belial will work us harm; the heathen are mighty, and----" "fear not," said edward, with benign loftiness, observing that his guests grew pale, and himself, though often weak to childishness, and morally wavering and irresolute,--still so far king and gentleman, that he knew no craven fear of the body. "fear not for me, my fathers; humble as i am, i am strong in the faith of heaven and its angels." the churchmen looked at each other, sly yet abashed; it was not precisely for the king that they feared. then spoke alred, the good prelate and constant peacemaker--fair column and lone one of the fast-crumbling saxon church. "it is ill in you, brethren to arraign the truth and good meaning of those who honour your king; and in these days that lord should ever be the most welcome who brings to the halls of his king the largest number of hearts, stout and leal." "by your leave, brother alred," said stigand, who, though from motives of policy he had aided those who besought the king not to peril his crown by resisting the return of godwin, benefited too largely by the abuses of the church to be sincerely espoused to the cause of the strong-minded earl; "by your leave, brother alred, to every leal heart is a ravenous mouth; and the treasures of the king are well-nigh drained in feeding these hungry and welcomeless visitors. durst i counsel my lord i would pray him, as a matter of policy, to baffle this astute and proud earl. he would fain have the king feast in public, that he might daunt him and the church with the array of his friends." "i conceive thee, my father," said edward, with more quickness than habitual, and with the cunning, sharp though guileless, that belongs to minds undeveloped, "i conceive thee; it is good and most politic. this our orgulous earl shall not have his triumph, and, so fresh from his exile, brave his king with the mundane parade of his power. our health is our excuse for our absence from the banquet, and, sooth to say, we marvel much why easter should be held a fitting time for feasting and mirth. wherefore, hugoline, my chamberlain, advise the earl that to-day we keep fast till the sunset, when temperately, with eggs, bread, and fish, we will sustain adam's nature. pray him and his sons to attend us--they alone be our guests." and with a sound that seemed a laugh, or the ghost of a laugh, low and chuckling--for edward had at moments an innocent humour which his monkish biographer disdained not to note [ ],--he flung himself back in his chair. the priests took the cue, and shook their sides heartily, as hugoline left the room, not ill pleased, by the way, to escape an invitation to the eggs, bread, and fish. alred sighed; and said, "for the earl and his sons, this is honour; but the other earls, and the thegns, will miss at the banquet him whom they design but to honour, and----" "i have said," interrupted edward, drily, and with a look of fatigue. "and," observed another churchman, with malice, "at least the young earls will be humbled, for they will not sit with the king and their father, as they would in the hall, and must serve my lord with napkin and wine." "inprinis," quoth our scholar the abbot, "that will be rare! i would i were by to see. but this godwin is a man of treachery and wile, and my lord should beware of the fate of murdered alfred, his brother!" the king started, and pressed his hands to his eyes. "how darest thou, abbot fatchere," cried alred, indignantly; "how darest thou revive grief without remedy, and slander without proof?" "without proof?" echoed edward, in a hollow voice. "he who could murder, could well stoop to forswear! without proof before man; but did he try the ordeals of god?--did his feet pass the ploughshare?-- did his hand grasp the seething iron? verily, verily, thou didst wrong to name to me alfred my brother! i shall see his sightless and gore-dropping sockets in the face of godwin, this day, at my board." the king rose in great disorder; and, after pacing the room some moments, disregardful of the silent and scared looks of his churchmen, waved his hand, in sign to them to depart. all took the hint at once save alred; but he, lingering the last, approached the king with dignity in his step and compassion in his eyes. "banish from thy breast, o king and son, thoughts unmeet, and of doubtful charity! all that man could know of godwin's innocence or guilt--the suspicion of the vulgar--the acquittal of his peers--was known to thee before thou didst seek his aid for thy throne, and didst take his child for thy wife. too late is it now to suspect; leave thy doubts to the solemn day, which draws nigh to the old man, thy wife's father!" "ha!" said the king, seeming not to heed, or wilfully to misunderstand the prelate, "ha! leave him to god;--i will!" he turned away impatiently; and the prelate reluctantly departed. chapter iv. tostig chafed mightily at the king's message; and, on harold's attempt to pacify him, grew so violent that nothing short of the cold stern command of his father, who carried with him that weight of authority never known but to those in whom wrath is still and passion noiseless, imposed sullen peace on his son's rugged nature. but the taunts heaped by tostig upon harold disquieted the old earl, and his brow was yet sad with prophetic care when he entered the royal apartments. he had been introduced into the king's presence but a moment before hugoline led the way to the chamber of repast, and the greeting between king and earl had been brief and formal. under the canopy of state were placed but two chairs, for the king and the queen's father; and the four sons, harold, tostig, leofwine, and gurth, stood behind. such was the primitive custom of ancient teutonic kings; and the feudal norman monarchs only enforced, though with more pomp and more rigour, the ceremonial of the forest patriarchs--youth to wait on age, and the ministers of the realm on those whom their policy had made chiefs in council and war. the earl's mind, already embittered by the scene with his sons, was chafed yet more by the king's unloving coldness; for it is natural to man, however worldly, to feel affection for those he has served, and godwin had won edward his crown; nor, despite his warlike though bloodless return, could even monk or norman, in counting up the old earl's crimes, say that he had ever failed in personal respect to the king he had made; nor over-great for subject, as the earl's power must be confessed, will historian now be found to say that it had not been well for saxon england if godwin had found more favour with his king, and monk and norman less. [ ] so the old earl's stout heart was stung, and he looked from those deep, impenetrable eyes, mournfully upon edward's chilling brow. and harold, with whom all household ties were strong, but to whom his great father was especially dear, watched his face and saw that it was very flushed. but the practised courtier sought to rally his spirits, and to smile and jest. from smile and jest, the king turned and asked for wine. harold, starting, advanced with the goblet; as he did so, he stumbled with one foot, but lightly recovered himself with the other; and tostig laughed scornfully at harold's awkwardness. the old earl observed both stumble and laugh, and willing to suggest a lesson to both his sons, said--laughing pleasantly--"lo, harold, how the left foot saves the right!--so one brother, thou seest, helps the other!" [ ] king edward looked up suddenly. "and so, godwin, also, had my brother alfred helped me, hadst thou permitted." the old earl, galled to the quick, gazed a moment on the king, and his cheek was purple, and his eyes seemed bloodshot. "o edward!" he exclaimed, "thou speakest to me hardly and unkindly of thy brother alfred, and often hast thou thus more than hinted that i caused his death." the king made no answer. "may this crumb of bread choke me," said the earl, in great emotion, "if i am guilty of thy brother's blood!" [ ] but scarcely had the bread touched his lips, when his eyes fixed, the long warning symptoms were fulfilled. and he fell to the ground, under the table, sudden and heavy, smitten by the stroke of apoplexy. harold and gurth sprang forward; they drew their father from the ground. his face, still deep-red with streaks of purple, rested on harold's breast; and the son, kneeling, called in anguish on his father: the ear was deaf. then said the king, rising: "it is the hand of god: remove him!" and he swept from the room, exulting. chapter v. for five days and five nights did godwin lie speechless [ ]. and harold watched over him night and day. and the leaches [ ] would not bleed him, because the season was against it, in the increase of the moon and the tides; but they bathed his temples with wheat flour boiled in milk, according to a prescription which an angel in a dream [ ] had advised to another patient; and they placed a plate of lead on his breast, marked with five crosses, saying a paternoster over each cross; together with other medical specifics in great esteem [ ]. but, nevertheless, five days and five nights did godwin lie speechless; and the leaches then feared that human skill was in vain. the effect produced on the court, not more by the earl's death-stroke than the circumstances preceding it, was such as defies description. with godwin's old comrades in arms it was simple and honest grief; but with all those under the influence of the priests, the event was regarded as a direct punishment from heaven. the previous words of the king, repeated by edward to his monks, circulated from lip to lip, with sundry exaggerations as it travelled: and the superstition of the day had the more excuse, inasmuch as the speech of godwin touched near upon the defiance of one of the most popular ordeals of the accused,-- viz. that called the "corsned," in which a piece of bread was given to the supposed criminal; if he swallowed it with ease he was innocent; if it stuck in his throat, or choked him, nay, if he shook and turned pale, he was guilty. godwin's words had appeared to invite the ordeal, god had heard and stricken down the presumptuous perjurer! unconscious, happily, of these attempts to blacken the name of his dying father, harold, towards the grey dawn succeeding the fifth night, thought that he heard godwin stir in his bed. so he put aside the curtain, and bent over him. the old earl's eyes were wide open, and the red colour had gone from his cheeks, so that he was pale as death. "how fares it, dear father?" asked harold. godwin smiled fondly, and tried to speak, but his voice died in a convulsive rattle. lifting himself up, however, with an effort, he pressed tenderly the hand that clasped his own, leant his head on harold's breast, and so gave up the ghost. when harold was at last aware that the struggle was over, he laid the grey head gently on the pillow; he closed the eyes, and kissed the lips, and knelt down and prayed. then, seating himself at a little distance, he covered his face with his mantle. at this time his brother gurth, who had chiefly shared watch with harold,--for tostig, foreseeing his father's death, was busy soliciting thegn and earl to support his own claims to the earldom about to be vacant; and leofwine had gone to london on the previous day to summon githa who was hourly expected--gurth, i say, entered the room on tiptoe, and seeing his brother's attitude, guessed that all was over. he passed on to the table, took up the lamp, and looked long on his father's face. that strange smile of the dead, common alike to innocent and guilty, had already settled on the serene lips; and that no less strange transformation from age to youth, when the wrinkles vanish, and the features come out clear and sharp from the hollows of care and years, had already begun. and the old man seemed sleeping in his prime. so gurth kissed the dead, as harold had done before him, and came up and sate himself by his brother's feet, and rested his head on harold's knee; nor would he speak till, appalled by the long silence of the earl, he drew away the mantle from his brother's face with a gentle hand, and the large tears were rolling down harold's cheeks. "be soothed, my brother," said gurth; "our father has lived for glory, his age was prosperous, and his years more than those which the psalmist allots to man. come and look on his face, harold, its calm will comfort thee." harold obeyed the hand that led him like a child; in passing towards the bed, his eye fell upon the cyst which hilda had given to the old earl, and a chill shot through his veins. "gurth," said he, "is not this the morning of the sixth day in which we have been at the king's court?" "it is the morning of the sixth day." then harold took forth the key which hilda had given him, and unlocked the cyst, and there lay the white winding-sheet of the dead, and a scroll. harold took the scroll, and bent over it, reading by the mingled light of the lamp and the dawn: "all hail, harold, heir of godwin the great, and githa the king-born! thou hast obeyed hilda, and thou knowest now that hilda's eyes read the future, and her lips speak the dark words of truth. bow thy heart to the vala, and mistrust the wisdom that sees only the things of the daylight. as the valour of the warrior and the song of the scald, so is the lore of the prophetess. it is not of the body, it is soul within soul; it marshals events and men, like the valour--it moulds the air into substance, like the song. bow thy heart to the vala. flowers bloom over the grave of the dead. and the young plant soars high, when the king of the woodland lies low!" chapter vi. the sun rose, and the stairs and passages without were filled with the crowds that pressed to hear news of the earl's health. the doors stood open, and gurth led in the multitude to look their last on the hero of council and camp, who had restored with strong hand and wise brain the race of cerdic to the saxon throne. harold stood by the bed-head silent, and tears were shed and sobs were heard. and many a thegn who had before half believed in the guilt of godwin as the murderer of alfred, whispered in gasps to his neighbour: "there is no weregeld for manslaying on the head of him who smiles so in death on his old comrades in life!" last of all lingered leofric, the great earl of mercia; and when the rest had departed, he took the pale hand, that lay heavy on the coverlid, in his own, and said: "old foe, often stood we in witan and field against each other; but few are the friends for whom leofric would mourn as he mourns for thee. peace to thy soul! whatever its sins, england should judge thee mildly, for england beat in each pulse of thy heart, and with thy greatness was her own!" then harold stole round the bed, and put his arms round leofric's neck, and embraced him. the good old earl was touched, and he laid his tremulous hands on harold's brown locks and blessed him. "harold," he said, "thou succeedest to thy father's power: let thy father's foes be thy friends. wake from thy grief, for thy country now demands thee,--the honour of thy house, and the memory of the dead. many even now plot against thee and thine. seek the king, demand as thy right thy father's earldom, and leofric will back thy claim in the witan." harold pressed leofric's hand, and raising it to his lips replied: "be our houses at peace henceforth and for ever." tostig's vanity indeed misled him, when he dreamed that any combination of godwin's party could meditate supporting his claims against the popular harold--nor less did the monks deceive themselves, when they supposed that, with godwin's death, the power of his family would fall. there was more than even the unanimity of the chiefs of the witan, in favour of harold; there was that universal noiseless impression throughout all england, danish and saxon, that harold was now the sole man on whom rested the state--which, whenever it so favours one individual, is irresistible. nor was edward himself hostile to harold, whom alone of that house, as we have before said, he esteemed and loved. harold was at once named earl of wessex; and relinquishing the earldom he held before, he did not hesitate as to the successor to be recommended in his place. conquering all jealousy and dislike for algar, he united the strength of his party in favour of the son of leofric, and the election fell upon him. with all his hot errors, the claims of no other earl, whether from his own capacities or his father's services, were so strong; and his election probably saved the state from a great danger, in the results of that angry mood and that irritated ambition with which he had thrown himself into the arms of england's most valiant aggressor, gryffyth, king of north wales. to outward appearance, by this election, the house of leofric--uniting in father and son the two mighty districts of mercia and the east anglians--became more powerful than that of godwin; for, in that last house, harold was now the only possessor of one of the great earldoms, and tostig and the other brothers had no other provision beyond the comparatively insignificant lordships they held before. but if harold had ruled no earldom at all, he had still been immeasurably the first man in england--so great was the confidence reposed in his valour and wisdom. he was of that height in himself, that he needed no pedestal to stand on. the successor of the first great founder of a house succeeds to more than his predecessor's power, if he but know how to wield and maintain it. for who makes his way to greatness without raising foes at every step? and who ever rose to power supreme, without grave cause for blame? but harold stood free from the enmities his father had provoked, and pure from the stains that slander or repute cast upon his father's name. the sun of the yesterday had shone through cloud; the sun of the day rose in a clear firmament. even tostig recognised the superiority of his brother; and after a strong struggle between baffled rage and covetous ambition, yielded to him, as to a father. he felt that all godwin's house was centred in harold alone; and that only from his brother (despite his own daring valour and despite his alliance with the blood of charlemagne and alfred, through the sister of matilda, the norman duchess,) could his avarice of power be gratified. "depart to thy home, my brother," said earl harold to tostig, "and grieve not that algar is preferred to thee. for, even had his claim been less urgent, ill would it have beseemed us to arrogate the lordships of all england as our dues. rule thy lordship with wisdom: gain the love of thy lithsmen. high claims hast thou in our father's name, and moderation now will but strengthen thee in the season to come. trust on harold somewhat, on thyself more. thou hast but to add temper and judgment to valour and zeal, to be worthy mate of the first earl in england. over my father's corpse i embraced my father's foe. between brother and brother shall there not be love, as the best bequest of the dead?" "it shall not be my fault, if there be not," answered tostig, humbled though chafed. and he summoned his men and returned to his domains. chapter vii. fair, broad, and calm set the sun over the western woodlands. hilda stood on the mound, and looked with undazzled eyes on the sinking orb. beside her, edith reclined on the sward, and seemed with idle hand tracing characters in the air. the girl had grown paler still, since harold last parted from her on the same spot, and the same listless and despondent apathy stamped her smileless lips and her bended head. "see, child of my heart," said hilda, addressing edith, while she still gazed on the western luminary, "see, the sun goes down to the far deeps, where rana and aegir [ ] watch over the worlds of the sea; but with morning he comes from the halls of the asas--the golden gates of the east--and joy comes in his train. and yet then thinkest, sad child, whose years have scarce passed into woman, that the sun, once set, never comes back to life. but even while we speak, thy morning draws near, and the dunness of cloud takes the hues of the rose!" edith's hand paused from its vague employment, and fell droopingly on her knee;--she turned with an unquiet and anxious eye to hilda, and after looking some moments wistfully at the vala, the colour rose to her cheek, and she said in a voice that had an accent half of anger: "hilda, thou art cruel!" "so is fate!" answered the vala. "but men call not fate cruel when it smiles on their desires. why callest thou hilda cruel, when she reads in the setting sun the runes of thy coming joy!" "there is no joy for me," returned edith, plaintively; and i have that on my heart," she added, with a sudden and almost fierce change of tone, "which at last i will dare to speak. i reproach thee, hilda, that thou hast marred all my life, that thou hast duped me with dreams, and left me alone in despair." "speak on," said hilda, calmly, as a nurse to a froward child. "hast thou not told me, from the first dawn of my wondering reason, that my life and lot were inwoven with--with (the word, mad and daring, must out)--with those of harold the peerless? but for that, which my infancy took from thy lips as a law, i had never been so vain and so frantic! i had never watched each play of his face, and treasured each word from his lips; i had never made my life but part of his life--all my soul but the shadow of his sun. but for that, i had hailed the calm of the cloister--but for that, i had glided in peace to my grave. and now--now, o hilda--" edith paused, and that break had more eloquence than any words she could command. "and," she resumed quickly, "thou knowest that these hopes were but dreams--that the law ever stood between him and me--and that it was guilt to love him." "i knew the law," answered hilda, "but the law of fools is to the wise as the cobweb swung over the brake to the wing of the bird. ye are sibbe to each other, some five times removed; and therefore an old man at rome saith that ye ought not to wed. when the shavelings obey the old man at home, and put aside their own wives and frillas [ ], and abstain from the wine cup, and the chase, and the brawl, i will stoop to hear of their laws,--with disrelish it may be, but without scorn. [ ] it is no sin to love harold; and no monk and no law shall prevent your union on the day appointed to bring ye together, form and heart." "hilda! hilda! madden me not with joy," cried edith, starting up in rapturous emotion, her young face dyed with blushes, and all her renovated beauty so celestial that hilda herself was almost awed, as if by the vision of freya, the northern venus, charmed by a spell from the halls of asgard. "but that day is distant," renewed the vala. "what matters! what matters!" cried the pure child of nature; "i ask but hope. enough,--oh! enough, if we were but wedded on the borders of the grave!" "lo, then," said hilda, "behold, the sun of thy life dawns again!" as she spoke, the vala stretched her arm, and through the intersticed columns of the fane, edith saw the large shadow of a man cast over the still sward. presently into the space of the circle came harold, her beloved. his face was pale with grief yet recent; but, perhaps, more than ever, dignity was in his step and command on his brow, for he felt that now alone with him rested the might of saxon england. and what royal robe so invests with imperial majesty the form of a man as the grave sense of power responsible, in an earnest soul? "thou comest," said hilda, "in the hour i predicted; at the setting of the sun and the rising of the star." "vala," said harold, gloomily, "i will not oppose my sense to thy prophecies; for who shall judge of that power of which he knows not the elements? or despise the marvel of which he cannot detect the imposture? but leave me, i pray thee, to walk in the broad light of the common day. these hands are made to grapple with things palpable, and these eyes to measure the forms that front my way. in my youth, i turned in despair or disgust from the subtleties of the schoolmen, which split upon hairs the brains of lombard and frank; in my busy and stirring manhood entangle me not in the meshes which confuse all my reason, and sicken my waking thoughts into dreams of awe. mine be the straight path and the plain goal!" the vala gazed on him with an earnest look, that partook of admiration, and yet more of gloom; but she spoke not, and harold resumed: "let the dead rest, hilda,--proud names with glory on earth and shadows escaped from our ken, submissive to mercy in heaven. a vast chasm have my steps overleapt since we met, o hilda--sweet edith; a vast chasm, but a narrow grave." his voice faltered a moment, and again he renewed,--" thou weepest, edith; ah, how thy tears console me! hilda, hear me! i love thy grandchild--loved her by irresistible instinct since her blue eyes first smiled on mine. i loved her in her childhood, as in her youth--in the blossom as in the flower. and thy grandchild loves me. the laws of the church proscribe our marriage, and therefore we parted; but i feel, and thine edith feels, that the love remains as strong in absence: no other will be her wedded lord, no other my wedded wife. therefore, with heart made soft by sorrow, and, in my father's death, sole lord of my fate, i return, and say to thee in her presence, 'suffer us to hope still!' the day may come when under some king less enthralled than edward by formal church laws, we may obtain from the pope absolution for our nuptials--a day, perhaps, far off; but we are both young, and love is strong and patient: we can wait." "o harold," exclaimed edith, "we can wait!" "have i not told thee, son of godwin," said the vala, solemnly, "that edith's skein of life was inwoven with thine? dost thou deem that my charms have not explored the destiny of the last of my race? know that it is in the decrees of the fates that ye are to be united, never more to be divided. know that there shall come a day, though i can see not its morrow, and it lies dim and afar, which shall be the most glorious of thy life, and on which edith and fame shall be thine,--the day of thy nativity, on which hitherto all things have prospered with thee. in vain against the stars preach the mone and the priest: what shall be, shall be. wherefore, take hope and joy, o children of time! and now, as i join your hands, i betroth your souls." rapture unalloyed and unprophetic, born of love deep and pure, shone in the eyes of harold, as he clasped the hand of his promised bride. but an involuntary and mysterious shudder passed over edith's frame, and she leant close, close, for support upon harold's breast. and, as if by a vision, there rose distinct in her memory a stern brow, a form of power and terror--the brow and the form of him who but once again in her waking life the prophetess had told her she should behold. the vision passed away in the warm clasp of those protecting arms; and looking up into harold's face, she there beheld the mighty and deep delight that transfused itself at once into her own soul. then hilda, placing one hand over their heads, and raising the other towards heaven, all radiant with bursting stars, said in her deep and thrilling tones: "attest the betrothal of these young hearts, o ye powers that draw nature to nature by spells which no galdra can trace, and have wrought in the secrets of creation no mystery so perfect as love,--attest it, thou temple, thou altar!--attest it, o sun and o air! while the forms are divided, may the souls cling together--sorrow with sorrow, and joy with joy. and when, at length, bride and bridegroom are one,--o stars, may the trouble with which ye are charged have exhausted its burthen; may no danger molest, and no malice disturb, but, over the marriage-bed, shine in peace, o ye stars!" up rose the moon. may's nightingale called its mate from the breathless boughs; and so edith and harold were betrothed by the grave of the son of cerdic. and from the line of cerdic had come, since ethelbert, all the saxon kings who with sword and with sceptre had reigned over saxon england. this ebook was produced by tapio riikonen and david widger book ii. lanfranc the scholar. chapter i. four meals a day, nor those sparing, were not deemed too extravagant an interpretation of the daily bread for which the saxon prayed. four meals a day, from earl to ceorl! "happy times!" may sigh the descendant of the last, if he read these pages; partly so they were for the ceorl, but not in all things, for never sweet is the food, and never gladdening is the drink, of servitude. inebriety, the vice of the warlike nations of the north, had not, perhaps, been the pre- eminent excess of the earlier saxons, while yet the active and fiery britons, and the subsequent petty wars between the kings of the heptarchy, enforced on hardy warriors the safety of temperance; but the example of the danes had been fatal. those giants of the sea, like all who pass from great vicissitudes of toil and repose, from the tempest to the haven, snatched with full hands every pleasure in their reach. with much that tended permanently to elevate the character of the saxon, they imparted much for a time to degrade it. the anglian learned to feast to repletion, and drink to delirium. but such were not the vices of the court of the confessor. brought up from his youth in the cloister-camp of the normans, what he loved in their manners was the abstemious sobriety, and the ceremonial religion, which distinguished those sons of the scandinavian from all other kindred tribes. the norman position in france, indeed, in much resembled that of the spartan in greece. he had forced a settlement with scanty numbers in the midst of a subjugated and sullen population, surrounded by jealous and formidable foes. hence sobriety was a condition of his being, and the policy of the chief lent a willing ear to the lessons of the preacher. like the spartan, every norman of pure race was free and noble; and this consciousness inspired not only that remarkable dignity of mien which spartan and norman alike possessed, but also that fastidious self-respect which would have revolted from exhibiting a spectacle of debasement to inferiors. and, lastly, as the paucity of their original numbers, the perils that beset, and the good fortune that attended them, served to render the spartans the most religious of all the greeks in their dependence on the divine aid; so, perhaps, to the same causes may be traced the proverbial piety of the ceremonial normans; they carried into their new creed something of feudal loyalty to their spiritual protectors; did homage to the virgin for the lands that she vouchsafed to bestow, and recognised in st. michael the chief who conducted their armies. after hearing the complin vespers in the temporary chapel fitted up in that unfinished abbey of westminster, which occupied the site of the temple of apollo [ ], the king and his guests repaired to their evening meal in the great hall of the palace. below the dais were ranged three long tables for the knights in william's train, and that flower of the saxon nobility who, fond, like all youth, of change and imitation, thronged the court of their normanised saint, and scorned the rude patriotism of their fathers. but hearts truly english were not there. yea, many of godwin's noblest foes sighed for the english- hearted earl, banished by norman guile on behalf of english law. at the oval table on the dais the guests were select and chosen. at the right hand of the king sat william; at the left odo of bayeux. over these three stretched a canopy of cloth of gold; the chairs on which each sate were of metal, richly gilded over, and the arms carved in elaborate arabesques. at this table too was the king's nephew, the earl of hereford, and, in right of kinsmanship to the duke, the norman's beloved baron and grand seneschal, william fitzosborne, who, though in normandy even he sate not at the duke's table, was, as related to his lord, invited by edward to his own. no other guests were admitted to this board, so that, save edward, all were norman. the dishes were of gold and silver, the cups inlaid with jewels. before each guest was a knife, with hilt adorned by precious stones, and a napkin fringed with silver. the meats were not placed on the table, but served upon small spits, and between every course a basin of perfumed water was borne round by high-born pages. no dame graced the festival; for she who should have presided--she, matchless for beauty without pride, piety without asceticism, and learning without pedantry--she, the pale rose of england, loved daughter of godwin, and loathed wife of edward, had shared in the fall of her kindred, and had been sent by the meek king, or his fierce counsellors, to an abbey in hampshire, with the taunt "that it was not meet that the child and sister should enjoy state and pomp, while the sire and brethren ate the bread of the stranger in banishment and disgrace." but, hungry as were the guests, it was not the custom of that holy court to fall to without due religious ceremonial. the rage for psalm-singing was then at its height in england; psalmody had excluded almost every other description of vocal music; and it is even said that great festivals on certain occasions were preluded by no less an effort of lungs and memory than the entire songs bequeathed to us by king david! this day, however, hugoline, edward's norman chamberlain, had been pleased to abridge the length of the prolix grace, and the company were let off; to edward's surprise and displeasure, with the curt and unseemly preparation of only nine psalms and one special hymn in honour of some obscure saint to whom the day was dedicated. this performed, the guests resumed their seats, edward murmuring an apology to william for the strange omission of his chamberlain, and saying thrice to himself, "naught, naught--very naught." the mirth languished at the royal table, despite some gay efforts from rolf, and some hollow attempts at light-hearted cheerfulness from the great duke, whose eyes, wandering down the table, were endeavouring to distinguish saxon from norman, and count how many of the first might already be reckoned in the train of his friends. but at the long tables below, as the feast thickened, and ale, mead, pigment, morat, and wine circled round, the tongue of the saxon was loosed, and the norman knight lost somewhat of his superb gravity. it was just as what a danish poet called the "sun of the night," (in other words, the fierce warmth of the wine,) had attained its meridian glow, that some slight disturbance at the doors of the hall, without which waited a dense crowd of the poor on whom the fragments of the feast were afterwards to be bestowed, was followed by the entrance of two strangers, for whom the officers appointed to marshal the entertainment made room at the foot of one of the tables. both these new-comers were clad with extreme plainness; one in a dress, though not quite monastic, that of an ecclesiastic of low degree; the other in a long grey mantle and loose gonna, the train of which last was tucked into a broad leathern belt, leaving bare the leggings, which showed limbs of great bulk and sinew, and which were stained by the dust and mire of travel. the first mentioned was slight and small of person; the last was of the height and port of the sons of anak. the countenance of neither could be perceived, for both had let fall the hood, worn by civilians as by priests out of doors, more than half way over their faces. a murmur of great surprise, disdain, and resentment, at the intrusion of strangers so attired circulated round the neighbourhood in which they had been placed, checked for a moment by a certain air of respect which the officer had shown towards both, but especially the taller; but breaking out with greater vivacity from the faint restraint, as the tall man unceremoniously stretched across the board, drew towards himself an immense flagon, which (agreeably to the custom of arranging the feast in "messes" of four) had been specially appropriated to ulf the dane, godrith the saxon, and two young norman knights akin to the puissant lord of grantmesnil,--and having offered it to his comrade, who shook his head, drained it with a gusto that seemed to bespeak him at least no norman, and wiped his lips boorishly with the sleeve of his huge arm. "dainty sir," said one of those norman knights, william mallet, of the house of mallet de graville [ ], as he moved as far from the gigantic intruder as the space on the settle would permit, "forgive the observation that you have damaged my mantle, you have grazed my foot, and you have drunk my wine. and vouchsafe, if it so please you, the face of the man who hath done this triple wrong to william mallet de graville." a kind of laugh--for laugh absolute it was not--rattled under the cowl of the tall stranger, as he drew it still closer over his face, with a hand that might have spanned the breast of his interrogator, and he made a gesture as if he did not understand the question addressed to him. therewith the norman knight, bending with demure courtesy across the board to godrith the saxon, said: "pardex [ ], but this fair guest and seigneur seemeth to me, noble godree (whose name i fear my lips do but rudely enounce) of saxon line and language; our romance tongue he knoweth not. pray you, is it the saxon custom to enter a king's hall so garbed, and drink a knight's wine so mutely?" godrith, a young saxon of considerable rank, but one of the most sedulous of the imitators of the foreign fashions, coloured high at the irony in the knight's speech, and turning rudely to the huge guest, who was now causing immense fragments of pasty to vanish under the cavernous cowl, he said in his native tongue, though with a lisp as if unfamiliar to him-- "if thou beest saxon, shame us not with thy ceorlish manners; crave pardon of this norman thegn, who will doubtless yield it to thee in pity. uncover thy face--and--" here the saxon's rebuke was interrupted; for one of the servitors just then approaching godrith's side with a spit, elegantly caparisoned with some score of plump larks, the unmannerly giant stretched out his arm within an inch of the saxon's startled nose, and possessed himself of larks, broche, and all. he drew off two, which he placed on his friend's platter, despite all dissuasive gesticulations, and deposited the rest upon his own. the young banqueters gazed upon the spectacle in wrath too full for words. at last spoke mallet de graville, with an envious eye upon the larks-- for though a norman was not gluttonous, he was epicurean--"certes, and foi de chevalier! a man must go into strange parts if he wish to see monsters; but we are fortunate people," (and he turned to his norman friend, aymer, quen [ ] or count, d'evreux,) "that we have discovered polyphemus without going so far as ulysses;" and pointing to the hooded giant, he quoted, appropriately enough, "monstrum, horrendum, informe, ingens, cui lumen ademptum." the giant continued to devour his larks, as complacently as the ogre to whom he was likened might have devoured the greeks in his cave. but his fellow intruder seemed agitated by the sound of the latin; he lifted up his head suddenly, and showed lips glistening with white even teeth, and curved into an approving smile, while he said: "bene, me fili! bene, lepidissime, poetae verba, in militis ore, non indecora sonant." [ ] the young norman stared at the speaker, and replied, in the same tone of grave affectation: "courteous sir! the approbation of an ecclesiastic so eminent as i take you to be, from the modesty with which you conceal your greatness, cannot fail to draw upon me the envy of my english friends; who are accustomed to swear in verba magistri, only for verba they learnedly substitute vina." "you are pleasant, sire mallet," said godrith, reddening; "but i know well that latin is only fit for monks and shavelings; and little enow even they have to boast of." the norman's lip curled in disdain. "latin!--o, godree, bien aime!-- latin is the tongue of caesars and senators, fortes conquerors and preux chevaliers. knowest thou not that duke william the dauntless at eight years old had the comments of julius caesar by heart?--and that it is his saying, that 'a king without letters is a crowned ass?' [ ] when the king is an ass, asinine are his subjects. wherefore go to school, speak respectfully of thy betters, the monks and shavelings, who with us are often brave captains and sage councillors,--and learn that a full head makes a weighty hand." "thy name, young knight?" said the ecclesiastic, in norman french, though with a slight foreign accent. "i can give it thee," said the giant, speaking aloud for the first time, in the same language, and in a rough voice, which a quick ear might have detected as disguised,--"i can describe to thee name, birth, and quality. by name, this youth is guillaume mallet, sometimes styled de graville, because our norman gentilhommes, forsooth, must always now have a 'de' tacked to their names; nevertheless he hath no other right to the seigneurie of graville, which appertains to the head of his house, than may be conferred by an old tower on one corner of the demesnes so designated, with lands that would feed one horse and two villeins--if they were not in pawn to a jew for moneys to buy velvet mantelines and a chain of gold. by birth, he comes from mallet [ ], a bold norwegian in the fleet of rou the sea-king; his mother was a frank woman, from whom he inherits his best possessions--videlicet, a shrewd wit, and a railing tongue. his qualities are abstinence, for he eateth nowhere save at the cost of another--some latin, for he was meant for a monk, because he seemed too slight of frame for a warrior--some courage, for in spite of his frame he slew three burgundians with his own hand; and duke william, among their foolish acts, spoilt a friar sans tache, by making a knight sans terre; and for the rest--" "and for the rest," interrupted the sire de graville, turning white with wrath, but speaking in a low repressed voice, "were it not that duke william sate yonder, thou shouldst have six inches of cold steel in thy huge carcase to digest thy stolen dinner, and silence thy unmannerly tongue.--" "for the rest," continued the giant indifferently, and as if he had not heard the interruption; "for the rest, he only resembles achilles, in being impiger iracundus. big men can quote latin as well as little ones, messire mallet the beau clerc!" mallet's hand was on his dagger; and his eye dilated like that of the panther before he springs; but fortunately, at that moment, the deep sonorous voice of william, accustomed to send its sounds down the ranks of an army, rolled clear through the assemblage, though pitched little above its ordinary key:-- "fair is your feast, and bright your wine, sir king and brother mine! but i miss here what king and knight hold as the salt of the feast and the perfume to the wine: the lay of the minstrel. beshrew me, but both saxon and norman are of kindred stock, and love to hear in hall and bower the deeds of their northern fathers. crave i therefore from your gleemen, or harpers, some song of the olden time!" a murmur of applause went through the norman part of the assembly; the saxons looked up; and some of the more practised courtiers sighed wearily, for they knew well what ditties alone were in favour with the saintly edward. the low voice of the king in reply was not heard, but those habituated to read his countenance in its very faint varieties of expression, might have seen that it conveyed reproof; and its purport soon became practically known, when a lugubrious prelude was heard from a quarter of the hall, in which sate certain ghost-like musicians in white robes--white as winding-sheets; and forthwith a dolorous and dirgelike voice chaunted a long and most tedious recital of the miracles and martyrdom of some early saint. so monotonous was the chaunt, that its effect soon became visible in a general drowsiness. and when edward, who alone listened with attentive delight, turned towards the close to gather sympathising admiration from his distinguished guests, he saw his nephew yawning as if his jaw were dislocated--the bishop of bayeux, with his well-ringed fingers interlaced and resting on his stomach, fast asleep--fitzosborne's half-shaven head balancing to and fro with many an uneasy start--and, william, wide awake indeed, but with eyes fixed on vacant space, and his soul far away from the gridiron to which (all other saints be praised!) the saint of the ballad had at last happily arrived. "a comforting and salutary recital, count william," said the king. the duke started from his reverie, and bowed his head: then said, rather abruptly, "is not yon blazon that of king alfred?" "yea. wherefore?" "hem! matilda of flanders is in direct descent from alfred: it is a name and a line the saxons yet honour!" "surely, yes; alfred was a great man, and reformed the psalmster," replied edward. the dirge ceased, but so benumbing had been its effect, that the torpor it created did not subside with the cause. there was a dead and funereal silence throughout the spacious hall, when suddenly, loudly, mightily, as the blast of the trumpet upon the hush of the grave, rose a single voice. all started--all turned--all looked to one direction; and they saw that the great voice pealed from the farthest end of the hall. from under his gown the gigantic stranger had drawn a small three-stringed instrument--somewhat resembling the modern lute--and thus he sang,-- the ballad of rou. [ ] i. from blois to senlis, wave by wave, roll'd on the norman flood, and frank on frank went drifting down the weltering tide of blood; there was not left in all the land a castle wall to fire, and not a wife but wailed a lord, a child but mourned a sire. to charles the king, the mitred monks, the mailed barons flew, while, shaking earth, behind them strode the thunder march of rou. ii. "o king," then cried those barons bold, "in vain are mace and mail, we fall before the norman axe, as corn before the hail." "and vainly," cried the pious monks, "by mary's shrine we kneel, for prayers, like arrows, glance aside, against the norman teel." the barons groaned, the shavelings wept, while near and nearer drew, as death-birds round their scented feast, the raven flags of rou. iii. then said king charles, "where thousands fail, what king can stand alone, the strength of kings is in the men that gather round the throne. when war dismays my barons bold, 'tis time for war to cease; when heaven forsakes my pious monks, the will of heaven is peace. go forth, my monks, with mass and rood the norman camp unto, and to the fold, with shepherd crook, entice this grisly rou." iv. "i'll give him all the ocean coast, from michael mount to eure, and gille, my child, shall be his bride, to bind him fast and sure: let him but kiss the christian cross, and sheathe the heathen sword, and hold the lands i cannot keep, a fief from charles his lord." forth went the pastors of the church, the shepherd's work to do, and wrap the golden fleece around the tiger loins of rou. v. psalm-chanting came the shaven monks, within the camp of dread; amidst his warriors, norman rou stood taller by the head. out spoke the frank archbishop then, a priest devout and sage, "when peace and plenty wait thy word, what need of war and rage? why waste a land as fair as aught beneath the arch of blue, which might be thine to sow and reap?"--thus saith the king to rou. vi. "'i'll give thee all the ocean coast, from michael mount to eure, and gille, my fairest child, as bride, to bind thee fast and sure; if then but kneel to christ our god, and sheathe thy paynim sword, and hold thy land, the church's son, a fief from charles thy lord." the norman on his warriors looked--to counsel they withdrew; the saints took pity on the franks, and moved the soul of rou. vii. so back he strode and thus he spoke, to that archbishop meek: "i take the land thy king bestows from eure to michael-peak, i take the maid, or foul or fair, a bargain with the toast, and for thy creed, a sea-king's gods are those that give the most. so hie thee back, and tell thy chief to make his proffer true, and he shall find a docile son, and ye a saint in rou." viii. so o'er the border stream of epte came rou the norman, where, begirt with barons, sat the king, enthroned at green st. clair; he placed his hand in charles's hand,--loud shouted all the throng, but tears were in king charles's eyes--the grip of rou was strong. "now kiss the foot," the bishop said, "that homage still is due;" then dark the frown and stern the smile of that grim convert, rou. ix. he takes the foot, as if the foot to slavish lips to bring; the normans scowl; he tilts the throne, and backwards falls the king. loud laugh the joyous norman men--pale stare the franks aghast; and rou lifts up his head as from the wind springs up the mast; "i said i would adore a god, but not a mortal too; the foot that fled before a foe let cowards kiss!" said rou. no words can express the excitement which this rough minstrelsy-- marred as it is by our poor translation from the romance-tongue in which it was chanted--produced amongst the norman guests; less perhaps, indeed, the song itself, than the recognition of the minstrel; and as he closed, from more than a hundred voices came the loud murmur, only subdued from a shout by the royal presence, "taillefer, our norman taillefer!" "by our joint saint, peter, my cousin the king," exclaimed william, after a frank cordial laugh; "well i wot, no tongue less free than my warrior minstrel's could have so shocked our ears. excuse his bold theme, for the sake of his bold heart, i pray thee; and since i know well" (here the duke's face grew grave and anxious) "that nought save urgent and weighty news from my stormy realm could have brought over this rhyming petrel, permit the officer behind me to lead hither a bird, i fear, of omen as well as of song." "whatever pleases thee, pleases me," said edward, drily; and he gave the order to the attendant. in a few moments, up the space in the hall, between either table, came the large stride of the famous minstrel, preceded by the officer and followed by the ecclesiastic. the hoods of both were now thrown back, and discovered countenances in strange contrast, but each equally worthy of the attention it provoked. the face of the minstrel was open and sunny as the day; and that of the priest, dark and close as night. thick curls of deep auburn (the most common colour for the locks of the norman) wreathed in careless disorder round taillefer's massive unwrinkled brow. his eye, of light hazel, was bold and joyous; mirth, though sarcastic and sly, mantled round his lips. his whole presence was at once engaging and heroic. on the other hand, the priest's cheek was dark and sallow; his features singularly delicate and refined; his forehead high, but somewhat narrow, and crossed with lines of thought; his mien composed, modest, but not without calm self-confidence. amongst that assembly of soldiers, noiseless, self-collected, and conscious of his surpassing power over swords and mail, moved the scholar. william's keen eye rested on the priest with some surprise, not unmixed with pride and ire; but first addressing taillefer, who now gained the foot of the dais, he said, with a familiarity almost fond: "now, by're lady, if thou bringest not ill news, thy gay face, man, is pleasanter to mine eyes that thy rough song to my ears. kneel, taillefer, kneel to king edward, and with more address, rogue, than our unlucky countryman to king charles." but edward, as ill-liking the form of the giant as the subject of his lay, said, pushing back his seat as far as he could: "nay, nay, we excuse thee, we excuse thee, tall man." nevertheless, the minstrel still knelt, and so, with a look of profound humility, did the priest. then both slowly rose, and at a sign from the duke, passed to the other side of the table, standing behind fitzosborne's chair. "clerk," said william, eying deliberately the sallow face of the ecclesiastic; "i know thee of old; and if the church have sent me an envoy, per la resplendar de, it should have sent me at least an abbot." "hein, hein!" said taillefer, bluntly, "vex not my bon camarade, count of the normans. gramercy, thou wilt welcome him, peradventure, better than me; for the singer tells but of discord, and the sage may restore the harmony." "ha!" said the duke, and the frown fell so dark over his eyes that the last seemed only visible by two sparks of fire. "i guess, my proud vavasours are mutinous. retire, thou and thy comrade. await me in my chamber. the feast shall not flag in london because the wind blows a gale in rouen." the two envoys, since so they seemed, bowed in silence and withdrew. "nought of ill-tidings, i trust," said edward, who had not listened to the whispered communications that had passed between the duke and his subjects. "no schism in thy church? the clerk seemed a peaceful man, and a humble." "an there were schism in my church," said the fiery duke, "my brother of bayeux would settle it by arguments as close as the gap between cord and throttle." "ah! thou art, doubtless, well read in the canons, holy odo!" said the king, turning to the bishop with more respect than he had yet evinced towards that gentle prelate. "canons, yes, seigneur, i draw them up myself for my flock conformably with such interpretations of the roman church as suit best with the norman realm: and woe to deacon, monk, or abbot, who chooses to misconstrue them." [ ] the bishop looked so truculent and menacing, while his fancy thus conjured up the possibility of heretical dissent, that edward shrank from him as he had done from taillefer; and in a few minutes after, on exchange of signals between himself and the duke, who, impatient to escape, was too stately to testify that desire, the retirement of the royal party broke up the banquet; save, indeed, that a few of the elder saxons, and more incorrigible danes, still steadily kept their seats, and were finally dislodged from their later settlements on the stone floors, to find themselves, at dawn, carefully propped in a row against the outer walls of the palace, with their patient attendants, holding links, and gazing on their masters with stolid envy, if not of the repose at least of the drugs that had caused it. chapter ii. "and now," said william, reclining on a long and narrow couch, with raised carved work all round it like a box (the approved fashion of a bed in those days), "now, sire taillefer--thy news." there were then in the duke's chamber, the count fitzosborne, lord of breteuil, surnamed "the proud spirit"--who, with great dignity, was holding before the brazier the ample tunic of linen (called dormitorium in the latin of that time, and night-rail in the saxon tongue) in which his lord was to robe his formidable limbs for repose [ ],--taillefer, who stood erect before the duke as a roman sentry at his post,--and the ecclesiastic, a little apart, with arms gathered under his gown, and his bright dark eyes fixed on the ground. "high and puissant, my liege," then said taillefer, gravely, and with a shade of sympathy on his large face, "my news is such as is best told briefly: bunaz, count d'eu and descendant of richard sanspeur, hath raised the standard of revolt." "go on," said the duke, clenching his hand. "henry, king of the french, is treating with the rebel, and stirring up mutiny in thy realm, and pretenders to thy throne." "ha!" said the duke, and his lip quivered; "this is not all." "no, my liege! and the worst is to come. thy uncle mauger, knowing that thy heart is bent on thy speedy nuptials with the high and noble damsel, matilda of flanders, has broken out again in thine absence--is preaching against thee in hall and from pulpit. he declares that such espousals are incestuous, both as within the forbidden degrees, and inasmuch as adele, the lady's mother, was betrothed to thine uncle richard; and mauger menaces excommunication if my liege pursues his suit! [ ] so troubled is the realm, that i, waiting not for debate in council, and fearing sinister ambassage if i did so, took ship from thy port of cherbourg, and have not flagged rein, and scarce broken bread, till i could say to the heir of rolf the founder--save thy realm from the men of mail, and thy bride from the knaves in serge." "ho, ho!" cried william; then bursting forth in full wrath, as he sprang from the couch. "hearest thou this, lord seneschal? seven years, the probation of the patriarch, have i wooed and waited; and lo, in the seventh, does a proud priest say to me, 'wrench the love from thy heart-strings!'--excommunicate me--me--william, the son of robert the devil! ha, by god's splendour, mauger shall live to wish the father stood, in the foul fiend's true likeness, by his side, rather than brave the bent brow of the son!" "dread my lord," said fitzosborne, desisting from his employ, and rising to his feet; "thou knowest that i am thy true friend and leal knight; thou knowest how i have aided thee in this marriage with the lady of flanders, and how gravely i think that what pleases thy fancy will guard thy realm; but rather than brave the order of the church, and the ban of the pope, i would see thee wed to the poorest virgin in normandy." william, who had been pacing the room like an enraged lion in his den, halted in amaze at this bold speech. "this from thee, william fitzosborne!--from thee! i tell thee, that if all the priests in christendom, and all the barons in france, stood between me and my bride, i would hew my way through the midst. foes invade my realm--let them; princes conspire against me--i smile in scorn; subjects mutiny--this strong hand can punish, or this large heart can forgive. all these are the dangers which he who governs men should prepare to meet; but man has a right to his love, as the stag to his hind. and he who wrongs me here, is foe and traitor to me, not as norman duke but as human being. look to it--thou and thy proud barons, look to it!" "proud may thy barons be," said fitzosborne, reddening, and with a brow that quailed not before his lord's; "for they are the sons of those who carved out the realm of the norman, and owned in rou but the feudal chief of free warriors; vassals are not villeins. and that which we hold our duty--whether to church or chief--that, duke william, thy proud barons will doubtless do; nor less, believe me, for threats which, braved in discharge of duty and defence of freedom, we hold as air." the duke gazed on his haughty subject with an eye in which a meaner spirit might have seen its doom. the veins in his broad temples swelled like cords, and a light foam gathered round his quivering lips. but fiery and fearless as william was, not less was he sagacious and profound. in that one man he saw the representative of that superb and matchless chivalry--that race of races--those men of men, in whom the brave acknowledge the highest example of valiant deeds, and the free the manliest assertion of noble thoughts [ ], since the day when the last athenian covered his head with his mantle, and mutely died: and far from being the most stubborn against his will, it was to fitzosborne's paramount influence with the council, that he had often owed their submission to his wishes, and their contributions to his wars. in the very tempest of his wrath, he felt that the blow belonged to strike on that bold head would shiver his ducal throne to the dust. be felt too, that awful indeed was that power of the church which could thus turn against him the heart of his truest knight: and he began (for with all his outward frankness his temper was suspicious) to wrong the great-souled noble by the thought that he might already be won over by the enemies whom mauger had arrayed against his nuptials. therefore, with one of those rare and mighty efforts of that dissimulation which debased his character, but achieved his fortunes, he cleared his brow of its dark cloud, and said in a low voice, that was not without its pathos: "had an angel from heaven forewarned me that william fitzosborne would speak thus to his kinsman and brother in arms, in the hour of need and the agony of passion, i would have disbelieved him. let it pass----" but ere the last word was out of his lips, fitzosborne had fallen on his knees before the duke, and, clasping his hand, exclaimed, while the tears rolled down his swarthy cheek, "pardon, pardon, my liege! when thou speakest thus my heart melts. what thou willest, that will i! church or pope, no matter. send me to flanders; i will bring back thy bride." the slight smile that curved william's lip, showed that he was scarce worthy of that sublime weakness in his friend. but he cordially pressed the hand that grasped his own, and said, "rise; thus should brother speak to brother." then--for his wrath was only concealed, not stifled, and yearned for its vent--his eye fell upon the delicate and thoughtful face of the priest, who had watched this short and stormy conference in profound silence, despite taillefer's whispers to him to interrupt the dispute. "so, priest," he said, "i remember me that when mauger before let loose his rebellious tongue thou didst lend thy pedant learning to eke out his brainless treason. methought that i then banished thee my realm?" "not so, count and seigneur," answered the ecclesiastic, with a grave but arch smile on his lip; "let me remind thee, that to speed me back to my native land thou didst graciously send me a horse, halting on three legs, and all lame on the fourth. thus mounted, i met thee on my road. i saluted thee; so did the beast, for his head well nigh touched the ground. whereon i did ask thee, in a latin play of words, to give me at least a quadruped, not a tripod, for my journey. [ ] gracious, even in ire, and with relenting laugh, was thine answer. my liege, thy words implied banishment--thy laughter pardon. so i stayed." despite his wrath, william could scarce repress a smile; but recollecting himself, he replied, more gravely, "peace with this levity, priest. doubtless thou art the envoy from this scrupulous mauger, or some other of my gentle clergy; and thou comest, as doubtless, with soft words and whining homilies. it is in vain. i hold the church in holy reverence; the pontiff knows it. but matilda of flanders i have wooed; and matilda of flanders shall sit by my side in the halls of rouen, or on the deck of my war-ship, till it anchors on a land worthy to yield a new domain to the son of the sea-king." "in the halls of rouen--and it may be on the throne of england--shall matilda reign by the side of william," said the priest in a clear, low, and emphatic voice; "and it was to tell my lord the duke that i repent me of my first unconsidered obeisance to mauger as my spiritual superior; that since then i have myself examined canon and precedent; and though the letter of the law be against thy spousals, it comes precisely under the category of those alliances to which the fathers of the church accord dispensation:--it is to tell thee this, that i, plain doctor of laws and priest of pavia, have crossed the seas." "ha rou!--ha rou!" cried taillefer, with his usual bluffness, and laughing with great glee, "why wouldst thou not listen to me, monseigneur?" "if thou deceivest me not," said william, in surprise, "and thou canst make good thy words, no prelate in neustria, save odo of bayeux, shall lift his head high as thine." and here william, deeply versed in the science of men, bent his eyes keenly upon the unchanging and earnest face of the speaker. "ah," he burst out, as if satisfied with the survey, "and my mind tells me that thou speakest not thus boldly and calmly without ground sufficient. man, i like thee. thy name? i forget it." "lanfranc of pavia, please you my lord; called some times 'lanfranc the scholar' in thy cloister of bec. nor misdeem me, that i, humble, unmitred priest, should be thus bold. in birth i am noble, and my kindred stand near to the grace of our ghostly pontiff; to the pontiff i myself am not unknown. did i desire honours, in italy i might seek them; it is not so. i crave no guerdon for the service i proffer; none but this--leisure and books in the convent of bec." "sit down--nay, sit, man," said william, greatly interested, but still suspicious. "one riddle only i ask thee to solve, before i give thee all my trust, and place my very heart in thy hands. why, if thou desirest not rewards, shouldst thou thus care to serve me--thou, a foreigner?" a light, brilliant and calm, shone in the eyes of the scholar, and a blush spread over his pale cheeks. "my lord prince, i will answer in plain words. but first permit me to be the questioner." the priest turned towards fitzosborne, who had seated himself on a stool at william's feet, and, leaning his chin on his hand, listened to the ecclesiastic, not more with devotion to his calling, than wonder at the influence one so obscure was irresistibly gaining over his own martial spirit, and william's iron craft. "lovest thou not, william lord of breteuil, lovest thou not fame for the sake of fame?" "sur mon ame--yes!" said the baron. "and thou, taillefer the minstrel, lovest thou not song for the sake of song?" "for song alone," replied the mighty minstrel. "more gold in one ringing rhyme than in all the coffers of christendom." "and marvellest thou, reader of men's hearts," said the scholar, turning once more to william, "that the student loves knowledge for the sake of knowledge? born of high race, poor in purse, and slight of thews, betimes i found wealth in books, and drew strength from lore. i heard of the count of rouen and the normans, as a prince of small domain, with a measureless spirit, a lover of letters, and a captain in war. i came to thy duchy, i noted its subjects and its prince, and the words of themistocles rang in my ear: 'i cannot play the lute, but i can make a small state great.' i felt an interest in thy strenuous and troubled career. i believe that knowledge, to spread amongst the nations, must first find a nursery in the brain of kings; and i saw in the deed-doer, the agent of the thinker. in those espousals, on which with untiring obstinacy thy heart is set, i might sympathise with thee; perchance"--(here a melancholy smile flitted over the student's pale lips), "perchance even as a lover: priest though i be now, and dead to human love, once i loved, and i know what it is to strive in hope, and to waste in despair. but my sympathy, i own, was more given to the prince than to the lover. it was natural that i, priest and foreigner, should obey at first the orders of mauger, archprelate and spiritual chief, and the more so as the law was with him; but when i resolved to stay despite thy sentence which banished me, i resolved to aid thee; for if with mauger was the dead law, with thee was the living cause of man. duke william, on thy nuptials with matilda of flanders rests thy duchy--rest, perchance, the mightier sceptres that are yet to come. thy title disputed, thy principality new and unestablished, thou, above all men, must link thy new race with the ancient line of kings and kaisars. matilda is the descendant of charlemagne and alfred. thy realm is insecure as long as france undermines it with plots, and threatens it with arms. marry the daughter of baldwin--and thy wife is the niece of henry of france --thine enemy becomes thy kinsman, and must, perforce, be thine ally. this is not all; it were strange, looking round this disordered royalty of england--a childless king, who loves thee better than his own blood; a divided nobility, already adopting the fashions of the stranger, and accustomed to shift their faith from saxon to dane, and dane to saxon; a people that has respect indeed for brave chiefs, but, seeing new men rise daily from new houses, has no reverence for ancient lines and hereditary names; with a vast mass of villeins or slaves that have no interest in the land or its rulers; strange, seeing all this, if thy day-dreams have not also beheld a norman sovereign on the throne of saxon england. and thy marriage with the descendant of the best and most beloved prince that ever ruled these realms, if it does not give thee a title to the land, may help to conciliate its affections, and to fix thy posterity in the halls of their mother's kin. have i said eno' to prove why, for the sake of nations, it were wise for the pontiff to stretch the harsh girths of the law? why i might be enabled to prove to the court of rome the policy of conciliating the love, and strengthening the hands, of the norman count, who may so become the main prop of christendom? yea, have i said eno' to prove that the humble clerk can look on mundane matters with the eye of a man who can make small states great?" william remained speechless--his hot blood thrilled with a half superstitious awe; so thoroughly had this obscure lombard divined, detailed all the intricate meshes of that policy with which he himself had interwoven his pertinacious affection for the flemish princess, that it seemed to him as if he listened to the echo of his own heart, or heard from a soothsayer the voice of his most secret thoughts. the priest continued "wherefore, thus considering, i said to myself, now has the time come, lanfranc the lombard, to prove to thee whether thy self-boastings have been a vain deceit, or whether, in this age of iron and amidst this lust of gold, thou, the penniless and the feeble, canst make knowledge and wit of more avail to the destinies of kings than armed men and filled treasuries. i believe in that power. i am ready for the test. pause, judge from what the lord of breteuil hath said to thee, what will be the defection of thy lords if the pope confirm the threatened excommunication of thine uncle? thine armies will rot from thee; thy treasures will be like dry leaves in thy coffers; the duke of bretagne will claim thy duchy as the legitimate heir of thy forefathers; the duke of burgundy will league with the king of france, and march on thy faithless legions under the banner of the church. the handwriting is on the walls, and thy sceptre and thy crown will pass away." william set his teeth firmly, and breathed hard. "but send me to rome, thy delegate, and the thunder of mauger shall fall powerless. marry matilda, bring her to thy halls, place her on thy throne, laugh to scorn the interdict of thy traitor uncle, and rest assured that the pope shall send thee his dispensation to thy spousals, and his benison on thy marriage-bed. and when this be done, duke william, give me not abbacies and prelacies; multiply books, and stablish schools, and bid thy servant found the royalty of knowledge, as thou shalt found the sovereignty of war." the duke, transported from himself, leaped up and embraced the priest with his vast arms; he kissed his cheeks, he kissed his forehead, as, in those days, king kissed king with "the kiss of peace." "lanfranc of pavia," he cried, "whether thou succeed or fail, thou hast my love and gratitude evermore. as thou speakest, would i have spoken, had i been born, framed, and reared as thou. and, verily, when i hear thee, i blush for the boasts of my barbarous pride, that no man can wield my mace, or bend my bow. poor is the strength of body--a web of law can entangle it, and a word from a priest's mouth can palsy. but thou!--let me look at thee." william gazed on the pale face: from head to foot he scanned the delicate, slender form, and then, turning away, he said to fitzosborne: "thou, whose mailed hand hath fell'd a war-steed, art thou not ashamed of thyself? the day is coming, i see it afar, when these slight men shall set their feet upon our corslets." he paused as if in thought, again paced the room, and stopped before the crucifix, and image of the virgin, which stood in a niche near the bed-head. "right, noble prince," said the priest's low voice, "pause there for a solution to all enigmas; there view the symbol of all-enduring power; there, learn its ends below--comprehend the account it must yield above. to your thoughts and your prayers we leave you." he took the stalwart arm of taillefer, as he spoke, and, with a grave obeisance to fitzosborne, left the chamber. chapter iii. the next morning william was long closeted alone with lanfranc,--that man, among the most remarkable of his age, of whom it was said, that "to comprehend the extent of his talents, one must be herodian in grammar, aristotle in dialectics, cicero in rhetoric, augustine and jerome in scriptural lore," [ ]--and ere the noon the duke's gallant and princely train were ordered to be in readiness for return home. the crowd in the broad space, and the citizens from their boats in the river, gazed on the knights and steeds of that gorgeous company, already drawn up and awaiting without the open gates the sound of the trumpets that should announce the duke's departure. before the hall- door in the inner court were his own men. the snow-white steed of odo; the alezan of fitzosborne; and, to the marvel of all, a small palfrey plainly caparisoned. what did that palfrey amid those steeds?--the steeds themselves seemed to chafe at the companionship; the duke's charger pricked up his ears and snorted; the lord of breteuil's alezan kicked out, as the poor nag humbly drew near to make acquaintance; and the prelate's white barb, with red vicious eye, and ears laid down, ran fiercely at the low-bred intruder, with difficulty reined in by the squires, who shared the beast's amaze and resentment. meanwhile the duke thoughtfully took his way to edward's apartments. in the anteroom were many monks and many knights; but conspicuous amongst them all was a tall and stately veteran, leaning on a great two-handed sword, and whose dress and fashion of beard were those of the last generation, the men who had fought with canute the great or edmund ironsides. so grand was the old man's aspect, and so did he contrast in appearance the narrow garb and shaven chins of those around, that the duke was roused from his reverie at the sight, and marvelling why one, evidently a chief of high rank, had neither graced the banquet in his honour, nor been presented to his notice, he turned to the earl of hereford, who approached him with gay salutation, and inquired the name and title of the bearded man in the loose flowing robe. "know you not, in truth?" said the lively earl, in some wonder. "in him you see the great rival of godwin. he is the hero of the danes, as godwin is of the saxons, a true son of odin, siward, earl of the northumbrians." [ ] "norse dame be my aid,--his fame hath oft filled my ears, and i should have lost the most welcome sight in merrie england had i not now beheld him." therewith, the duke approached courteously, and, doffing the cap he had hitherto retained, he greeted the old hero with those compliments which the norman had already learned in the courts of the frank. the stout earl received them coldly, and replying in danish to william's romance-tongue, he said: "pardon, count of the normans, if these old lips cling to their old words. both of us, methinks, date our lineage from the lands of the norse. suffer siward to speak the language the sea-kings spoke. the old oak is not to be transplanted, and the old man keeps the ground where his youth took root." the duke, who with some difficulty comprehended the general meaning of siward's speech, bit his lip, but replied courteously: "the youths of all nations may learn from renowned age. much doth it shame me that i cannot commune with thee in the ancestral tongue; but the angels at least know the language of the norman christian, and i pray them and the saints for a calm end to thy brave career." "pray not to angel or saint for siward son of beorn," said the old man hastily; "let me not have a cow's death, but a warrior's; die in my mail of proof, axe in hand, and helm on head. and such may be my death, if edward the king reads my rede and grants my prayer." "i have influence with the king," said william; "name thy wish, that i may back it." "the fiend forfend," said the grim earl, "that a foreign prince should sway england's king, or that thegn and earl should ask other backing than leal service and just cause. if edward be the saint men call him, he will loose me on the hell-wolf, without other cry than his own conscience." the duke turned inquiringly to rolf; who, thus appealed to, said: "siward urges my uncle to espouse the cause of malcolm of cumbria against the bloody tyrant macbeth; and but for the disputes with the traitor godwin, the king had long since turned his arms to scotland." "call not traitors, young man," said the earl, in high disdain, "those who, with all their faults and crimes, have placed thy kinsman on the throne of canute." "hush, rolf," said the duke, observing the fierce young norman about to reply hastily. "but methought, though my knowledge of english troubles is but scant, that siward was the sworn foe to godwin?" "foe to him in his power, friend to him in his wrongs," answered siward. "and if england needs defenders when i and godwin are in our shrouds, there is but one man worthy of the days of old, and his name is harold, the outlaw." william's face changed remarkably, despite all his dissimulation; and, with a slight inclination of his head, he strode on moody and irritated. "this harold! this harold!" he muttered to himself, "all brave men speak to me of this harold! even my norman knights name him with reluctant reverence, and even his foes do him honour;--verily his shadow is cast from exile over all the land." thus murmuring, he passed the throng with less than his wonted affable grace, and pushing back the officers who wished to precede him, entered, without ceremony, edward's private chamber. the king was alone, but talking loudly to himself, gesticulating vehemently, and altogether so changed from his ordinary placid apathy of mien, that william drew back in alarm and awe. often had he heard indirectly, that of late years edward was said to see visions, and be rapt from himself into the world of spirit and shadow; and such, he now doubted not, was the strange paroxysm of which he was made the witness. edward's eyes were fixed on him, but evidently without recognising his presence; the king's hands were outstretched, and he cried aloud in a voice of sharp anguish: "sanguelac, sanguelac!--the lake of blood!--the waves spread, the waves redden! mother of mercy--where is the ark?--where the ararat?-- fly--fly--this way--this--" and he caught convulsive hold of william's arm. "no! there the corpses are piled--high and higher--there the horse of the apocalypse tramples the dead in their gore." in great horror, william took the king, now gasping on his breast, in his arms, and laid him on his bed, beneath its canopy of state, all blazoned with the martlets and cross of his insignia. slowly edward came to himself, with heavy sighs; and when at length he sate up and looked round, it was with evident unconsciousness of what had passed across his haggard and wandering spirit, for he said, with his usual drowsy calmness: "thanks, guillaume, bien aime, for rousing me from unseasoned sleep. how fares it with thee?" "nay, how with thee, dear friend and king? thy dreams have been troubled." "not so; i slept so heavily, methinks i could not have dreamed at all. but thou art clad as for a journey--spur on thy heel, staff in thy hand!" "long since, o dear host, i sent odo to tell thee of the ill news from normandy that compelled me to depart." "i remember--i remember me now," said edward, passing his pale womanly fingers over his forehead. "the heathen rage against thee. ah! my poor brother, a crown is an awful head-gear. while yet time, why not both seek some quiet convent, and put away these earthly cares?" william smiled and shook his head. "nay, holy edward, from all i have seen of convents, it is a dream to think that the monk's serge hides a calmer breast than the warrior's mail, or the king's ermine. now give me thy benison, for i go." he knelt as he spoke, and edward bent his hands over his head, and blessed him. then, taking from his own neck a collar of zimmes (jewels and uncut gems), of great price, the king threw it over the broad throat bent before him, and rising, clapped his hands. a small door opened, giving a glimpse of the oratory within, and a monk appeared. "father, have my behests been fulfilled?--hath hugoline, my treasurer, dispensed the gifts that i spoke of?" "verily yes; vault, coffer, and garde-robe--stall and meuse.-are well nigh drained," answered the monk, with a sour look at the norman, whose native avarice gleamed in his dark eyes as he heard the answer. "thy train go not hence empty-handed," said edward fondly. "thy father's halls sheltered the exile, and the exile forgets not the sole pleasure of a king--the power to requite. we may never meet again, william,--age creeps over me, and who will succeed to my thorny throne?" william longed to answer,--to tell the hope that consumed him,--to remind his cousin of the vague promise in their youth, that the norman count should succeed to that "thorny throne:" but the presence of the saxon monk repelled him, nor was there in edward's uneasy look much to allure him on. "but peace," continued the king, "be between thine and mine, as between thee and me!" "amen," said the duke, "and i leave thee at least free from the proud rebels who so long disturbed thy reign. this house of godwin, thou wilt not again let it tower above thy palace?" "nay, the future is with god and his saints;" answered edward, feebly. "but godwin is old--older than i, and bowed by many storms." "ay, his sons are more to be dreaded and kept aloof--mostly harold!" "harold,--he was ever obedient, he alone of his kith; truly my soul mourns for harold," said the king, sighing. "the serpent's egg hatches but the serpent. keep thy heel on it," said william, sternly. "thou speakest well," said the irresolute prince, who never seemed three days or three minutes together in the same mind. "harold is in ireland--there let him rest: better for all." "for all," said the duke; "so the saints keep thee, o royal saint!" he kissed the king's hand, and strode away to the hall where odo, fitzosborne, and the priest lanfranc awaited him. and so that day, halfway towards the fair town of dover, rode duke william, and by the side of his roan barb ambled the priest's palfrey. behind came his gallant train, and with tumbrils and sumpter-mules laden with baggage, and enriched by edward's gifts; while welch hawks, and steeds of great price from the pastures of surrey and the plains of cambridge and york, attested no less acceptably than zimme, and golden chain, and embroidered robe, the munificence of the grateful king. [ ] as they journeyed on, and the fame of the duke's coming was sent abroad by the bodes or messengers, despatched to prepare the towns through which he was to pass for an arrival sooner than expected, the more highborn youths of england, especially those of the party counter to that of the banished godwin, came round the ways to gaze upon that famous chief, who, from the age of fifteen, had wielded the most redoubtable sword of christendom. and those youths wore the norman garb: and in the towns, norman counts held his stirrup to dismount, and norman hosts spread the fastidious board; and when, at the eve of the next day, william saw the pennon of one of his own favourite chiefs waving in the van of armed men, that sallied forth from the towers of dover (the key of the coast) he turned to the lombard, still by his side, and said: "is not england part of normandy already?" and the lombard answered: "the fruit is well nigh ripe, and the first breeze will shake it to thy feet. put not out thy hand too soon. let the wind do its work." and the duke made reply: "as thou thinkest, so think i. and there is but one wind in the halls of heaven that can waft the fruit to the feet of another." "and that?" asked the lombard. "is the wind that blows from the shores of ireland, when it fills the sails of harold, son of godwin." "thou fearest that man, and why?" asked the lombard with interest. and the duke answered: "because in the breast of harold beats the heart of england." transcriber's note: text enclosed between curly brackets was greek in the original and has been transliterated into latin characters. [illustration] the lives of the iii. normans, _kings of_ england: william the first. william the second. henrie the first. written by i. h. mart. _improbè facit qui in alieno libro ingeniosus est._ [illustration] ¶ imprinted at london by _r.b._ _anno ._ [illustration] to the high and mightie prince _charles_ _prince of wales._ most _illustrious_ prince: ovr late, too late borne, or too soone _dying prince, henry of famous memorie, your deceased brother, sent for mee, a few monethes before his death. and at my second comming to his presence, among some other speeches, hee complained much of our histories of england; and that the english nation, which is inferiour to none in honourable actions, should be surpassed by all, in leauing the memorie of them to posteritie. for this cause hee blamed the negligence of former ages: as if they were ignorant of their owne deseruings, as if they esteemed themselues vnworthie of their worth._ _i answered, that i conceiued these causes hereof; one, that men of sufficiencie were otherwise employed; either in publicke affaires, or in wrestling with the world, for maintenance or encrease of their priuate estates. another is, for that men might safely write of others in a tale, but in maner of a history, safely they could not: because, albeit they should write of men long since dead, and whose posteritie is cleane worne out; yet some aliue, finding themselues foule in those vices, which they see obserued, reproued, condemned in others; their guiltinesse maketh them apt to conceiue, that whatsoeuer the words are, the finger pointeth onely at them. the last is, for that the argument of our english historie hath bene so soiled heretofore by some vnworthie writers, that men of qualitie may esteeme themselues discredited by dealing in it._ _and is not this (said he) an errour in vs, to permit euery man to be a writer of historie? is it not an errour to be so curious in other matters, and so carelesse in this? we make choise of the most skilfull workemen to draw or carue the portraiture of our faces, and shall euery artlesse pensell delineate the disposition of our minds? our apparell must be wrought by the best artificers, and no soile must be suffered to fall vpon it: and shall our actions, shall our conditions be described by euery bungling hand? shall euery filthie finger defile our reputation? shall our honour be basely buried in the drosse of rude and absurd writings? wee are carefull to prouide costly sepulchers, to preserue our dead liues, to preserue some memorie what wee haue bene: but there is no monument, either so durable, or so largely extending, or so liuely and faire, as that which is framed by a fortunate penne; the memory of the greatest monuments had long since perished, had it not bene preserued by this meanes._ _to this i added; that i did alwayes conceiue, that we should make our reckoning of three sorts of life: the short life of nature, the long life of fame, and the eternall life of glorie. the life of glorie is so farre esteemed before the other two, as grace is predominant in vs: the life of fame before our naturall life is so farre esteemed, as a generous spirit surmounteth sensualitie; as humane nature ouerruleth brutish disposition. so farre as the noble nature of man hath dominion in our minds, so farre do we contemne, either the incommodities, or dangers, or life of our body, in regard of our reputation and fame. now seeing this life of fame is both preserued and enlarged chiefly by history; there is no man (i suppose) that will either resist, or not assist, the commendable or at least tolerable writing thereof, but such as are conscious to themselues, either that no good, or that nothing but ill, can bee reported of them. in whom notwithstanding it is an errour to thinke, that any power of the present time, can either extinguish or obscure the memorie of times succeeding. posteritie will giue to euery man his due: some ages hereafter will affoord those, who will report vnpartially of all._ _then he questioned whether i had wrote any part of our english historie, other then that which had been published; which at that time he had in his hands. i answered, that i had wrote of certaine of our english kings, by way of a briefe description of their liues: but for historie, i did principally bend, and binde my selfe to the times wherein i should liue; in which my owne obseruations might somewhat direct me: but as well in the one as in the other i had at that time perfected nothing._ _to this he said; that in regard of the honour of the time, hee liked well of the last; but for his owne instruction, he more desired the first: that he desired nothing more then to know the actions of his auncestours; because hee did so farre esteeme his descent from them, as he approached neere them in honourable endeauours. hereupon, beautifying his face with a sober smile, he desired mee, that against his returne from the progresse then at hand, i would perfect somewhat of both sorts for him, which he promised amply to requite; and was well knowen to be one who esteemed his word aboue ordinary respects. this stirred in mee, not onely a will, but power to perfourme; so as engaging my duety farre aboue the measure either of my leisure or of my strength, i finished the liues of these three kings of norman race, and certaine yeeres of queene elizabeths reigne._ _at his returne from the progresse to his house at s. iames, these pieces were deliuered vnto him; which hee did not onely courteously, but ioyfully accept. and because this seemed a perfect worke, he expressed a desire that it should be published. not long after he died; and with him died both my endeauours and my hopes. his death, alasse! hath bound the liues of many vnto death, face to face; being no wayes able, either by forgetfulnesse to couer their griefe, or to diminish it with consideration._ _for in trueth he was a prince of a most heroical heart: free from many vices which sometimes accompanie high estates, full of most amiable and admirable vertues: of whose perfections the world was not worthy. his eyes were full of pleasant modestie; his countenance manly beautifull; in bodie both strongly and delicately made; in behauiour sweetely sober, which gaue grace to whatsoeuer he did. he was of a discerning wit; and for the facultie of his mind, of great capacitie and power, accompanied with equall expedition of will: much foreseeing in his actions, and for passions a commander of himselfe; and of good strength to resist the power of prosperitie. in counsaile he was ripe and measured, in resolution constant, his word euer led by his thought, and followed by his deede. and albeit hee was but yong and his nature forward and free, yet his wisedome reduced both to a true temper of moderation; his desires being neuer aboue his reason, nor his hopes inferiour to his desires. in a word, hee was the most faire fruit of his progenitours, an excellent ornament of the present age, a true mirrour to posteritie: being so equally both setled to valour, and disposed to goodnesse and iustice, as hee expressed not onely tokens, but proofes, both of a courage, and of a grauitie and industrie right worthie of his estate._ _glorious prince, my loue and duety hath caried me further, then happily is fit for the present purpose: and yet this is but an earnest onely of my earnest affection and zeale to thy honour. i shall hereafter haue a more proper place to display at large, the goodlinesse of thy shape, the goodnesse of thy nature, the greatnesse of thy minde: all thy perfections, whereby our affections were much enflamed. and euillworthy may he be of any happy hopes, who will not adde one blast of his breath, to make vp the glorious gale of thy fame._ _in the meane time i haue here accomplished his desire in publishing this worke: more to testifie to the world the height of his heart, then for any pleasure i haue to set foorth any thing, to the view of these both captious and vnthankefull times; wherein men will be, not readers onely, but interpreters, but wresters, but corrupters and deprauers of that which they reade; wherein men thinke the reproofe of others, to be the greatest parcell of their owne praise. but how should i expect any better vsage? the commentaries of cæsar, neuer disliked before, are esteemed by lypsius, a dry saplesse piece of writing. the most famous tacitus is tearmed by alceate, [ ]a thicket of thornes; by budæus, [ ]a most lewd writer; by tertullian, [ ]an exceeding lyar; by orosius, [ ]a flatterer; then which assuredly he is nothing lesse. i will not expect any better vsage, i will not desire it; i will hereafter esteeme nothing of any worth, which hath not many to detract from it._ _whatsoeuer this is, i haue presumed to present it to your highnesse, for these causes following: first, for that it receiued this being from him, who was most dearely esteemed by you; who may be iustly proposed, as an example of vertue, as a guide to glory and fame. secondly, for that the persons of whom it treateth, are those most worthy ancestors of yours, who laid the foundation of this english empire; who were eminent among all the princes of their times, and happely for many ages after, as well in actions of peace as of warre. lastly, for that i esteeme histories the fittest subiect for your highnesse reading: for by diligent perusing the actes of great men, by considering all the circumstances of them, by comparing counsailes and meanes with euents; a man may seeme to haue liued in all ages, to haue beene present at all enterprises; to be more strongly confirmed in iudgement, to haue attained a greater experience, then the longest life can possibly affoord._ _but because many errours doe vsually arise, by ignorance of the state wherein we liue; because it is dangerous to frame rules of policie out of countreys differing from vs, both in nature, and custome of life, and forme of gouernment; no histories are so profitable as our owne. in these your highnesse may see, the noble disposition and delights of your ancestors; what were their sweete walkes, what their pleasant chases: how farre they preferred glory, before either pleasure or safetie; how by the braue behauiour of their sword, they hewed honour out of the sides of their enemies. in these you may see, the largenesse, commodities, and strength of this countrey; the nature of the people, their wealth, pleasure, exercise and trade of life, and what else is worthy of obseruation. generally, by these you may so furnish your selfe, as not easily to be abused either by weake or deceitfull aduise._ _the most high preserue and prosper your highnesse: that as you succeed many excellent ancestours in blood, so you may exceed them all in honourable atchieuements._ your highnesse most deuoted, i. hayward. [illustration] the life of king william the first, _sirnamed conquerour_. robert duke of _normandie_, the sixth in descent from _rollo_, riding through _falais_ a towne in _normandie_, espied certaine yong persons dauncing neere the way. and as he stayed to view a while the maner of their disport, he fixed his eye especially vpon a certaine damosell named _arlotte_; of meane birth, a skinners daughter, who there daunced among the rest. the frame and comely carriage of her body, the naturall beautie and graces of her countenance, the simplicitie of her rurall both behauiour and attire pleased him so well, that the same night he procured her to be brought to his lodging; where he begate of her a sonne, who afterward was named _william_. i will not defile my writing with memory of some lasciuious behauiour which she is reported to haue vsed, at such time as the duke approched to embrace her. and doubtfull it is, whether vpon some speciall note of immodestie in herselfe, or whether vpon hate towards her sonne, the english afterwards adding an aspiration to her name (according to the naturall maner of their pronouncing) termed euery vnchast woman _harlot_. it is remembred by some, rather seruile then fond in obseruations, who will either finde or frame predictions for euery great action or euent; that his mother before the time of her deliuery had a dreame, that her bowels were extended ouer _normandie_ and _england_. also, that at the time of his birth, he fell from his mothers body to the ground; and there filled both his hands with rushes, which had bene cast thicke vpon the floore, and streined them with a very streit gripe. the wiues laughed at large, and soone grew prodigall of idle talke. but the midwife somewhat more soberly said; that he should not onely hold well his owne, but graspe somewhat from other men. when he was about . yeeres of age, his father went vpon deuotion to _hierusalem_; and in his returne died at the citie of _nice_. so _william_ at that age succeeded his father; hauing then very generous and aspiring spirits, both to resist abroad, and to rule at home. hee was committed to the gouernment of two of his vnckles; and the french king was entreated by his father to take vpon him the protection, both of his person and state. but his vnckles pretended title to his dignitie, by reason of his vnlawfull birth; the king of france also desired much and had often attempted to reduce _normandie_ to his absolute subiection, as it was before the inuasion of the _normans_. so as it may seeme he was committed to these tutors, as a lambe should be committed to the tutelage of wolues. the onely meanes of his preseruation consisted in a factious nobilitie, deuided into so many parts, as there were parties: some contending for possession of the yong dukes person; others, of his authoritie and power; all of them incompatible to endure either equals, or els superiours: all of them vnited against a common enemie; all deuided among themselues. here it may be demanded how he being vnlawfully borne, could succeed his father in the dutchie of _normandie_; his father leauing two brothers borne in lawfull marriage, and much other legitimate kindred behind him. _will. malmesburie_[ ] and some others haue reported, that albeit hee was borne out of marriage, yet duke _robert_ his father did afterwards entertaine his mother for lawfull wife: which by the law of that countrey, agreeable in that point to the ciuill and canon lawes, sufficed to make the issue inheritable, although borne before. and further, it was a generall custome at that time in france, that bastards did succeed, euen in dignities of highest condition, no otherwise then children lawfully begotten. _thierrie_ bastard of _clouís_, had for his partage with the lawfull children of the same _clouís_, the kingdome of _austrasie_, now called _lorraine_. _sigisbert_ bastard of king _dagobert_ the first, had his part in the kingdome of france, with _clouís_ the . lawfull sonne to _dagobert_. _loys_ and _carloman_ bastards of king _loys le begue_, succeeded after the death of their father. so likewise in _england_, _alfride_ bastard sonne of _oswine_, succeeded his brother _egfride_. so _adelstane_ the bastard sonne of _edward_ the elder, succeeded his father, before _edmund_ and _eldred_ his yonger brothers; notwithstanding they were lawfully begotten. so _edmund_, surnamed the _martyr_, bastard sonne to king _edgar_, succeeded him in the state, before _ethelbred_ his lawfull issue. afterward, _harold_ surnamed _harefoote_, bastard to _canutus_, succeeded him in the kingdome, before _hardicanutus_, his lawfull sonne. the like custome hath been obserued in _spaine_, in _portugale_, and in diuers other countreys. and it is probable that this vse was grounded vpon often experience, that bastards (as begotten in the highest heate and strength of affection) haue many times been men of excellent proofe, both in courage and in vnderstanding. this was verified[ ] in _hercules_, _alexander_ the great, _romulus_, _timotheus_, _brutus_, _themistocles_, _arthur_: in _homer_, _demosthenes_, _bion_, _bartholus_, _gratian_, _peter lumbard_, _peter comestor_, _io. andreas_, and diuers of most flourishing name: among whom our _conquerour_ may worthily be ranged. and yet in the third race of the kings of _france_ a law was made, that bastards should not inherite the crowne of the realme. this custome was likewise banished out of _england_, and other countreys of _europe_. notwithstanding in _france_, other bastards of great houses were still aduowed. the exercises of this duke from his verie youth were ingenuous, manly, decent, & such as tended to actiuitie and valure: hee was of a working minde and vehement spirit, rather ambitious then onely desirous of glory: of a piercing wit, blind in no mans cause, and well sighted in his owne: of a liuely and present courage; neither out of ignorance, or rash estimation of dangers, but out of a true iudgement both of himselfe and of them. in peace he was politicke: in warre valiant and very skilfull, both to espie, and to apprehend, and to follow his aduantages: this valure and skill in militarie affayres, was alwayes seconded with good successe. he was continually accustomed both to the weight and vse of armour, from his very childhood. oftentimes hee looked death in the face with a braue contempt. he was neuer free from actions of armes; first vpon necessity to defend himselfe, afterwards vpon ambition to offend and disturbe the possessions of others. in his first age he was much infested with rebels in _normandie_; who often conspired both against his life, and against his dignitie and state; traducing him, as a bastard, as a boy, as borne of a base ignoble woman, as altogether vnworthy to be their prince. of these, some he appeased and reconciled vnto him: others he preuented, and dispersed their power before it was collected: others hee encountred in open field, before he had any haire vpon his face; where hee defeated their forces in full battell, then tooke their strongholds, and lastly chased them out of his dominion. and first _roger tresnye_, hauing gained exceeding great both fauour and reputation by his seruices against the _sarasins_ in _spaine_, made claime to the duchie of _normandie_; as one lawfully descended from _rollo_ their first duke. and albeit many others were before him in title, yet (said he) if they will sit still; if they, either through sloath, which is ill, or through feare, which is worse, will abandone the aduenture, he alone would free the _normans_ from their infamous subiection. he was followed by many, partly vpon opinion of his right, but chiefly of his valour. but when he brought his cause to the arbitrement of armes, hee was ouerthrowne in a strong battaile, wherein his claime and his life determined together. after this, _william_ earle of _arques_, sonne to _richard_ the second, and vnckle to duke _william_, vpon the same pretence declared himselfe against his nephew. and albeit the _normans_ were heauie to stirre in his fauour, yet hee so wrought with the french king, by assuring him great matters in _normandie_; that with a mightie armie of his owne people, hee went in person, to place him in possession of that dutchy. the way which the king tooke, led him to a large valley, sandie and full of short bushes and shrubs; troublesome for horsemen either to fight or to march. on either side were rising hils, very thicke set with wood. here the armie entred with small aduisement, either for clearing the passage, or for the safetie of their carriages. the vaward consisted chiefly of battle-axes and pikes. in the right wing were many _almans_ among the _french_. in the left were many of _aniou_ and _poictou_. after these followed the baggage, with an infinite number of scullians, carters and other base drudges attending vpon it. next came the french king with the maine battaile, consisting for the most part of valiant and worthy gentlemen, brauely mounted. the lances and men at armes cloased the rereward. when they were well entred this valley, the _normans_ did liuely charge vpon them in head; they deliuered also their deadly shot from the hils on both sides, as thicke as haile. notwithstanding the vantgard, casting themselues into a pointed battaile in forme of a wedge, with plaine force of hand made themselues way; and marching in firme and close order through the thickest of their enemies, gained (albeit not without great losse) the top of a hill, and there presently encamped themselues. the like fortune happily might the residue haue had, if they had followed with the like order and courage. but failing herein, the right wing was hewed in pieces: the left wing was broken and beaten vpon the carriages; where ouerbearing and treading downe one an other, they receiued almost as much hurt from themselues, as they did from their enemies. the maine battaile and rereward aduancing forward to rescue the carriage, were first miserably ouerwhelmed with a storme of arrowes from the hill on both sides: and the gallant horses once galled with that shot, would no more obey or endure their riders; but flinging out, either ouerthrew or disordred all in their way. and the more to encrease the miserie of that day, the dull and light sand which was raised, partly by the feete of horses and men, and partly by violence of the wind, which then blew full in the faces of the _french_, inuolued them all as in a thicke and darke cloud; which depriued them of all foresight and direction in gouerning their affaires. the valiant was nothing discerned from the coward, no difference could be set betweene contriuance and chance: all laboured in one common calamitie, and euery one encreased the feare of his fellow. the _normans_ hauing well spent their shot, and perceiuing the _french_ in this sort both disordered and dismayed, came downe from the hils where they houered before; and falling to the close stroke of battaile-axe and sword, most cruelly raged in the blood of their enemies. by whom if any sparke of valour was shewen, being at so great disaduantage, it was to no purpose, it was altogether lost; it was so farre from relieuing others, that it was not sufficient to defend themselues. and doubtlesse no thing so much fauoured the state of the _french_ that day, as that the number of the _normans_ sufficed not to enclose them behind. for then they had bene entrapped as deere in a toile; then not one of them could haue escaped. but the entrance of the valley remayning open, many fled backe to the plaine ground; tumbling together in such headlong hast, that if the _normans_ had sharply put vpon them the chase, it is certaine that they had bene extreemely defeated. but the duke gaue ouer the execution vpon good aduise. for knowing himselfe not to be of force vtterly to vanquish the _french_, he assayed rather by faire forbearance to purchase their friendship. here the french king assembled his broken companies, and encamped them for that night so well as he could. the ioy of their present escape expelled for the time all other respects. but after a little breathing, their remembrance began to runne vpon the losse of their cariages; whereby they had lost all meanes to refresh themselues. of their vaward they made a forelorne reckoning, and the like did the vaward of them. many were wounded, all wearied; and the _normans_ gaue notice by sounding out their instruments of warre, that they were at hand on euery side. the rudest of the souldiers did boldly vpbraid this infortunitie to the king; one asked him where his vaward was, where were his wings, where were the residue of his battell, and rereward. others called for the cariages, to preserue those in life who had not been slaine. others demanded if he had any more mouse-traps to leade them into. but most sate heauy and pensiue, scarce accounting themselues among the liuing. the king swallowed downe all with a sad silence, sometimes he dissembled as though he had not heard; sometimes hee would fairely answere; _good words, good souldiers; haue patience a while, and all will be well_: which was indeede a truer word then he thought it possible to bee when he spake it. in this extremity the king assembled the chiefe of his commanders, to aduise with them what was best to be done. it was generally concluded, that in staying their case was desperate; and dangerous it was to stirre. but here lay the question; whether it was least dangerous to remoue together, or euery man to shift for himselfe. whilest this point was in debating, whilest they expected euery minute to be assailed, whilest no man saw any thing but death and despaire; behold, a messenger came from the duke, not to offer but to desire peace; and to craue protection of the french king, according to the trust which _robert_ the dukes father reposed in him. there needed not many words to perswade. peace was signed, protection assured, in a more ample maner then it was required. then the messenger with many good words appeased the kings heauinesse, telling him, that his vaward was safe, his cariages not touched, and that he should be furnished with horses both for burthen and draught, in stead of those that had been slaine. these words, as a sweete enchantment, rauished the _french_ king with sudden ioy. but when they came to gather vp their baggage, a spectacle both lamentable and loathsome was presented vnto them. the valley couered, and in some places heaped with dead bodies of men and horses: many not once touched with any weapon, lay troden to death, or else stifled with dust and sand: many grieuously wounded, reteined some remainder of life, which they expressed with cries and groanes: many not mortally hurt, were so ouerlaid with the slaine, that they were vnable to free themselues: towards whom it is memorable, what manly both pitie and helpe the _normans_ did affoord. and so the _french_ king more by courtesie of his enemies, then either by courage or discretion of his owne, returned in reasonable state to _paris_. vpon these euents of open hostilitie, _guy_ earle of _burgogne_, who had taken to wife _alix_, daughter to duke _richard_ the second, and aunt to duke _william_, conspired with _nicellus_ president of _constantine_, _ranulph_ vicecount of _bayon_, _baimond_, and diuers others, suddenly to surprise the duke, and slay him in the night. a certaine foole, (nothing regarded for his want of wit) obseruing their preparations, secretly got away, and in the dead of the night came to _valogne_, where the duke then lay; no lesse slenderly guarded with men, then the place it selfe was sleight for defence. here he continued rapping at the gate, and crying out, vntill it was opened, and hee brought to the presence of the duke. to whom he declared the conspiracie, with circumstances of such moment, that the duke foorthwith tooke his horse, and posted alone towards _falais_, an especial place for strength for defence. presently after his departure the conspirators came to _valogne_, they beset the house, they enter by force, they search euery corner for the duke: and finding that the game was start, and on foote, in hote haste they pursued the chase. about breake of day the dukes horse tired, and he was ignorant of his right way. he was then at a little village called _rie_, where the chiefe gentleman of the place was standing at his doore ready to goe abroad. of him the duke enquired the next way to _falais_. the gentleman knew the duke, and with all duetie and respect desired to know the cause of his both solitarie and vntimely riding. the duke would willingly haue passed vnknowne; but perceiuing himselfe to be discouered, declared to him the whole aduenture. hereupon the gentleman furnished him with a fresh horse, and sent with him two of his sonnes to conduct him the direct way to _falais_. no sooner were they out of sight, but the conspirators came, and enquired of the same gentleman (who still remained at his doore) whether he saw not the duke that morning: as if, forsooth, they were come to attend him. the gentleman answered, that he was gone a little before, and therewith offered them his company to ouertake him. but he lead them about another way, vntill the duke was safely alighted at _falais_. and thus the more we consider these and the like passages of affaires, the lesse we shall admire either the wisdome, or industry, or any other sufficiencie of man. in actions of weight it is good to employ our best endeuours; but when all is done, he danceth well to whom fortune doeth pipe. when the conspirators vnderstood that their principall purpose was disappointed, they made themselues so powerfull in the field, that the duke was enforced to craue ayde of the king of _france_; who not long before was his greatest enemie. the king preferring to his remembrance the late honourable dealing of the duke, came in person vnto him; by whose countenance and aide the duke ouerthrew his enemies in a full battell, in the vale of _dunes_: albeit not without great difficultie, and bold aduenture of his owne person. _guy de burgogne_ escaped by flight, and defended himselfe in certaine castles which he had fortified in _normandie_ for his retreite; but in the end hee rendred both himselfe and them to the dukes discretion. the duke not onely pardoned him, but honoured him with a liberall pension; which he did afterward both with valiant and loyall seruice requite. not long after, the french king had wars against _ieoffrey martell_, and duke _william_ went with a faire companie of souldiers to his ayde. in this seruice he so wel acquited himselfe, both in iudgement and with hand, that the french king was chiefly directed by him; onely blaming him for too carelesse casting himselfe into the mouth of dangers; imputing that to ostentation, which was but the heate of his courage and age. oftentimes hee would range from the maine battell with very fewe in his company; either to make discoueries, or to encounter such enemies as could not bee found with greater troupes. once hee withdrew himselfe onely with foure, and was met with by fifteene of the enemies. the most forward of them he strake from his horse, and brake his thigh with the fall. the residue hee chased foure miles; and most of them being hurt, tooke seuen prisoners. hereupon _ieoffrey martell_ then said of him; that he was at that time the best souldier, and was like to prooue the best commander in the world. and as hee was both fauourable and faithfull towards them who fairely yeelded, so against such as either obstinately or scornefully caried themselues, he was extreamely seuere, or rather cruell. when hee besieged _alençon_, which the duke of _aniou_ had taken from him, the defendants would often crie from the walles, _la pel, la pel_; reproaching him thereby with the birth of his mother. this base insolencie, as it enflamed both his desire and courage to atchieue the enterprise, so did it his fury, to deale sharpely with them when they were subdued; by cutting off their hands and feete; and by other seuerities which were not vsuall. besides these, some others of his owne blood prouoked _engelrame_ earle of _ponthieu_ to moue against him in armes: but the duke receiued him with so resolute valour, that the earle was slaine in the field, and they well chastised who drew him to the enterprise. the _britaines_ did often feele the force of his victorious armes. hee had many conflicts with _ieoffrey martell_ earle of _aniou_, confederate with the princes of _britane_, _aquitaine_, and _tours_; a man equall vnto him both in power and in skill to command, but in fortune and in force of arme much inferiour. many excellent atchieuements were performed betweene them; insomuch as their hostilitie seemed onely to bee an emulation in honour. once the duke fell into an ambushment addressed for him by the earle of _aniou_; wherewith he was so suddenly surprized, that he was almost in the midst of the danger before he thought any danger neere him. an exceeding great both terrour and confusion seazed vpon his souldiers; because the more sudden and vncertaine a perill is, the greater is it alwayes esteemed. many of his brauest men were slaine; the residue so disordered, or at least shaken, as they began to thinke more of their particular escape, then of the common either safety or glory. when they were thus vpon the point to disband, the duke rather with rage then courage cried vnto them, _if you loue me not souldiers, yet for shame follow me; for shame stand by mee; for shame let not any of your friends heare the report, that you ran from mee and left me fighting._ with that he threw himselfe into the thickest throng of his enimies, and denounced those either traitours or cowards who would not follow. this example breathed such braue life into his souldiers, that they rallied their loose rankes, and in close order seconded him with a resolute charge: encouraging one another, that it was shameful indeede not to fight for him, who so manfully did fight with them. the duke brandishing his sword like a thunderbolt, dung downe his enemies on euery side; made at earle _martell_ in the midst of his battallion, strake him downe, claue his helmet, and cut away one of his eares. this so diuerted the _aniouans_ to the rescue of their earle, that they let the other part of the victorie goe. the earle they recouered againe to horse, and so left the duke master of the field. verely, it is almost impossible, that a commander of such courage should haue, either faint or false hearted souldiers. now it happened not long before, that _fulc_ earle of _aniou_ hauing drawen _herbert_ earle of _maine_ vnder faire pretenses to _xantonge_, cast him in prison, from whence he could not be released vntill he had yeelded to certaine conditions, both dishonourable and disaduantageable vnto him. _hugh_ succeded _herbert_; from whom _ieoffrey martell_ earle of _aniou_ tooke the citie of _maine_, and made himselfe lord of all the countrey. _hugh_ hauing lost his dominion, left both his title and his quarrell to his sonne _herbert_: who hauing no issue, appointed duke _william_ to bee his heire. hereupon the duke inuaded _maine_, and in short time subdued the whole countrey, and built two fortifications for assurance thereof; hauing first sent word to the earle of _aniou_, vpon what day the worke should begin. the earle vsed all diligence and means to impeach the buildings; but hee not onely failed of that purpose, but further lost the countie of _medune_. againe, _henry_ king of _france_ did many other times with great preparation inuade his countrey; sometimes with purpose to winne vpon him, and sometimes to keepe him from winning vpon others. vpon a time the king led his troupes ouer the foord of _dine_; and when halfe his army had passed, the other halfe by reason of the rising of the sea, was compelled to stay. the duke apprehending the aduantage, came vpon them with a furious charge, being now deuided from the chiefe of the armie; and either slew them or tooke them prisoners, in the plaine view of their king. after this they concluded a peace, whereof the conditions were, that the duke should release such prisoners as he had taken; and that hee should retaine whatsoeuer he had wonne, or afterwards should winne from the earle of _aniou_. and yet the king did againe enterprise vpon him, with greater forces then at any time before: but the duke entertained his armies with so good order and valoure, that the king gained nothing but losse and dishonour: and the greater his desire was of victorie and reuenge, the more foule did his foiles and failings appeare; which so brake both his courage and heart, that with griefe thereof (as it was conceiued) hee ended his life. and thus during all the time that he was onely duke of _normandy_, he was neuer free from action of armes: in all his actions of armes hee was caried with a most rare and perpetuall felicitie. as he grew in yeeres, so did he in thicknesse and fatnesse of body: but so, as it made him neither vnseemely, nor vnseruiceable for the warres; and neuer much exceeding the measure of a comely corpulencie. he was most decent, and therewith terrible in armes. he was stately and maiesticall in his gesture; of a good stature, but in strength admirable: in so much as no man was able to draw his bow, which hee would bend sitting vpon his horse, stretching out the string with his foot. his countenance was warlike and manly as his friends might terme it; but as his enemies said, truculent and fierce. he would often sweare _by gods resurrection and his brightnesse_: which he commonly pronounced with so furious a face, that hee strooke a terrour into those that were present. his head was bald; his beard alwayes shauen; which fashion being first taken vp by him, was then followed by all the _normans_. hee was of a firme and strong constitution for his health; so as he neuer was attached with sicknesse, but that which was the summons of his death: and in his age seemed little to feele the heauie weight and burthen of yeeres. in his first age he was of a mild and gentle disposition; courteous, bountifull, familiar in conuersation, a professed enemie to all vices. but as in fortune, as in yeres, so changed he in his behauiour; partly by his continuall following the warres (whereby he was much fleshed in blood) and partly by the inconstant nature of the people ouer whom he ruled: who by often rebellions did not onely exasperate him to some seueritie, but euen constraine him to hold them in with a more stiffe arme. so hee did wring from his subiects very much substance, very much blood; not for that he was by nature either couetous or cruell, but for that his affaires could not otherwise be managed. his great affaires could not be managed without great expence, which drew a necessity of charge vpon the people: neither could the often rebellions of his subiects be repressed or restrained by any mild and moderate meanes. and generally as in all states and gouernments, seuere discipline hath alwayes bin a true faithfull mother of vertue and valour; so in particular of his _normans_ he learned by experience, and oftentimes declared this iudgement: that if they were held in bridle, they were most valiant, and almost inuincible; excelling all men both in courage, and in strength, and in honourable desire to vanquish their enemies. but if the reines were layd loose vpon their necke, they were apt to runne into licentiousnes and mischiefe; ready to consume either themselues by riot and sloath, or one another by sedition: prone to innouation and change; as heauily mooued to vndertake dangers, so not to bee trusted vpon occasion. he tooke to wife _matilde_ daughter to _baldwin_ earle of _flanders_, a man for his wisedome and power, both reuerenced and feared euen of kings; but because she was his cousin germane, he was for his marriage excommunicate by his owne vnckle _mauger_ archbishop of _roan_. hereupon he sued to pope _victor_, and obteined of him a dispensation: and afterwards so wrought, that by a prouinciall councell his vncle _mauger_ was depriued of his dignitie. but by this meanes both he & his issue were firmely locked in obedience to the sea of _rome_; for that vpon the authoritie of that place the validitie of his marriage, and consequently the legitimation of his issue seemed to depend. when he was about . yeeres of age, _edward_ king of _england_ ended his life. this _edward_ was sonne to _egelred_ king of _england_, by _emma_, sister to _richard_ the second duke of _normandie_, who was grandfather to duke _william_: so as king _edward_ and duke _william_ were cousins germane once remoued.[ ] at such time as _egelred_ was first ouercharged with warres by the _danes_, he sent his wife _emma_, with two sonnes which she had borne vnto him, _alphred_ and _edward_, into _normandie_ to her brother; where they were enterteined with all honourable vsage for many yeeres. afterward giuing place to the malice of his fortune, he passed also into _normandie_, and left his whole state in the possession and power of _swanus_ king of _denmarke_. but after the death of _swanus_, partly by the aide of the _normans_, and partly by fauour of his owne people, he recouered his kingdome, and left the same to his eldest sonne _edmund_, who either for the tough temper of his courage and strength, or for that he almost alwayes liued in armes, was surnamed _ironside_. hereupon _canutus_ the sonne of _swanus_ made sharpe warre, first against _egelred_, then against _edmund_: and finally after many varieties of aduenture, but chiefly by the fauour of the clergie of _england_ (because they had sworne allegiance to his father) spread the wings of his victory ouer the whole kingdome. he expelled out of the realme _edwine_ and _edward_ the two sonnes of king _edmund_: of whom _edwine_ married the kings daughter of _hungarie_, but died without issue; _edward_ was aduanced to the marriage of _agatha_, daughter to the emperour _henry_, and by her had issue two sonnes, _edmund_ & _edgar_, and so many daughters, _margaret_ and _christine_. the same _canutus_ tooke _emma_ to wife, who had bene wife to king _egelred_; by whom he had a sonne named _hardicanutus_. after the death of _canutus_, _alphred_ the sonne of _egelred_ came out of _normandie_, and with fiftie saile landed at _sandwich_: with purpose to attempt the recouerie of his fathers kingdome. in which enterprise hee receiued not onely encouragement, but good assurance from many of the _english_ nobilitie. but by earle _goodwine_ he was abused and taken; his company slaine, his eyes put out, and then sent to the ile of _elie_, where in short time hee ended his life. _edward_ also arriued at _hampton_ with . ships, but finding the countrey so farre from receiuing, as they were ready to resist him, he returned into _normandie_, and attended the further fauour of time. so after _canutus_ succeeded in _england_, first _harold_ sirnamed _harefoot_, bastard sonne to _canutus_; and after him _hardicanutus_, sonne to _canutus_ by _emma_, mother also to king _edward_. _hardicanutus_ being dead, the nobilitie of the realme sent into _normandie_ for _edward_ to be their king; whereto also he was appointed as some haue written by _hardicanutus_. but because _alphred_ his brother vpon the like inuitation had bene traiterously taken and slaine before, _william_ at that time duke of _normandie_ would not permit him to depart, vntill he had receiued for pledges of his safety, _woolnoth_ son to earle _goodwine_, and _hacon_ sonne to _swaine_, earle _goodwins_ eldest sonne. vpon this assurance he was furnished by the duke his cousin, with all meanes fit both for his enterprise and estate. and so hee passed the seas, arriued in _england_, and with generall ioy was receiued for king. he tooke to wife _edith_ the daughter of earle _goodwine_; but whether vpon vow of chastitie, or whether vpon impotencie of nature, or whether vpon hatred to her father, or whether vpon suspition against herselfe (for all these causes are alleaged by seuerall writers of those times) he forbore all priuate familiaritie with her. when he was well locked into the chaire of state, duke _william_ came out of _normandie_ to see him, to shew his magnificence to the _english_ people; to shew to the _english_, both that he loued their king, and that he was of power to relieue him, in case his necessities should so require. here, besides honourable enterteinement, besides many rich gifts both to himselfe and to his followers, the king hauing neither hope nor desire of issue, promised him, in regard of his great fauours and deserts, that hee should be his next successour in the kingdome. and for further assurance thereof, sent him also the like message into _normandie_, by _robert_ archbishop of _canterburie_. after this _harold_ sonne to earle _goodwine_ passed the seas into _normandie_, to deale for the discharge of his brother _wolnoth_ and _hacon_ his nephew, who had bene deliuered for hostages to the duke. in his passage he was much tossed with troublesome weather, and in the end was cast vpon the coast of _ponthieu_, and there taken by the earle and committed to prison. but at the request of the duke of _normandie_, hee was released with honourable respect, and by the earle himselfe accompanied to the duke; who enterteined him with great magnificence at _roan_. the duke was then going in armes against the _britaines_; in which iourney _harold_ did accompany him, and shewed himselfe a man, neither rash in vndertaking, nor fearefull in perfourming any seruices of the field. after prosperous returne, the duke declared to _harold_, the purpose of king _edward_ concerning the dukes succession to this crowne. _harold_ did auow the same to be true; and promised to affoord thereto the best furtherance that he could. hereupon the duke assembled a councell at _boneuill_; where _harold_ did sweare fidelitie vnto him: and promised likewise by oath, that after the death of king _edward_, he would keepe the realme of _england_ to the vse of the duke: that he would deliuer vnto him the castle of _douer_, and certaine other pieces of defence, furnished at his owne charge. hereupon the duke promised vnto him his daughter in marriage, and with her halfe the realme of _england_ in name of her dower. he also deliuered to him his nephew _hacon_; but kept his brother _wolnoth_ as an hostage, for performance of that which _harold_ had sworne. in short time after king _edward_ died, and _harold_ being generall commander of the forces of the realme, seized vpon the soueraignetie, and without any accustomed solemnities set the crowne vpon his owne head. the people were nothing curious to examine titles; but as men broken with long bondage, did easily entertaine the first pretender. and yet to _harold_ they were inclinable enough, as well vpon opinion of his prowesse, as for that hee endeauoured to winne their fauour, partly by abating their grieuous paiments, and partly by increasing the wages of his seruants and souldiers; generally, by vsing iustice with clemencie and courtesie towards all. about this time a blasing starre appeared and continued the space of seuen dayes;[ ] which is commonly taken to portend alteration in states. of this comet a certaine poet, alluding to the baldnesse of the _norman_, wrote these verses. _cæsariem cæsar tibi si natura negauit, hanc willielme tibi stella comata dedit._ duke _william_ sent diuers ambassadours to _harold_; first to demaund perfourmance of his oath, afterward to mooue him to some moderate agreement. but ambition, a reasonlesse and restlesse humour, made him obstinate against all offers or inducements of peace. so they prepared to buckle in armes; equall both in courage and in ambitious desires, equall in confidence of their fortune: but _harold_ was the more aduenturous, _william_ the more aduised man: _harold_ was more strong in souldiers, _william_ in alies and friends. _harold_ was seated in possession, which in case of a kingdome is oftentimes with facilitie attained, but retained hardly: _william_ pretended the donation of king _edward_, and that he was neere vnto him in blood by the mothers side. now there wanted not precedents, both ancient and of later times, that free kingdomes and principalities, not setled by custome in succession of blood, haue been transported euen to strangers by way of guift. _attalus_ king of _pergamus_[ ] did constitute the people of _rome_ his heire; by force wherof they made his kingdome a part of their empire. _nicomedes_ king of _bithynia_[ ] made the people of _rome_ likewise his heire; whereupon his kingdome was reduced to the forme of a prouince. so _alexander_ king of _egypt_,[ ] gaue _alexandria_ and the kingdome of _egypt_; and so _ptolemie_ gaue the kingdome of _cyrene_ to the same people of _rome_. _prasutagus_[ ] one of the kings of great _britaine_, gaue the kingdome of the _iceni_ to _cæsar nero_, and to his daughters. yea, in the imperial state of _rome_, _augustus_ designed _tiberius_ to be his successour; and by like appointment _nero_ became successour to _claudius_; _traiane_ to _nerua_; _antonius pius_ to _adrian_; and _antoninus_ the philosopher to another _antoninus_. when the emperour _galba_[ ] did openly appoint _piso_ for his successour, he declared to the people, that the same custome had been obserued by most approued and ancient princes. _iugurth_ being adopted by _mycipsa_,[ ] succeeded him in the kingdome of _numidia_; and that by the iudgement as well of _mycipsa_ himselfe, as of the senate and people of _rome_. the holy histories report that _salomon_[ ] gaue twentie cities to _hiram_ king of _tyre_: and if the argument be good from the part to the whole, he might in like sort haue disposed of all his kingdome. who hath not heard of the donation falsly attributed to _constantine_ the great, being in trueth the donation of _lewis_, sirnamed the pious; whereby he gaue to pope _paschal_ the citie of _rome_, and a large territorie adioyning vnto it; the instrument of which gift _volaterrane_[ ] doth recite. so the ladie _matild_, daughter to _roger_ the most famous prince of _cicilie_, and wife to king _conrade_, sonne to _henrie_[ ] the . emperour, gaue the marquisate of _apulia_ to the bishop of _rome_: which when the emperour _otho_ the . refused to deliuer, hee was for that cause excommunicate by the pope. in like sort the countrey of _daulphin_[ ] was giuen by prince _vmbert_ to the king of _france_, vpon condition, that the eldest sonne of _france_ should afterward be called _daulphine_. lastly, the dukes first auncestor _rollo_, receiued the dukedome of _normandie_ by donation of _charles_ king of _france_: and himselfe held the countie of _maine_ by donation of earle _herebert_, as before it is shewed. and by donation of the king of _britaine_, _hengist_ obtained _kent_; the first kingdome of the english saxons in _britaine_. after which time the countrey was neuer long time free from inuasion: first, by the english and saxons against the britaines, afterward by the seuen _saxon_ kingdomes among themselues, and then lastly by the _danes_. by meanes whereof the kingdome at that time could not bee setled in any certaine forme of succession by blood, as it hath been since; but was held for the most part in absolute dominion, and did often passe by transaction or gift: and he whose sword could cut best, was alwaies adiudged to haue most right. but of this question more shall hereafter be said, in the beginning of the life of king _william_ the second. touching his propinquity in blood to king _edward_ by the mothers side, he enforced it to be a good title: because king _edward_ not long before had taken succession from _hardicanutus_, to whom hee was brother by the mothers side. and although king _edward_ was also descended from the _saxon_ kings, yet could not he deriue from them any right: for that _edgar_ and his sisters were then aliue, descended from _edmund ironside_, elder brother to king _edward_. hee could haue no true right of succession, but onely from _hardicanutus_ the _dane_. so _pepine_, when he was possessed of the state of _france_, did openly publish, that hee was descended of the blood of _charles_ the great, by the mothers side. and albeit the said _edgar_ was both neerer to king _edward_ then the duke of _normandie_, and also ioyned to him in blood by the fathers side; yet was that no sufficient defence for _harold_. the vsurped possession of _harold_[ ] could not be defended, by alleaging a better title of a third person. the iniurie which hee did to _edgar_, could not serue him for a title against any other. these grounds of his pretence, beautified with large amplifications of the benefits which he had done to king _edward_, he imparted to the bishop of _rome_; who at time was reputed the arbitrator of controuersies which did rise betweene princes. and the rather to procure his fauour, and to gaine the countenance of religion to his cause, hee promised to hold the kingdome of _england_ of the apostolike sea. hereupon _alexander_ then bishop of _rome_ allowed his title, and sent vnto him a white hallowed banner, to aduance vpon the prowe of his ship: also an _agnus dei_ of gold, and one of s. _peters_ haires, together with his blessing to begin the enterprise. but now concerning his further proceedings, concerning his victorious both entrance and continuance within the realme of _england_, two points are worthy to be considered: one, how he being a man of no great either power or dominion, did so suddenly preuaile against a couragious king, possessed of a large and puissant state. the other is, how he so secured his victorie, as not the english, not the britains, not the danes, not any other could dispossesse or much disturbe him & his posteritie, from enioying the fayre fruits thereof. and if we giue to either of these their true respects, wee shall find his commendation to consist, not so much in the first, as in the second: because that was effected chiefly by force, this by wisedome only; which as it is most proper to man, so few men doe therein excell. hee that winneth a state surmounteth onely outward difficulties; but he that assureth the same, trauaileth as well against internall weaknes, as external strength. to attaine a kingdome is many times a gift of fortune; but to prouide that it may long time continue firme, is not onely to oppose against humane forces, but against the very malice of fortune, or rather the power and wrath of time, whereby all things are naturally inclineable to change. for the first then, besides the secret working and will of god, which is the cause of all causes; besides the sinnes of the people, for which (the prophet saith,) _kingdomes are transported from one nation to another_: king _edward_ not long before made a manifest way for this inuasion and change. for although he was _english_ by birth, yet by reason of his education in _normandie_, he was altogether become a _normane_, both in affection and in behauiour of life. so as in imitation of him, the _english_ abandoned the ancient vsages of their country, and with great affection or affectation rather, conformed themselues to the fashions of _france_.[ ] his chiefe acquaintance and familiar friends were no other then _normans_; towards whom being a milde and soft spirited prince, he was very bountifull, and almost immoderate in his fauours. these he enriched with great possessions; these he honoured with the highest places both of dignitie and charge. chiefly he aduanced diuers of them to the best degrees of dignitie in the church: by whose fauour duke _william_ afterward was both animated & aided in his exploit. generally as the whole clergie of _england_ conceiued a hard opinion of _harold_; for that vpon the same day wherein king _edward_ was buried, he set the crowne vpon his owne head, without religious ceremonies, without any solemnities of coronation: so they durst not for feare of the popes displeasure, but giue either furtherance or forbearance to the dukes proceedings; and to abuse the credite which they had with the people, in working their submission to the _normans_. now of what strength the clergie was at that time within the realme, by this which followeth it may appeare. after that _harold_ was slaine, _edwine_ and _morcar_ earles of _northumberland_ and _marckland_, brothers of great both authoritie and power within the realme, had induced many of the nobilitie to declare _edgar athelinge_ to be their king: but the prelates not onely crossed that purpose, but deliuered _edgar_ the next heire from the _saxon_ kings to the pleasure of the duke. againe, when the duke after his great victorie at _hastings_ aduanced his armie towards _hartford-shire_; _fredericke_ abbot of _s. albanes_ had caused the woods belonging to his church to be felled, and the trees to be cast so thicke in the way, that the duke was compelled to coast about to the castle of _berkhamstead_. to this place the abbot vnder suerties came vnto him; and being demanded wherefore he alone did offer that opposition against him, with a confident countenance he returned answere: that he had done no more then in conscience and by nature he was bound to doe: and that if the residue of the clergie had borne the like minde, hee should neuer haue pierced the land so farre. well, answered the duke, i know that your clergie is powerfull indeed; but if i liue and prosper in my affaires, i shall gouerne their greatnesse well ynough. assuredly, nothing doeth sooner worke the conuersion or subuersion of a state, then that any one sort of subiects should grow so great, as to be able to ouerrule all the rest. besides this disposition of the clergie, diuers of the nobilitie also did nothing fauour king _harold_ or his cause: for that he was a manifest vsurper, naked of all true title to the crowne, pretending onely as borne of the daughter of _hardicanutus_ the _dane_. yea he was infamous both for his iniurie and periurie towards the duke, and no lesse hatefull for his disloyaltie in former times, in bearing armes with his father against king _edward_. hereupon the nobilitie of the realme were broken into factions. many (of whom his owne brother _tosto_ was chiefe) inuited _harold_ king of _norway_ to inuade; with whom whilest _harold_ of _england_ was incountring in armes, the residue drew in duke _william_ out of _normandie_. and these also were diuided in respects. some were caried by particular ends, as being prepared in diuers maner by the _normane_ before hand: others vpon a greedy and for the most part deceiueable ambition, in hunting after hazard and change: others were led with loue to their countrey, partly to auoyd the tempest which they saw to gather in clouds against them, and partly to enlarge the realme both in dominion and strength, by adioyning the country of _normandie_ vnto it. in which regard, (because the lesse doeth alwayes accrue to the greater) they thought it more aduantageable to deale with a prince of an inferiour state, then with a prince of a state superiour or equal. as for _edgar atheling_, the next successour to the crowne in right of blood, he was not of sufficient age; of a simple wit and slow courage; not gracious to the _english_, as well for his imperfections both in yeeres and nature, as for that he was altogether vnacquainted with the customes and conditions of their countrey: vnfurnished of forces and reputation, vnfurnished of friends, vnfurnished of all meanes to support his title. so duke _william_ hauing better right then the one, and more power then the other, did easily cary the prize from both. now touching the state of his owne strength, albeit _normandie_ was but little in regard of _england_, yet was it neither feeble nor poore. for the people, by reason of their continuall exercise in armes, by reason of the weightie warres which they had managed, were well inabled both in courage and skill for all militarie atchieuements. their valour also had bene so fauoured by their fortune, that they were more enriched by spoile, then drawne downe either with losses or with charge. hereupon when preparation was to be made for the enterprise of _england_, although some disswaded the duke from embracing the attempt; affirming that it was a vaine thing to streine at that which the hand is not able to conteine, to take more meat then the stomacke can beare; that he who catcheth at matters too great, is in great danger to gripe nothing: yet did others not onely encourage him by aduise, but enable him by their aide. among which _william fitz-auber_ did furnish . ships with men and munition; the bishop of _baieux_ likewise : the bishop of _mans_ : and in like sort others, according to the proportion of their estates. and yet he drew not his forces onely out of _normandie_, but receiued aide from all parts of _france_; answerable not onely to his necessitie, but almost to his desire. _philip_ king of _france_ at that time was vnder age, and _baldwine_ earle of _flanders_ was gouernour of the realme; whose daughter the duke had taken to wife. by his fauour the duke receiued large supplies from the state of _france_, both in treasure and in men of warre: for countenance whereof it was giuen foorth, that the duke should hold the realme of _england_ as hee did the duchie of _normandie_, vnder homage to the crowne of _france_. hereupon diuers princes of _france_ did adioyne to his aide; and especially the duke of _orleance_, the earles of _britaine_, _aniou_, _boloigne_, _ponthieu_, _neuers_, _poictou_, _hiesmes_, _aumale_, and the lord of _tours_. many other of the nobilitie and gentlemen did voluntarily aduenture, both their bodies and whole estates vpon the euent of this enterprise. so greatly had he either by courtesie wonne the loue, or by courage erected the hopes of all men: yea of many who had bin his greatest enemies. with these also the _emperour henry_ . sent him certaine troupes of souldiers, commanded by a prince of _almaine_. hee receiued also many promises of fauour from _swaine_ king of _denmarke_. and who can assure (for the sequele maketh the coniecture probable) that he held not intelligence with _harold harfager_ king of _norway_, to inuade _england_ with two armies at once. so partly by his owne subiects, and partly by supply from his alleys and friends, hee amassed a strong armie, consisting chiefly of _normans_, _flemings_, _french_ and _britaines_, to the number of fiftie thousand men; and brought them to s. _valeries_, before which towne his ships did ride. here he stayed a certaine time attending the wind, as most writers doe report; but rather as it may be coniectured, to awaite the arriuall of _harold harfager_ k. of _norway_: knowing right well, that the inuasion of _harold_ of _norway_ vpon the north parts of the realme, would draw away _harold_ of _england_ to leaue the coasts towards the south vndefended. during his abode at s. _valeries_, certaine english espials were taken, whom king _harold_ had sent to discouer both the purposes and power of the duke. when they were brought to his presence, with a braue confidence he said vnto them: _your lord might well haue spared this charge; hee needed not to haue cast away his cost to vnderstand that by your industrie and faith, which my owne presence shall manifest vnto him; more certainly, more shortly then he doth expect. goe your wayes, goe tell him from me, if he find me not before the end of this yeere, in the place where hee supposeth that hee may most safely set his foote, let him neuer feare danger from mee whilest hee liue._ many _normans_ disliked this open dealing of the duke: preferring to his iudgement the valour and experience of king _harold_; the greatnesse of his treasure; the number and goodnes of his men; but especially his strong nauie, and expert saylers; accustomed both to the fights and dangers of the sea, more then any other people in the world. to these the duke turned, and sayd: _i am glad to heare this opinion run, both of his prowesse and of his power; the greater shall our glory bee in preuailing against him. but i see right well that i haue small cause to feare his discouery of our strength, when you, who are so neere vnto mee, discerne so little. rest your selues vpon the iustice of your cause and foresight of your commaunder. who hath lesse then hee, who can iustly tearme nothing his owne? i know more of his weakenesse, then euer he shall know of my strength, vntill he feele it. performe you your parts like men, and he shall neuer be able to disappoint either my assurance, or your hopes._ now _harold_ king of _england_ had prepared a fleet to resist the inuasion of the duke of _normandie_: but by reason of his long stay at s. _valeries_, speeches did spread, whether by error or subornation, yea, assured aduertisement was sent out of _flanders_, that he had for that yeere abandoned his enterprise. in the meane time _harold harfager_ king of _norway_, then whom no man was esteemed more valiant, hauing assured both intelligence and aide out of _england_, arriued in the mouth of _humber_: and from thence drawing vp against the streame of the riuer _owse_, landed at a place called _richhall_. here he marshalled his armie, and marched foorth into the countrey: and when hee came neere vnto _yorke_, he was encountred by the _english_, led by _edwine_ and _morchar_ the principall commanders of all those quarters. the fight was furious, but in the end the _english_ were ouerthrowne, and with a great slaughter chased into _yorke_. vpon aduertisement hereof, _harold_ king of _england_ caried all his forces against _harfager_. his readinesse was such, and such his expedition, that the fifth day after the fight before mentioned he gaue him battell againe; wherein _harold harfager_ was slaine, and so was _tosto_ the king of _englands_ brother: _tosto_ by an vncertaine enemie, but _harfager_ by the hand of _harold_ of _england_. their armie also was routed, and with a bloody execution pursued, so long as day and furie did last. here a certaine souldier of _norway_ was most famous almost for a miracle of manhood. he had been appointed with certaine others, to guard the passage at _stamford_ bridge. the residue vpon approach of the english forsooke their charge; but hee alone stepped to the foote of the bridge, and with his battle-axe sustained the shocke of the whole armie; slew aboue fourty assailants, and defended both the passage and himselfe, vntill an english souldier went vnder the bridge, and through a hole thereof thrust him into the bodie with a launce. if this victory of king _harold_ had been so wisely vsed as it was valiantly wonne, he should haue neglected the spoyle, and returned with the like celeritie wherewith he came. but hee gaue discontentment to his souldiers, in abridging their expectation for free sharing the spoile; and hauing lost many in that conflict, he retired to _yorke_, and there stayed; as well to reforme the state of the countrey, greatly disordered by meanes of these warres, as also both to refresh and repaire his armie. in the meane time the duke of _normandie_ receiuing intelligence, that the sea-coasts were left naked of defence, loosed from s. _valeries_ with three hundred, or, as some writers report, , or, as one _norman_ writer affirmes, with more then one thousand saile: and hauing a gentle gale, arriued at _pemsey_ in _sussex_, vpon the . of september. the ship wherein the duke was caried is said, (as if it had runne for the garland of victory) to haue outstripped the rest so farre, that the sailers were enforced to strike saile, and hull before the winde to haue their companie. when hee first stepped vpon the shoare, one of his feete slipped a little. the duke to recouer himselfe stepped more strongly with the other foote, and sunke into the sand somewhat deepe. one of his souldiers espying this, sayd merrily vnto him: _you had almost fallen my lord, but you haue well maintained your standing, and haue now taken deepe and firme footing in the soyle of_ england. _the presage is good, and hereupon i salute you king._ the duke laughed; and the souldiers, with whom superstition doth strongly worke, were much confirmed in courage by the ieast. when he had landed his forces, he fortified a piece of ground with strong trenches, and discharged all his ships; leauing to his souldiers no hope to saue themselues, but by onely by victory. after this he published the causes of his comming in armes, namely: to chalenge the kingdome of _england_, giuen to him by his cousin king _edward_, the last lawfull possessor at that time thereof. to reuenge the death of his cousin _alfred_, brother to the same k. _edward_, and of the _normans_, who did accompanie him into _england_; no lesse cruelly then deceitfully slaine by earle _goodwin_ and his adherents. to reuenge the iniurie done vnto _robert_ archbishop of canterburie; who by the practise (as it was then giuen foorth) of _harold_, had been exiled in the life time of king _edward_. this last article was added either to please the pope, or generally in fauour of the cleargie: to whom the example grew then intollerable, that an archbishop should bee once questioned by any other then by themselues. so the duke, leauing his fortification furnished with competent forces to assure the place, as wel for a retreit, as for daily landing of fresh supplies, marched forward to _hastings_; and there raised another fortresse, and planted likewise a garison therein. and in all places he restrained his souldiers, either from spoyling or harming the countrey people, for feare that thereby they would fall into disorder: but giuing forth, that it were crueltie to spoile them, who in short time should be his subiects. here the duke, because he would not either aduenture or trust his souldiers, went foorth in person to discouer the countrey, with . horsemen in his company, and no more. his returne was on foote, by reason of the euill qualitied wayes: and when _fitz-osberne_ who went with him, was ouerwearied with the weight of his armour, the duke eased him by bearing his helmet vpon his shoulder. this action may seeme of slender regard; but yet did gaine him, both fauour and dutie among his souldiers. k. _harold_ hearing of these approches, hasted by great iourneyes towards _london_; sending his messengers to all places, both to encourage and entreate the people to draw together for their common defence. here he mustered his souldiers; and albeit hee found that his forces were much impaired by his late battaile against _harfager_, yet he gathered an able armie, countenanced and commanded by diuers of the nobilitie, which resorted vnto him from many parts of the realme. the duke in the meane time sent a messenger vnto him, who demanded the kingdome in so stout maner, that he was at the point to haue bene euill entreated by the king. againe the king sent his messenger to the duke, forbidding him with loftie language, to make any stay within that countrey; but to returne againe no lesse speedily, then rashly he had entred. the duke betweene mirth and scorne returned answere; that as he came not vpon his entreaty, so at his command he would not depart. but (said he) _i am not come to word with your king, i am come to fight, and am desirous to fight: i will be ready to fight with him, albeit i had but . such men as i haue brought ._ k. _harold_ spent little time, lost none (vnlesse happely that which hee might haue taken more) both in appointing and ordering his armie. and when he was ready to take the field, his mother entreated him, first moderately, then with words of passion and with teares, that he would not aduenture his person to the battaile. her importunitie was admired the more, for that it was both without any apparant cause, and not vsuall in former times. but _harold_ with vndaunted countenance and heart, conducted his armie into _sussex_, and encamped within seuen miles of the _normans_: who thereupon approched so neere to the _english_, that the one armie was within view of the other. first, espials were sent on both sides, to discouer the state and condition of their enemies. they who were sent from the english made a large report, both of the number, and appointment, and discipline of the _normans_. whereupon _girth_, yonger brother to king _harold_ presented him with aduise, not to play his whole state at a cast; not to bee so caried with desire of victory, as not to awaite the time to attaine it: that it is proper to inuaders presently to fight, because they are then in the very pride and flourish of their strength; but the assailed should rather delay battell, rather obserue only and attend their enemies, cut off their reliefe, vexe them with incommodities, weary them, and weare them out by degrees: that it could not be long before the dukes armie, being in a strange countrey, would be reduced to necessities; it could not bee long but by reason it consisted of diuers nations, it would draw into disorder: that it was proper to an armie compounded of different people, to be almost inuincible at the first, whilest all contend to excell or at least to equal other in braue performance; but if they be aduisedly endured, they will easily fall into disorders, and lastly of themselues dissolue. _or if_ (sayd he) _you resolue to fight, yet because you are sworne to the duke, you shall doe well to withdraw your presence; to imploy your authoritie in mustering a new armie, to bee readie to receiue him with fresh forces. and if you please to commit the charge of this incounter vnto me, i will not faile to expresse, both the loue of a brother, and the care and courage of a commander. for as i am not obliged to the duke by oath, so shall i either preuaile with the better cause, or with the quieter conscience die._ both these counsailes were reiected by _harold_: the first out of a violent vehemencie of these northerne nations, who doe commonly esteeme delay of battell a deiected cowardise, a base and seruile deflouring of time; but to beare through their designes at once, they account a point of honourable courage. the second he esteemed both shamefull to his reputation, and hurtfull to the state of his affaires. for what honour had he gained by his former victories, if when he came to the greatest pinch of danger, hee should fearefully shrinke backe? with what heart should the souldiers fight, when they haue not his presence for whom they fight? when they haue not their generall an eye witnesse of their performance? when they want his sight, his encouragement, his example to enflame them to valour? the presence of the prince is worth many thousands of ordinarie souldiers: the ordinary souldier wil vndertake both labour and danger for no other respects so much, as by the presence of the prince. and therefore he did greatly extenuate the worth of the _normans_, terming them a company of priests; because their fashion was to shaue their faces: but whatsoeuer they were, as he had (hee said) digested in his minde the hardest euents of battell; so either the infamie or suspicion of cowardise in no case hee would incurre. hee resolued not to ouerliue so great dishonour; he resolued to set vp as his last rest, his crowne, and kingdome; and life withall. and thus oftentimes fortune dealeth with men, as executioners doe with condemned persons; she will first blindfold, and then dispatch them. after this the _norman_ sent a monke to offer the choise of these conditions to _harold_; either to relinquish his kingdome vpon certaine conditions; or to hold it vnder homage to the duke; or to try their cause by single combate; or to submit it to the iudgement of the pope, according to the lawes of _normandy_ or of _england_, which he would. againe, some conditions were propounded from k. _harold_ to the duke: but their thoughts were so lifted vp both with pride and confidence, by reason of their former victories, that no moderate ouerture could take place: and so they appointed the day following, which was the . of october, to determine their quarrell by sentence of the sword. this happened to be the birth day of k. _harold_, which for that cause by a superstitious errour, he coniectured would be prosperous vnto him. the night before the battaile for diuers respects was vnquiet. the _english_ spent the time in feasting and drinking, and made the aire ring with showtings and songs: the _normans_ were more soberly silent, and busied themselues much in deuotion; being rather still then quiet, not so much watchful as not able to sleepe. at the first appearance of the day, the king and the duke were ready in armes, encouraging their souldiers, and ordering them in their arrayes; in whose eyes it seemed that courage did sparckle, and that in their face and gesture victorie did sit. the duke put certaine reliques about his necke, vpon which king _harold_ had sworne vnto him. it is reported that when he armed, the backe of his curasses was placed before by errour of him that put it on: some would haue bin dismayed hereat, but the duke smiled, and said; assuredly this day my fortune will turne, i shall either be a king, or nothing before night. the _english_ were knit in one maine body on foot; whereof the first rancks consisted of _kentishmen_ (who by an ancient custome did challenge the honour of that place,) the next were filled with _londoners_; then followed the other _english_. their chiefe weapons were pole-axe, sword and dart, with a large target for their defence. they were paled in front with paueises in such wise, that it was thought impossible for the enemie to breake them. the king stood on foot by his standard, with two of his brothers, _girth_ and _leofwine_; as well to relieue from thence all parts that should happen to be distressed, as also to manifest to the souldiers, that they reteined no thought of escaping by flight. on the other side, the _normans_ were diuided into three battailes: the first was conducted by _roger montgomerie_, and _william fitz-osborne_; it consisted of horsemen of _aniou_, _maine_ and _britaine_, commanded by a _britaine_ named _fergent_; it caried the banner which the pope had sent. the middle battaile consisting of souldiers out of _germanie_ and _poictou_, was led by _geoffrye martell_, and a prince of _almaine_. the duke himselfe closed the last battaile, with the strength of his _normans_ and the flowre of his nobilitie. the archers were diuided into wings, and also dispersed by bands through all the three battails. thus were both sides set vpon a bloody bargaine; ambition, hope, anger, hate, enflaming them to valour. the duke edged his souldiers, by declaring vnto them the noble acts of their ancesters, the late admirable atchieuement of their fellow _normans_ in subduing the kingdome of _sicill_, their owne braue exploits vnder him; by shewing them all that pleasant and plentifull countrey, as the purchase of their prowesse, as the gaine and reward of their aduenture: by putting them in minde, that they were in a countrey both hostile & vnknowne, before them the sword, the vast ocean behind, no place of retreit, no surety but in valour and in victory; so as they who would not contend for glory, were vpon necessitie to fight for their liues: lastly, by assuring them, that as he was the first in aduise, so would he be the foremost in aduenture, being fully resolued either to vanquish, or to die. the king encouraged his men, by presenting to their remembrance, the miseries which they susteined not long before, vnder the oppression of the _danes_; which whether they were againe to endure, or neuer to feare, it lieth (said he) in the issue of this field. the king had the aduantage both for number of men, and for their large able bodies; the duke both in armes, (especially in regard of the bow and arrowes,) and in experience and skill of armes; both equall in courage; both confident alike in the fauour of fortune, which had alwayes crowned their courage with victory. and now by affronting of both the armies, the plots and labours of many moneths, were reduced to the hazard of a few houres. the _normans_ marched with a song of the valiant acts of _rowland_, esteeming nothing of perill in regard of the glory of their aduenture. when they approched neere their enemies, they saluted them first with a storme of arrowes: _robert fitz beaumonte_ a yong gentleman of _normandie_, beginning the fight from the right wing. this maner of fight as it was new, so was it most terrible to the _english_, so were they least prouided to auoyd it. first, they opened their rancks, to make way for the arrowes to fall; but when that auoydance did nothing auaile, they cloased againe, and couered themselues with their targets, ioyned together in maner of a pendhouse; encouraging one another, to hast forward, to leape lustily to hand-strokes, and to scoure their swords in the entrailes of their enemies. then the duke commanded his horsemen to charge: but the _english_ receiued them vpon the points of their weapons, with so liuely courage, in so firme and stiffe order, that the ouerthrow of many of the foremost, did teach their followers to aduenture themselues with better aduise. hereupon they shifted into wings, and made way for the footmen to come forward. then did both armies ioyne in a horrible shocke, with pole-axes, & the prince of weapons the sword: maintaining the fight with so manlike furie, as if it had bene a battaile of giants, rather then of men. and so they continued the greatest part of that day, in close and furious fight; blow for blow, wound for wound, death for death; their feet steadie, their hands diligent, their eyes watchfull, their hearts resolute; neither their aduisement dazeled by fiercenesse, nor their fiercenesse any thing abated by aduisement. in the meane time the horsemen gaue many sharpe charges, but were alwayes beaten backe with disaduantage. the greatest annoyance came from the archers; whose shot showred among the _english_ so thicke, as they seemed to haue the enemy in the middest of their armie. their armour was not sufficiently either compleate or of proofe to defend them, but euery hand, euery finger breadth vnarmed, was almost an assured place for a deepe, and many times a deadly wound. thus whilest the front was maintained in good condition, many thousands were beaten downe behind; whose death was not so grieuous vnto them, as the maner of their death, in the middest of their friends, without an enemie at hand, vpon whom they might shew some valour, and worke some reuenge. this maner of fight would soone haue determined aswell the hopes as the feares of both sides, had not the targets of english been very seruiceable vnto them; had not king _harold_ also with a liuely and constant resolution, performed the part, not onely of a skilfull commander, by directing, encouraging, prouiding, relieuing; but of a valiant souldier by vsing his weapon, to the excellent example of his souldiers. in places of greatest danger hee was alwayes present; repayring the decayes, reforming the disorders, and encouraging his company, that in doing as men, whether they preuailed, or whether they perished, their labour was alwayes gloriously employed. so they knit strongly together, and stood in close and thicke array, as if they had been but one body: not onely bearing the brunt of their enemies, but making such an impression vpon their squadron, that the great bodie began to shake. the duke aduentured in person so farre, moued no lesse by his naturall magnanimitie, then by glory of the enterprise, that besides his often alighting to fight on foote, two, or (as some report) three horses were slaine vnder him. and hauing a body both able by nature, and by vse hardened to endure trauaile, hee exacted the greater seruice of his souldiers: commending the forward, blaming the slow, and crying out (according to his nature) with vehement gesture and voice vnto all; that it was a shame for them who had been victorious against all men with whom they dealt, to be so long held by the _english_ in delay of victory. so partly by his authoritie, and partly by his example, he retained his souldiers, and imposed vpon them the fayrest necessitie of courage; whilest euery man contended to win a good opinion of their prince. then the fight entred into a new fitte of heate; nothing lesse feared then death, the greatnesse of danger making both sides the more resolute: and they who could not approach to strike with the hand, were heard to encourage their fellowes by speach, to pursue the victory, to pursue their glory, not to turne to their owne both destruction and disgrace. the clashing of armour, the iustling of bodies, the resounding of blowes, was the fairest part of this bloody medley: but the grislinesse of wounds, the hideous fals and groanes of the dying, all the field defiled with dust, blood, broken armour, mangled bodies, represented terrour in her foulest forme. neuer was furie better gouerned; neuer game of death better played. the more they fought the better they fought; the more they smarted, the lesse they regarded smart. at the last, when the duke perceiued that the _english_ could not be broken by strength of arme, he gaue direction that his men should retire and giue ground; not loosely, not disorderly, as in a fearefull and confused haste, but aduisedly and for aduantage; keeping the front of their squadron firme and close, without disbanding one foote in array. nothing was more hurtfull to the _english_, being of a franke and noble spirit, then that their violent inclination caried them too fast into hope of victory. for, feeling their enemies to yeeld vnder their hand, they did rashly follow those who were not hasty to flee: and in the heate of their pursuit, vpon a false conceit of victory, loosed and disordered their rankes, thinking then of nothing but of executing the chase. the _normans_ espying the aduantage to be ripe, made a stiffe stand, redoubled vpon the _english_, and pressing on with a furie equall to their fauourable fortune, with a cruell butchery brake into them. on the other side it is scarce credible with what strength both of courage and hand the _english_ euen in despight of death, sustained themselues in this disorder; drawing into small squadrons, and beating downe their enemies on euery hand, being resolued to sell their liues with their place. but a mischiefe is no mischiefe, if it comes alone. besides this disaduantage of disarray, the shot of the _normans_, did continually beate vpon the _english_ with a grieuous execution. among other king _harold_ about the closing of the euening, as he was busie in sustaining his armie, both with voyce and with hand, was strooke with an arrow through the left eye into his braines, of which wound hee presently died. his two brothers, _girth_ and _leofwine_ were also slaine, and also most of the nobilitie that were present: so long as the king stood, they stood stoutly, both with him, and for him, and by him: his directions supported them, his braue behauiour breathed fresh boldnesse and life into them. but his death was a deadly stabbe to their courage; vpon report of his death, they began to wauer in resolution, whether to trust to the force of their armes, or to commend their safetie to their good footemanship. in this incertainty many were slaine: many retired in reasonable order to a rising ground, whither they were closely followed by the _normans_; but the _english_ hauing gotten aduantage of the place, and drawing courage out of despaire, with a bloody charge did driue them downe. count _eustachius_ supposing fresh forces to be arriued, fled away with fiftie souldiers in his company; and meeting with the duke, rounded him secretly in his eare, that if hee went any further hee was vndone. whilest he was thus speaking, hee was strooke betweene the shoulder with so violent a blowe, that he fell downe as dead, and voided much blood at his nose and mouth. in this conflict many of the noblest _normans_ were slaine, which mooued the duke to make a strong ordered stand, giuing libertie therby for those _english_ to retire. others fled through a watery channell, the passages whereof were well knowen vnto them: and when the _normans_ did more sharpely then aduisedly pursue, the place being shadowed partly with sedges and reedes, and partly with the night, they were either stifled in the waters, or easily destroyed by the _english_, and that in so great numbers, that the place was filled vp with dead bodies. the residue scattered in smaller companies, and had their flight fauoured by increasing darkenesse: the enemie not aduenturing to follow, both in a strange countrey, and in the night. earle _edwine_ and earle _morchar_, brothers of approoued both courage and faith, did great seruice at that time, in collecting these dispersed troupes, and leading them in some fashion to _london_. duke _william_ surprised with ioy, gaue publike charge for a solemne thanksgiuing to god. then he erected his pauilion in the middest of the field, among the thickest of those bodies whom death had made to lie quietly together. there he passed the residue of that night; and the next morning mustered his souldiers, buried those that were slaine, and gaue libertie to the _english_ to do the like. the bodie of king _harold_ could not be knowen by his face, it was so deformed by death, and by his wound; by his armour and by certaine markes vpon his body it was knowen. as it lay vpon the ground, a _norman_ souldier did strike it into the legge with his sword: for which vnmanly acte he was cassed by the duke with open disgrace. it was caried into the dukes pauilion, vnder the custodie of _william mallet_. and when his mother made suite for it to bee buried, the duke denied it at the first; affirming, that buriall was not fit for him, whose ambition was the cause of so many funerals. the mother, besides her lamentations and teares, offered for it (as one _norman_ writer affirmes) the weight thereof in gold. but the duke, with a manly compassion gaue it freely; as holding it dishonourable both to value the bodie of a king, and make sale of a slaine enemie. so his body was buried by his mother at _waltham crosse_ within the monasterie which hee had founded. verely there was nothing to be blamed in him, but that his courage could not stoupe to be lower then a king. i haue been the more long in describing this battel, for that i esteem it the most memorable and best executed that euer was fought within this land: as well for skilfull direction, as for couragious performance, and also for the greatnesse of the euent. the fight continued with very great both constancie of courage, and variety of fortune, from seuen of the clocke in the morning vntill night. of the _normans_ were slaine and more, besides those that were drowned and beaten downe in the water. the slaughter of the _english_ is vncertainely reported, but certainely it was farre greater then that of the _normans_. certaine also that their death was most honourable and faire, not any one basely abandoning the fielde; not any one yeelding to bee taken prisoner. and yet one circumstance more i hold fit to bee obserued; that this victory was gotten onely by the meanes of the bow and arrow: the vse whereof was by the _normans_ first brought into this land. afterward the _english_ being trained to that fight, did thereby chiefly maintaine themselues with honourable aduantage, against all nations with whom they did contend in armes; being generally reputed the best shot in the world. but of late yeeres it hath bene altogether layed aside, and in stead thereof the harquebuze and calliuer are brought into vse: yet not without contradiction of many expert men of armes; who albeit they doe not reiect the vse of these small pieces, yet doe they preferre the bow before them. first, for that in a reasonable distance, it is of greater both certainty and force. secondly, for that it dischargeth faster. thirdly, for that more men may discharge therewith at once: for onely the first rancke dischargeth the piece, neither hurt they any but those that are in front; but with the bow . or . rancks may discharge together, and will annoy so many ranckes of the enemies. lastly, for that the arrow doeth strike more parts of the body: for in that it hurteth by discent; (and not onely point blancke like the bullet) there is no part of the body but it may strike; from the crowne of the head, euen to the nayling of the foot to the ground. hereupon it followeth, that the arrowes falling so thicke as haile vpon the bodies of men, as lesse fearefull of their flesh, so more slenderly armed then in former times, must necessarily worke most dangerous effects. besides these generall respects in many particular seruices and times, the vse of the bow is of greatest aduantage. if some defence lye before the enemy, the arrow may strike where the bullet cannot. foule weather may much hinder the discharge of the piece, but it is no great impediment to the shot of the bow. a horse strooke with a bullet if the wound be not mortall, may performe good seruice; but if an arrow be fastened in his flesh, the continuall stirring thereof, occasioned by the motion of himselfe, will enforce him to cast off all command, and either beare downe or disorder those that are neere. but the cracke of the piece (will some man say) doeth strike a terrour into the enemie. true, if they bee such as neuer heard the like noise before. but a little vse wil extinguish these terrours: to men, yea to beasts acquainted with these cracks, they worke a weake impression of feare. and if it be true which all men of action doe hold, that the eye in all battailes is first ouercome, then against men equally accustomed to both, the sight of the arrow is more auaileable to victorie then the cracke of the piece. assuredly, the duke before the battaile encouraged his men, for that they should deale with enemies who had no shot. but i will leaue this point to be determined by more discerning iudgements, and happily by further experience in these affaires, and returne againe to my principall purpose. the next day after the victorie the duke returned to _hastings_, about seuen miles from the place of the encounter, partly to refresh his armie, and partly to settle in aduise and order for his further prosecution. first, he dispatched messengers to signifie his successe to his friends abroad; to the pope he sent king _harolds_ standerd, which represented a man fighting, wrought curiously with golde and precious stones. afterwards placing a strong garrison at _hastings_, he conducted his armie towards _london_: not the direct way, but coasted about through part of _kent_, through _sussex_, _surrey_, _hampshire_ and _barkeshire_: the wayes where hee passed being as free from resistance, as his thoughts were from change. at _wallingford_ he passed ouer the _thames_; and then marched forward through _oxford-shire_, _buckingham-shire_, and _hartford-shire_, vntill he came to the castle at _berkhamstead_. in this passage many of his souldiers languished and died of the fluxe. and whether it were vpon licentiousnesse after the late victorie, or whether for want of necessary prouision, or whether to strike a terrour into the _english_, or whether to leaue no danger at his backe, he permitted the sword to range at large, to harrie freely, to defile many places with ruine and blood. in the meane time the _english_ lords assembled at _london_, to aduise vpon their common affaires; but the varietie of opinions was the chiefe impediment to the present seruice; the danger being more important, then the counsaile resolute, or the confidence assured. the nobilitie enclined to declare _edgar_ grandchild to _edmund ironside_, to be their king: and with these the _londoners_ wholy went. but those of the clergie were of opinion (some vpon particular respects, all vpon feare to displease the pope) to yeeld to the storme and streame of the present time, to yeeld to the mightie arme of god; that their forces being prostrated, their hopes feeble and forlorne, they must be content not to be constrained; they must not prouoke the victor too farre; against whose forces and felicities, time gaue them not power to oppose. this deliberation held so long, that all the time of action was spent. for the duke approched so neere the citie, that many preferring their safetie before other respects, withdrew themselues and went vnto him. hereupon the residue dissolued: and _alfred_ archb. of _yorke_, _wolstane_ bishop of _worcester_, _wilfire_ b. of _hereford_, and many other prelates of the realme went vnto the duke at _berkhamstead_; accompanied with _edgar_, earle _edwine_, earle _morchar_, and diuers others of the nobilitie: who gaue pledges for their allegiance, and were thereupon receiued to subiection and fauour. the duke presently dispatched to _london_, was receiued with many declarations of ioy, the lesser in heart, the fairer in appearance, and vpon _christmas day_ next following was crowned king. now the meanes whereby this victory was[ ] assured, were the very same whereby it was atchieued; euen by a stiffe and rigorous hand. for whosoeuer supposeth that a state atteined by force, can be reteined by milder meanes, he shall find himselfe disappointed of his hopes. a people newly subdued by force, will so long remaine in obedience, as they finde themselues not of force to resist. and first he endeauoured either to preuent or appease all forren warres, especially against the _danes_, who were then chiefly feared in _england_, as well in regard of their former victories, as for that they pretended title to the crowne. and herein two things did especially fauour his affaires. one, for that the _normans_ were in some sort allied to the _danes_; being the progenie of those _noruegians_ and _danes_, which vnder the conduct and fortune of _rollo_ inuaded _france_, & after many great atchieuements, seated in _normandie_. the other was, for that after the death of _canutus_, the state of _denmarke_ was much infeebled by diuision. for the _noruegians_ set vp _magnus_ the sonne of _olaus_ for their king; but the _danes_ acknowledged _canutus_ the third of that name: by meanes whereof that puissant empire did languish in consumption of it selfe, and could not be dangerous to any neighbour countrey. yet ceased they not for many yeeres, to continue claime to the crowne of _england_: but king _william_ had purchased many sure and secret friends in that diseased state, wherein all publike affaires were set to sale; especially he vsed the authoritie of _adelbert_, archbishop of _hamburgh_, either to crosse all counsaile of hostilitie against him, or else to delay, and thereby to delude the enterprise, or lastly so to manage the action, that it should not worke any dangerous effect. after the death of _swaine_, _canutus_ prepared a nauie of one thousand saile for inuasion of _england_; and was aided with sixe hundred more by _robert le frizon_, whose daughter hee had taken to wife. but either for want, or else by negligence, or happily of purpose, this nauie continued, partly in preparation, and partly in a readinesse, the space of two yeeres, and then the voyage was layd aside. the cause was attributed to contrarietie of winds; but the contrariety of wils was the truest impediment. likewise _swaine_ had furnished against _england_ a nauie of . sayle, commanded by earle _osborne_ his brother. another fleete of . saile was set foorth vnder the charge of earle _hacon_: but king _william_ so corrupted them both, that the one departed out of the realme without performing any great exploit, the other neuer would arriue. also out of these confusions in _england_, _malcolme_ king of scots, did take his opportunitie for action. hee receiued into protection many _english_, who either for feare, or for discontentment, forsooke their countrey; of whom many families in _scotland_ are descended, and namely these; _lindsey_, _vaus_, _ramsey_, _louell_, _towbris_, _sandlands_, _bissart_, _sowlis_, _wardlaw_, _maxwell_, with diuers others. hee entertained into his court _edgar atheling_; and tooke his sister _margaret_ to wife. he possessed himselfe of a great part of _cumberland_, and of _northumberland_; wherewith the people were well content, for that hee was their earles sisters sonne. hereupon king _william_ sent against him, first, _roger_ a _norman_, who was traiterously slaine by his owne souldiers, then _gospatrick_, earle of _gloucester_: these did onely represse the enemie, but were not able to finish the warre fully. lastly, hee went himselfe with a mighty armie into _scotland_, where hee made wide waste, and in _lothiam_ found king _malcolme_, prepared both in force and resolution to entertaine him with battell. the great armie of king _william_, their faire furniture and order, their sudden comming, but especially their firme countenance and readinesse to fight, much daunted the _scots_: whereupon king _malcolme_ sent a herault to king _william_, to mooue him to some agreement of peace. the more that the king was pleased herewith, the more hee seemed vnwilling and strange: the more he must be perswaded to that, which if it had not bin offered, he would haue desired. at the last, a peace was concluded, vpon conditions honourable for king _william_, and not vnreasonable for the king of _scots_: whereby all the _english_ were pardoned, who had fled into _scotland_, and borne armes against their king. as for the _welsh_, albeit both their courage and their power had been extreamely broken in the time of king _edward_, and that by the valour and industry of _harold_; yet vpon aduantage of these troubled times, they made some incursions into the borders of _england_; but in companies so disordered and small, so secretly assaulting, so suddenly retiring, so desirous more of pillage then of blood, that they seemed more like to ordinarie robbers then to enemies in field. against these the king ledde an armie into _wales_, reduced the people both to subiection and quiet, made all the principall men tributary vnto him, receiued pledges of all, for assurance of their obedience and faith. whilest the king thus setled his affaires abroad, he secured himselfe against his subiects,[ ] not by altering their will, but by taking away their power to rebell. the stoutest of the nobilitie and gentlemen were spent, either by warre, or by banishment, or by voluntary auoidance out of the realme. all these hee stripped of their states, and in place of them aduanced his _normans_: insomuch as scarce any noble family of the _english_ blood did beare either office or authoritie within the realme. and these ranne headlong to seruitude; the more hasty and with the fairer shew, the more either countenanced or safe. these he did assure vnto him, not onely by oath of fidelitie and homage, but either by pledges, or else by reteining them alwaies by his side. and because at that time the clergie were the principall strings of the _english_ strength, he permitted not any of the _english_ nation to be aduanced to the dignities of the church, but furnished them with _normans_, and other strangers. and whereas in times before, the bishop and alderman were absolute iudges in euery shire, and the bishop in many causes shared in forfeitures and penalties with the king; he clipped the wings of their temporall power, and confined them within the limits of their ecclesiasticall iurisdiction; to maintaine the canons and customes of the church, to deale in affaires concerning the soule. he procured _stigand_ archbishop of _canterburie_, _agelwine_ bishop of _east-angles_, and certaine other bishops and abbots, to be depriued by authoritie from _rome_, and deteined them in prison during their liues, that strangers might enioy their places. the matters obiected against _stigand_ were these. _that hee had entruded vpon the archbishopricke whilest robert the archb. was in life._ _that he receiued his pall from benedict the fifth, who for buying the papacie had bene deposed._ _that hee kept the sea of winchester in his handes, after his inuestiture into the sea of canterburie._ he was otherwise also infamous in life; altogether vnlearned, of heauie iudgement and vnderstanding, sottishly seruiceable both to pleasure and sloath; in couetousnesse beneath the basenesse of rusticitie: insomuch as he would often sweare, that he had not one penie vpon the earth, and yet by a key which hee did weare about his necke, great treasures of his were found vnder the ground. and this was a griefe and sicknesse to honest mindes, that such spurious and impure creatures should susteine, or rather destaine the reuerence and maiestie of religion. further, the king caused all the monasteries and abbeys to be searched, pretending that the richer sort of the _english_ had layd vp their money in them: vnder colour whereof he discouered the state of all, and bereaued many of their owne treasure. some of these religious houses he appropriated wholly to himselfe; of diuers others he seized the liberties, which they redeemed afterward at a very high and excessiue rate. those bishopricks and abbeis which held baronies, and had bene free before from secular subiection, he reduced vnder the charge of his seruice; appointing how many souldiers, and of what sort, they should furnish for him and his successours in the time of their warres. those strangers which he entertained in pay, he dispersed into religious houses, and some also among the nobilitie, to be maintained at their charge: whereby he not onely fauoured his owne purse, but had them as a watch, and sometimes as a garrison ouer those, of whose alleageance he stood in doubt. now against the inferiour sort of people, knowing right well that hee was generally hated, hee prepared these remedies for his estate: all their armour was taken from them, they were crushed downe with change of calamity, which held them prostrate vnder yoke, and brake the very heart of their courage: leauing them no hope to be relieued, no hope to rise into any degree of libertie, but by yeelding entire obedience vnto him. those who either resisted or fauoured not his first entrance, he bereaued of all meanes afterward to offend him; holding them downe, and keeping them so lowe, that their very impotencie made him secure. all such as had their hand in any rebellion, albeit they were pardoned their liues, lost their liuings, and became vassals to those lords to whom their possessions were giuen. and if they attained any thing afterward, they held it onely at the pleasure of their lords; at the pleasure of their lords they might bee despoyled. hee much condemned the iudgement of _swanus_ the _dane_, sometimes king of _england_, who permitted those whom hee had vanquished, to retaine their former both authoritie and estates: whereby it happened, that after his death, the inhabitants were of force to expell the strangers, and to quit themselues both from their societie and subiection. hereupon many seuere lawes were made; diuers of all sorts were put to death, banished, stripped of their wealth, disabled in their bodies by vnusuall variety of punishments; as putting out the eyes, cutting off the hands and such like: not onely to diminish his feares, if they were suspected; but sometimes if they were of wealth, to satisfie therewith either his pleasure or wants. his cruelty made the people rebellious, and their rebellions made him the more cruell; in which case many innocents were made the oblations of his ambitious feares. many heauy taxations were imposed vpon them; their ancient lords were remoued, their ancient lawes and policies of state were dashed to dust; all lay couched vnder the conquerours sword, to bee newly fashioned by him, as should bee best fitting for his aduantage. hee erected castels in diuers parts of the realme, of which the towre neere _london_ was the chiefe, which afterward was increased both in compasse and in strength by addition of the outward walls. in these he planted garrisons of _normans_, as if it had bene in a hostile countrey; not without oppression to the people although they remained quiet, and sufficient to suppresse them if they should rebell. thus he secured the realme against a generall defection; as for particular stirres, they might happily molest him, but endanger him they could not. _exceter_, _northumberland_, and some other parts did rise against him in armes; but being vnable to maintaine their reuolt, their ouerthrow did much confirme his state. hee either imitated or concurred with _cæsar_ in aduise: for, as _cæsar_ inuaded the _germans_ which kept the great forrest of _ardenna_, not with his owne souldiers, but with his aides out of _gallia_; gaining thereby victory ouer the one, and securitie from the other, without any dispence of the _romane_ blood: so after the kings great victory against the valiant, but too aduenturous king _harold_, when many of the english fled into _ireland_, and from thence with fresh both courage, and supplies returned into _england_; commaunded by two of _harolds_ sonnes; hee encountred them onely with _english_ forces. in the first conflict the kings partie was ouerthrowen, and the valiant leader _ednothus_ slaine, who had bene master of the horses to king _harold_. in the second his enemies were so defeated, as they were neuer able to make head againe. so the victorers being weakened, and the vanquished wasted, the king with pleasure triumphed ouer both. likewise when he was occasioned to passe the seas into _normandie_, either to establish affaires of gouernement, or to represse rebellions, which in his absence were many times raised; he drew his forces out of _england_, and that in a more large proportion then the importance of the seruice did require. hee also tooke with him the chiefe men of _english_ blood, as well to vse their aduise and aide, as also to hold them and their friends from working innouation in his absence. he enclosed the great forrest neere vnto the sea in _hamshire_, for which he dispeopled villages and townes, about the space of thirtie miles, to make a desert for beasts of chase; in which place afterward two of his sonnes, _richard_ and _william_ ended their liues; _richard_ by a fall from his horse, and _william_ by the stroke of an arrow. the kings great delight in hunting was made the pretence of this forrest; but the true end was rather, to make a free place of footing for his _normans_ and other friends out of france, in case any great reuolt should be made. diuers other parts of the realme were so wasted with his warres, that for want both of husbandrie and habitation, a great dearth did ensue; whereby many were inforced to eate horses, dogs, cats, rats, and other loathsome and vile vermine: yea, some absteined not from the flesh of men. this famine and desolation did especially rage in the north parts of the realme. for the inhabitants beyond _humber_, fearing the kings secret hate, so much the more deepe and deadly because vniust; receiued without resistance, and perhaps drew in the armie of the king of _sueueland_, with whom _edgar atheling_ and the other _english_ that fled into _scotland_ ioyned their power. the _normans_ within _yorke_ fired the suburbs, because it should not be a lodging for their enemies: but the strength of the winde caried the flame into the citie, which consumed a great part thereof, with the minster of s. _peter_, and therein a faire librarie. and herewith whilest the _normans_ were partly busied, and partly amazed, the enemies entred, and slue in _yorke_, in _duresme_, and thereabout, three thousand _normans_; among whom were many of eminent dignitie, as well for birth, as for place of their charge. but in short time the king came vpon them, and hauing partly by armes, and partly by gifts dispatched the strangers, exercised vpon the _english_ an ancient and assured experience of warre, to represse with maine force a rebellion in a state newly subdued. insomuch as all the land betweene _duresme_ and _yorke_, except onely the territorie of s. _iohn_ of _beuerlace_, lay waste for the space of nine yeeres, without inhabitants to manure the ground. and because conspiracies and associations are commonly contriued in the night, he commanded, that in all townes and villages a bell should be runge in the euening at eight of the clocke; and that in euery house they should then put foorth their fire and lights, and goe to bed. this custome of ringing a bell at that houre, in many places is still obserued. and for that likenesse is a great cause of liking and of loue, he enioyned the chiefe of the _english_ (and these were soone imitated by the rest) to conforme themselues to the fashions of _normandie_, to which they had made themselues no strangers before. yea, children in the schoole were taught their letters and principles of grammar in the _norman_ language. in their speech, attire, shauing of the beard, seruice at the table; in their buildings and houshold furniture, they altogether resembled the _normans_. in the beginning of his reigne he ordeined that the lawes of king _edward_ should be obserued, together with those lawes which hee did prescribe: but afterwards he commanded that . men should be chosen out of euery shire, to make a true report what were the lawes and customes of the realme. of these hee changed the greatest part, and brought in the customes of _normandie_ in their stead: commanding also that causes should be pleaded, and all matters of forme dispatched in _french_. onely hee permitted certaine _dane_-lawes, (which before were chiefly vsed in _northfolke_, _suffolke_, and _cambridge_-shire) to be generally obserued; as hauing great affinitie with his _norman_-customes; both being deriued from one common head. likewise at the great suit of _william_ a _norman_ then bishop of _london_, he granted a charter of libertie to that citie, for enioying the vse of k. _edwards_ lawes: a memoriall of which benefite, the citizens fixed vpon the bishops graue, being in the middest of the great west ile of s. _pauls_. further, by the counsaile of _stigand_ archb. of _canterburie_, and of _eglesine_ abbot of s. _augustines_ (who at that time were the chiefe gouernours of _kent_) as the king was riding towards _douer_, at _swanescombe_ two mile from _grauesend_, the _kentish_ men came towards him armed, and bearing boughes in their hands, as if it had bene a moouing wood; they encloased him vpon the sudden, and with a firme countenance, but words well tempered with modestie and respect, they demanded of him the vse of their ancient liberties and lawes: that in other matters they would yeeld obedience vnto him: that without this they desired not to liue. the king was content to strike saile to the storme, and to giue them a vaine satisfaction for the present; knowing right well, that the generall customes & lawes of the residue of the realme, would in short time ouerflow these particular places. so pledges being giuen on both sides, they conducted him to _rochester_, and yeelded the countie of _kent_ and the castle of _douer_ into his power. in former times many farmes and mannors were giuen by bare word, without writing, onely with the sword of the lord, or his head-peece; with a horne or standing goblet, and many tenements with a quill, with a horse-combe, with a bow, with an arrow; but this sincere simplicitie at that time was changed. and whereas charters and deeds were before made firme by the subscription of the partie, with crosses of gold, or of some other colour; then they were firmed by the parties speciall seale, set vpon waxe, vnder the _teste_ of three or foure witnesses. he ordained also his counsaile of state, his chancery, his exchequer, his courts of iustice, which alwaies remoued with his court. these places he furnished with officers, and assigned foure termes in the yere for determining controuersies among the people: whereas before all suites were summarily heard and determined in the _gemote_ or monthly conuention in euery hundred, without either formalities or delay. he caused the whole realme to be described in a censuall roll, so as there was not one hide of land, but both the yerely rent and the owner thereof, was therein set downe; how many plowlands, what pastures, fennes, or marishes; what woods, parkes, farmes and tenements were in euery shire; and what euery one was worth. also how many villaines euery man had, what beasts or cattell, what fees, what other goods, what rent or commoditie his possessions did yeeld. this booke was called _the roll of winton_, because it was kept in the citie of _winchester_. by the _english_ it was called _doomes day booke_; either by reason of the generalitie thereof, or else corruptly in stead of _domus dei booke_; for that it was layed in the church of _winchester_, in a place called _domus dei_. according to this roll taxations were imposed; sometimes two shillings, and sometimes sixe shillings vpon euery hide of land (a hide conteyning . acres,) besides ordinarie prouision for his house. in all those lands which hee gaue to any man, he reserued _dominion in chiefe_ to himselfe: for acknowledgement whereof a yeerely rent was payd vnto him, and likewise a fine whensoeuer the tenant did alien or die. these were bound as clients vnto him by oath of fidelitie and homage; and if any died his heire being in minoritie, the king receiued the profits of the land, and had the custodie and disposing of the heires body, vntill his age of one and twentie yeeres. it is reported of _caligula_,[ ] that when he entended to make aduantage of his penal edicts, he caused them to be written in so small letters, and the tables of them to be fastened so high, that it was almost impossible for any man to read them. so the king caused part of those lawes that he established, to be written in the _norman_ language, which was a barbarous and broken _french_, not well vnderstood of the naturall _french_, and not at all of the vulgar _english_. the residue were not written at all, but left almost arbitrarie, to be determined by reason and discretion at large. hereupon it followed, partly through ignorance of the people, and partly through the malice of some officers of iustice, who many times are instruments of secret and particular ends; that many were extreamely intangled, many endangered, many rather made away, then iustly executed. but here it may be questioned, seeing these lawes were layed vpon the _english_, as fetters about their feet, as a ponderous yoke vpon their necke, to depresse and deteine them in sure subiection; how it falleth, that afterward they became not onely tolerable, but acceptable and well esteemed. assuredly, these lawes were exceeding harsh and heauy to the _english_ at the first: and therefore k. _william rufus_, and _henry_ the first, at such time as _robert_ their eldest brother came in armes against them to challenge the crowne, being desirous to winne the fauour of the people, did fill them with faire promises, to abrogate the lawes of k. _william_ their father, and to restore to them the lawes of k. _edward_. the like was done by k. _stephen_, and by k. _henry_ the second; whilest both contending to draw the state to himselfe, they did most grieuously teare it in pieces. the like by others of the first kings of the _norman_ race, whensoeuer they were willing to giue contentment to the people: who desired no other reward for all their aduentures and labours, for al their blood spent in the seruice of their kings, but to haue the lawes of k. _edward_ restored. at the last the nobilitie of the realme, with great dispence both of their estates and blood, purchased a charter of libertie, first from k. _iohn_, which was soone reuoked, as violently enforced from him: afterwards from king _henry_ the third, which remained in force. and hereby the sharpe seuerity of these lawes was much abated. in that afterwards they became, not onely tolerable, but easie and sweete, and happily not fit to bee changed, it is by force of long grounded custome, whereby those vsages which our ancestors haue obserued for many ages, do neuer seeme either grieuous or odious to bee endured. so _nicetas_ writing of certaine christians, who by long conuersing with the _turkes_, had defiled themselues with turkish fashions, _custome_[ ] (saith he) _winneth such strength by time, that it is more firme then either nature or religion_. hereupon _dio. chrysostome_ compareth customes to a king,[ ] and edicts to a tyrant; because we are subiect voluntarily to the one, but by constraint and vpon necessitie to the other. _it is manifest_ (saith _agathias_) _that vnder whatsoeuer law a people hath liued, they doe esteeme the same most excellent and diuine_.[ ] _herodotus_ reporteth, that _darius_ the sonne of _hysdaspis_, hauing vnder his dominion certaine _grecians_ of _asia_, who accustomed to burne their dead parents and friends, and certaine nations of _india_, who vsed to eate them; called the _grecians_ before him: and told them that it was his pleasure, that they should conforme themselues to the custome of the _indians_, in eating their deceased friends. but they applied all meanes of intreatie and perswasion, that they might not be inforced, to such a barbarous, or rather brutish obseruation. then hee sent for the _indians_, and mooued them to conformitie with the _grecians_; but found that they did farre more abhorre to burne their dead, then the _grecians_ did to eate them. now these seuerities of the king were much aggrauated by the _english_, and esteemed not farre short of cruelties. notwithstanding hee tempered it with many admirable actions both of iustice and of clemencie and mercie: for which hee is much extolled by the _normane_[ ] writers. hee gaue great priuiledges to many places; & the better to giue the people contentment, and to hold them quiet, he often times renued the oath which first he tooke at his coronation: namely, _to defend the holy church of god, the pastors thereof, and the people subiect to him iustly to gouerne, to ordaine good lawes, and obserue true iustice, and to the vttermost of his power to withstand all rapines and false iudgements._ such of the nobilitie as had been taken in rebellion, were onely committed to prison; from which they were released in time: such as yeelded and submitted themselues, were freely pardoned, and often times receiued to fauour, trust, and imployment. _edric_, the first that rebelled after hee was king, he held neere and assured vnto him. _gospatric_ who had been a stirrer of great commotions, he made earle of _glocester_, and employed him against _malcolme_ king of _scots_. _eustace_ earle of _bologne_, who vpon occasion of the kings first absence in _normandie_ attempted to surprize the castle of _douer_, he imbraced afterward with great shew of loue and respect. _waltheof_ sonne to earle _siward_, who in defending the citie of _yorke_ against him, had slaine many _normans_, as they assayed to enter a breach, hee ioyned in marriage to his neece _iudeth_. _edgar_ who was the ground and hope of all conspiracies, who after his first submission to the king, fled into _scotland_, and maintained open hostilitie against him, who pretended title to the crowne as next heire to the _saxon_ kings, he not onely receiued to fauour, but honoured with faire enterteinments. hee furnished him to the warre of _palestine_, where he atteined an honourable estimation with the emperours of _almaine_ and of _greece_. after his returne he was allowed . shillings a day by way of pension, and large liuings in the countrey, where he mellowed to old age in pleasure and vacancie of affaires; preferring safe subiection, before ambitious rule accompanied both with danger and disquiet. thus was no man more milde to a relenting and vanquished enemie; as farre from crueltie, as he was from cowardice, the height of his spirit, ouerlooking all casuall, all doubtfull and vncertaine dangers. other great offenders he punished commonly by exile or imprisonment, seldome by death. onely among the _english_ nobilitie earle _waltheof_ was put to death, for that after twice breaking allegiance, he conspired the third time with diuers both _english_ and _normans_ to receiue the _danes_ into _england_, whilest the king was absent in _normandie_. and for the same conspiracie _ralph fitz-aubert_ a _norman_ was also executed; who had furnished . ships for the king in his voiage for _england_: for which and for his other seruices in that warre, he was afterward created earle of _hereford_. but present iniuries doe alwayes ouerballance benefits that are past. he much delighted in hunting and in feasting. for the first he enclosed many forrests and parks, and filled them with deere; which he so deerely loued, that he ordained great penalties for such as should kill those or any other beasts of game. for the second hee made many sumptuous feasts, especially vpon the high festiuall dayes in the yeere. his _christmasse_ hee often kept at _glocester_, his _easter_ at _winchester_, his _whitsontide_ at _westminster_; and was crowned once in the yeere at one of these places, so long as he continued in _england_. to these feasts he inuited all his nobilitie, and did then principally compose himselfe to courtesie, as well in familiar conuersation, as in facilitie to grant suits, and to giue pardon to such as had offended. at other times he was more maiesticall and seuere; and imployed himselfe both to much exercise and great moderation in diet; whereby he preserued his body in good state, both of health and strength, and was easily able to endure trauaile, hunger, heat, cold, and all other hardnesse both of labour and of want. many wrongs he would not see, of many smarts he would not complaine; he was absolute master of himselfe, and thereby learned to subdue others. he was much commended for chastitie of body; by which his princely actions were much aduanced. and albeit the beginning of his reigne was pestered with such routs of outlawes and robbers, that the peaceable people could not accompt themselues in surety within their owne doores; hee so well prouided for execution of iustice vpon offenders, or rather for cutting off the causes of offence; that a young maiden well charged with gold, might trauaile in any part of the realme, without any offer of iniurie vnto her. for if any man had slaine another vpon any cause, he was put to death; and if he could not be found, the hundred paide a fine to the king; sometimes . and sometimes . pounds, according to the largenesse of the hundred in extent. if a man had oppressed any woman, he was depriued of his priuie parts. as the people by armes, so armes by lawes were held in restraint. he talked little and bragged lesse: a most assured performer of his word: in prosecution or his purposes constant and strong, and yet not obstinate; but alwayes appliable to the change of occasions: earnest, yea violent, both to resist his enemies, and to exact dueties of his subiects. he neither loued much speech, nor gaue credite to faire; but trusted truely to himselfe, to others so farre as he might not be abused by credulitie. his expedition (the spirit of actions and affaires) may hereby appeare. he inuaded _england_ about the beginning of october; he subdued all resistance, he suppressed all rising rebellions, and returned into _normandy_ in march following. so as the time of the yeere considered, a man should hardly trauaile through the land in so short a time as he did win it. a greater exploit then _iulius cæsar_ or any other stranger could euer atchieue vpon that place. he gaue many testimonies of a religious minde. for he did often frequent diuine seruice in the church, he gaue much almes, hee held the clergie in great estimation, and highly honoured the prelats of the church. he sent many costly ornaments, many rich presents of gold and siluer to the church of _rome_; his _peter_ paiments went more readily, more largely then euer before. to diuers churches in _france_ after his victorie he sent crosses of gold, vessels of gold, rich palles, or other ornaments of great beautie and price. he bare such reuerence to _lanfranck_ archbishop of _canterburie_, that he seemed to stand at his directions. at the request of _wolstane_ bishop of _worcester_, he gaue ouer a great aduantage that he made by sale of prisoners taken in _ireland_. he respected _aldred_ archbishop of _yorke_, by whom he had bene crowned king of _england_, as his father. at a time vpon the repulse of a certaine suit, the archbishop brake forth into discontentment, expostulated sharpely against the king, and in a humorous heat offered to depart. but the king staied him, fell downe at his feet, desired pardon, and promised satisfaction in the best maner that he could. the nobilitie that were present, put the archbishop in minde that he should cause the king to arise. nay (answered the archb.) let him alone; let him still abide at s. _peters_ feet. so with much adoe he was appeased, and entreated to accept his suite. and so the name of saint _peter_, and of the church hath been often vsed as a mantle, to couer the pride, passions and pleasures of disordered men. he founded and enlarged many houses of religion: hee furnished ecclesiasticall dignities, with men of more sufficiencie and worth then had been vsuall in former times. and because within his owne dominions studies did not flourish and thriue, by reason of the turbulent times, by reason of the often inuasions of barbarous people, whose knowledge lay chiefly in their fists; hee drew out of _italy_ and other places many famous men, both for learning and integritie of life, to wit, _lanfranke_, _anselm_, _durand_, _traherne_ and others. these he honoured, these hee aduanced, to these hee expressed great testimonies both of fauour and regard. and yet he preferred _odo_ his brother by the mothers side to the bishopricke of _baion_, and afterwards created him earle of _kent_: a man proud, vaine, mutinous, ambitious; outragious in oppression, cruelty and lust; a prophaner of religion, a manifest contemner of all vertue. the king being called by occasions into _normandie_, committed vnto him the gouernment of the realme: in which place of credite and command he furnished himselfe so fully with treasure, that hee aspired to the papacie of _rome_: vpon a prediction then cast abroad, (which commonly deceiue those that trust vnto them) that the successour of _hildebrand_ was named _odo_. so filled with proud hopes, hee purchased a palace and friends at _rome_; hee prepared for his iourney, and drew many gentlemen to be of his traine. but the king returning suddenly out of _normandie_, met with him in the _isle of wight_, as he was ready to take the seas. there hee was arrested, and afterwards charged with infinite oppressions; also for seducing the kings subiects to forsake the realme; and lastly, for sacrilegious spoyling of many churches. hereupon his treasure was seized, and he was committed to prison; not as bishop of _baion_, but as earle of _kent_, and as an accomptant to the king. and so he remained about foure yeeres, euen vntill the death of the king. his seruants, some in falshood, and some for feare, discouered such hidden heapes of his gold, as did exceede all expectation: yea, many bagges of grinded gold were drawen out of riuers, wherein the bishop had caused them for a time to be buried. after this hee was called the kings spunge: as being preferred by him to that place of charge, wherein he might in long time sucke that from others, which should at once be pressed from himselfe. by this meanes the king had the benefit of his oppression without the blame; and the people (being no deepe searchers into secrets of state) were so well pleased with the present punishment, as they were thereby, although not satisfied, yet well quieted for all their wrongs. towards the end of his reigne he appointed his two sonnes, _robert_ and _henry_, with ioynt authoritie, gouernours of _normandie_; the one to suppresse either the insolencie, or leuitie of the other. these went together to visit the _french_ king, lying at _conflance_: where entertaining the time with varietie of disports, _henry_ played with _louis_ then _daulphine_ of _france_ at chesse, and did win of him very much. here at _louis_ beganne to growe warme in words, and was therein little respected by _henry_. the great impatiencie of the one, and the small forbearance of the other, did strike in the end such a heate betweene them, that _louis_ threw the chesse-men at _henries_ face, and called him the sonne of a bastard. _henrie_ againe stroke _louis_ with the chesse-boord, drew blood with the blowe, and had presently slaine him vpon the place, had hee not been stayed by his brother _robert_. hereupon they presently went to horse, and their spurres claimed so good haste, as they recouered _pontoise_, albeit they were sharpely pursued by the _french_. it had been much for the _french_ king to haue remained quiet, albeit no prouocations had happened, in regard of his pretence to many pieces which king _william_ did possesse in _france_. but vpon this occasion he presently inuaded _normandie_, tooke the citie of _vernon_, and drew _robert_, king _williams_ eldest sonne, to combine with him against his owne father. on the other side king _william_, who neuer lost anything by loosing of time, with incredible celeritie passed into _france_; inuaded the _french_ kings dominions, wasted and tooke many principall places of _zantoigne_ and _poictou_, returned to _roan_, and there reconciled his sonne _robert_ vnto him. the _french_ king summoned him to doe his homage for the kingdome of _england_. for the duchie of _normandie_ he offered him homage, but the kingdome of _england_ (he said) he held of no man, but onely of god, and by his sword. hereupon the _french_ king came strongly vpon him; but finding him both ready and resolute to answere in the field: finding also that his hazard was greater then his hope; that his losse by ouerthrow would farre surmount his aduantage by victory; after a few light encounters he retired: preferring the care to preserue himselfe, before the desire to harme others. king _william_ being then both corpulent and in yeeres, was distempered in body by meanes of those trauailes, and so retired to _roan_; where hee remained not perfectly in health. the _french_ king hearing of his sickenesse, pleasantly said, that hee lay in child-bed of his great belly. this would haue been taken in mirth, if some other had spoken it; but comming from an enemie, it was taken in scorne. and as great personages are most sencible of reproach, and the least touch of honour maketh a wide and incurable wound; so king _william_ was so nettled with this ieast, that hee swore _by gods resurrection and his brightnesse_, (for this was the vsuall forme of his oath) that so soone as hee should be churched of that child, he would offer a thousand lights in _france_. so presently after his recouery hee entred _france_ in armes, tooke the citie of _meux_, set many townes and villages and corne fields on fire; the people abandoning all places where he came, and giuing foorth, that it was better the nests should be destroyed, then that the birds should be taken in them. at the last he came before _paris_, where _philip_ king of _france_ did then abide: to whom he sent word, that he had recouered to be on foote, and was walking about, and would be glad likewise to find him abroad. this enterprise was acted in the moneth of august, wherein the king was so violent and sharpe, that by reason both of his trauaile, and of the vnseasonable heate, he fell into a relapse of his sicknesse. and to accomplish his mishap, in leaping on horse-backe ouer a ditch, his fat belly did beare so hard vpon the pommell of his saddle, that hee tooke a rupture in his inner parts. and so ouercharged with sickenesse, and paine, and disquietnesse of minde, hee returned to _roan_; where his sickenesse increased by such dangerous degrees, that in short time it led him to the period of his dayes. during the time of his sickenesse hee was much molested in conscience,[ ] for the blood which hee had spilt, and for the seueritie which he had vsed against the _english_: holding himselfe for that cause more guilty before god, then glorious among men. hee spent many good speeches in reconciling himselfe to god and the world, & in exhorting others to vertue and religion. he gaue great summes of money to the clergie of _meux_, and of some other places in _france_, to repaire the churches which a little before he had defaced. to some monasteries he gaue tenne markes of gold, and to others sixe. to euery parish church hee gaue fiue shillings, and to euery borough towne a hundred pounds for reliefe of the poore. hee gaue his crowne, with all the ornaments therto belonging, to the church of saint _stephen_ in _caen_, which hee had founded: for redeeming whereof, king _henry_ the first did afterwards giue to the same church the mannour of _brideton_ in _dorcetshire_. hee reteined perfect memorie and speach so long as he reteined any breath. hee ended his life vpon the ninth day of september: full both of honour and of age, when hee had reigned twenty yeeres, eight moneths and sixteene dayes; in the threescore and fourth yeere of his age. so soone as he was dead, the chiefe men that were about him went to horse, and departed forthwith to their owne dwellings: to prouide for the safety of themselues, and of their families and estates. for all men were possessed with a marueilous feare, that some dangerous aduentures would ensue. the seruants and inferiour officers also fled away; and to double the basenesse of their disposition, tooke with them whatsoeuer was portable about the king; his armour, plate, apparell, household-stuffe, all things were held as lawfull bootie. thus the dead body was not onely abandoned, but left almost naked vpon the ground: where it remained from prime vntil three of the clocke, neither guarded nor regarded by any man. in the meane time the religious persons went in procession to the church of s. _geruase_, & there commended his soule to god. then _william_ archb. of _roan_ commaunded, that his body should be caried to _caen_, to be there buried in the church of s. _stephen_. but hee was so forsaken of all his followers, that there was not any found who would vndertake either the care or the charge. at the last _herlwine_ a countrey knight, vpon his owne cost, caused the body to be embalmed and adorned for funerall pompe: then conueyed it by coach to the mouth of the riuer _some_; and so partly by land, and partly by sea brought it to _caen_. here the abbot with the couent of monks came foorth with all accustomed ceremonies, to meet the corps: to whom the whole multitude of the clergie and lay-people did adioyne. but when they were in the middest of their sad solemnities, a fire brake out of a certaine house, and suddenly embraced a great part of the towne. hereupon the kings body was once againe abandoned; all the people running from it in a headlong haste; some to saue their goods, others to represse the rage of the flame, others (as the latest nouelty) to stand and looke on. in the end a few moncks returned, and accompanied the hearse to the abbey church. afterward all the bishops and abbots of _normandy_ assembled to solemnize the funerall. and when the diuine office was ended, and the coffin of stone set into the earth, in the presbytorie, betweene the quire and the altar (but the body remained vpon the herse) _guislebert_ bishop of _eureux_ made a long sermon; wherein hee bestowed much breath in extolling the honourable actions of the king. in the end he concluded; that forsomuch as it was impossible for a man to liue, much lesse to gouerne, without offence; first, by reason of the multitude of a princes affaires; secondly, for that he must commit the managing of many things to the conscience and courtesie of others; lastly, for that personall grieuances are many times beneficiall to the maine body of state; in which case, particular either losses or harmes, are more then manifoldly recompenced by the preseruation or quiet of the whole: if therefore any that were present did suppose they had receiued iniurie from the king, he desired that they would in charitie forgiue him. when the bishop had finished his speach, one _anselme fitz-arthur_ stood vp amongst the multitude, and with a high voice said; _this ground whereupon wee stand, was sometimes the floore of my fathers house; which that man of whom you haue spoken, when he was duke of normandie, tooke violently from my father, and afterward founded thereon this religious building. this iniustice hee did not by ignorance or ouersight; not vpon any necessitie of state; but to content his owne couetous desire. now therefore i doe challenge this ground as my right; and doe here charge you, as you will answere it before the fearefull face of almightie god, that the body of the spoiler be not couered with the earth of mine inheritance._ when the bishops and noble men that were present heard this, and vnderstood by the testimony of many that it was true, they agreed to giue him three pounds presently for the ground that was broken for the place of burial; and for the residue which he claimed, they vndertooke he should be fully satisfied. this promise was performed in short time after, by _henrie_ the kings sonne, who onely was present at the funerall; at whose appointment _fitz-arthur_ receiued for the price of the same ground one hundred pounds. now when the body was to be put into the earth, the sepulchre of stone which stood within the graue, was hewen somewhat too strait for his fat belly; whereupon they were constrained to presse it downe with much strength. by this violence, whether his bowels burst, or whether some excrements were forced out at their natural passage, such an intolerable stinck proceeded from him, as neither the perfumes that smoaked in great abundance, nor any other meanes were able to qualifie. wherefore the priests hasted to finish their office, and the people departed in a sad silence; discoursing diuersly afterward of all these extraordinarie accidents. a man would thinke that a sepulchre thus hardly attained, should not easily againe bee lost. but it happened otherwise to this vnquiet king; not destined to rest, either in his life or after his death. for in the yeere . when _chastilion_ tooke the citie of _caen_, with those broken troupes that escaped at the battaile of _dreux_; certaine sauage souldiers of diuers nations, led by foure dissolute captaines, beate downe the monument which king _william_ his sonne had built ouer him, and both curiously and richly adorned with gold & costly stones. then they opened his tombe, & not finding the treasure which they expected, they threw forth his bones with very great derision & despight. many _english_ souldiers were then in the towne, who were very curious to gather his bones; whereof some were afterwards brought into _england_. hereby the report is conuinced for vaine, that his body was found vncorrupt, more then foure hundred yeeres after it was buried. hereby also it is found to be false, that his body was eight foote in length. for neither were his bones proportionable to that stature, (as it is testified by those who saw them) and it is otherwise reported of him by som who liued in his time; namely, that he was of a good stature, yet not exceeding the ordinary proportion of men. and this was the last end of all his fortunes, of all that was mortall in him besides his fame: whose life is too much extolled by the _normans_, and no lesse extenuated by the _english_. verely, he was a very great prince: full of hope to vndertake great enterprises, full of courage to atchieue them: in most of his actions commendable, and excusable in all. and this was not the least piece of his honour, that the kings of _england_ which succeeded, did accompt their order onely from him: not in regard of his victorie in _england_, but generally in respect of his vertue and valour. for his entrance was not by way of conquest but with pretence of title to the crowne: wherein he had both allowance and aide from diuers christian princes in europe. he had also his partie within the realme, by whose meanes he preuailed against the opposite faction, (as _cæsar_ did against _pompey_) and not against the entire strength of the state. againe, hee did not settle himselfe in the chaire of soueraignetie, as one that had reduced all things to the proud power and pleasure of a conquerour, but as an vniuersall successor of former kings, in all the rights and priuiledges which they did enioy. hee was receiued for king by generall consent; he was crowned with all ceremonies and solemnities then in vse; hee tooke an oath in the presence of the clergie, the nobilitie, and of much people, for defence of the church, for moderate and carefull gouernement, and for vpright administration of iustice. lastly, during the whole course of his gouernement, the kingdome receiued no vniuersall change, no losse or diminution of honour. for, neither were the olde inhabitants expelled, as were the _britaines_; neither was the kingdome either subiected or annexed to a greater: but rather it receiued encrease of honour, in that a lesse state was adioyned vnto it. the change of customes was not violent and at once, but by degrees, and with the silent approbation of the _english_; who haue alwaies been inclinable to accommodate themselues to the fashions of _france_. the grieuances and oppressions were particular, and with some appearance either of iustice, or of necessitie for the common quiet; such as are not vnusuall in any gouernement moderately seuere. so the change was chiefly in the stemme and familie of the king: which whether it be wrought by one of the same nation (as it was in _france_ by _pepine_ and _capett_) or by a stranger, (as in the same countrey by _henry_ . and _henry_ . kings of _england_) it bringeth no disparagement in honour; it worketh no essentiall change. the state still remained the same, the solid bodie of the state remained still _english_: the comming in of many _normans_, was but as riuers falling into the ocean; which change not the ocean, but are confounded with the waters thereof. this king had by his wife _matild_, daughter to _baldwine_ earle of _flanders_, foure sonnes; _robert_, _richard_, _william_ and _henrie_: hee had also fiue daughters; _cicely_, _constance_, _adela_, _margaret_ and _elianor_. _robert_ his eldest sonne surnamed _courtcuise_, by reason of the shortnesse of his thighs, succeeded him in the duchie of _normandie_. he was a man of exceeding honourable courage and spirit, for which cause he was so esteemed by the christian princes in the great warre against the _saracens_, that when they had subdued the citie and territorie of _hierusalem_, they offered the kingdome thereof first vnto him. yet afterwards, either by the malice of his fortune, or for that he was both suddaine and obstinate in his owne aduise (two great impediments that valour cannot thriue) he receiued many foiles of his enemies, which shall be declared in their proper place. before the king made his descent into _england_, hee gaue the duchie of _normandie_ vnto him: but whether he did this onely to testifie his confidence, or whether afterwards his purpose changed, being often demanded to performe this gift, he would neither deny nor accomplish his word, but enterposed many excuses and delayes; affirming that he was not so surely setled in _england_, but the duchie of _normandie_ was necessary vnto him, both for supply for his seruices (which he found like _hydraes_ heads to multiply by cutting off) and also for an assured place for retreit, in case hee should be ouercharged with extremities. hereupon _robert_ vnable to linger and pine in hopes, declared openly against him in armes. _philip_ king of _france_ was ready to put fuell to the flame; who as he neuer fauoured in his owne iudgement the prosperous encreases of the king of _england_, so then he was vigilant to embrace all occasions, either to abate or limit the same. and thus _robert_ both encouraged and enabled by the king of _france_, inuaded _normandie_, and permitted his souldiers licentiously to wast; to satisfie those by spoile, which by pay he was not able to maintaine. at the last he encountred the king his father in a sharpe conflict, before the castle of _gerberie_, wherein the king was vnhorsed and wounded in the arme; his second sonne _william_ was also hurt, and many of his souldiers slaine. and albeit _robert_ so soone as he knew his father by his voyce, allighted forthwith, mounted him vpon his owne horse, and withdrew him out of the medley; yet did he cast vpon his sonne a cruell curse, which lay so heauie vpon him, that he neuer prospered afterward in any thing which hee vndertooke. and although after this he was reconciled to his father, and imployed by him in seruices of credit and weight, yet did the king often bewray of him an vnquiet conceit, often did he ominate euill vnto him: yea, a little before his death he openly gaue forth, _that it was a miserable countrey which should be subiect to his dominion, for that he was a proud and foolish knaue, and to be long scourged by cruell fortune_. _richard_ had erected the good expectation of many, as well by his comely countenance and behauiour, as by his liuely and generous spirit. but he died yong by misaduenture, as he was hunting within the new-forrest, before he had made experiment of his worth. some affirme that he was goared to death by the deere of that forrest, for whose walke his father had dispeopled that large compasse of ground: others report, that as he rode in chase, hee was hanged vpon the bough of a tree by the chaps: others more probably doe write, that he perished by a fal from his horse. he was buried at _winchester_ with this inscription: _hic iacet richardus filius wilielmi senioris berniæ dux_. _william_ did succeed next to his father in the kingdome of _england_. to _henry_, the king gaue at the time of his death fiue thousand pounds out of his treasure; but gaue him neither dignitie nor lands: foretelling, that hee should enioy the honour of both his brothers in time, and farre excel them both in dominion and power. whether this was deuised vpon euent; or whether some doe prophesie at their death; or whether it was coniecturally spoken; or whether to giue contentment for the present; it fell out afterward to be true. for hee succeeded _william_ in the kingdome of _england_, and wrested _normandie_ out of the possession of _robert_. of these two i shall write more fully hereafter. his daughter _cicelie_ was abbesse of _caen_ in _normandie_. _constance_ was married to _allen fergant_ earle of _britaine_. _adela_ was wife to _stephen_ earle of _blois_, to whom she bare _stephen_, who after the death of _henry_ was king of _england_. _margaret_ was promised in marriage to _harold_; she died before hee attained the kingdome, for which cause he held himselfe discharged of that oath which he had made to the duke her father. _elianor_ was betroathed to _alphonso_ king of _gallicia_; but she desired much to die a virgine: for this she daily prayed, and this in the end she did obtaine. after her death her knees appeared brawnie and hard, with much kneeling at her deuotions. assuredly it will be hard to find in any one familie, both greater valour in sonnes, and more vertue in daughters. in the beginning of this kings reigne, either no great accidents did fall, or else they were obscured with the greatnesse of the change: none are reported by the writers of that time. in the fourth yeere of his reigne, _lanfranke_ abbot of _caen_ in _normandie_, but borne in _pauie_, a citie of _lumbardie_, was made archbishop of _canterbury_: and _thomas_ a _norman_, and _chanon_ of _bayon_ was placed in the sea of _yorke_. between these two a controuersie did arise at the time of their consecration, for prioritie in place: but this contention was quieted by the king, and _thomas_ for the time subscribed obedience to the archb. of _canterbury_. after this they went to _rome_ for their palles, where the question for primacie was againe renued, or as some affirme, first moued before pope _alexander_. the pope vsed them both with honorable respect, and especially _lanfrank_, to whom he gaue two palles, one of honour, and the other of loue: but their controuersie he referred to be determined in _england_. about two yeeres after it was brought before the king and the clergie at _windsore_. the archbishop of _yorke_ alleadged, that when the _britaines_ receiued the christian faith, in the time of _lucius_ their king _eleutherius_ then bishop of _rome_, sent _faganus_ and _damianus_ vnto them, who ordeined . bishops, and two archbishops within the realme, one of _london_, and the other of _yorke_. vnder these the church of _britaine_ was gouerned almost three hundred yeeres, vntill they were subdued by the _saxons_. the _saxons_ remained infidels vntill _gregorie_ bishop of _rome_ sent _augustine_ vnto them. by his preaching _ethelbert_ king of _kent_ was first conuerted to the christian faith: by reason whereof _augustine_ was made archbishop of _douer_, by appointment of pope _gregorie_; who sent vnto him certaine palles with his letter from _rome_. by this letter it is euident, that _gregorie_ intended to reduce the church of the _saxons_ to the same order wherein it was among the _britaines_; namely, to be vnder twelue bishops and two archbishops; one of _london_ and the other of _yorke_. indeede he gaue to _augustine_ during his life, authority and iurisdiction ouer all bishops and priests in _england_: but after his decease he ioyneth these two metropolitanes in equall degree, to constitute bishops, to ouersee the church, to consult and dispose of such things as appertaine to the gouernement thereof, as in former times among the _britaines_. betweene these he put no distinction in honour, but only as they were in prioritie of time: and as he appointeth _london_ to be consecrated by no bishop, but of his own synod, so he expresseth, that the bishop of _yorke_ should not bee subiect to the bishop of _london_. and albeit _augustine_ for the reason before mentioned, translated the sea from _london_ to _douer_, yet if _gregorie_ had intended to giue the same authoritie to the successours of _augustine_ which hee gaue vnto him, he would haue expressed it in his epistle: but in that he maketh no mention of his successours, he concludeth, or rather excludeth them by his silence. the archbishop of _canterbury_ alleaged, that from the time of _augustine_, vntill the time of _bede_, (which was about . yeeres) the bishops of _canterburie_ (which in ancient time (said he) was called _douer_) had the primacie ouer the whole land of _britaine_, and _ireland_; that they did call the bishops of _yorke_ to their councels, which diuers times they kept within the prouince of _yorke_; that some bishops of _yorke_ they did constitute, some excommunicate, and some remoue. he alleaged also diuers priuiledges granted by princes for the primacie of that sea; diuers graunted from the apostolike sea to confirme this dignitie in the successours of _augustine_: that it is reason to receiue directions of well liuing, from whence we first receiued directions of right beleeuing; & therfore as the bishop of _canterbury_ was subiect to the bishop of _rome_, because hee had his faith from thence; for the very same cause the bishop of _yorke_ should be in subiection to the bishop of _canterbury_: that like as the lord said that to all the bishops of _rome_, which hee said to s. peter; so that which _gregorie_ said to _augustine_, hee said likewise to all his successours. and whereas much is spoken of the bishop of _london_, what is that to the archbishop of _canterbury_? for, neither is it certaine that _augustine_ was euer resident at _london_, neither that _gregorie_ appointed him so to be. in the end it was decreed, that _yorke_ for that time should be subiect to _canterburie_; that wheresoeuer within _england_ the archbishop of _canterburie_ should hold his councell, the archbishop of _yorke_ should come vnto it, with the bishops of his prouince, and be obedient to his decrees: that when the archbishop of _canterburie_ should decease, the archbishop of _yorke_ should goe to _canterburie_, to consecrate him that should succeed: that if the archbishop of _yorke_ should decease, his successour should goe to _canterbury_, or to such place as the archbishop of _canterburie_ should appoint, there to receiue his consecration, making first his oath of canonicall obedience. and thus was the contention for this first time taken vp; but in succeeding times it was often renued, and much busied the clergie of the realme. in the ninth yeere of the reigne of king _william_ a councell was holden at _london_, where another matter of like qualitie and nature was decreed: namely, that bishops should translate their sees from villages to cities; whereupon in short time after, bishops sees were remoued, from _selese_ to _chichester_, from _cornewall_ to _exeter_, from _wells_ to _bath_, from _shirbourne_ to _salisburie_, from _dorcester_ to _lincolne_, from _lichfield_ to _chester_, and from thence againe to _couentree_. and albeit the archbishop of _yorke_ did oppose against the erecting of a cathedrall church in _lincolne_, because he challenged that citie to be of his prouince; yet _remigius_ bishop of _dorchester_, being strong both in resolution and in friends, did prosecute his purpose to effect. not long before the bishopricke of _lindafferne_ otherwise called _holy land_, vpon the riuer _tweed_, had bene translated to _durhame_. in the tenth yeere of his reigne the cold of winter was exceeding memorable, both for sharpenesse and for continuance: for the earth remained hard frozen from the beginning of nouember, vntill the middest of april then ensuing. in the . yere a great earthquake happened in the month of april; strange for the strong trembling of the earth, but more strange for the dolefull and hideous roaring which it yeelded foorth. in the . yeere there fell such abundance of raine, that the riuers did greatly ouerflow in all parts of the realme. the springs also rising plentifully in diuers hils, so softned and decaied the foundations of them, that they fell downe, whereby some villages were ouerthrowne. by this distemperature of weather much cattel perished, much corne vpon the ground was either destroyed, or greatly empaired. herehence ensued, first a famine, and afterwards a miserable mortalitie of men. and that all the elements might seeme to haue conspired the calamity of the realme, the same yeere most of the principall cities in _england_ were lamentably deformed with fire. at _london_ a fire began at the entry of the west gate, which apprehending certaine shops and ware-houses, wherein was merchandise apt to burne, it was at once begun and suddenly at the highest. then being caried with a strong wind; and the citie apt to maintaine the flame, as well by reason of the crooked and narrow streets, as for that the buildings at that time had open and wide windowes, and were couered with base matter fit to take fire, the mischiefe spread more swiftly then the remedies could follow. so it raged vntill it came to the east gate, prostrated houses and churches all the way, being the most grieuous that euer as yet hath happened to that citie. the church of s. _paul_ was at that time fired; whereupon _maurice_ then bishop of _london_, began the foundation of the new church of s. _paul_. a worke so admirable, that many did iudge, it would neuer haue bene finished; yet all might easily esteeme thereby his magnanimitie, his high erected hopes, his generous loue and honour to religion. the king gaue towards the building of the east end of this church, the choise stones of his castle at the west end of the citie, vpon the bancke of the riuer thames; which castle at the same time was also fired: in place whereof _edward killwarby_ archbishop of _canterburie_ did afterwards found a monasterie of blacke friers. the king also gaue the castle of _storford_, and all the lands which thereto belonged, to the same _maurice_, and to his successours in that see. and doubtlesse nothing more then either parcimonious or prophane expending the treasures of the church, hath since those times much dried vp those fountaines which first did fill them. after the death of _maurice_, _richard_ his next successour, as well in vertue as in dignitie, bestowed all the rents rising out of this bishopricke, to aduance the building of this church; maintaining himselfe by his patrimonie and friendes: and yet all which hee could doe, made no great shewe: so that the finishing of this worke was left to many other succeeding bishops. hee purchased the ground about the church whereupon many buildings did stand, and inclosed the same with a strong wall of stone for a place of buriall. it seemeth that this wall was afterwards either battered and torne in some ciuill warres, or else by negligence suffered to decay: for that a graunt was made by king _edward_ the second, that the church-yard of saint _pauls_ should bee enclosed with a wall, because of the robberies and murthers that were there committed. many parts of this wall remaine at this time, on both sides of the church, but couered for the most part with dwelling houses. the same yeere in whitsun-weeke, the king honoured his sonne _henrie_ with the order of knighthood. what ceremonies the king then vsed it is not certainly knowen: but before his time the custome among the _saxons_ was thus. first, hee who should receiue the order of knighthood, confessed himselfe in the euening to a priest. then hee continued all that night in the church, watching and applying himselfe to his priuate deuotions. the next morning he heard masse, and offered his sword vpon the altar. after the gospel was read, the sword was hallowed, and with a benediction put about his necke. lastly, he communicated the mysteries of the blessed body of christ, and from that time remained a lawfull souldier or knight. this custome of consecrating knights the _normans_ did not onely abrogate, but abhorre; not for any euill that was therein, but because it was not altogether their owne. this yeere in a prouince of _wales_ called _rosse_, the sepulchre of _wawyn_, otherwise called _gawen_, was found vpon the sea shore. hee was sisters sonne to _arthur_ the great king of the _britaines_; a man famous in our _britaine_ histories, both for ciuill courtesie, and for courage in the field. i cannot but esteeme the report for fabulous, that his bodie was fourteene foote in length. i doe rather coniecture that one credulous writer did take that for the length of his body, which happily might bee the length of his tombe. it is constantly affirmed that the ground whereon the _english_ and the _normans_ did combate, doth shew after euery raine manifest markes of blood vpon the grasse: which if it was not a proprietie of the soyle before, it is hard now to assigne, either from what naturall cause it doth proceede, or what it should supernaturally portend. [illustration] [illustration] k. william the second, sirnamed rvfvs. king william the victor when hee drew towards the end of his dayes, commended the kingdome of _england_ to his second sonne _william_: with many blessings, with many admonitions, with many prayers for the prosperous successe of his succession. and because the presence of the next successour is of greatest moment to establish affaires, the king a little before his passage to death, dispatched him into _england_, with letters vnder his owne seale to _lanfranck_ then archbishop of _canterbury_: a man highly esteemed in forraine countreys, but with the cleargie and vulgare people of the realme, his authoritie was absolute. in these letters the king expressed great affection and care towards his sonne _william_; commending him with many kind words, for his sufficiencies, for diuers vertues; especially for that hee did alwayes stand firmely by him, alwayes declare himselfe both a faithfull subiect and dutifull sonne. it was also coniectured by some, that the king was guided in this choise, no lesse by his iudgement, then by his affection: for that he esteemed the fierce disposition of his sonne _william_ more fit to gouerne a people not well setled in subiection, then the flexible and milde nature of his eldest sonne _robert_. so _william_ taking his last leaue of his father, who was then taking his last leaue of this world, iourneyed towards _england_; and in short time arriued at the port called _whitesand_, where he receiued the first report of his fathers death. hereupon with all speed hee posted to _lanfranck_, deliuered his fathers letters, and foorthwith was declared king, vpon the . day of september, in the yere . and vpon the first of october next ensuing was by the same _lanfranck_, with al ceremonies and solemnities perteining to that action, crowned at _westminster_. _robert_, either by negligence and want of foresight, or by the perpetuall malice of his destinie, or happily not without his fathers contriuance, was absent in _germanie_, whilest his yonger brother _william_ did thus possesse himselfe, both of the kingdome of his father, and of his treasure. otherwise he wanted neither pretence, nor purpose, nor fauour of friends to haue empeached his brothers proceedings. for it was then doubted by many, and since hath bene by many debated; whether in any case, vpon any cause or consideration whatsoeuer, a king hath power to disinherite his eldest sonne, and to appoint another to succeed in his estate. that a king may aduance any of his sonnes to bee his successour, without respect of prioritie in birth, there seemeth to want neither warrant of example, nor weight of authoritie. _dauid_[ ] a man greatly prooued and approoued by god, did preferre _solomon_[ ] to succeede him, before his eldest sonne _adonia_. and in like sort _rehoboam_ the sonne of _solomon_, appointed the yongest of all his sonnes to succeed him in the kingdome.[ ] so some lawyers affirme, that a king may determine in his life, which of his sonnes shall reigne after him. but this must be vnderstood, either when a state is newly raised to the title of a kingdome, or else when by conquest, vsurpation, or some other meanes of change, the gouernment thereof is newly transferred from one stemme to another: for then because there is no certaine law or custome of succession in force, the right seemeth to depend vpon the disposition of the prince. and yet euen in this case, the eldest or neerest cannot be excluded without iust cause. for so when _iacob_[ ] depriued his eldest sonne _reuben_ of his priuiledge of birth, he expressed the cause, for that he had defiled his fathers bed; which fact of his _hierome_ applieth to the case in question. so when _ptolemie_[ ] the first king of _egypt_ commended the state to his yongest sonne, he yeelded a reason for that which he did. so _henrie_ the fourth emperour, crowned _henrie_ his yonger sonne king, reiecting _conrade_ his eldest sonne, for that hee had borne armes against him, and ioyned in league with his open enemies. but when by expresse lawe or long grounded custome the succession of a state is established to the eldest sonne, the best approoued interpreters of the canon and ciuill law doe conclude,[ ] that the father hath no power to inuert or peruert that course of order. for parents may debarre their children of that which proceedeth from themselues, of that which dependeth vpon their appointment; but of that which is due by nature,[ ] by the immutable law of the state, the parents can haue no power to dispose. when by a fundamentall lawe or custome of state, succession is annexed to the dignity of a crowne, according to prioritie in birth, it followeth, that so soone as the first borne commeth into light, the right of succession is fixed in him;[ ] not in hope onely, but also in habite; whereof neither the father nor any other can dispossesse him. and therefore when _prusias_[ ] intended to depriue his eldest sonne _nicomedes_ of his prerogatiue of birth, and to preferre his yonger sonnes, which he had by another wife, in succession before him, he could not assure it by any meanes, but by determining the death of _nicomedes_; which _nicomedes_ to preuent, dispoiled his father both of kingdom and of life. _ptolemie_ the first king of _egypt_[ ] of that name, who after the death of _alexander_ the great possessed himselfe of _egypt_, & part of _arabia_, and of _affrick_, left his kingdom to the yongest of his sons: but afterward when _ptolemie_, surnamed _phiscon_,[ ] vpon the importunity of his wife _cleopatra_, attempted the like, the kingdome being then setled in succession, the people opposed, & reuersed his order after his death. so _pepine_[ ] after hee had made seisure of the kingdome of _france_, & ordered all things which he thought necessary for the suerty therof, disposed the succession therein by his testament; leauing the realme of _noion_ to his sonne _charles_, and to _carloman_ his other sonne the realme of _soissons_. the like was done by some other of the first kings of his race. but since that time the custome hath been strongly stablished, that the kingdome passeth entirely to the eldest sonne, and possessions are assigned to the rest vnder the name of _appanage_. and therefore the _french_[ ] writers affirme, that the eldest sonne of _france_ cannot be depriued of succession, vpon any cause of ingratitude against his parents; and that if the king should institute his eldest sonne,[ ] yet cannot hee take the kingdome by force of his fathers guift, but onely by the immutable law of the realme. yea, _girard_ writeth of _charles_ the simple, that hee was king of _france_[ ] before hee was borne. and in this regard the _glossographer_[ ] vpon the decrees noteth, that the sonne of a king may bee called king during the life of his father, as wanting nothing but administration. and the same also doth _seruius_ note out of _virgil_, where hee saith of _ascanius_: _regémq; requirunt_, his father _aeneas_ being then aliue. now then, for that the right of succession to the crowne of _england_ was not at that time so surely setled as it hath been since; but had waued in long vncertainetie: first, in the _heptarchie_ of the _saxons_ and _english_, afterward betweene the _english_ and the _danes_, and was then newly possessed by the _normane_, and that chiefly by the sword: for that also _robert_ the kings eldest sonne gaue iust cause of offence, by bearing armes against his father; it may seeme that the king might lawfully direct the succession to his second sonne. and yet, because as _herodotus_[ ] saith, _it is a generall custome amongst all men, that the first in birth is next in succession_; because as _baldus_[ ] affirmeth, _semper fuit, & semper erit, &c. alwayes it hath been, and alwayes it shall bee, that the first borne succeedeth in a kingdome_; because as s. _hierome_[ ] writeth, _a kingdome is due vnto the first borne_; and as s. _chrysostome_[ ] saith, _the first borne is to bee esteemed more honourable then the rest_; whereupon diuers lawyers obserue, that the word _senior_[ ] is often times taken for a lord. lastly, because this precedencie both in honour, and in right seemeth to be the law of all nations, deriued from the law of nature, and expresly either instituted or approoued by the voice of god: first, where he said to _cain_[ ] of his yonger brother _abel_; _his desires shall be subiect to thee, and thou shalt haue dominion ouer him_: secondly,[ ] where he forbiddeth the father to disinherite the first sonne of his double portion, because by right of birth it is due vnto him: lastly, where hee maketh choice of the first borne to be sanctified and consecrated to himselfe;[ ] it hath almost neuer happened that this order hath been broken, that the neerest haue bene excluded from succession in state, but it hath been followed with tragicall euents. yea, albeit the eldest sonne be vnfit to beare rule, albeit hee be vnable to gouerne either others or himselfe; as if hee be in a high degree furious, or foolish, or otherwise defectiue in body or in minde, (vnlesse he degenerate from humane condition) yet can he not therefore be excluded from succession:[ ] because it is due vnto him, not in respect of abilitie, but by reason of his prioritie of birth. as for the kingdom, it shall better be preserued by the gouernment of a protector (as in diuers like causes it is both vsual and fit) then by receiuing another prince:[ ] as well for other respects, as for that by cutting off continuance in the royall descent, by interrupting the setled order of gouernment, by making a breach in so high a point of state, opportunitie is opened both for domesticall disturbances, and for inuasions from abroad: whereupon greater inconueniences do vsually ensue, then did euer fall by insufficiencie of a prince. for if these pretenses may be allowed for good, what aspiring subiect, what encroaching enemy, finding themselues furnished with meanes, will not be ready to rise into ambitious hopes? _gabriel_ the yonger brother of the house of _saluse_, kept his eldest brother in prison, vsurped his estate, giuing foorth to the people that he was mad. and seldome hath any vsurpation happened, but vpon pretence of insufficiencie in gouernment. assuredly, if these principall points of principalitie be not punctually obserued, the ioynts of a state are loosened, the foundation is shaken, the gates are opened for all disorders, to rise vp, to rush in, to prosper, to preuaile. hereupon _medon_[ ] the eldest sonne of _codrus_, albeit he was lame and otherwise defectiue, was by sentence of the oracle of _apollo_ preferred to succeed his father in the kingdome of _athens_, before _neleus_ his yonger brother. so when _alexandrides_[ ] king of _sparta_ left two sonnes, _cleomenes_ the eldest, distracted in wits, and _doricus_ the yongest, both able and enclined to all actions of honour; the _spartans_ acknowledged _cleomenes_ for their king. _agisilaus_ the famous king of _sparta_ was also lame, as _plutarch_[ ] and _prob. Æmilius_ do report; _orosius_ saith, that the _spartans_ did rather choose to haue their king halt, then their kingdome. and therefore when _lisander_[ ] moued them to decree, that the worthiest and not alwayes the next in blood of the line of _hercules_ should reigne, he found no man to second his aduise. _aristobulus_[ ] and _hircanus_ after a long and cruel contention for the kingdome of _iewrie_, committed their controuersie to the arbitrement of _pompey_: _hircanus_ alledged, that hee was the eldest brother; _aristobulus_ obiected, that _hircanus_ was insufficient to gouerne: but _pompey_ gaue iudgement for _hircanus_. the like iudgement did _annibal_[ ] giue for the kingdome of that countrey which is now called _sauoy_; restoring _brancus_[ ] to his state, from which he had bene expelled by his yonger brother. and although _phirrus_[ ] did appoint that sonne to succeed, whose sword had the best edge; yet was the eldest acknowledged, who bare the least reputation for valour. _ladislaus_[ ] king of _hungarie_ left by his brother _geysa_ two nephewes; _colomannus_ the eldest, who was lame, bunch-backed, crab-faced, blunt-sighted, bleare-eyed, a dwarfe, a stammerer, and (which is more) a priest; and _almus_ the yongest, a man of comely presence, and furnished with many princely vertues: in regard of these natural prerogatiues _ladislaus_ appointed _almus_ to succeed; but in regard of the prerogatiue in blood, the _hungarians_ receiued _colomannus_ for their king. _barbatius_[ ] writeth, that _galeace_ duke of _milane_ did oft times expresse his griefe, for that he could not preferre in succession _philip maria_ his yongest sonne, before _iohn_ his eldest; for that he seemed the most sufficient to vndertake the manage of the state. _girard_[ ] affirmeth that it hath bene the custome of the _french_, to honour their kings whatsoeuer they are; whether wise or foolish, valiant or weake; esteeming the name of king to be sacred by whomsoeuer it be borne. and therefore they obeyed not only _charles_ the simple, but _charles_ the sixt also; who reigned many yeres in plaine distraction of his mind. it was an ancient custome in _scotland_, that the most sufficient of the blood of _fergusus_[ ] was receiued for king; but such warres, murthers, and other mischiefes did thereupon ensue, that a law was made vnder _kenet_ the third, and afterwards confirmed by _millcolumbus_, that the nighest in blood should alwayes succeede. and accordingly the scots refused not for their king _iohn_ the eldest sonne of _robert_ the second, albeit he was borne out of marriage, and did halt, and was both in wit and in courage dull. for what if he who is debarred for disabilitie shall afterward haue a sonne free from all defects?[ ] it is without question that the right of the kingdome should deuolue vnto him: for that the calamitie of parents doeth not preiudice their children, especially in their naturall rights, which they may claime from the person of former ancestors. but what if another be in possession of the kingdome?[ ] will he readily giue place to this right? will he readily abandon that honour, for which men will not spare, to climbe ouer all difficulties, to vndergoe all dangers; to put their goods, their liues, their soules in aduenture? if a man be once mounted into the chaire of maiestie, it standeth not, i will not say with his dignitie, but with his safetie, to betake himselfe to a priuate state; as well for the eternall iealousie wherein he shall be held, as for the enuie which shall be borne against him vpon many of his actions: so as what some few would not doe for ambition, the same they must doe to preserue themselues. hereupon it will follow, that the possession of the kingdome being in one, and the right in another; disunions, factions, warres may easily ensue. it is inconuenient (i grant) to be vnder a king who is defectiue in body or in mind; but it is a greater inconuenience, by disturbing a setled forme of gouernment, to open an entrance for all disorders; wherein ambition and insolencie (two riotous humours) may range at large. for as euill is generally of that nature, that it cannot stand, but by supportance of another euill; and so multiplieth in it selfe, vntill it doth ruine with the proper weight: so mindes hauing once exceeded the strict bounds of obedience, cease not to strengthen one bouldnesse by another, vntil they haue inuolued the whole state in confusion. bvt now to returne to the person and gouernment of this king _william_. he was a man of meane stature, thicke and square bodied, his belly swelling somewhat round; his face was red, his haire deepely yealow, by reason whereof he was called _rufus_; his forehead foure square like a window, his eyes spotted and not one like the other; his speech vnpleasant and not easily vttered, especially when he was mooued with anger. he was of great abilitie in body, as well for naturall strength, as for hardinesse to endure all ordinary extremities both of trauaile and of want. in armes he was both expert and aduenturous; full of inward brauerie and fiercenesse; neuer dismayed, alwayes forward, and for the most part fortunate; in counsaile sudden, in performance a man; not doubting to vndertake any thing which inuincible valour durst promise to atchieue. hee had bene bred with the sword; alwayes in action, alwayes on the fauourable hand of fortune: so as, albeit he was but yong, yet was he in experience well grounded; for inuention subtill, in counsaile quicke, in execution resolute; wise to foresee a danger, and expedite to auoid it. in a word, the generall reputation of his valour and celeritie, made him esteemed one of the best chiefetaines in his time. his behauiour was variable and inconstant; earnest in euery present passion, and for the most part accompanying the disposition of his mind, with outward demonstrations. of nature he was rough, haughtie, obstinate, inuincible, which was much enlarged both by his soueraigntie and youth: so singular in his owne conceit, that he did interprete it to his dishonour, that the world should deeme, that he did not gouerne by his owne iudgement. in publicke he composed his countenance to a stately terrour; his face sowerly swelling, his eyes truculent, his voyce violent and fierce, scarce thinking himselfe maiesticall in the glasse of his vnderstanding, but when he flashed feare from his presence. and yet in priuate he was so affable and pleasant, that he approched neere the degree of leuitie: much giuen to scoffing, and passing ouer many of his euill actions with a ieast. in all the other carriages of his life, he maintained no stable and constant course; but declared himselfe for euery present, as well in vertue as in vice, strong, violent, extreeme. in the beginning of his reigne he was esteemed a most accomplished prince; and seemed not so much of power to bridle himselfe from vice, as naturally disposed to abhorre it. afterwards, either with variation of times, or yeelding to the pleasures which prosperity vseth to ingender euen in moderate minds, or perhaps his nature beginning to disclose that which hee had cunningly concealed before, corruptions crept vp, and he waued vncertainely betweene vertue and vice. lastly, being imboldned by euill teachers, and by continuance both of prosperitie and rule, he is said to haue made his height a priuiledge of loosenesse, and to haue abandoned himselfe to all licentious demeanour; wherein he seemed little to regard god, and nothing man. assuredly, there is no greater enemie to great men, then too great prosperitie in their affaires; which taketh from them all iudgement and rule of themselues; which maketh them ful of libertie, and bould to doe euill. and yet i cannot conceiue that this king was so bould, so carelesse, so shamelesse in vices, as many writers doe report. it is certaine that hee doubted of some points of religion, at that time without any great contradiction professed; and namely, of praying to saints, worshipping of reliques, & such like. it is certain also, that out of policie in state, he endeuoured to abate the tumorous greatnes of the clergie at that time; as well in riches, as in authority and power with the people: and that he attributed not so much to the sea of _rome_, as diuers kings before him had done. insomuch as he restrained his subiects from going to _rome_, and withheld the annuall paiment of _peter_ pence, and was oftentimes heard to giue foorth, that _they follow not the trace of s. peter, they greedily gape after gifts and rewards, they retein not his power, whose pietie they do not imitate_. these were causes sufficient for the writers of his time (who were for the most part clergie-men) to enlarge his vices beyond the trueth, to surmise many vices vntruely, to wrest his true vertues to be vices. and this i doe the rather coniecture, for that i doe not find his particular actions of like nature, with the generall imputation which is cast vpon him; for that also i finde the chiefe of these generall imputations to bee these:[ ] _that he was grieuous to the church, of no deuotion to god, preferring respect of temporall state before the rules of the gospel_. verely, it is hard to doe that which will beare a cleere beauty in the eyes of all men; and if our actions haue not the fauour of time, and the opinion of those men who doe estimate and report them, they are much dimmed with disgrace.[ ] out of all doubt he was a magnanimous prince, mercifull and liberall, and in martiall affaires most expert, diligent and prosperous; wise to contriue his best aduantage, and most couragious to atchieue it. but two things chiefly obscured his glory; one, the incomparable greatnesse of his father, to whom he did immediatly succeede; the other was the prowesse of those men, against whom he did contend in armes; especially of _malcolme_ king of _scots_, and of _robert_ duke of _normandie_. to these i may adde, that hee died in the principall strength and flourish of his age, before his iudgement had full command ouer his courage. many doe attribute his excellent beginnings to _lanfranck_ archb. of _canterburie_: who during the time of his life, partly by authoritie, and partly by aduise, supported the vnstable yeeres and disposition of the king: which after the death of _lanfranck_ returned by degrees to their proper sway. but i do rather attribute many of his first vertues to the troubles which happened in the very entrance of his reigne; which partly by employment, and partly by feare, held his inclination in some restraint. for _odo_ bishop of _baion_ and earle of _kent_, the kings vncle by the mothers side, had drawen the greatest part of all the prelates and nobilitie that were _normans_, into a dangerous confederacie against the king; to deiect him from his state, and to aduance _robert_ his elder brother for their king. the secret cause of this conspiracie was partly vpon a generall discontentment, at the great, though worthy estimation and authoritie (a most capitall offence in the eye of enuie) of _lanfrank_ archbishop of _canterburie_; by means whereof many of the conspirators liued in farre meaner reputation, then their ambitious minds could easily breake: but chiefly it was vpon a more particular grudge, which _odo_ did beare against the same _lanfranck_; because by his perswasion, _odo_ had been committed to prison by king _william_ the elder. for when the king complained to _lanfranck_ of the intolerable both auarice and ambition of his brother _odo_, the archbishop gaue aduise, that hee should bee restrained of his libertie. and when the king doubted, how he being a bishop, might be committed to prison, without impeaching the priuiledges of the church; indeede answered _lanfranck_, you may not imprison the bishop of _baion_, but you may doe what you please with the earle of _kent_. the publike and open pretenses were these. _robert_ duke of _normandie_ had the prerogatiue of birth; which being a benefit proceeding from nature, could not bee reuersed by his fathers acte. he had also wonne a most honorable reputation for his militarie vertues; and had by many trauels of warre wasted the wilde follies of youth. hee was no lesse famous for courtesie and liberalitie, two most amiable ornaments of honour; being so desirous that no man should depart discontented from him, that he would oftentimes promise more then hee was able to performe, and yet performe more then his estate could expediently afford. as for k. _william_, besides that he was the yonger brother, his nature was held to be doubtfull and suspect, and the iudgement of most men enclined to the worst. and what are we then aduantaged, (said they) by the death of his father? if whom he hath fleeced, this shall flay; if this shall execute those whom he hath fettered and surely bound; if after his seuerities that are past, wee shall be freshly charged with those rigours, which tyrants in the height and pride of their fortune are wont to vse? and as stronger combinations are alwayes made betweene men drawne together by one common feare, then betweene those that are ioyned by hope or desire; so vpon these iealousies and feares, accompanied also with vehement desires, the confederats supposed that they had knit a most assured league. now it happened that at the time of the death of _william_ the elder, _robert_ his eldest sonne was absent in _almaine_; and at once heard both of the death of his father, and that his brother _william_ was acknowledged to be king. hereupon in great hast, but greater heat both of anger and ambition, he returned into _normandie_: and there whilest he was breathing foorth his discontentment and desire of reuenge, he receiued a message from the confederats in _england_; that with all speed hee should come ouer vnto them, to accomplish the enterprise, to furnish their forces with a head: that they had no want of able bodies; they wanted no meanes to maintaine them together; they wanted onely his person both to countenance and conduct them. the duke thought it no wisdome, to aduenture himselfe altogether; vpon the fauour and faith of discontented persons: and he had bene so loosely liberall before, that he was vnprouided of money, to appoint himselfe with any competent forces of his owne. hereupon he pawned a part of _normandie_ to his brother _henry_, for waging souldiers: many also flocked voluntarily vnto him; vpon inducement, that hee who of his owne nature was most liberall & full of humanitie, would not faile both of pay and reward, vnlesse by reason of disabilitie & want. in the meane time the confederats resolued to breake forth in armes, in diuers parts of the realme at once; vpon conceit, that if the king should endeuour to represse them in one place, they might more easily preuaile in the other. and so accordingly _odo_ fortified and spoiled in _kent_; _geoffrey_ bishop of _exceter_, with his nephew _robert mowbray_ earle of _northumberland_, at _bristow_; _roger montgomerie_ in _northfolke_, _suffolke_ and _cambridgeshire_; _hugh de grandemenill_, in _leicestershire_ and _northamptonshire_; _william_ bishop of _durhame_, in the north parts of the realme; diuers others of the clergie and nobilitie in _herefordshire_, _shropshire_, _worcestershire_, and all the countreys adioyning to _wales_. and as in time of pestilence all diseases turne to the plague; so in this generall tumult, all discontentments sorted to rebellion. many who were oppressed with violence or with feare; many who were kept lower either by want or disgrace then they had set their mounting minds, adioyned daily to the side, and encreased both the number and the hope. and thus was all the realme in a ruinous rage against k. _william_, who wanted neither courage to beare, nor wisdome to decline it. and first hee endeuoured by all meanes to make the _english_ assured vnto him. and albeit few of them were at that time in any great place, either of credite or of charge, but were all wounded by his fathers wrongs; yet for that they were the greatest part, he made the greatest reckoning of them. for this cause hee released many _english_ lords who had bene committed to custodie by his father. he composed himselfe to courtesie and affabilitie towards the people, and distributed much treasure among them. but especially hee wanne their inclination by promises of great assurance, to restore vnto them their ancient lawes, to ease them of tributes and taxations, and to permit them free libertie of hunting: which being their principall pleasure and exercise before, was either taken away, or much restrained from them by king _william_ the elder. herewith he applied himselfe to appease the mutinous minds of his nobilitie, to seuer the confederats, to breake the faction; to diuide it first, and thereby to defeat it. to this purpose he dealt with _roger montgomerie_, who next vnto _odo_ was a principall both countenance and strength to the reuolt; he dealt also with diuers others, inferiour vnto him in authority and degree; that he could not coniecture for what cause they were so violent against him: did they want money? his fathers treasure was at their deuotion: desired they encrease of possessions? they should not be otherwise bounded then by their owne desires: that hee would willingly also giue ouer his estate, in case it should be iudged expedient by themselues, whom his father had put in trust to support him: that they should doe wel to foresee, whether by ouerthrowing his fathers iudgement in appointing the kingdome vnto him, they should not doe that which might be preiudiciall to themselues; for the same man who had appointed him to bee king, had also conferred vnto them those honours and possessions which they held. thus sometimes dealing priuately with particulars, and sometimes with many together, and eftsoones filling them with promises and hopes, and that with such new vehemencie of words as they beleeued could not proceede from dissembled intents; he so preuailed in the end, that hereby, and by example of some inducing the rest, _roger montgomerie_ and diuers others were reconciled to the king; in whom was thought to rest no smal matter to hold vp the reputation of the enterprise. and further, hee prepared a nauie to guard the seas, and to impeach the passage of his brother into _england_. hee prepared great forces also by meanes of the treasure which his father had left, and disposed them in places conuenient, either to preuent or to represse these scattered tumults. but the successe of his affaires was by no meanes so much aduanced, as by _lanfranck_ archbishop of _canterbury_, and by _woolstane_ bishop of _worcester_: the authority of which two men, the one for his learning, wisedome, and mild moderation, the other for his simple sanctitie and integritie of life, was greatly regarded by all sorts of people. by encouragement of _woolstane_ not onely the citie of _worcester_ was maintained in firme condition for the king, but his enemies receiued there a famous foyle; the greatest part being slaine, and the residue dispersed. this was the first sad blow which the confederates tooke; afterward they declined mainely, and the king as mainly did increase. the king in person led his chiefe forces into _kent_, against _odo_ his vncle, the principall firebrand of all this flame. hee tooke there the castle of _tunbridge_ and of _pemsey_, which _odo_ had fortified; and lastly hee besieged _odo_ himselfe in the castle of _rochester_, and with much trauell tooke him prisoner, and compelled him to abiure the realme. vpon these euents, the bishop of _durham_, aduising onely with feare and despaire, fled out of the realme; but after three yeeres he was againe restored to the dignitie of his sea. the residue did submit themselues to the kings discretion; and were by him receiued, all to pardon, some to gracious and deare account. for in offences of so high nature, pardon neuer sufficeth to assure offenders, vnlesse by further benefits their loyaltie bee bound. _robert_ duke of _normandy_ was busied all this time, in making preparation for his iourney into _england_: but his delayes much abated the affections of those who fauoured either his person or cause. at the length, hauing made vp a competent power, he committed to sea; where, his infelicities concurring with his negligence, diuers of his ships which he had sent somewhat before him, to assure the confederats of his approach, were set vpon and surprised by the nauie of king _william_. after this hee arriued in _england_, sent vnto many of his secret friends, and made his comming knowen vnto all: but no man resorted to him, he receiued no aduertisement from any man; but plainely found, that by the fortunate celeritie of king _william_, the heart of the conspiracie in all places was broken. so the duke returned into _normandie_, hauing then good leisure, to looke into the errour of his leisurely proceedings. when the king had in this sort either wisely reconciled, or valiantly repressed his domesticall enemies; because an vnperfect victory is alwayes the seede of a new warre, he followed his brother with a mighty armie, and remoued the seate of the warre into _normandie_. for he coniectured (as in trueth it fell out) that the duke his brother vpon his returne, would presently disperse his companies, for want of money; and for the same cause would not easily be able to draw them together againe. so his valour and his power being much aduantaged by his sudden comming, ioyned to the want of foresight and preparation in the duke; he tooke in short time the castles of _walerick_ and _aubemarle_, with the whole countrey of _eu_; the abbacie of _mount s michael_, _fescampe_, _chereburge_, and diuers other places; which he furnished with men of armes, and souldiers of assured trust. the duke feeling his owne weakenesse, dealt with _philip_ king of _france_, and by liberall promises so preuailed with him, that he descended into _normandie_ with a faire armie, and bent his siege against one of those pieces which k. _william_ had taken. but he found it so knottie a piece of worke, that in short time wearied with hardnesse and hazards of the field, he fell to a capitulation with king _william_, and so departed out of _normandie_; receiuing a certaine summe of money in regard of his charges, and conceiuing that he had won honour ynough, in that no honour had bene won against him. the money that was payd to the king of _france_, was raised in _england_ by this deuise. king _william_ commanded that . thousand men should be mustered in _england_, and transported into _normandie_, to furnish his warres against the _french_. when they were conducted neere to _hastings_, and almost ready to be embarked, it was signified to them from the king; that aswell for their particular safeties, as not to disfurnish the realme of strength, whosoeuer would pay . shillings towards the waging of souldiers in _normandie_, he might be excused to stay at home. among . thousand scarce any was found, who was not ioyfull to embrace the condition; who was not ready to redeeme his aduenture with so small a summe: which being gathered together, was both a surer and easier meanes to finish the warres, then if the king had still struggeled by force of armes. for when the _french_ king had abandoned the partie, duke _robert_, being prepared neither with money, nor constancie of mind to continue the warre, enclined to peace; which at the last, by diligence of friends, was concluded betweene the two brothers, vpon these conditions. _that the duke should yeeld to the king the countie of eu, the abbey of fescampe, the abbey of s. michaels mount, chereburge, and all other castles and fortifications which the king had taken._ _that the king should subdue to the vse of the duke, all other castles and houldes, which had reuolted from him in normandie._ _that the king should giue to the duke certaine dignities and possessions in england._ _that the king should restore all those to their dignities and lands in england, who had taken part with the duke against him._ _that if either of them should die without issue male, the suruiuour should succeed in his estate._ these articles were confirmed by twelue barons on the kings part, and as many on the part of the duke; so long obserued, as either of them wanted either power or pretence to disanull them. this peace being made, the duke vsed the aide of king _william_, to recouer the fort of _mount s. michael_, which their brother _henrie_ did forceably hold, for the money which hee had lent to the duke of _normandie_. fourtie dayes they layed siege to this castle; hauing no hope to carrie it, but by the last necessity, which is hunger. within the compasse of this time, as the king straggled alone vpon the shoare, certaine horsemen salied foorth and charged vpon him; of whom three strooke him together so violently with their lances, as because he could not be driuen out of his saddle, together with his saddle he was cast vpon the ground, and his horse slaine vpon the place, for which he had payed the same day . markes. extremitie of danger (as it often happeneth) tooke from the king all feare of danger: wherefore taking vp his saddle with both his hands, he did therewith defend himselfe for a time. but because to stand vpon defence onely is alwayes vnsure, he drew his sword, and would not depart one foot from his saddle; but making shew of braue ioy, that he had nothing to trust vnto but his owne valour, he defended both his saddle and himselfe, till rescue came. afterward when some of his souldiers in blaming maner expostulated with him, wherefore he was so obstinate to saue his saddle: his answere was, that a king should loose nothing which he can possibly saue: _it would haue angred mee_, (said he) _at the very heart, that the knaues should haue bragged, that they had wonne the saddle from mee_. and this was one of his perpetuall felicities, to escape easily out of desperate dangers. in the end _henry_ grew to extreeme want of water, and other prouisions: by which meanes he was ready to fall into the hands of those, who desired to auoyd necessitie to hurt him. and first he sent to the duke his brother, to request some libertie to take in fresh water. the duke sent to him a tunne of wine, and granted a surcease of hostilitie for one day, to furnish him with water. at this the king seemed discontented, as being a meanes to prolong the warre. but the duke told him, that it had bene hard to deny a brother a little water for his necessitie. herewith likewise the king relenting, they sent for their brother _henry_; and wisdome preuailing more then iniuries or hate, they fell to an agreement, that vpon a day appointed, _henry_ should receiue his money at _roan_; and that in the meane time, hee should hold the countrey of _constantine_ in morgage. the king enterteined with pay many of his brother _henries_ souldiers; especially he receiued those who ouerthrew him, to a very neere degree of fauour. and thus all parties ordered their ambition with great modestie; the custome of former warres running in a course of more humanitie, then since they haue done. the king was the more desirous to perfect these agreements of peace, for that _malcolme_ king of _scots_ (as princes often times make vse of the contentions of their neighbours) tooke occasion vpon these confusions, to enterprise vpon the parts of _england_ which confined vpon him. so as he inuaded _northumberland_, made great spoile, tooke much prey, caried away many prisoners; whose calamitie was the more miserable, for that they were to endure seruitude in a hard countrey. for this cause the king with his accustomed celeritie returned into _england_, accompanied with the duke of _normandie_ his brother; and led a mighty armie against the _scots_ by land, and sent also a nauie to infest them by sea. but by a sudden and stiffe storme, by a hideous confusion of all ill disposed weather, his ships were cruelly crushed; and hauing long wrought against the violence and rage of the tempest, were in the end dispersed, and diuers of them cast away. many of his souldiers also perished, partly by penurie and want, and partly by the euill qualitied ayre. notwithstanding the _scots_, knowing the king of _england_ to bee an enemie mighty and resolute, began to wauer in their assurance; framing fearefull opinions, of the number, valour and experience of his armie. hereupon some ouertures of peace were made; the _scots_ expecting that the king, by reason of his late losses, would be the more moderate in his demands. but hee then shewed himselfe most resolute and firme; following his naturall custome, not to yeelde to any difficulty. king _malcolme_ coniecturing that such confidence could not be without good cause, consented at the last to these conditions. _that king malcolme should make a certaine satisfaction for the spoyles which hee had done in england._ _that king william should restore to him certaine lands in england._ _that k. malcolme should doe homage to king william._ now the day was come wherein _henrie_ was appointed to receiue his money at _roan_, from the duke of _normandie_. but as affaires of princes haue great variations, so they are not alwayes constant in their counsels. and so the duke, caried by his occasions, and ready to lay downe his faith and word more to the traine of times, then to the preseruation of his honour; instead of paying the money, committed his brother _henry_ to prison: from whence he could not be released, vntill hee renounced the countie of _constantine_, and bound himselfe by oath neuer to claime any thing in _normandie_. _henrie_ complained hereof to _philip_ king of _france_; who gaue him a faire enterteinement in his court, but was content rather to feede then finish the contention: either expecting thereby some opportunitie to himselfe, or els the opinion of his owne greatnesse not suffring him to feare, that others might grow to haue fortune against him. _henry_ had not long remained in the court of _france_, but a _normane_ knight named _hacharde_ conueyed him disguised into _normandie_; where the castle of _damfronç_ was deliuered vnto him; and in short time after hee gate all the countrey of _passays_, and a good part of _constantine_; either without resistance, or without difficultie and perill. hereupon the duke leuied his forces, and earnestly assayed to recouer _damfronç_: but then hee found that his brother _henrie_ was secretly, yet surely vnderset by the king of _england_. hereupon, incensed with the furie of an iniuried minde, hee exclaimed against his brother of _england_, and almost proclaimed him a violator of his league. on the other side, the king of _england_ iustified his action, for that hee was both a meanes and a partie to the agreement: and therefore stood bound in honour, not onely to vrge, but to enforce performance. so the flame brake foorth more furious then it was before, and ouer went king _william_ with an able armie; where hee found the duke also in good condition of strength commanding the field. and albeit in so neere approach of two mighty enemies, equall both in ambition and power, it is hard to conteine men of seruice; yet was nothing executed betweene them, but certaine light skirmishes, and surprizements of some places of defence. in the end, the king hearing of new troubles in _england_, and the duke finding himselfe vnable either to preuaile with few souldiers, or to maintaine many, and both distrusting to put a speedie end to the warre; they were easily drawne to capitulations of peace. and thus ended the contention betweene these brethren; who vntill this time had continued like the waues of the sea, alwayes in motion, and one beating against the other. besides these businesses which befell the king, against his nobilitie, against the duke of _normandie_ his brother, and against the king and nation of the _scots_; the _welshmen_ also (who alwayes struggled for libertie and reuenge) perceiuing that the king was often absent, and much entangled with hostile affaires; enforced the fauour of that aduantage, to free themselues from subiection of the _english_, and happily to enlarge or enrich themselues vpon them. so hauing both desire and opportunitie, they wanted not meanes to assemble in armes, to expell the _english_ that were amongst them, and to cast downe the castles erected in their countrey, as the principall yoakes of their subiection. afterwards, rising in boldnesse with successe, they made diuers incursions vpon the bordering parts of _england_; spoiled the citie of _glocester_, and exercised all those outrages, which vnciuill people, incensed both with want and with hate doe not vsually omit. but being a company neither in discipline nor pay, raw and vnarmed, they proceeded more like to robbers then to souldiers; hauing no intention to vanquish, but to spoile. hereupon the king twice in person inuaded _wales_, but with small shew of successe for the present. for the _welsh_-enemies scattered the warre, by diuiding themselues into small companies, and retiring into the mountaines and woods, and other places of naturall defence. here they trauailed the king with a fugitiue fight; flying when they were pursued, and houering vpon him when they were giuen ouer: cutting off many stragling souldiers, and taking some carriages, which in those rough places could not easily either be passed, or defended. and so by shifting alwayes into places of aduantage, they sought at one time, both to auoyd fighting, and to hinder the king from doing any thing of importance. at the last, the king hauing made sufficient proofe how vaine it is, to follow a light footed enemie with a heauie armie, pestered with traine of carriage, in places where the seruice of horsemen is almost vnprofitable; he gaue ouer the pursuit, and retired into _england_. but first he repaired those castles which the _welsh_ had destroyed, and built new castles also vpon the frontiers and within the bosome of _wales_; which he furnished with so sure garrisons, as might suffice with fauour of opportunitie, either to weary or consume the enemies. and indeed the _welsh_ being by this meanes, alwayes exercised, and dayly wasted; declined in short time, no lesse to cowardise then to wearinesse and wants; so as _hugh_ earle of _chester_, & _hugh_ earle of _shrewesbury_, dispossessed them of the isle of _anglesey_, which they had surprised not long before. the _welsh_ that were there taken, were very hardly, or rather vnmercifully and cruelly entreated; some had their eyes pulled out, some their hands cut off, some their armes, some their noses, some their genitalles. an aged priest named _kenredus_, who had bene a chiefe directer of the common affaires, was drawne out of a church whereinto he had fled, had one of his eyes pulled out, and his tongue torne from his throat. i make no doubt but these seuerities were vsed against them, vpon some sauage outrages which they had done; wherein the lesse compassion was borne to their calamities, for the cowardise which they shewed in their owne defence. shortly after, _magnus_ king of _norway_ the sonne of _olaus_, the sonne of _harold harfager_, hauing brought the isles of _orkeney_ vnder his dominion, subdued also from the _welsh_ the isle of _man_; and enterprised vpon the isle of _anglesey_ against the _english_. but at his landing he was encountred by the earle of _shrewsbury_ and the earle of _chester_; in which fight the _norwegians_ were vanquished and repelled, but the earle of _shrewsbury_ with too braue boldnesse lost his life: leauing his honourable both actions and end as an excellent ornament to his posteritie. afterwards the earle of _chester_ led an armie into _wales_; and found the people so consumed by the _english_ garisons, that he easily reduced many to professe obedience to the crowne of _england_; and disabled others, hauing no leaders of experience and valour, for shewing their faces as enemies in the field. also vpon some variances which did rise betweene _iustinus_, sonne to _gurguntus_, earle of _glamorgane_ and _morganock_; and _rhesus_ sonne to _theodore_ prince of southwales: _iustinus_, not of power to maintaine either his right or his will, sent _Æneas_, sonne to _genidorus_, sometimes lord of _demetia_, to craue aide in _england_. this he obtained, not onely readily, but in greater measure then the seruice did require. _robert fitzhamond_ was generall commander of the _english_ armie; who encountred _rhesus_ at a place called _blackhill_; and in that fight _rhesus_ was slaine: after whose death the name of king ceased in _wales_. then _iustinus_ failing, and happily not able to performe such conditions as in necessitie hee had assured, _fitzhamond_ turned his forces against him; chased the _welsh_ out of the champaine countrey, and diuided the same among his principall gentlemen. these erected castles, in places conuenient for their mutuall ayde; and so well defended themselues, that they left the countrey to their posterity. thus was the lordship of _glamorgane_ and _morganock_, which conteineth . miles in length, & . in bredth, subdued to the _english_; giuing example how dangerous it is for any people, to call in a greater force of strangers to their ayde, then being victorious, they may easily be able to limit and restraine. this being a lordship marcher, hath enioyed royall liberties, since the time wherein it was first subdued. it hath acknowledged seruice and obedience onely to the crowne. it hath had the triall of all actions, as well reall as personall, and also held pleas of the crowne; with authority to pardon all offences, treason onely excepted. whilest the king was entertained with these chases, rather then warres in _wales_, hee lay at _gloucester_ many times; as not esteeming that his presence should alwayes be necessary, and yet not farre off if occasion should require. to this place _malcolme_ king of _scots_ came vnto him, vpon an honourable visitation. but the king hauing conceiued some displeasure against him, refused to admit him to his presence. hereupon king _malcolme_, full of fury and disdaine, returned into _scotland_, assembled an armie, enuaded _northumberland_, harrased and spoyled a great part thereof; hauing done the like foure times before. such is the heate of hate in mindes that are mighty; who seldome hold it any breach of iustice, to bee reuenged of him who offereth dishonor. when he was come neere to _alnewicke_, and his souldiers were much pestered with prey, (a notable impediment both for readinesse and resolution to fight) hee was set vpon both suddenly and sharply by _robert mowbray_ earle of _northumberland_; his troupes hewen in pieces, himselfe together with his eldest sonne _edward_ slaine. the third day ensuing, _margaret_ wife to king _malcolme_, and sister to _edgar adeling_, not able to beare so sad and heauie a blow of fortune, ended also her life. shee was famous for pietie and for modestie, two excellent endowments of that sexe. by her perswasion _malcolme_ made a law, that whereas by a former law made by king _eugenius_, the lord enioyed the first night with any new married woman within his dominion; the husband might redeeme that abuse by paiment of halfe a mark of siluer. king _malcolme_ being slaine, _dunwald_ his brother vsurped the kingdome; but after a few dayes he was dispossessed thereof by _duncane_, bastard son to k. _malcolme_. in this action _duncane_ was chiefly supported by the king of _england_; with whom he had remained in hostage, and to whom hee had made his submission by oath. and because the _scots_ did either see or suspect that hee bare a fauourable affection to the _english_, they would not receiue him for their king, but vnder promise that hee should not entertaine any _english_ or _normane_, either in place of seruice, or as a follower at large. the yeere next following _duncane_ was slaine, and _dunwald_ was againe possessed of the kingdom. hereupon king _william_ sent _clito edgar_ with an armie into _scotland_; by whose meanes _dunwald_ was dispoiled againe of his kingdome, and _edgar_ sonne to king _malcolme_ aduanced to his fathers estate. these were the principall aduentures by armes which concerned _england_, during the reigne of k. _william_ the second: wherein he so behaued himselfe, that he did worthily winne an opinion to be one, who both knew and durst. in all actions hee esteemed himselfe greatly dishonoured, if hee were not both in armes with the first, and with the forwardest in fight; doing double seruice, as well by example, as by direction: in which heate of valour, the fauour of his fortune excused many of his attempts from the blame of rashnesse. he was oftentimes most constant, or rather obstinate in pursuing those purposes, which with small deliberation he vndertooke. at a certaine time when he was in hunting within the new forrest, he receiued aduertisement, that _mans_ was surprised by _helie_, count _de la flesch_, who pretended title thereto in right of his wife: that he was aided in this enterprise by _fouques d'angiers_, an ancient enemie to the dukes of _normandie_: and that the castle which held good for the king, must also be rendered, if in very short time it were not relieued. vpon these newes, as if he had bene in the heat of a chase, he presently turned his horse; and his passion not staying to consult with reason, in great haste roade towards the sea. and when he was aduised by some to stay a time, and take with him such forces as the importance of the seruice did require; with a heart resolute and violent voice he answered, _that they who loued him, would not faile to follow; and that if no man else would stirre, he alone would relieue mans_. when he came to _dortmouth_, he commanded ships to be brought for his passage. the winds were then both contrary and stiffe, and the sea swelled exceeding bigge; for which cause the shipmasters perswaded him to await a more fauourable season, and not to cast himselfe vpon the miserable mercie of that storme. notwithstanding the king, whose feare was alwayes least when dangers were greatest, mounted vpon shipboard, and commanded them to put to sea; affirming, that it was no prince-like mind to breake a iourney for foulenesse of weather; and that he neuer heard of any king that had bene drowned. and so for that the chiefe point of rescue rested in expedition, hee presently committed to sea; taking few with him, and leauing order that others should follow. after hee had long wrastled with the winds and waues, he arriued in _france_, where running on in the humour of his courage and forwardnesse, he acquitted himselfe with greater honour then at any time before. so effectuall is celeritie for the benefit of a seruice, that oftentimes it more auaileth, then either multitude or courage of souldiers. in this expedition, _helie_ the principall commander against him was taken. and when he was brought to the kings presence, the king said pleasantly vnto him: _ah master! in faith i haue you now; and i hope i shal be able to keepe you in quiet_. then he: _it is true indeed, the successe of my attempts haue not bene answerable to the resolution of my minde; by meere aduenture now you haue me: but if i were at libertie againe, i doe better know what i had to doe, and would not so easily be held in quiet_. the king with a braue scorne replied: _i see thou art but a foolish knaue; vnable to vse, either thy libertie or thy restreint aright. but goe thy wayes, make good thy confidence: i set thee free and at libertie againe; vse thy aduantage, and doe thy worst_. _helie_ daunted more with this high courage, then before he had bin with the victory of the king, submitted himselfe, and made his peace vnder such conditions as it pleased the king to lay vpon him. certainely this magnanimous example hath seldome bin equalled, neuer excelled by those, who are admired for the principall worthies of the world. he little fauoured flatterers; the flies which blow corruption vpon sweetest vertues; the myrie dogs of the court, who defile princes with fawning on them; who commonly are fatted with bread which is made with the teares of miserable people. he was most firme and assured in his word: and to those who did otherwise aduise him, he would say; that _god did stand obliged by his word_.[ ] he is commended for his manly mercie; in releasing prisoners, and in pardoning offences of highest qualitie: which to a people that then liued vnder a law, both rigorous, and almost arbitrarie, and (as well for the noueltie as for the vncertaintie thereof) in a manner vnknowne, was a most high valued vertue. he not onely pardoned many great offenders, but partly by gifts, and partly by aduancements he knit them most assuredly vnto him. and therefore although in the beginning of his reigne, most of the nobilitie, and many gentlemen of best quality and rancke endeuoured to displace him, and to set vp _robert_ his elder brother for their king; yet doeth it not appeare, either that any seueritie was executed vpon them, or that afterward they were dangerous vnto him. notwithstanding in some actions he was noted of crueltie, or at the least of sharpnesse and seuerity in iustice. for albeit hee promised to the _english_, whilest his first feares and iealousies continued, that they should enioy free libertie of hunting; yet did hee afterwards so seuerely restraine it, that the penalty for killing a deere was death. _robert mowbray_ earle of _northumberland_, after he had defeated the _scots_ and slaine _malcolme_ their king, not finding himselfe either honoured or respected according to his seruice; first refrained, and afterwards refused to come vnto the court. hereupon the king, ouerruled indifferently with suspition and hate, (two violent passions in minds placed in authoritie) sent his brother _henry_ with an armie against him; who spoyled the countrey, tooke the earle, and committed him to prison. then was hee charged with diuers crimes, which were sufficient (although but surmised) to vndoe an innocent. many examinations were also made, but for appearance onely and terrour, not to any bottome or depth. the especiall matter obiected against him was, for contriuing to despoyle the king both of life and state, and to set vp _stephen albamerle_ his aunts sonne for king. and thus it often happeneth, that great deserts are occasions to men of their destruction; either because princes generally loue not those to whom they are exceedingly beholding, or else for that thereby men doe grow proud, insolent, disdainefull, bould, immoderate both in expectation and demand, discontented, impatient if they be not satisfied, and apt to breake forth into dangerous attempts. of those who any wayes declared themselues in his fauour or defence; some were despoiled of their goods, some were banished the realme; others were punished with losse of their eyes, or of their eares, or of some other part of their bodie. _william d'owe_ was accused in a councell holden at _salisbury_, to bee a complice of this treason. and albeit he challenged his accuser to the combate, yet his eyes were pulled out, and his stones cut off by commandement of the king. and yet some authours affirme, that he was ouercome in combate before. for the same cause the king commanded _william aluerie_ to be hanged; a man of goodly personage and modest behauiour; the kings sewer, his aunts sonne, and his godfather. before his execution hee desired to be whipped through manie churches in _london_: he distributed his garments to the poore, and bloodied the street as he went, with often kneeling vpon the stones. at the time of his death he tooke it vpon the charge of his soule, that he was cleere of the offence for which he suffered. and so committing his innocencie to god, and to the world his complaints, he submitted himselfe to the executioners hands: leauing an opinion in some, a suspition in many, that others also died without desert. for the king gaue an easie eare to any man, that would appeach others for his aduantage: whereby it sometimes happened, that offenders were acquited by accusing innocents. he was liberall aboue measure; either in regard of his owne abilities, or of the worthinesse of the receiuers. especially hee was bountifull (if that terme may be applyed to immoderate lauishing)[ ] to men of warre: for which cause many resorted to him from farre countries for entertainement. to winne and retaine the fauour of these, hee much impouerished his peaceable people. from many he tooke without iustice, to giue to others without desert: esteeming it no vnequall dealing, that the money of the one, should bee aduentured and expended with the blood of the other. he much exceeded in sumptuousnes of diet and of apparell, wherewith great men vse to dazel the eyes of the people: both which waies he esteemed the goodnesse of things, by their price. it is reported, that when his chamberlaine vpon a certaine morning brought him a new paire of hose, the king demaunded what they cost; and the chamberlaine answered, three shillings. hereat the king grew impatient, and said: _what? heauie beast! doest thou take these to be conuenient hose for a king? away begger, and bring me other of a better price_. then the chamberlaine departed and brought a farre worse paire of hose (for a better could not at that time bee found) and told the king that they cost a marke. the king not onely allowed them for fine enough, but commended them also as exceeding fit. assuredly this immoderate excesse of a king is now farre exceeded by many base shifting vnthrifts. in building his expences were very great. he repaired the citie and castle of _caerlile_, which had been wasted by the _danes_ . yeres before. hee finished new castle vpon _tine_. many other castles he erected or repaired vpon the frontiers of _scotland_; many also vpon the frontiers and within the very brest of _wales_. hee much enlarged the towre of _london_, and enuironed it with a new wall. hee also built the great hall at _westminster_, which is . foote in length, and . foote in breadth. and when many did admire the vast largenes thereof, he would say vnto them, that it was but a bed chamber, but a closet, in comparison of that which he intended to build. and accordingly he layd the foundation of another hall, which stretched from the riuer _thames_ to the kings high street: the further erection wherof, with diuers other heroicall enterprises, ceased together with his life. thus partly by reason of his infinite plots and inuentions, and partly by his disorders and vnbrideled liberalities, he alwayes liued at great charges and expences; which whilest the large treasure lasted which his father left him, were borne without grieuance to the subiects: but when that was once drained, he was reduced to seeke money by extraordinary meanes. so, many hard taxes were laid vpon the people, partly for supplie to his owne necessities, and partly to imitate the policie of his father; that the people being busied how to liue, should reteine small either leisure or meanes to contriue innouations. for this cause he was supposed, vpon purpose to haue enterprised many actions of charge; that thereby he might haue colour to impose, both imployments and taxations vpon the people. and because the riches of the clergie at that time were not onely an eye-sore vnto many, but esteemed also by some, to bee very farre aboue due proportion; hee often fleeced them of great summes of money. for which cause it is euident, that the writers of that age (who were for the most part clergie men) did both generally enueigh against him, and much depraue his particular actions. he withheld his annuall paiment to the sea of _rome_, vpon occasion of a schisme betweene _vrbane_ at _rome_, and _clement_ at _rauenna_. he claimed the inuestiture of prelates to be his right: hee forbade appeales and entercourse to _rome_: for which and other like causes he had a very great contention with the clergie of his realme, especially with _anselme_ archbishop of _canterbury_. the seedes of this contention were cast, when _anselme_ was first receiued to his sea. for at that time two did striue for the papacie of _rome_; _vrbanus_ and _guibert_, called _clement_ the third: some christian states fauouring the one, and some the other. king _william_ inclined to _clement_ the third, and with him the realme generally went; but _anselme_ did fully goe with _vrbane_; making so his condition before he did consent to accept his dignitie. when he was elected and before his consecration, the king demanded of him, that such lands of the church of _canterbury_ as the king had giuen to his friends since the death of _lanfranck_, might still be held by them as their lawfull right: but to this _anselme_ would in no case agree. hereupon the king stayed his consecration a certaine time; but at length by importunitie of the people hee was content to receiue his homage, and to giue way to his consecration. not long after, the archbishop desired licence of the king to goe to _rome_, to receiue his pall; which when the king refused to grant, he appealed to the sea of _rome_. now this was the first appeale that euer before had been made in _england_. for appeales were not here in ordinarie vse, vntil after this time, vnder the reigne of king _stephen_; when _henrie_ bishop of _wint._ being the popes legate, brought them in. wherefore the king offended with this noueltie, charged _anselme_ with breach of his fealtie and oath. _anselme_ answered, that this was to be referred to the iudgement of a councell, whether it bee a breach of allegiance to a terrene prince, if a man appeale to the vicar of christ. the king alleaged; that the custome of his realme admitted no appeale from the king; that supreame appeale was a most principall marke of maiestie, because no appeale can be made but to a superiour; that therefore the archbishop by appealing from him, denied his souereignty, derogated from the dignitie of his crowne, and subiected both him and that to another prince, to whom as to a superiour he did appeale; that herein hee was an enemie and a traitour to him and to the state. _anselme_ replyed, that this question was determined by our lord, who taught vs what allegiance is due to the pope, where he saith; _thou art peter, and vpon this rocke will i build my church, &c._ and againe; _to thee will i giue the keyes of the kingdome of heauen, &c._ and againe in generall; _hee that heareth you heareth me, and who despiseth you despiseth me_. and againe, _he that toucheth you, toucheth the apple of my eye_. but for the allegiance due to the king, he saith; _giue to cæsar that which belongeth to cæsar, and to god what pertaineth to god_. to this the king finally said; that hauing made themselues masters to interprete and giue sence to the scriptures, it was easie to maintaine by them whatsoeuer they desired or did; it was easie for them to burst their ambition with their swelling greatnes. but well he was assured, that christ intended not to dissolue orders for ciuill gouernment, to ruine kingdoms, to embase authority and right of kings, by meanes of his church: this right of a king he had, and this right he would maintaine. in this contention few of the bishops did openly take part with _anselme_; but some, and especially the bishop of _durhame_, did directly declare against him. the residue, when he asked their aduise, would answere him, that he was wise ynough, and knew what was best for him to doe; as for them, they neither durst nor would stand against their lord. by assistance of these the king purposed to depriue _anselme_, and to expell him out of the realme. but _anselme_ auowed, that as he was ready to depart the realme, so would he take his authoritie with him, though he tooke nothing else. now the king had sent two messengers to pope _vrbane_ at _rome_, to entreat him to send the pall to the king; to be disposed by him as he should thinke fit. these messengers were by this time returned; and with them came _guibert_ the popes legate, who brought the pall. the legate went first priuily to the king, and promised that if _vrbane_ should be receiued for pope in _england_, the king should obtaine of him whatsoeuer he would. the king required that _anselme_ might be remoued. the legate answered, that it could not be, that such a man without iust cause should be remoued; notwithstanding some other things being granted to the king, _vrbane_ was declared to be lawfull pope; and the king was content to swallow downe that morsel, which had bene so vnpleasant for him to champe on. the pall was caried to _anselme_ with great pompe, in a vessell of siluer; and he came foorth bare footed, in his priestly vestments to meete and to receiue it. the yeere next following the king inuaded _wales_; where he repressed the rebellious enemies, and returned victorious. _anselme_ prepared to goe vnto him, to salute him, to congratulate his good successe. but the king preuented him by messengers, who layde to his charge, both the small number, and euill appointment of the souldiers, which he sent to that seruice; and therefore warned him to appeare at the court, to make his answere. happely also the king was incensed by matters more light; but taken in the worst part, as it commonly falleth out in suspitions and quarels. at the day appointed _anselme_ appeared, but auoyded his answere by appealing to the pope: for prosecution whereof, hee made suit for the kings licence to goe to _rome_. the king said as before; that this appeale was against the custome of the realme, and against the dignitie of his crowne, to both which _anselme_ had sworne. _anselme_ answered, that he was sworne to neither of them, but so farre as they were consonant to the lawes of god, and to the rules of equitie and right. the king replied, that no limitation being expressed, it was not reasonable that vpon his owne conceit of pietie or equitie, he should slip out of the band of his oath. thus was the contention on both sides obstinately maintained; and for a long time _anselme_ was commanded to attend the court. at the last hee was released, but vnder expresse charge, that he should not depart out of the realme; or if he did, that it should neuer be lawfull for him to returne. _anselme_ departed from the court, went streight to _douer_, with purpose to passe the seas into _france_. here hee was either awaited or ouertaken by _william warlewast_ the kings officer; not to stay him from his passage, but to rifle him of all that he had. others also were appointed to seise his goods in other places, and to conuert the profits of his archbishopricke to the vse of the king; making a bare allowance to the monks, of meat, drinke and cloathing. so the archbishop crossed the seas into _france_, rested a while at _lions_, and then trauailed ouer the _alpes_ to _rome_; where he was enterteined by pope _vrbane_, with more then ordinarie ceremonies of honour. and first the pope wrote to the king of _england_ on the behalfe of _anselme_; and reteined him in his palace vntill he should receiue answere from the king. when the messenger was returned with such answere as _anselme_ did not like, he desired of the pope to be discharged of his dignitie; which he had found (he said) a wearisome stage, whereon hee played a part much against his will. but hereto the pope would in no case agree; charging him vpon vertue of his obedience, that wheresoeuer he went, he should beare both the name and honour of archbishop of _canterburie_. _as for these matters_, (said he) _we shall sufficiently prouide for them at the next councell where your selfe shalbe present_. when the councell was assembled, _anselme_[ ] sate on the outside of the bishops; but the pope called him vp, and placed him at his right foot with these words; _includamus hunc in orbe nostro, tanquam alterius orbis papam_. afterwards in all generall councels, the archb. of _canterburie_ tooke that place. in this councell the points of difference betweene the greeke and latine churches were strongly debated; especially concerning the proceeding of the _holy ghost_, and for leauened bread in the administration of the _eucharist_: wherein _anselme_ shewed such deepe learning, weight of iudgement, and edge of wit, that he approched neerer admiration then applause. these matters determined, complaints were brought against the king of _england_, and the pope is said to haue bene ready to excommunicate him: but _anselme_ kneeled before the pope, and obteined for the king a longer terme. the pope was then at great contention with _henry_ the fourth emperour, who had bene excommunicated before by _hildebrand_, and was then againe excommunicate by _vrbane_: being the first christian prince with souereigne power, who was euer excommunicate by any pope. and for that _vrbane_ at that time had his hands full against the emperour, for that also hee would not make the example too odious at the first; he was willing ynough to forbeare excommunication against the king. and the rather for that _anselme_ had intelligence from his friends in _england_, that the excommunication would not be regarded. hereupon, accompting it a sufficient declaration of his power for the time, to haue menaced excommunication, he caused a generall decree to be made; that as well all lay-persons who should giue inuestiture of churches, as those of the clergie who should be so inuested; also those who should yeeld themselues in subiection to lay-men for ecclesiastical liuings, should be excommunicate. this generall sentence was pronounced. the pope also signified by letters to the king, that if he would auoyd particular proceeding against himselfe, he should foorthwith restore _anselme_ to the exercise of his office in his church, and to all the goods and possessions perteining thereto. hereupon the king sent messengers to the pope, who declared vnto him; that their great master the king marueiled not a litle, wherefore he should so sharply vrge the restitution of _anselme_; seeing it was expresly told him, that if he departed out of _england_ without licence, he should expect no other vsage. well, said the pope, haue you no other cause against _anselme_, but that he hath appealed to the apostolicall sea, and without licence of your king hath trauailed thither? they answered, no. and haue you taken all this paines (said he) haue you trauailed thus farre to tell me this? goe tell your lord, if he will not be excommunicate, that he presently restore _anselme_ to his sea: and see that you bring mee answere hereof the next councell, which shalbe in the third weeke after easter: make haste, and looke to your terme, lest i cause you to be hanged for your tarryance. the messenger was herewith much abashed; yet collecting himselfe, he desired priuate audience of the pope: affirming, that he had some secret instructions from the king to impart vnto him. what this secret was it is vnknowne. whatsoeuer it was, a longer day was obtained for the king, vntill michaelmas then next ensuing. and when that day was come, albeit complaints were renued, yet was nothing done against the king. the archb. seeing the small assurance of the pope, returned to _lions_ in _france_; and there remained vntil the death, first of pope _vrbane_, and afterwards of the king; which was almost the space of . yeeres. by this great conflict the king lost the hearts of many of the clergie; but his displeasure had seasoned reuenge with contentment: and finding himselfe sufficient, both in courage and meanes to beare out his actions, he became many other wayes heauie vnto them. when any bishopricke or monasterie fell voyd, he kept them vacant a long time in his hands, and applied the profits to himselfe: at the last hee would set them to open sale, and receiue him for prelate, who would giue for them the greatest price. herehence two great inconueniences did ensue; the best places were furnished with men of least sufficiencie and worth; and no man hoping to rise by desert, the generall endeuour for vertue and knowledge were layd aside: the direct way to aduancement, was by plaine purchase from the king. in this seazing and farming and marchandizing of church-liuings, one _ranulph_, commonly called the kings chapleine, was a great agent for the king. hee was a man of faire vse of speach, and liuely in witte, which hee made seruants to licentious designes; but both in birth and behauiour base, and shamelesse in dishonestie; a very bawde to all the kings purposes and desires. hee could be so euill as hee listed, and listed no lesse then was to his aduantage. the king would often laugh at him, and say; that he was a notable fellow to compasse matters for a king. and yet besides more then ordinary fauour of countenance, the king aduanced him, first to be his chancellour, and afterward to be bishop of _duresme_. by his aduise, so soone as any church fell voide, an inuentory was made of all the goods that were found, as if they should bee preserued for the next successor; and then they were committed to the custodie of the king, but neuer restored to the church againe. so the next incumbent receiued his church naked and bare, notwithstanding that he paid a good price for it. from this king the vse is said to haue first risen in _england_, that the kings succeeding had the temporalties of bishops seas so long as they remained voide. hee also set the first enformers to worke, and for small transgressions appointed great penalties. hee is also reported to haue been the first king of this realme, who restreined his subiects from ranging into forreine countreys without licence. and yet what did the king by this sale of church dignities, but that which was most frequent in other places? for in other places also few attained to such dignities freely. the difference was this: here the money was receiued by the king, there by fauorites or inferiour officers: here it was expended in the publike vses of the state; there to priuate and many times odious enrichments: this seemeth the more easie, that the more extreme pressure, as done by more hungrie and degenerous persons: this may bee esteemed by some the more base, but assuredly it was the better dealing. and further, it is euident that the king did freely aduance many excellent persons to principall dignities in the church; and especially _anselme_ to the archbishopricke of _canterburie_, who was so vnwilling to accept that honour, that the king had much to doe to thrust it vpon him. and the rather to enduce him, he gaue him wholly the citie of _canterburie_, which his predecessors had held but at the pleasure of the king. this _anselme_ was one whose learned labours doe plainely testifie, how little his spirits were fed with the fulsome fumes of surfeting and ease; which to many others, together with their bodies, doe fatten and engrosse their mindes. he so detested singularitie, that he accounted it the sinne which threw angels out of heauen, and man out of paradise. this detestation of singularitie might happily encline him to the other extreme; to adhere ouer lightly to some common receiued errours. it is attributed to him that hee would often wish, to bee rather in hell without sinne, then with sinne in heauen. the king also aduanced _robert bloet_, to the bishopricke of _lincolne_: a man whose wisedom was highly graced, with goodly personage, and good deliuery of speach: from whom notwithstanding the king afterwards wiped fiue thousand markes. hee also freely receiued _hugh de floriaco_, a man for his vertue much esteemed, to be abbot of the monastery of s. _augustines_ in _canterburie_; and likewise diuers others to other ecclesiasticall preferments: whereby i am confirmed in opinion, that many odious imputations against the king, were either altogether inuented, or much enlarged aboue the trueth. it happened vpon auoidance of a certaine monastery, that two monkes went to the king, either of them contending, as well by friends, as by large offer of purse, to procure to be made abbot of the place. the king espying a third monke standing by, who came with the other two, either to accompany them, or to obtaine some inferiour place vnder him that should preuaile, demaunded of him what hee would giue? the monke answered, that hee had small meanes, and lesse minde, to purchase that or any other dignitie of the church: for with that intention did he first betake himselfe to a religious life, that holding riches and honour (the two beauties of the world) in contempt, he might more freely and quietly dispose himselfe to the seruice of god. the king replied, that he iudged him most worthy of that preferment; and therefore first offred it vnto him, then intreated, and lastly enioyned him to accept it. assuredly, the force of vertue is such, that often times wee honour it in others, euen when we little esteeme it in ourselues. he is charged with some actions and speaches tending to profanenesse. the iewes at _roan_ so preuailed with him by gifts, that they drew him to reprehend one who had forsaken their superstition. at _london_ a disputation was appointed betweene certaine christians and iewes. the iewes a little before the day prefixed, brought to the king a rich present; at which time he encouraged them (no doubt but by the way of ioylitie and mirth) to acquite themselues like tall fellowes, and if they preuailed by plaine strength of trueth, hee sware (as was his vsuall) by s. _lukes_ face, that hee would become one of their secte. these things happely not much spoken amisse, might easily bee depraued by report. it is affirmed of him that he so much exceeded in bodily lust, (then which nothing maketh a man more contemptible) that thereby hee seemed to decline from the maiestie of a prince. this vice did cast a great mist ouer his glorie. and yet neither is it infrequent in lusty bodies, placed in a state both prosperous and high, neither can the pleasure of one man that way extend it selfe to the iniurie of many. the worst was, that after his example, many others did follow licentious traces;[ ] examples of princes being alwayes of greater force then their lawes, to induce the people to good or to euill. as the king turned the prosperitie of his actions to serue his vanities and delights, so his followers by felicitie became insolent, and let goe at aduenture serious affaires; not receiuing into their thoughts any other impression then of brauery and pleasure. and they who were greatest in the counsailes and fauours of the king, respected all things no further, then as they were aduantageable to themselues. then rose vp costly apparell, and dainty fare, two assured tokens of a diseased state; the one the vainest, the other the grossest prodigalitie that can be. then was brought into vse the laying out of haire, strange fashions and disguisings in attire, and all delicacies pertaining to the bodie. then were practised nice treadings, lasciuious lookes, and other dissolute and wanton behauiour: many effeminate persons did accompanie the court, by whose immodest demeanour the maiestie of that place was much embased. from hence also the poyson brake foorth, first into the citie, and after wards into other places of the realme; for as in fishes, so in families, and so likewise in states, putrifaction commonly beginneth at the head. in the second yeere of this kings reigne _lanfranck_ archb. of _canterburie_ ended his life: a man highly esteemed, with good men, for his learning and integritie; with great men, for his diligence and discretion to sound deepely into affaires; with the common people for his moderate and modest behauiour. king _william_ the first did honour and embrace him with great respect, and was much guided by his aduise. he was as a protector to king _william_ the second. when he went to _rome_ to obteine his pall, the pope rose from his chaire, stepped forwards to meet him, and with many ceremonies of courtesie did enterteine him. then he returned to his seat, and said: _now lanfrancke, i haue done to thee what is due to thy vertue, come thou and doe to me what apperteineth to my place_. he was an earnest enemie to all vices, especially to auarice and pride, the two banes of all vertues. he renued the great church of _canterburie_, and enriched it with . mannours. he repaired the walles of that citie, and built two hospitals therein; one of s. _iohn_, the other _harlebaldowne_. he gaue a thousand markes towards the repairing and enlarging of the abbey of s. _albones_, and procured _redbourne_ to be restored thereto. by his testament hee gaue to the same church . pounds, besides many rich ornaments. he tooke great paines in purging ancient authors from such corruptions as had crept into them: diuers workes also he wrote of his owne, but the greatest part of them are perished. thus he liued in honour, and died with fame; his time imployed in honest studies and exercises, his goods to good and religious vses. the same yeere a strange and great earthquake happened throughout all the realme; after which ensued a great scarcitie of fruit, and a late haruest of corne, so as much graine was not fully ripe at the end of nouember. in the fourth yere of the reigne of this king, a strong stroke of lightning made a hole in the abbey steeple at _winchelscombe_, neere to the top; rent one of the beames of the church, brake one of the legges of the crucifixe, cast downe the head thereof, together with the image of the virgine _marie_ that was placed by it: herewith a thicke smoke darkened the church, and breathed foorth a marueilous stincke, which annoyed the church a long time after. in the same yeere a mightie winde from the southwest did prostrate . houses in _london_: and breaking into the church of s. _mary bow_ in cheape, slew two men with some part of the ruines which it made, raised the roofe of the church, and carried many of the beames on such a height, that in the fall six of them, being . or . foot in length, were driuen so deepe into the ground (the streets not then paued with stone) that not aboue . foote remained in sight: and so they stood, in such order and rancke as the workemen had placed them vpon the church. the parts vnder the earth were neuer raised, but so much was cut away as did appeare aboue the ground; because it was an impediment for passage. the tower of _london_ at the same time was also broken, and much other harme done. the next yeere _osmund_ bishop of _salisbury_ finished the cathedrall church of old _salisburie_; and the fifth day after the consecration, the steeple thereof was fired with lightning. the yeere following much raine fell, and so great frosts ensued, that riuers were passable with loaden carts. the yeere next ensuing was exceeding remarkeable both for the number and fashion of gliding starres, which seemed to dash together in maner of a conflict. about this time pope _vrbane_ assembled a councell at _cleremont_ in _auergne_, wherein hee exhorted christian princes to ioyne in action for recouery of _palestine_, commonly called _the holy land_, out of the seruile possession of the _saracenes_. this motion was first set on foote, and afterwards pursued by _peter_ the heremite of _amiens_; which falling in an age both actiue and religious, was so generally embraced, as it drew . men to assemble together from diuers countreys; and that with such sober and harmlesse behauiour, that they seemed rather pilgrimes then souldiers. among others, _robert_ duke of _normandie_ addressed himselfe to this voyage; and to furnish his expenses therein, he layed his duchie of _normandie_ to gage to his brother of _england_ for . li. or as other authors report, for . pounds of siluer. this money was taken vp part by imposition, and part by loane, of the most wealthy inhabitants within the realme: but especially the charge was layd vpon religious persons, for that it was to furnish a religious warre. when many bishops and abbots complained, that they were not able to satisfie such summes of money as the king demanded of them, vnles they should sel the chalices & siluer vessels which pertained to their churches. nay answered the king, you may better make meanes with the siluer and gold which vainely you haue wrapped about dead mens bones; meaning thereby their rich relickes and shrines. the yeare following a blasing starre appeared, for the space of fifteene dayes together; the greatest bush whereof pointed towards the east, and the lesser towards the west. gliding starres were often seene, which seemed to dart one against another. the people began (as to mindes fearefull all fancies seeme both weightie and true) to make hard constructions of these vnusuall sights; supposing that the heauens did threaten them, not accustomed to shew it selfe so disposed, but towards some variation. in the . yeere of his reigne, the sea surmounted his vsuall bounds, in diuers parts of _england_ and _scotland_: whereby not only fields, but many villages, castles, and townes were ouerflowen, and some ouerturned, and some ouerwhelmed with sand; much people, and almost innumerable cattel was destroyed. at the same time certaine lands in _kent_, which did once belong to _godwine_ earle of _kent_, were ouerflowed and couered with sand, which to this day do beare the name of _godwins_ sands. thunders were more frequent & terrible then had been vsuall; through violence whereof diuers persons were slaine. many feareful formes and apparitions are reported to haue bin seene; whether errours, or inuentions, or truethes, i will not aduow. the heauens often seemed to flame with fire. at _finchamsted_[ ] in _barkeshire_ neere vnto _abington_, a spring cast vp a liquor for the space of fifteene dayes, in substance and colour like vnto blood; which did taint and infect the next water brooke whereinto it did runne. the king was often terrified in his sleepe with vncouth, ougly, vnquiet dreames: and many fearefull visions of others were oftentimes reported vnto him. at the same time hee held in his handes three bishoprickes, _canterburie_, _winchester_, and _salisburie_; and twelue abbeys. the same yeere vpon the second of august, a little before the falling of the sunne, as the king was hunting within the newe forrest, at a place called _choringham_ (where since a chappell hath beene erected) hee strooke a deere lightly with an arrow. the deere ranne away, and the king stayed his horse to looke after it; holding his hand ouer his eyes, because the beames of the sunne (which then drew somewhat lowe) much dazeled his sight. herewith another deere crossed the way; whereat a certaine knight, named sir _walter tirrell_, aimed with an arrow: and loosing his bowe, either too carelessly at the deere, or too steadily at the king, strooke him therewith full vpon the brest. the king hauing so receiued the wound, gaue foorth a heauie groane, and presently fell downe dead; neither by speach nor motion expressing any token of life. onely so much of the arrowe as was without his bodie was found broken; whether with his hand, or by his fall, it is not certainely knowen. the men that were neere vnto him (especially sir _walter tirrell_) galloped away; some for astonishment, others for feare. but a fewe collecting themselues returned againe, and layd his bodie vpon a colliers cart, which by aduenture passed that way; wherin it was drawen by one leane euill-fauoured, base beast, to the citie of _winchester_; bleeding abundantly all the way, by reason of the rude iogging of the carte. the day following hee was buried, without any funerall pompe, with no more then ordinarie solemnities, in the cathedrall church or monasterie of saint _swithen_; vnder a plaine flat marble stone, before the lectorne in the quire. but afterwards his bones were translated, and layd by king _canutus_ bones. most writers doe interprete this extraordinarie accident to bee a iudgement of god, for the extraordinarie loose behauiour of the king, but it may rather seeme a iudgement of god, that king _william_ the first, who threw downe churches, and dispeopled villages and townes; who banished both the seruice of god, and societie of men, to make a vaste habitation for sauage beasts, had two sonnes slaine vpon that place. it may also seeme a iudgement of god, that king _william_ the second, who so greatly fauoured beastes of game, that he ordeined the same penaltie for killing of a deere, as for killing of a man; should as a beast, and for a beast, and among beasts be slaine. and thus god doth often punish vs by our greatest pleasures; if they be either vnlawfull, or immoderately affected; whereby good things become vnlawfull. hee died in the principall strength, both of his age, and of his distastfull actions; wherein hee had bene much carried by the hoate humour of his courage and youth; his iudgement not then raised to that stayednesse and strength,[ ] whereto yeeres and experience in short time would haue brought it. hee reigned in great varietie of opinion with his subiects (some applauding his vertues, others aggrauating his vices) twelue yeeres, eleuen moneths wanting eight dayes: and was at his death fourtie and three yeeres old. at this time he presumed most highly, and promised greatest matters to himselfe, hee proiected also many difficult aduentures, if his life had continued the naturall course; wherein his hopes were nothing inferiour to his desires. hee gaue to the monckes of _charitie_ in _southwarke_ his mannour of _bermondsey_, and built for them the great new church of saint _sauiour_. also of an old monasterie in the citie of _yorke_, he founded an hospitall for the sustentation of poore persons and dedicated it to s. _peter_. this hospitall was afterward augmented by king _stephen_, and by him dedicated to s. _leonard_. [illustration] [illustration] king henry the first, _sirnamed_ beavclerke. robert duke of _normandie_, the eldest brother to king _william_ the second, was in _palestina_ when king _william_ was slaine; being one of the principal leaders in that heroical warre, which diuers christian princes of _europe_ set vp, to recouer _hierusalem_ out of the power and possession of the _saracens_. in this expedition hee purchased so honourable reputation, for skill, industrie, and valour of hand, that when the christian forces had surprised _hierusalem_, and diuers other cities in those quarters, the kingdome thereof was offered vnto him. but the duke, whether he coniectured the difficulties of that warre, for that the enemie was both at hand, and vnder one command, but the armie of the christians was to be supplied from farre, and also consisted of many confederats; in which case albeit sometimes men performe well at the first, yet in short time inconueniences encreasing, they alwayes either dissipate and dissolue, or else fall into confusion. or whether he heard of the death of his brother, to whose kingdome he pretended right; as well by prerogatiue of blood, as by expresse couenant betweene them confirmed by oath; refused the offer, which was the last period of all his honour, and in short time after tooke his iourney from _palestine_ towards _france_. but _henry_ the kings yonger brother, apprehending the opportunitie of the dukes absence, did foorthwith seaze vpon the treasure of the king, and thereby also vpon his state, and so was crowned at _westminster_ vpon the second day of august, in the yeere . by _maurice_ bishop of _london_; because _anselme_ archb. of _canterburie_ was then in exile. this enterprise was much aduanced by the authoritie and industrie of _henry newborow_ earle of _warwicke_, who appeased all opposition that was made against it. the people also, albeit they had bene managed so tame, as easily to yeeld their backe to the first sitter; yet to _henry_ they expressed a prone inclination, for that hee was borne in _england_, at a place called _selby_ in _lincolneshire_, since his father was crowned king: whereas duke _robert_ his brother was borne before his father attained the kingdome. this serued prince _henry_ not onely to knit vnto him the affections of the people, but also to forme a title to the crowne. for it hath bin a question often debated, both by arguments and by armes, and by both trials diuersly decided; when a king hath two sonnes, one borne before he was king, and the other after, whether of them hath right to succeed? _herodotus_ writeth, that when _darius_[ ] the sonne of _hysdaspis_ king of _persia_ made preparation for warre against the _græcians_ and _egyptians_, he first went about to settle his succession: because by the lawes of _persia_, the king might not enter into enterprise of armes, before he had declared his successour. now _darius_ had three children before he was king, by his first wife the daughter of _gobris_. after he was king he had other foure, by _atossa_ the daughter of _cyrus_. _artabazanes_, or (as other terme him) _arthemenes_ was eldest of the first sort; _xerxes_ of the second. _artabazanes_ alleaged that he was the eldest of all the kings sonnes, and that it was a custome among all nations, that in principalities the eldest should succeed. _xerxes_ alleaged, that he was begotten of _atossa_ the daughter of _cyrus_, by whose valour the _persians_ had obteined their empire. before _darius_ had giuen sentence, _demaratus_ the sonne of _aristo_, cast out of his kingdome of _sparta_ and then liuing an exile in _persia_, came vnto _xerxes_, and aduised him further to alleage, that he was the eldest sonne of _darius_ after hee was king; and that it was the custome of _sparta_, that if a man had a sonne in priuate state, and afterwards another when he was king, this last sonne should succeed in his kingdome. vpon this ground _artabazanes_ was reiected, and _darius_ gaue iudgement for _xerxes_. this history is likewise reported by _iustine_,[ ] and touched also by _plutarch_: although they disagree in names, and some other points of circumstance. so when _herode_ king of _iudea_ appointed _antipater_ his eldest sonne, but borne to him in priuate state, to succeed in his royaltie, and excluded _alexander_ and _aristobulus_ his yonger sonnes, whom he had begot of _mariamne_, after he had obteined his kingdome; _iosephus_[ ] plainly reprehendeth the fact, and condemneth the iudgement of _herode_ for partiall and vniust. so _lewes_ borne after his father was duke of _milane_,[ ] was preferred in succession before his brother _galeace_, who was borne before. and so when _otho_ the first was elected emperour, his yonger brother _henry_ pretended against him; for that _otho_[ ] was borne before their father was emperour, and _henry_ after. in which quarrell _henry_ was aided by _euerharde_ earle palatine, and _giselbert_ duke of _lorreine_, with diuers other princes of _almaine_: but when the cause came to be canuased by the sword, the victorie adiudged the empire to _otho_. furthermore, this right of title seemeth to be confirmed by many grounds of the imperial law. as[ ] that sonnes borne after their father is aduanced to a dignitie, doe hold certaine priuiledges, which sonnes formerly borne doe not enioy. that[ ] those children which are borne after a person is freed from any infamous or seruile condition, doe participate onely of that libertie, and not they who were borne before. that if a man taketh a wife in the prouince wherein he holdeth office, the marriage is good, if after the time his office shall expire, they continue in the same consent[ ]: but so that the children borne before, shall not be thereby helde for legitimate. that[ ] those children which are borne after their father is honoured with the title of _clarissimus_, do enioy the rights due vnto that degree of dignitie, and not they who were borne before. that as a sonne borne after the father hath lost his kingdome, is not esteemed for the sonne of a king[ ]: so neither hee that is borne before the father be a king[ ]. and although these and diuers like passages of law commonly alleadged, doe seeme little or nothing pertinent to this purpose; for that they concern not any vniuersall right of inheritance, which is due vnto children after the death of their parents; but certaine particular priuiledges and rights attributed vnto them whilest their parents were in life, which for the most part are arbitrarie and mutable, as depending vpon the pleasure of the prince: yet many interpreters of both lawes haue bene drawen by these reasons to subscribe their iudgements for this kind of title: and namely _pet. cynus_, _baldus_, _albericus_[ ], _iac. rebuffus_, _& luc. penna_[ ]. also _panormitane_[ ], _collect._[ ], _dynus_[ ], _franc. cremen._[ ], _marti. laud._[ ], _card. alexander_[ ], _phil. decius_[ ], _alceat_[ ], _bon. curti._[ ]. and lastly, _anton. corsetta_[ ], deliuereth it for a common receiued and followed opinion. which must be vnderstood with this distinction, if the kingdome be either newly erected, or else newly acquired by conquest, election, or any such title, other then by hereditarie succession according to proximitie in blood. for if the kingdome bee once seded in a certaine course of succession, because the dignitie is inherent in the blood of that stocke; because it is not taken from the father but from the ancestors; because it is not taken onely from the ancestors, but from the fundamentall law of the state; the eldest sonne shall indistinctly succeede, although hee were borne before his father was king[ ]. and therefore after the kingdome of _persia_ had been caried by succession in some descents, when _darius_ the king had foure sonnes, _artaxerxes_ the eldest, _cyrus_ the next, and two others; _parysates_ the wife of _darius_ hauing a desire that _cyrus_ should succeede in the kingdome, alleaged in his behalfe the same reason wherewith _xerxes_ had preuailed before: to wit, that shee had brought foorth _artaxerxes_ to _darius_, when hee was in priuate state; but _cyrus_ was borne to him when he was a king. yet _plutarch_[ ] affirmeth, that the reason which she vsed was nothing probable, and that _artaxerxes_ the eldest sonne was appointed to be king. and so _blondus_[ ] and _ritius_ doe report, that _bela_ the king of _hungarie_ being dead, _geysa_ succeeded, although borne vnto him before he was a king. others inferiour in number, but not in weight of iudgement do affirme, that whether a kingdome be setled in succession, or whether by any other title newly attained, the right to succeed by all true grounds of law pertaineth to the eldest sonne; albeit borne before his fathers aduancement to the kingdome, in case there be no expresse law of the state to the contrary. the principall reason is, because this is the nature of all successions by way of inheritance: for, if a father purchaseth lands, leases, cattell, or other goods, the inheritance shall bee transmitted to his eldest sonne, although borne before the purchase. likewise if a father be aduanced to any title of honour, as duke, earle, marquesse, &c. it was neuer, i will not say denied, but once doubted, but that the eldest sonne should succeede in the same, albeit he was borne before the aduancement. and therefore seeing this is the generall rule of all other inheritable successions, and there is no reason of singularitie in a kingdome; it followeth, that in like case the succession of a kingdome should also descend to the eldest sonne, although borne before the kingdome were atchieued. againe, the sonne who was borne before his father was a king, had once a right to succeede in the kingdome; for if another sonne had not afterwards beene borne, without all question hee should haue succeeded. but a right which a man by his owne person hath acquired; albeit in some cases it may be diminished, yet can it not bee altogether extinguished by any externall or casuall euent, which hath no dependencie vpon himselfe. and so the right which the eldest sonne hath to his fathers inheritance, may bee diminished by the birth of other children, in regard of those goods which are to bee distributed in parts among them; but it cannot possibly be extinguished. neither can it bee diminished in those things which are not of nature to bee either valued or diuided (of which sort a kingdome is the chiefe) but doe passe entirely vnto one. for the right of blood which onely is regarded in lawfull successions, is acquired and held from the natiuitie of the childe, and doth not begin at the fathers death; at which time the inheritance doth fall. lastly, if it be true in sonnes, that he shal succeede in a kingdome who is first borne, after the father is exalted to bee a king; then is it true also in other remote degrees of consanguinitie. and hereby it should often happen, that when a king dieth without issue of his body, they who are not onely inferiour in age, but more remote in degree, should exclude both the elder and the neerer in blood; because perhaps borne after the kingdome was attained: which is against all lawes of lawfull succession. howsoeuer the right standeth, _henry_ the yonger brother to king _william rufus_, vpon aduantage of the absence of duke _robert_ his eldest brother, formed this title to the crowne of _england_. in which pretence he was strongly supported, first by a generall inclination of the common people, for that he had both his birth and education within the realme, and they were well perswaded of his good nature and disposition. secondly, by the fauour and trauaile of many of the nobilitie, especially of _henry neuborow_ earle of _warwicke_. thirdly, (for that the sailes of popular fauours are filled most violently with reports) by his giuing forth, that his brother _robert_ intended neuer to returne; for that he was elected king of _hierusalem_, and of all those large countreys in _asia_, which the christians had lately wrung out of the _saracens_ hands. lastly, by vsing celeritie the very life of actions; for he was crowned at _westminster_ (as it hath bene said) vpon the fifth day of august, in the yeere . which was the third day after his brothers death. in person he was both stately and strong; tall, broad brested, his limmes fairely fourmed, well knit, and fully furnished with flesh. he was exceeding both comely and manly in countenance, his face wel fashioned, his colour cleere, his eyes liuely and faire, his eye-browes large and thicke, his haire blacke and somewhat thinne towards his forehead. he was of an excellent wit, free from ostentation; his thoughts high, yet honourable and iust: in speach ready and eloquent, much graced with sweetnesse of voyce. in priuate he was affable, open, wittily pleasant, and very full of merrie simplicitie: in publicke he looked with a graue maiestie, as finding in himselfe cause to be honoured. he was brought vp in the studie of liberall arts at _cambridge_, where he attained that measure of knowledge, which was sufficient both for ornament and vse; but ranne not into intemperate excesse, either for ostentation, or for a cloake to vnprofitable expense of time. by his example the yong nobilitie of the realme began to affect a praise for learning: insomuch as, at a certaine enteruiew betweene the king and pope _innocent_ the . the sonnes of _robert_ earle of _mellent_, maintained open disputations against diuers cardinals and chapleines of the pope. he was an exact esteemer of himselfe, not so much for his strength as for his weakenesses: lesse inclined to confidence then to distrust; and yet in weighty affaires resolute and firme; neuer dismaied, and alwayes fortunate; his spirits being of force to oppose against any sort of difficulties or doubts. extremities made him the more assured; and like a well knit arch, hee then lay most strong when hee sustained the greatest weight. hee was no more disposed to valour, then well setled in vertue and goodnes; which made his valour of more precious valuation. he had good command ouer his passions; and thereby attained both peace within himselfe, and victory ouer others. in giuing hee was moderate, but bountifull in recompence; his countenance enlarging the worth of his gift. hee was prone to relieue, euen where there was least likelihood of requitall. he hated flatterie, the poysoned sugar, the counterfeit ciuilitie and loue, the most base brokery of wordes: yet was no musicke so pleasing vnto him as well deserued thankes. he was vigilant and industrious in his affaires; knowing right well that honour not onely hath a paineful and dangerous birth, but must in like manner be nourished and fed. he was somewhat immoderate and excessiue, as well in aduancing those he fauoured, as in beating downe and disabling his enemies. the sword was alwayes the last of his trials; so as he neuer either sought or apprehended occasions of warre, where with honour he could reteine peace. but if it were iniuriously vrged, he wanted neither wisedome, nor diligence, nor magnanimous heart to encounter the danger; to beare it ouer with courage and successe. he was frugall of the blood and slaughter of his souldiers; neuer aduenturing both his honour & their liues to the hazard of the sword, without either necessitie or aduantage. he oftentimes preuailed against his enemies more by policie then by power; and for victories thus attained, he attributed to himselfe the greatest glory. for wisedome is most proper to man, but force is common and most eminent in beasts; by wisedome the honour was entire to himselfe, by force it was participated to inferiour commanders, to euery priuate ordinarie souldier: the effects of force, are heauie, hideous, and sometimes inhumane; but the same wrought to euent by wisedome, is, as lesse odious, so more assured and firme. after that he was mounted into the seate of maiestie, hee neglected no meanes to settle himselfe most surely therin, against the returne of his brother _robert_. to this end he contracted both amitie and alliance with _edgar_ king of _scots_, by taking his sister _matild_ to wife: by which meanes he not onely remoued his hostilitie, but stood assured of his assistance, in case his occasions should so require. shee was daughter to _malcolme_ king of _scots_, by _margaret_ his wife; who was sister to _edgar_ surnamed _adeling_, and daughter to _edward_, sonne to _edmund ironside_, the most valiant saxon king, the scourge and terrour of the _danes_. so as after the death of _adeling_ who left no issue, this _matild_ was next by discent from the saxon kings to the inheritance of the crowne of _england_: and by her entermariage with king _henry_, the two families of _normans_ and _saxons_ were vnited together both in blood and title to the crowne. this more then any other respect made the whole nation of the _english_ not onely firme to king _henrie_, against his brother, but loyall and peaceable during all his reigne: for that they saw the blood of their _saxon_ kings restored again to the possession of the crowne. shee was a lady vertuous, religious, beautifull and wise: farre from the ordinary either vices or weakenesses incident to her sexe. she had been brought vp among the nunnes of _winchester_, and _rumsey_, whether professed or onely veiled our writers doe diuersly report; but most affirme that shee was professed. yet for the common good, for the publique peace and tranquilitie of the state, shee abandoned her deuoted life, and was ioyned to king _henrie_ in mariage, by consent of _anselme_, without any dispensation from _rome_. of this _matild_ the king begate _william_ a sonne, who perished by shipwracke; and _matild_ a daughter, first married to _henry_ the fifth emperour, by whom she had no issue; afterward to _geoffrey plantagenet_ earle of _aniou_, by whom shee brought foorth a sonne named _henrie_, in whom the blood of the saxon kings was aduanced againe to the gouernment of this realme. now to purchase the fauour of the clergie, he called _anselme_ out of exile, and restored him both to the dignitie and reuenues of the sea of _canterbury_. other bishoprickes and abbeys which king _william_ kept voide at the time of his death, hee furnished with men of best sufficiencie and reputation. hee committed _radulph_ bishop of _durham_ to prison, who had been both authour and agent to king _william_ in most of his distastfull actions against the clergie. this _radulph_ was a man of smooth vse of speach, wittie onely in deuising, or speaking, or doing euill: but to honestie and vertue his heart was a lumpe of lead. enuious aboue all measure; nothing was so grieuous to his eyes as the prosperitie, nothing so harsh to his eares as the commendations of others. his tongue alwayes slauish to the princes desires; not regarding how truely or faithfully, but how pleasingly he did aduise. thus as a principall infamie of that age, hee liued without loue, and died without pitie; sauing of those who thought it pitie that he liued so long. further, to make the clergie the more assured, the king renounced the right which his ancesters vsed in giuing inuestitures; and acknowledged the same to appertaine to the pope. this hee yeelded at his first entrance, partly not knowing of what importance it was, and partly being in necessitie to promise any thing. but afterwards he resumed that right againe; albeit in a councell not long before held at _rome_, the contrary had bene decreed. for hee inuested _william gifford_ into the bishopricke of _winchester_, and all the possessions belonging to the same. he gaue the archbishopricke of _canterburie_ to _radulph_ bishop of _london_, and inuested him therein by a ring and a staffe: he inuested also two of his chapleins at _westminster_; _roger_ his chanceller in the bishopricke of _salisburie_, and _roger_ his larderer in the bishopricke of _hereford_. further he assumed the custome of his father and brother, in taking the reuenues of bishopricks whilest they remained void: and for that cause did many times keepe them a longer season vacant in his hands, then many of the clergie could with patience endure. but especially the clergie did fauour him much, by reason of his liberall leaue either to erect, or to enlarge, or else to enrich religious buildings. for to these workes the king was so ready to giue, not onely way, but encouragement and helpe, that in no princes time they did more within this realme either flourish or increase. and namely the house of s. _iohn_ of _hierusalem_ was then founded neere _smithfield_ in london, with the house of nunnes by _clerken-well_. then were also founded the church of _theukesburie_, with all offices thereto belonging: the priorie and hospitall of s. _bartholomewes_ in _smithfield_, the church of s. _giles_ without _creeplegate_; the colledge of seculare canons in the castle of _leicester_; the abbey without the northgate of the same towne called s. _mary de prato_. also the monasterie of s. _iohn_ of _lanthonie_ by _glocester_; the church of _dunmow_ in _essex_; the monasterie of s. _iohn_ at _colchester_, which was the first house of _augustine_ chanons in _england_: the church of s. _mary oueries_ furnished with chanons in _southwarke_; the priory of the holy trinity now called _christs church_ within _algate_; and the hospitall of s. _giles_ in the field: the priorie of _kenelworth_; the abbey of _kenshame_; the monasterie of _plimpton_ in _deuonshire_; with the cathedrall church of _exceter_; the priorie of _merton_; the colledge of _warwicke_; the hospitall of _kepar_; the priorie of _osney_ neere _oxeford_; the hospital of s. _crosse_ neere _winchester_; the priorie of _norton_ in _cheshire_, with diuers others. the king also founded and erected the priorie of _dunstable_, the abbey of _circester_, the abbey of _reading_, the abbey of _shirebourne_. hee also changed the abbey of _eley_ into a bishops sea; he erected a bishopricke at _caerlile_, placed chanons there, and endowed it with many honours. these and many other religious buildings either done, or helped forward, or permitted and allowed by the king, much encreased the affection of the clergie towards him. now to draw the loue of the common people, he composed himselfe to a sober ciuilitie; easie for accesse, faire in speach, in countenance and behauiour kind: his maiestie so tempered with mildnesse and courtesie, that his subiects did more see the fruits, then feele the weight of his high estate. these were things of great moment with the vulgar sort; who loue more where they are louingly intreated, then where they are benefited, or happely preserued. he eased them of many publicke grieuances. hee restored them to the vse of fire and candle after eight of the clocke at night, which his father had most straitly forbidden. punishments of losse of member vsed before, he made pecuniarie. hee moderated the law of his brother, which inflicted death for killing any of the kings deere; and ordeined, that if any man killed a deere in his owne wood, the wood should be forfeited to the king. he permitted to make enclosures for parkes; which taking beginning in his time, did rise to that excessiue encrease, that in a few succeeding ages more parkes were in _england_, then in all _europe_ beside. he promised that the lawes of k. _edward_ should againe be restored; but to put off the present performance, he gaue forth, that first they should be reuiewed and corrected, and made appliable to the present time. and albeit in trueth they were neuer either reuiewed or corrected, yet the onely hope thereof did worke in the people a fauourable inclination to his part. whilest the king did thus immure himselfe in the state of _england_, as well by ordering his affaires, as by winning the hearts of the people vnto him, duke _robert_ was returning from _palestine_, by easie and pleasurable iourneys; vsing neither the celeritie nor forecast which the necessitie of his occasions did require. hee visited many princes by the way, and consumed much time in entertainments and other complements of court. hee tooke to wife as he came _sibell_ the daughter of _roger_ duke of _apulia_ and earle of _cicill_, who was a _norman_: and the great portion of money which he receiued for her dower, he loosely lauished foorth amongst his followers; of whom he receiued nothing againe, but thankes when he (scattered rather then) gaue, and pitie when he wanted. at the last he arriued in _normandie_, and foorthwith was sollicited out of _england_ by letters from many, who either vpon conscience or discontentment fauoured his title; and especially from _radulph_ bishop of _durham_, who had lately escaped out of prison, a man odious ynough to vndoe a good cause; that he would omit no time, that hee would let fall no diligence, to embarke himselfe in the enterprise for _england_: that he had many friends there, both powerfull and sure, who would partake with him in his dangers, although not in the honour atchieued by his dangers: that therewith the peoples fauour towards the king did begin to ebbe, and that it was good taking the first of the tide. hereupon he shuffled vp an armie in haste; neither for number, nor furniture, nor choise of men answerable to the enterprise in hand. then he crossed the seas, landed at _portesmouth_, and marched a small way into the countrey; vainely expecting the concourse and ayd which had bene assured him out of _england_. but king _henry_ had made so good vse both of his warning and time to prouide against this tempest, that hee did at once both cut from the duke all meanes of ayd, and was ready to encounter him in braue appointment. hereupon many who were vnable by armes to relieue the duke, by aduise did to him the best offices they could. for they laboured both the king and him to a reconcilement; the king with respect of his new vnsettled estate, the duke with respect of his weakenesses and wants; both with regard of naturall duetie and loue, knit betweene them by band of blood. so after some trauaile and debatement, a peace was concluded vpon these conditions. _that henry should reteine the kingdome of england, and pay to his brother robert . markes yeerely._ _that if either of them should die without issue, the suruiuour should succeed._ _that no man should receiue preiudice for following the part of the one or of the other._ these conditions being solemnely sworne by the king and the duke, and twelue noble men on either part, the duke returned into _normandie_, and about two yeeres after went againe into _england_, to visit the king, and to spend some time with him in feasting and disport. at which time, to requite the kings kind vsage and entertainment, but especially to gratifie _matild_ the queene, to whom he was godfather, he released to the king the annuall payment of . markes. but as a wound is more painefull the day following, then when it was first and freshly taken; so this loose leuitie of the duke, which was an exceeding sad and sore blow to his estate, was scarce sensible at his departure out of _england_, but most grieuous to him after hee had remained in _normandie_ a while: whereby many motions were occasioned, as well in the one place as in the other. the duke complained, that hee had bene circumuented by his brother the king: that his courtesies were nothing else but allurements to mischiefe; that his gifts were pleasant baites, to couer and conuey most dangerous hookes; that his faire speaches were sugred poysons; that his kinde embracements were euen to tickle his friends to death. _robert belasme_ earle of _shrewsbury_, a man of great estate, but doubtfull whether of lesse wisedome or feare, tooke part with the duke, and fortified the towne and castle of _shrewsbury_, the castles of _bridgenorth_, _tichel_, and _arundel_, and certaine other pieces in _wales_ against king _henry_. and hauing drawen vnto him some persons of wretched state and worse minde, whose fortunes could not bee empaired by any euent, hee entred _stafford shire_, and droue away light booties of cattell; being prepared neither in forces nor in courage, to stay the doing of greater mischiefe. but neither was this sudden to the king, neither was he euer vnprouided against sudden aduentures. wherefore encountring the danger before it grew to perfection and strength, he first brought his power against the castle of _bridgenorth_, which was forthwith rendred vnto him. the residue followed the example (which in enterprise of armes is of greatest moment) and submitted themselues to the kings discretion. onely the castle of _arundel_ yeelded vpon condition, that _robert belasme_ their lord should be permitted to depart safely into _normandie_: and vpon the same condition they of _shrewsbury_ sent to the king the keys of their castle, and therewith pledges for their allegeance. then _robert_ with his brother _ernulphus_, and _roger_ of _poictiers_ abiured the realme, and departed into _normandie_: where being full of rashnesse, which is nothing but courage out of his wits; and measuring their actions not by their abilities, but by their desires; they did more aduance the kings affaires by hostilitie, then by seruice and subiection they could possibly haue done. also _william_ earle of _mortaigne_ in _normandie_, and of _cornewall_ in _england_, sonne of _robert_, vncle to the king, and brother to king _william_ the first, required of the king the earledome of _kent_, which had been lately held by _odo_ vncle to them both. and being a man braue in his owne liking, and esteming nothing of that which hee had in regard of that which hee did desire, he was most earnest, violent, peremptorie in his pursuit. insomuch as, blinded with ambitious haste, he would often say, that hee would not put off his vpper garment, vntill hee had obtained that dignitie of the king. these errours were excused by the greenenesse of his youth, and by his desire of rising, which expelled all feare of a fall. wherefore the king first deferred, and afterwards moderately denied his demaund. but so farre had the earle fed his follies with assured expectation, that he accompted himselfe fallen from such estate as his hungry hopes had already swallowed. hereupon his desire turned to rage, and the one no lesse vaine then the other: but both together casting him from a high degree of fauour, which seldome stoppeth the race vntill it come to a headlong downefall. for now the king made a counter-challenge to many of his possessions in _england_; and thereupon seazed his lands, dismantled his castles, and compelled him in the end to forsake the realme. not for any great offence he had done, being apt to the fault rather of rough rage then of practise and deceit; but his stubborne stoutnesse was his offence; and it was sufficient to hold him guiltie, that he thought himselfe to haue cause and meanes to be guiltie. so hauing lost his owne state in _england_, he departed into _normandie_, to further also the losse of that countrey. there he confederated with _robert belasme_, and made diuers vaine attempts against the kings castles; neither guided by wisedome, nor followed by successe. especially hee vented his furie against _richard_ earle of _chester_, who was but a childe, and in wardship to the king, whom he daily infested with inuasions and spoiles; being no lesse full of desire to hurt, then voyd of counsaile and meanes to hurt. on the other side, diuers of the nobilitie of _normandie_, finding their duke without iudgement to rule, had no disposition to obey; but conceiued a carelesse contempt against him. for he seemed not so much to regard his substantiall good, as a vaine breath of praise, and the fruitlesse fauour of mens opinions, which are no fewer in varietie then they are in number. all the reuenues of his duchie he either sold or morgaged; all his cities he did alien, and was vpon the point of passing away his principall citie of _roan_ to the burgers thereof, but that the conditions were esteemed too hard. hereupon many resolued to fall from him, and to set their sailes with the fauourable gale which blew vpon the fortune of the king. to this end they offered their submission to the king, in case he would inuade _normandie_; whereto with many reasons they did perswade him: especially in regard of the late hostile attempts there made against him, by the plaine permission of the duke his brother, and not without his secret support. the king embraced the faire occasion, and with a strong armie passed into _normandie_. here he first relieued his forts, which were any wayes distressed or annoyed; then he recouered those that were lost; lastly, he wanne from the duke the towne and castle of _caen_, with certaine other castles besides: and by the help of the president of _aniou_, fired _baion_, with the stately church of s. _marie_ therein. vpon these euents, all the priories of _normandie_, resembling certaine flowers, which open and close according to the rising or declining of the sunne; abandoned the duke, and made their submission to king _henry_. so the king hauing both enlarged and assured his state in _normandie_, by reason of the approch of winter, departed into _england_: but this was like the recuiling of rammes, to returne againe with the greater strength. he had not long remained in _england_, but his brother _robert_ came to him at _northampton_, to treat of some agreement of peace. here the words and behauiours of both were obserued. at their first meeting they rested with their eyes fast fixed one vpon the other; in such sort as did plainely declare, that discourtesie then trencheth most deep, when it is betweene those who should most dearely loue. the duke was in demaunds moderate, in countenance and speech enclined to submisnesse; and with a kinde vnkindnesse did rather entreate then perswade, that in regard of the naturall obligation betweene them by blood, in regard of many offices and benefits wherewith he had endeuoured to purchase the kings loue, all hostilitie betweene them, all iniurie or extremitie by armes might cease. _for i call you_ (said he) _before the seate of your owne iudgement, whether the relinquishing of my title to the crowne of england, whether the releasing of my annuity of . markes, whether many other kindnesses, so much vndeserued as scarce desired; should not in reason withdraw you from those prosecutions, where warre cannot be made without shame, nor victory attained without dishonour_. the king vsed him with honourable respect; but perceiuing that he was embarked in some disaduantage, conceiuing also that his courage with his fortune began to decline, he made resemblance at the first, to be no lesse desirous of peace then the duke: but afterwards, albeit he did not directly deny, yet hee found euasions to auoyd all offers of agreement. the more desirous the duke was of peace, the greater was his disdaine that his brother did refuse it. wherefore cleering his countenance from all shewes of deiection or griefe, as then chiefly resolute when his passion was stirred, with a voice rather violent then quicke, he rose into these words. _i haue cast my selfe so low, as your haughty heart can possibly wish; whereby i haue wronged both my selfe and you: my selfe, in occasioning some suspition of weakenesse; you, in making you obstinate in your ambitious purposes. but assure your selfe, that this desire did not proceed from want either of courage, or of meanes, or of assistance of friends: i can also be both vnthankefull and vnnaturall if i bee compelled. and if all other supportance faile, yet no arme is to be esteemed weake, which striketh with the sword of necessitie and iustice._ the king with a well appeased stayednesse returned answere; that he could easily endure the iniurie of his angry wordes: but to men of moderate iudgement hee would make it appeare, that hee entended no more in offending him, then to prouide for defending himselfe. so the duke obseruing few complements, but such as were spiced with anger and disdaine, returned into _normandie_, associated to him the _english_ exiles, and made preparation for his defence. the king followed with a great power, and found him in good appointment of armes: nothing inferiour to the king in resolute courage, but farre inferiour both in number of men, and in fine contriuance of his affaires. for the king had purchased assured intelligence, among those that were neerest both in place and counsaile to the duke: in whom the duke found treacherie, euen when he reposed most confident trust. herewith pope _paschal_, to attaine his purpose in _england_, for deuesting the king of inuesting bishops; did not onely allow this enterprise for lawful, but encouraged the king, that hee should doe thereby a noble and a memorable benefit to his realme. so, many stiffe battels were executed betweene them, with small difference of aduantage at the first; but after some continuance, the dukes side (as it commonly happeneth to euill managed courage) declined dayly, by reason of his dayly increase of wants. at the last the duke, wearied and ouerlayed, both with company of men and cunning working, resolued to bring his whole state to the stake, and to aduenture the same vpon one cast: committing to fortune, what valour and industry could bring forth. the king being the inuader, thought it not his part to shrinke from the shocke; being also aduertised that the _french_ king prepared to relieue the duke. on the dukes side, disdaine, rage, and reuenge, attended vpon hate: the king retained inuincible valour, assured hope to ouercome, grounded vpon experience how to ouercome. they met vpon the same day of the moneth iust . yeeres, after the great battaile of _william_ the first against king _harold_ of _england_. the kings footemen farre exceeding their enemies in number, began the charge, in small and scattering troupes; lightly assayling where they could espie the weakest resistance. but the dukes armie receiued them in close and firme order; so as vpon the losse of many of the foremost, the residue began somewhat to retire. and now, whether the duke had cause, or whether confidence the inseparable companion of courage perswaded him that he had cause; he supposed that hee had the best of the field, and that the victory was euen in his hand. but suddenly the king with his whole forces of horse charged him in flanke, and with great violence brake into his battaile. herewith the footmen also returned, and turned them all to a ruinous rout. the duke performed admirable effects of valour, and so did most of the _english_ exiles: as fearing ouerthrow worse then death. but no courage was sufficient to sustaine the disorder; the _normans_ on euery hand were chased, ruffled, and beaten downe. hereupon the dukes courage boyling in choller, hee doubled many blowes vpon his enemies; more furiously driuen, then well placed and set: and pressing vp hardly among them, was suddenly engaged so farre, that hee could not possibly recouer himselfe. so he was taken manfully fighting, or as some other authours affirme, was beastly betrayed by his owne followers. with him were also taken the earle of _mortaigne_, _william crispine_, _william ferreis_, _robert estotiuill_, with foure hundred men of armes, and ten thousand ordinary souldiers. the number of the slaine on both sides, is not reported by any authour; but all authours agree, that this was the most bloody medly that euer had been executed in _normandie_ before: portended as it is thought by a comet, and by two full moones, which late before were seene, the one in the east, and the other in the west. after this victorie the king reduced _normandie_ entirely into his possession, and annexed it to the realme of _england_. then hee built therein many castles, and planted garrisons; and with no lesse wisedome assured that state, then with valour he had wonne it. when he had setled all things according to his iudgement, he returned into _england_, brought with him his brother _robert_, and committed him to safe custodie in the castle of _cardiff_. but either by reason of his fauourable restraint, or else by negligence or corruption of his keepers, he escaped away, and fled for his libertie as if it had been for his life. notwithstanding this proued but a false fauour, or rather a true flatterie or scorne of fortune. for being sharply pursued, he was taken againe, sitting vpon horsebacke; his horse legs fast locked in deep & tough clay. then hee was committed to straight and close prison, his eyes put out (as if hee should not see his miserie) and a sure guard set vpon him. thus he remained in desolate darkenesse; neither reuerenced by any for his former greatnesse, not pitied for his present distresse. thus hee continued about . yeeres, in a life farre more grieuous then death; euen vntill the yere before the death of king _henrie_. so long was he a suitor in wooing of death: so long did the one brother ouerliue his good fortune, the other his good nature and disposition; esteeming it a faire fauour, that the vttermost extremitie was not inflicted. albeit some writers doe affirme, that the dukes eyes were not violently put out, but that either through age or infirmitie he fell blind: that he was honourably attended and cared for: that hauing digested in his iudgement the worst of his case, the greatnesse of his courage did neuer descend to any base degree of sorrow or griefe: that his braue behauiour did set a maiestie vpon his deiected fortunes: that his noble heart like the sunne, did shew greatest countenance in lowest state. and to this report i am the more inclineable, for that it agreeth best, both to the faire conditions, and to the former behauiours, and to the succeeding fortunes and felicities of the king: for assuredly hee had a heart of manly clemencie; and this was a punishment barbarously cruell: for which cause _constantine_[ ] did forbid, that the face of man, adorned with celestiall beauty, should be deformed for any offence. others auow that he was neuer blind; but that it was the earle of _mortaigne_ whose eyes were put out. and this seemeth to be confirmed, by that which _matth. paris_ and _matth. westm._ doe report. that not long before the death of _robert_, the king vpon a festiuall day had a new robe of scarlet brought vnto him: the cape whereof being somewhat too streight for his head, he did teare a little in striuing to put it on. and perceiuing that it would not serue, hee laid it aside and said: _let my brother robert haue this robe, for whose head it is fitter then for mine_. when it was caried vnto him, being then not perfectly in health, he espied the crackt place, and thereupon enquired, if any man had worne it before? the messenger declared the whole matter. which when _robert_ heard, he tooke it for a great indignitie, and said: _i perceiue now that i haue liued too long, that my brother doth clothe me like his almoseman, with cast and torne garments_. so hee grew weary of his life: and his disease encreasing with his discontentment, pined away, and in short time after died, and was buried at _glocester_. and this was the end of that excellent commander; brought to this game and gaze of fortune, after many trauerses that he had troden. he was for courage and direction inferiour to none; but neither prouident nor constant in his affaires, whereby the true end of his actions were ouerthrowen. his valour had triumphed ouer desperate dangers: and verely he was no more setled in valour, then disposed to vertue and goodnesse; neuer wilfully or willingly doing euill, neuer but by errour, as finding it disguised vnder some maske of goodnesse. his performances in armes had raised him to a high point of opinion for his prowesse; which made him the more vnhappy, as vnhappie after a fall from high state of honor. he had one sonne named _william_, vpon whose birth the mother died: of this _william_ shall somewhat hereafter be said. and now, as princes oftentimes doe make aduantage of the calamity of their neighbours, so vpon this downefall of the duke of _normandie_,[ ] _fulke_ earle of _aniou_ sharing for himselfe, seized vpon _maine_, and certain other places; made large waste, tooke great booties and spoyles; not onely out of ancient and almost hereditary hate against the house of _normandie_, but as fearing harme from the king of _england_, hee endeauoured to harme him first. in like sort _baldwine_ earle of _flanders_ declared in armes against the king for a yeerely pension of . markes; the occasion of which demand was this. king _william_ the first, in recompence of the ayde which he receiued in his enterprise for _england_, from _baldwine_ . earle of _flanders_, payd him yeerely three hundred markes, which after his death was continued to his sonne. _robert_ earle of _flanders_ from a collaterall line, demanded the same pension; but it was denied him by k. _henrie_: wherefore _baldwine_ his sonne attempted now to recouer it by armes. with these, or rather as principall of these, _lewes_ the grosse king of _france_, seeing his ouersight in permitting _normandie_ to bee annexed to the realme of _england_, assembled a great armie; and vpon pretence of a trifling quarrell about the demolishing of the castle of _gisors_, declared _william_ sonne to _robert curtcuise_ for duke of _normandie_: and vndertooke to place him in possession of that state, which his vnfortunate father had lost. and besides those open hostilities in armes, _hugh_ the kings chamberlaine and certaine others were suborned traiterously to kill the king: but the practise was in good time discouered, and the conspirators punished by death. hereupon the king both with celeritie and power answerable to the danger at hand, passed the seas into _normandie_: hauing first drawen to his assistance _theobald_ earle of _champaine_, the earles of _crecie_, _pissaux_, and _dammartine_, who aspired to be absolute lords within their territories, as were many other princes at that time in _france_. these deteined the _french_ king in some tariance in _france_, whilest the king of _england_ either recouered or reuenged his losses against the earle of _aniou_. at the last hee was assailed in _normandie_ on three parts at once: by the earle of _aniou_ from _maine_, from _ponthieu_ by the earle of _flanders_, and by the _french_ king betweene both. the king of _england_ appointed certaine forces to guard the passages against the earle of _aniou_: with directions to hold themselues within their strength, and not to aduenture into the field. against the earle of _flanders_ hee went in person; and in a sharpe shocke betweene them the earle was defeated and hurt, and (as some authors affirme) slaine: albeit others doe report, that hee was afterwards slaine in a battaile betweene the two kings of _england_ and of _france_. after this he turned against _lewes_ king of _france_, and fought with him before the towne of _nice_ in _normandie_; which towne the _french_ had surprised and taken from the king of _england_. this battaile continued aboue the space of nine houres, with incredible obstinacie; the doubt of victory being no lesse great, then was the desire: and yet neither part so hastie to end, as not to stay for the best aduantage. the first battaile on both sides was hewen in pieces; valour of inestimable value was there cast away: much braue blood was lost; many men esteemed both for their place and worth, lay groaning and grinning vnder the heauy hand of death. the sad blowes, the grisle wounds, the grieuous deathes that were dealt that day, might well haue moued any man to haue said, that warre is nothing else but inhumane manhood. the kings courage, guided with his fortune, and guarded both with his strength and his skill, was neuer idle, neuer but working memorable effects. in all places his directions were followed by his presence; being witnesse both of the diligence and valour of euery man, and not suffering any good aduantage or aduise for want of timely taking to be lost. he aduentured so farre in perfourming with his hand, that his armour in many places was battered to his body, and by reason of the sturdie strokes set vpon his helme, he cast blood out of his mouth. but this was so farre from dismaying his powers, that it did rather assemble and vnite them: so as aduancing his braue head, his furie did breath such vigour into his arme, that his sword made way through the thickest throngs of his enemies, and hee brake into them euen to the last ranckes. he was first seconded by the truely valiant; whose vndanted spirits did assure the best, and therewith contemne the very worst. then came in they whom despaire, the last of resolutions had made valiant; who discerned no meanes of hope for life, but by bold aduenturing vpon death. lastly he was followed by all; being enflamed by this example to a new life of resolution. generally, the swords went so fast, that the _french_ vnable to endure that deadly storme, were vtterly disbanded and turned to flight. k. _henry_ after a bloody chase, recouered _nice_; and with great triumph returned to _roan_. afterwards he would often say, that in other battailes he fought for victory, but in this for his life: and that hee would but little ioy in many such victories. vpon this euent the king sent certaine forces into _france_, to harrase the countrey, and to strike a terrour into the enemie. the _french_ king, besides the abatement of his power by reason of his late ouerthrow, was then preparing in armes against _henry_ the emperour, who intended to destroy _rhemes_: partly drawen on by _henry_ king of _england_, whose daughter he had taken to wife; but chiefly for that a councell had bene there held against him by pope _calixtus_ a french man, wherein the emperour was declared enemie to the church, and degraded from his imperiall dignitie. this brought the _english_ to a carelesse conceit, and to a loose and licentious demeanure in their action; a most assured token of some mischiefe at hand. and so, as they scattered and ranged after prey (as greedy men are seldome circumspect) they were suddenly set vpon by _almaricke_ earle of _mountfort_, appointed by the _french_ k. to defend the country, & with no small execution put to the chase. the more they resisted, the greater was their losse: the sooner they fled, the more assured was their escape. and for that they were dispersed into many small companies, they had the better opportunitie to saue themselues. many other like aduentures were enterprised betweene the two kings and their adherents; some in _france_, and some in _normandie_; with large losse on both sides. but especially the king of _france_ was most subiect to harme; for that his countrey was the more ample, open and rich. the king of _england_ held this aduantage, that no aduantage could be wonne against him: which in regard of the number, valour and greatnesse of his enemies, was a very honourable aduantage indeed. at the last he made peace with the earle of _aniou_; taking the earles daughter to be wife to his sonne _william_, whom he had declared for successour in his estate; to whom all the nobilitie and prelates were sworne; and who seemed to want nothing through all his fathers dominions, but onely the name and title of king. this sinew being cut from the king of _france_, and also for that _henry_ the emperour made preparation of hostilitie against him, he fell likewise to agreement of peace. by the conditions whereof, _william_ sonne to the king of _england_ was inuested into the duchie of _normandie_, doing homage for the same to the k. of _france_. in this peace was comprised on the part of the _french_ k. _william_ son to _robert curtcuise_, who had bene declared duke of _normandie_. on the part of the king of _england_, the earle of _champeigne_ and certaine other lords were comprised; who had either serued or aided him against the king of _france_. after this the warres betweene the emperour and the _french_ king did forthwith dissolue. king _henry_ hauing happily finished these affaires, returned out of _normandie_, and loosing from _barbeflote_, vpon the . of nouember towards euening, with a prosperous gale arriued in _england_; where great preparation was made to entertaine him with many well deuised honours. his sonne _william_ then duke of _normandie_, and somewhat aboue . yeeres of age, tooke another ship; and in his company went _mary_ his sister countesse of _perch_, _richard_ his brother, begotten of a concubine as some affirme; and the earle of _chester_ with his wife _lucie_, who was the kings niece by his sister _adela_. also the yong nobilitie and best knights flocked vnto him, some to discharge their dueties, others to testifie their loue and respect. of such passengers the ship receiued to the number of . besides . sailers which belonged vnto her. so they loosed from land somewhat after the king; and with a gentle winde from the southwest, danced through the soft swelling floods. the sailers full of proud ioy, by reason of their honourable charge; and of little feare or forecast, both for that they had bene accustomed to dangers, and for that they were then well tippeled with wine; gaue forth in a brauery, that they would soone outstrip the vessell wherein the king sailed. in the middest of this drunken ioylitie the ship strake against a rocke, the head whereof was aboue water, not farre from the shoare. the passengers cried out, and the sailers laboured to winde or beare off the ship from the danger; but the labour was no lesse vaine then the cry: for she leaned so stiffely against the rocke, that the sterage brake, the sides cracked, and the sea gushed in at many breaches. then was raised a lamentable cry within the ship; some yeelding to the tyrannie of despaire, betooke themselues (as in cases of extremitie weake courages are wont) to their deuotions; others emploied all industrie to saue their liues, and yet more in duetie to nature, then vpon hope to escape: all bewailed the vnfortunate darkenesse of that night, the last to the liues of so many persons both of honour and of worth. they had nothing to accompany them but their feares, nothing to helpe them but their wishes: the confused cries of them al, did much increase the particular astonishment of euery one. and assuredly no danger dismayeth like that vpon the seas; for that the place is vnnaturall to man. and further, the vnusuall obiects, the continuall motion, the desolation of all helpe or hope, will perplexe the minds euen of those who are best armed against discouragement. at the last the boat was hoysed foorth, and the kings sonne taken into it. they had cleered themselues from the danger of the ship, and might safely haue rowed to land. but the yong prince hearing the shrill shrikes of his sister _mary_ countesse of _perch_, and of the countesse of _chester_ his cousin, crying after him, and crauing his help; he preferred pitie before safety, & commanded the boat to be rowed back to the ship for preseruation of their liues. but as they approached, the boate was suddenly so ouercharged with those, who (strugling to breake out of the armes of death) leaped at all aduentures into it, that it sunke vnder them: and so all the company perished by drowning. onely one ordinary sayler, who had been a butcher, by swimming all night vpon the mast escaped to land; reserued as it may seeme, to relate the manner of the misaduenture. this ship raised much matter of nouelty and discourse abroad; but neuer did ship bring such calamitie to the realme: especially for that it was iudged, that the life of this prince would haue preuented those intestine warres, which afterwards did fall, betweene king _steuen_ and _matild_ daughter to king _henry_. the king was so ouercharged with this heauy accident; that his reason seemed to bee darkened, or rather drowned in sorrow. hee caused the coasts a long time after to bee watched; but scarce any of the bodies were euer found. afterwards he tooke to wife _adalisia_ daughter to _godfrey_ duke of _louaine_, of the house of _lorraine_: she was crowned at _westminster_ by _roger_ b. of _salisburie_, because _radulph_ archbishop of _canterburie_, by reason of his palsey was vnable to performe that office. and yet because _roger_ was not appointed by him, the doting old man fell into such a pelting chafe, that hee offered to strike the kings crowne from his head. and albeit this lady was in the principall flower both of her beauty and yeeres, yet the king had no issue by her. now as after a storme a fewe gentle drops doe alwayes fall, before the weather turnes perfectly fayre, so after these great warres in _france_, certaine easie conflicts did ensue: neither dangerous nor almost troublesome to the king. for _robert_ earle of _mellent_, who for a long time had continued both a sure friend, and most close and priuate in counsaile with the king, vpon some sudden either discontentment on his part, or dislike on the kings, so estranged himselfe, as it was enterpreted to be a reuolt: being charged with intent, to aduance _william_, cousin to _william_, sonne to _robert curtcuise_, to the duchie of _normandie_. wherefore the king besieged, and at last tooke his chiefe castle called _pont. audomer_; and at the same time enuironed the towre of _roan_ with a wall. he also repaired and fortified the castles of _caen_, _arches_, _gisore_, _falace_, _argentine_, _donfronç_, _oxine_, _aubrois_, _nanroye_, _iuta_, and the towne of _vernone_ in such sort, as at that time, they were esteemed impregnable, and not to bee forced by any enemie; except god or gold. in the meane time the earle of _mellent_, with _hugh geruase_ his sonne, and _hugh de mountfort_ his sisters sonne, calling such as either alliance or friendship did draw vnto them; besides those whom youthful either age or minds had filled with vnlimited desires; whom discontentment also or want did vainly feed with hungry hopes; entred into _normandy_ in armes: being so transported with desire to hurt, and troubled with feare of receiuing hurt, that they had neuer free scope of iudgement, either to prepare or manage the meanes to hurt. they were no sooner entred the confines of _normandie_, but _william tankeruill_ the kings chamberlaine came against them, brauely appointed, and resolute to fight. the very view of an enemie turned their euill guided furie into a feare: and whatsoeuer they did (proceeding rather from violence of passion then ground of reason) made them stumble whilest they ran, and by their owne disorders hindered their owne desires. so with small difficultie they were surprised and taken, and brought to the king; who committed them to streit prison at _roan_. an ordinary euent when rage runneth faster, then iudgement and power are able to hold pace. about this time _charles_ earle of _flanders_ as he was at his deuotions in the church of s. _donatus_ in _bruxels_, was suddenly slaine by conspiracie of his owne people. and because hee left no issue in life, _lewes_ king of _france_ inuested _william_ sonne to _robert curtcuis_ late duke of _normandie_, in the earledome of _flanders_; as descended from earle _baldwine_ sirnamed the pious, whose daughter _matilde_ was wife to king _william_ the first, and grandmother to this _william_. this he did, not so much in fauour to _william_, or in regard of his right, as to set vp an assured enemie against king _henry_: an enemie not onely of singular expectation, but proofe: whose courage was apt to vndertake any danger; whether for glory, or for reuenge. and herein his proiect did nothing faile. for no sooner was the earle aduanced to that estate, but he raised a great hostilitie against the king of _england_: as well to recouer the duchie of _normandie_, as either to relieue or to reuenge the hard captiuitie of his father. in this warre the earle did winne a great opinion, both for iudgement to discerne, and for valour to execute what hee did discerne: shewing himselfe in nothing inferiour to his vnckle the king, but onely in treasure and command of men. for this cause he craued supply of _lewes_ king of _france_; who, as he was the first that blew the cole, so was he alwayes ready to put fuell to the flame. but the king of _england_ entered _france_ with a strong armie, where his sword ranged and raged without resistance: and yet more in prosecution of prey, then in execution of blood. he lodged at _hesperdune_ the space of . dayes; no lesse quietly, no lesse safely, then if he had bene in the principall citie of his kingdome. by this meanes hee kept the _french_ king from sending succour to the earle of _flanders_. and in the meane season drew _theodoricke_ earle of _holsteine_, nephew to _robert_ who had bene earle of _flanders_, and _arnoldus_ sisters sonne to earle _charles_, not long before slaine, to inuade earle _william_: both pretending title to his dignitie, both bringing seueral armies, consisting of men, tough in temper, and well exercised in affaires of the field. _theodorick_ vpon his first approch tooke _bruges_, _ipres_ and _gandt_; either willingly yeelding, or with small resistance: and vpon the necke thereof _arnoldus_ tooke the strong towne of s. _omer_. earle _william_ being thus set as it were betweene the beetle and the blocke, was nothing deiected, nothing dismayed, either in courage or in hope. and first he went against _arnoldus_, with a small company, but with such a liuely countenance of a souldier, that _arnoldus_ fell to capitulation for his safe departure; and so returned home as if he had bene vanquished. then the earle made head against _theodorick_, and gaue him battaile, albeit farre inferiour to him, both for number and furniture of his men. the fight betweene them was long, furious and doubtfull. the _germans_ confident in their number, which made them trust the lesse to their valour: the _flemings_ rather desperate then resolute, vpon importance of their danger. and indeed it often happeneth, that good successe at the first doeth occasion the ouerthrow of many great actions: by working in the one side a confidence in themselues, and contempt of their enemies; and by making the other more earnest and entire. so at the last the violent valour of the earle, well followed with the braue and resolute rage of his souldiers, did such effects, that the _germans_ were shaken and disordered, many slaine in the field, and the residue chased out of _flanders_. the earle hauing now no enemie in open field, layed siege to the castle of _alhurst_, which was defended against him by the _english_. the assaults were so liuely enforced, and with such varietie of inuention and deuise; that a wide way was opened through all impediments, and the defendants were constrained by many necessities, to desire faire conditions of yeelding. this whilest the earle delayed to grant, he receiued in a certaine light conflict a wound in his hand, whereof in a short time after he died: hauing first raised himselfe very high in opinion with all men, for his courage, industrie and skill in armes. and thus duke _robert_ and his sonne _william_ were brought to their vnhappy ends; rather through the malice of their fortune, then through any bad merit or insufficiencie in themselues: whereby the duchie of _normandie_, which had bene both the cause and the seate of very great warres, was then strongly setled in possession of king _henry_. hee was neuer infested with domesticall warres; which in regard of those tumultuous times, is a manifest argument both of his iustice and prouidence; the one not giuing cause, the other no hope, for his subiects to rebel. the king of _scots_ did homage vnto him; for what territories i doe not determine. _morcard_ king of _ireland_ and some of his successors were so appliable vnto him, that they seemed to depend vpon his command. the _welsh_ who hated idlenesse and peace alike, did striue beyond their strength to pull their feete out of the mire of subiection; but in loose straggling companies, without either discipline or head. for this cause hee made diuers expeditions into _wales_, where he had many bickerings, and put many chases vpon them: but found nothing worthy the name, either of enemie or of warre. wherefore by maintaining garrisons, and light troups of souldiers, he consumed the most obstinate, and reduced the rest to his allegeance: receiuing the sonnes of their nobilitie for hostages. at that time many flemings inhabited in _england_; of whom some came ouer in the time of king _william_ the first, by occasion of his mariage with _matild_ daughter to _baldwine_ their earle: but the greatest part came vnder the reigne of this king _henrie_, by reason that _flanders_ at that time by irruption of the sea, was in many places ouerflowen. the king was willing to entertaine them, because they brought with them both industrie and trades; because they made the countrey both populous and rich. for in making a place populous, it is thereby also made rich: draw people to a place, and plentie will follow; driue away people, and it is vndone. they were first planted neere the riuer of _tweede_; besides those who dispersed into diuers townes. but at this time the king sent many of them into _rose_ in _pembrokeshire_, whose progeny did euer since maintaine themselues in good condition against the _welsh_: being a people euen at this day distinguished from all other bordering vpon them, both in language, and in nature, and in fashion of life. on a time as the king marched through _powesland_ in _southwales_, hee came to certaine streights, through which his maine army could not passe, by reason of their multitude and traine of cariage: wherefore hee sent the greatest part a further way about, and himselfe with a small company tooke the neerer way thorow those streights. when he was well entred, he was charged very sharpely, but rudely, and disordredly by the _welsh_; who hauing the aduantage both in number and in place, did much annoy him from the higher ground; but durst not approach to close fight at hand. the king himselfe was smitten with an arrow full vpon the breast: whereat hee swore _by our lords death_ (which was his vsuall oath) that it was no _welsh_ arme which shot that arrow. many of his men also were hurt, and the residue strangely disordred; the amazement being farre greater then the distresse. but the king with a firme countenance retired in time, the enemies not daring to pursue him any further, then they might be assured by aduantage of place. then he sent peaceably vnto them, and after some ouertures, brought them to agree, that for a thousand head of cattell the passage should be left open vnto him. in his politicke gouernment he so managed the state, that neither subiects wanted iustice, nor prince obedience. he repaired many defects, hee reformed many abuses, which would in the meane time enfeeble, and at last oppresse the common-wealth. hee ordred his affaires with such moderation, that he was not onely well obeyed by his subiects, but highly honoured and respected by forreine princes: wherby it appeared, that learning may be both a guard and guide to princes, if it be not so immoderately affected, as to bereaue them, either of the minde, or time for action. he vsed much seueritie in punishing offenders; seueritie, the life of iustice; of iustice, the most assured preseruer of states: affording no more fauour for the most part, then dead mercilesse law did allot. against theeues he prouided, that no money should saue them from hanging. he ordeined that counterfeitures of money should loose both their eyes, and be depriued of their priuie parts. he tooke away the deceit which had been occasioned by varietie of measures, and made a measure by the length of his owne arme: which hath been commonly vsed euer since by the name of a yard. and wheras there are two infallible signes of a diseased state; excesse in eating, and in attire; which could neuer be restrained by penalties or feare, but the more the people are therin forbidden, the more are they rauished into riot and vanitie: the king by two meanes cast a general restraint vpon them both: by example, and by reproofe: which by reason of the inclination of men to imitate and please their prince, haue alwayes been of greater force then lawes, to reforme abuses in that kind. he much abhorred excesse in eating and drinking, and was so moderate in his owne diet, that he seemed to feede onely for necessitie of nature. hee both vsed and commended ciuill modestie in apparell: especially he could not endure an absurd abuse of men in those times, in wearing long haire like vnto women. and when their owne haire failed, they set artificiall _peruques_,[ ] with long locks vpon their heads; whereas by censure of the apostle, it is reprochfull for men to weare long haire. he discharged his court of many loose lasciuious persons; affirming, that they were no good instruments of the kingdome; as being in peace chargeable, and vnprofitable for warre. during his absence in _normandie_, which was sometimes three or foure yeeres together, he committed the gouernement of his realme to _roger_ bishop of _salisburie_: a man harmelesse in life, in mind flourishing and fresh, in intention vpright: most wise in taking, and most faithfull and fortunate in giuing aduise. hee had gouerned the kings expenses of house when hee was but a prince of priuate estate; whereby he gained that reputation for integritie and skill, which aduanced him to a higher trust. he was doctor of the canon and ciuill lawes, as most of the bishops at that time were, and did beare the title and name of _iusticiarius totius angliæ_. hee built the _deuises_ in _wiltshire_, the castles of _malmesburie_ and _shireburne_. he repaired the castle of _salisburie_, and enuironed the same with a wall; hee built the stately church at _salisburie_, destined to a longer life then any of his other workes. and further, by reason of the kings much abode in _normandie_, the prouisions of his house were valued at certaine prices, and receiued in money, to the great contentment and ease of the people. in these times were mighty woods about the place where the two high wayes _watling_ and _ikening_ doe ioyne together; which woods were a safe couert and retreite for many robbers, who much infested those high wayes. the most famous thiefe among them, was named _dunne_,[ ] a man mischieuous without mercie, equally greedie of blood and of spoile, the first infamie of his name: hee was in a sort as the most villanously aduentrous and vile; (for in lewd actions, the worst are greatest) commander ouer the rest, and of him the place was called _dunstable_. to represse this annoyance, the king caused the woods to bee cut downe, built there a borough, to which hee granted faire & market, and that the burgesses should be so free as any other burgesses within the realme. hee erected there also a palace for himselfe, and also a faire church or priorie; whereto he gaue large priuiledges and endowments. by these meanes hee made the place first populous, and consequently both plentifull and safe. many other royall workes hee performed, some for religion, as the religious buildings specified before; some for strength, as diuers castles in _normandie_, in _wales_, and some also in _england_: and namely the castle of _warwicke_, of _bristoll_, the castle colledge and towne of _windsore_ on the hill, about a mile distant from the old towne of _windsore_; which afterward was much encreased by king _edward_ the third, and after him by many kings and queenes succeeding. many palaces also he built for ornament & pleasure. and to this end he maintained his parke at _woodstocke_, wherein hee preserued diuers sorts of strange beasts; which because he did with many demonstrations of pleasure both accept and esteeme, were liberally sent vnto him from other princes. hee first instituted the forme of the high court of parliament, as now it is in vse. for before his time, onely certaine of the nobilitie and prelats of the realme were called to consultation about the most important affaires of state: he caused the commons also to be assembled, by knights and burgesses of their owne appointment, and made that court to consist of three parts; the nobilitie, the clergie, and the common people; representing the whole body of the realme. the first councell of this sort was held at _salisbury_, vpon the . day of april, in the . yeere of his reigne. his seueritie in iustice, the very heart string of a common-wealth, his heauie hand in bearing downe his enemies, in disabling those from working him harme whom he knew would neuer loue him at the heart; was traduced by some vnder termes of crueltie. and yet was he alwayes more mindfull of benefits then of wrongs; and in offences of highest nature, euen for bearing armes against him, he punished oftentimes by imprisonment or exile, and not by death. when _matilde_ his daughter was giuen in mariage to _henry_ the fifth emperour, he tooke . shillings of euery hide of land throughout the realme: which being followed by succeeding kings, did grow to a custome of receiuing ayd, whensoeuer they gaue their daughters in marriage. for albeit the same be found in the great _custumier_ of _normandie_, yet was it neuer practised in _england_ before. this happened in the fifteenth yeere of his reigne: and he neuer had the like contribution after, but one for furnishing his warres in _france_. so the people were not charged with many extraordinary taxations, but their ordinary fines and payments were very great; and yet not very grieuous vnto them. for that they saw them expended, not in wanton wast, not in loose and immoderate liberalitie, but either vpon necessitie, or for the honour & dignitie of the state: wherein the preseruation or aduancement of the common good, made particular burthens not almost sensible. but both his actions and exactions were most displeasing to the clergy; the clergy did often times not onely murmure, but struggle and oppose against his actions: as taking their liberties to be infringed, and their state diminished; by abasing their authority, and abating both their riches and power. when any bishopricke or abbey fell voyd, hee did apply the reuenues thereof for supply of his necessities and wants: and for that cause kept some of them many yeeres together vacant in his hands. he would not permit appeales to _rome_. canons were not of force within the realme, vnlesse they were confirmed by the king. legats from the pope were not obeyed; and no man would come to their conuocations. in so much as one of the popes legates in _france_ did excommunicate all the priests of _normandy_, because they would not come to his synode. for this cause the king sent the bishop of _exceter_ to _rome_, albeit he was both blind and in yeeres, to treat with the pope concerning that businesse. hee gaue inuestitures to prelates, by crosse, ring and staffe: and is charged to haue receiued of some of them great summes of money for their places. about this time the marriage of priests was forbidden in _england_; but the king for money permitted them to reteine their wiues, and in the end set an imposition in that respect vpon euery church throughout the realme. it auailed not any man to say, that he had no purpose to keepe a wife: he must pay for a facultie to keepe a wife if he would. for these causes they fastened the infamie of couetousnesse vpon him. for these causes and especially for inuesting and receiuing homage of prelats, he had a stiffe strife with _anselme_ archb. of _canterburie_. for the king said, that it was against the custome of his ancesters, it could not stand with the safety of his state; that the prelats, who at that time held the principall places both of trust and command in his kingdome, who in very deed ruled all the rest, should not be appointed onely by himselfe; should not sweare faith and allegiance vnto him; should either bee aduanced or depend vpon any forren prince. on the other side _anselme_ refused, not onely to confirme, but to communicate or common friendly with those who had bene inuested by the king: reproching them, as abortiues and children of destruction; traducing the king also, as a defiler of religion, as a deformer of the beautie and dignitie of the church. hereupon by appointment of the king, they were confirmed & consecrated by the archb. of _yorke_. onely _william gifford_, to whom the k. had giuen the bishopricke of _winchester_, refused consecration from the archb. of _yorke_; for which cause the king depriued him of all his goods, and banished him out of the realme. then the king required _anselme_ to doe him homage, and to be present with him at giuing inuestitures; as _lanfranck_ his predecessor had bene with king _william_ his father. against these demaunds _anselme_ obiected the decrees of the councell lately held at _rome_; whereby all lay-persons were excommunicate, who should conferre any spiritual promotions; and all those accursed, who for ecclesiasticall dignities, should subiect themselues vnder the homage or seruice of any lay-man. hereupon messengers were dispatched from both parties to the pope: who determined altogether in fauour of _anselme_, or rather in fauour of himselfe. notwithstanding the king desisted not to vrge _anselme_, to sweare homage vnto him. _anselme_ required, that the popes letters should bee brought foorth; and he would doe as by them hee should be directed. the king answered, that he had nothing to doe with the popes letters; that this was a soueraigne right of his crowne; that if any man may pull these royalties from his crowne, he may easily pull his crowne from his head: that therefore _anselme_ must doe him homage, or else depart out of his kingdome. _anselme_ answered, that hee would not depart out of the realme, but goe home to his church, and there see, who would offer him violence. then were messengers againe sent to the bishop of _rome_; two bishops from the king, and two monckes from _anselme_. the king wrote to the pope, first congratulating his aduancement to the sea of _rome_; then desiring the continuance of that amitie which had bene betweene their predecessours; lastly, he tendred all honour and obedience, which in former times the kings of _england_ did yeeld to the see of _rome_; desiring againe, that he might not be abridged of such vsages as his father did enioy: concluding, that during his life, hee would not suffer the dignities of his crowne to be empaired; and if he should so doe, yet the nobilitie and common people of the realme would in no case permit it, but would rather recede from obedience to his see. the pope wrote backe againe to _anselme_; that for one mans pleasure hee would not reuerse the decrees of former popes; and therefore gaue him both encouragement & charge, to continue constant, and to see them obserued in euery point. hee directed also his letters to the king, which the king did suppresse: but his embassadours declared by word, that the pope permitted inuestitures to the king, so as in other things hee would execute the office of a good prince. _anselme_ called for the popes letters. the king answered, that his bishops were to be credited before the monckes, who were disabled either for voyce or testimonie in secular affaires. _anselme_ said, that he was desirous to yeeld vnto the king, but he durst not although it should cost him his head, vnlesse he had a warrant from _rome_: and therefore he would send thither againe, to haue a more full and ample answere. the king and diuers of the nobilitie perswaded him to goe in person, to trauaile to the pope, and to trauaile with him, for the quiet of the church, and of his countrey. with much adoe he was entreated, and so set forth on his iourney towards _rome_: and after followed the kings embassadour _william warlewast_, new elect bishop of _exceter_. when the bishop came to the popes presence, he declared vnto him; what great commodities did rise out of _england_ to the see of _rome_; that the inuesting of prelats had bene an ancient right to the crowne of that realme; that as the king was by nature liberall, so was he stout and resolute in courage, that it should be a great dishonour to him, who in power exceeded any of his ancesters, if hee should not maintaine the dignities which they held; that for this cause the pope should doe well to preferre to his consideration, what preiudice might follow to his estate, if hee should remit nothing of the seuerities of those canons which had bene lately made. the pope gaue an attentiue eare, and seemed to pause vpon that which had been sayd. which the kings ambassadour taking to be a degree of yeelding, did more earnestly insist, and said: that the king his master would not for the crowne of his realme, loose the authoritie of inuesting his prelates. hereto the pope with a starting voice and countenance answered; _neither will i lose the disposing of spirituall promotions in_ england, _for the kings head that beareth the crowne; before god_ (said hee) _i aduow it_. his flattering followers applauded this speach, as proceeding from a magnanimous courage, or rather as some flash of diuine inspiration: and the kings ambassador not a little abashed, was content to descend to lower demands. in the ende it was ordered, that the king should be restored to certaine customes which had been vsed by his father; but that all they who had bin inuested by the king, should be excommunicate, & that their satisfaction and absolution should be committed vnto _anselme_. thus _anselme_, with full saile of victorie and ioy returned towards _england_; but the kings ambassadour stayed behind, to assay whether by any meanes hee could worke the pope to a milder minde. but when hee saw that he trauailed in vaine, he followed _anselme_, and ouertooke him at _placentia_, and there deliuered vnto him certaine priuate instructions from the king: that if he would come into _england_, and behaue himselfe as his predecessours had done towards the kings father, hee should be welcome; otherwise, you are wise enough (said hee) you know what i meane, and may easily coniecture what will ensue. with these words he flang suddenly away; by occasion whereof his speaches setled with a more strong impression, and multiplied many doubtfull constructions. so the embassadour returned to the king; but _anselme_ went to _lions_, and remained there a yeere and halfe. in the meane time much posting was made betweene _england_, _lions_, and _rome_; but nothing was concluded, nothing could please: for neither the pope would yeeld to the king, nor the king to _anselme_. at the last _anselme_ threatned to excommunicate the king: whereof the king being aduertised by the countesse _adela_ his sister, hee desired her to come to him into _normandy_, and to bring _anselme_ with her. here the king restored _anselme_ to his former possessions; but his returne into _england_ was respited, vntill the pope had confirmed certaine things which _anselme_ did assure. so the king tooke his passage into _england_, and _anselme_ abode at the abbey of _beck_. then were dispatched for _rome_, _william warlewast_ mentioned before, and _baldwine_ abbot of _ramsey_; by whose meanes the controuersie was composed betweene the king and the pope; that the king should receiue homage of bishops elect, but should not inuest them by staffe and ring. after this the king went into _normandie_, and there agreed to _anselme_ in these points following. _that all his churches which had been made tributary to king william the second should bee set free._ _that the king should require nothing of the sayd churches, whilest the sea should remaine vacant._ _that such priests as had giuen money to the king to reteine their wiues, should surcease from their function the space of three yeeres; and that the king should take no more after such maner._ _that all such goods fruits and possessions as the king had taken from the sea of canterbury, should bee restored to him at his returne into england._ thus _anselme_ returned into _england_, and after a short time the king followed; hauing taken his brother prisoner, and subdued _normandie_ to his subiection. forthwith _anselme_ by permission of the k. assembled a great councell of the clergie at _westminster_; wherein hee so wrought with the king, that at length (albeit not without great difficultie) it was newly decreed; that no temporal man should giue inuestiture with crosse, or with ring, or with pastoral staffe. also he directed iniunctions to the priests of his prouince, that they and their wiues should neuer meete within one house; that they should not keepe any woman in their house, but such as were next in kinred vnto them; that hee who held his wife and presumed to say masse within eight dayes after, should solemnely be excommunicate. that all archdeacons and their officials should bee sworne, not to winke at the meetings of priests and their wiues for any respect, and if they would not take this oath, then to lose their office; that such priests as would forsake their wiues, should cease fourty dayes from ministration in their office, and performe such penance as should be enioyned them by their bishop. the execution of these canons importing both a great and sudden alteration, occasioned much disquiet and disorder in many parts of the realme. in the same councel the censure of excommunication was cast vpon those, who did exercise the vile vice of sodomitrie: and it was further decreed, that the same sentence should be published euery sonday in al the parish churches of _england_. but afterward it was esteemed fit; that this general excommunication should be repealed. the pretence was, for that the prohibiting, yea, the publike naming of that vice might enflame the hearts of vngracious persons with desire vnto it. but wise men coniectured, that after this seuere restreint of marriage in the clergie, it did grow so frequent and familiar among them, that they would not giue way to so generall a punishment. it is certaine that in this kings dayes _io. cremensis_ a priest cardinal, by the kings licence came into _england_, and held a solemne synode at _london_; where hauing most sharpely enueighed against the marriage of priests, the night following hee was taken in adulterie, and so with shame departed the realme. it is certaine also that _anselme_, the most earnest enforcer of single life, died not a virgine; as by the lamentation which hee wrote for the losse thereof it may appeare. not long after _anselme_ died, being of the age of . yeeres. he had bestowed much money on _christs_ church in _canterburie_; as well in buildings, as in ornaments, and encrease of possessions. other workes of charge he left not many; neither in very deed could he, by reason of his often banishments, and the seasures of the reuenues of his church. but this he did more then liberally supply by the eternall labours of his penne. after his decease the archbishopricke remained voyd fiue yeeres: during which time, the king applied the fruits to himselfe. the like hee did to other vacant churches; and compounded also with priests for reteining their wiues; and made his profit by ecclesiasticall persons and liuings, more largely and freely then he had done before. for which cause it is not vnlike that the imputation of couetousnesse was fixed vpon him. at the last _radulph_ bishop of _rochester_ was aduanced to the see of _canterburie_; and notwithstanding all former agreements and decrees, the king inuested him with ring and with staffe. but howsoeuer we may either excuse or extenuate the two vices of crueltie and couetousnesse, wherewith he is charged, his immoderate excesse in lust can no wayes be denied, no wayes defended: and when age had somewhat abated in him the heat of that humour, yet was hee too much pleased with remembrance of his youthfull follies. for this vice it is manifest, as well by the sudden and vnfortunate losse of his children, as for that he was the last king by descent from males of the _norman_ race, that the hand of god pressed hard vpon him. as _radulph_ succeeded _anselme_ in the see of _canterburie_. so after the death of _thomas_, _thurstine_ the kings chapplaine was elected archb. of _yorke_. and because he refused to acknowledge obedience to the see of _canterbury_, hee could not haue his consecration, but was depriued of his dignitie by the king. hereupon he tooke his iourney to _rome_, complained to the pope, and from him returned with a letter to the king: that the putting of a bishop elect from his church, without iudgement, was against diuine iustice, against the decrees of holy fathers: that the pope intended no preiudice to either church, but to maintaine the constitution which s. _gregorie_, the apostle of the _english_ nation, had stablished betweene them: that the bishop elect should be receiued to his church, and if any question did rise between the two churches, it should be handled before the king. vpon occasion of this letter a solemne assembly was called at _salisburie_, where the variance betweene the two prelats was much debated. _radulph_ would not giue imposition of hands to _thurstine_, vnlesse hee would professe obedience. _thurstine_ said, that he would gladly embrace his benediction, but professe obedience to him he would not. the king signified to _thurstine_, that without acknowledgement of subiection to the archb. of _canterburie_, hee should not be consecrated archb. of _yorke_. _thurstine_ replied nothing; but renounced his dignitie, and promised to make no more claime vnto it. not long after, _calixtus_ bishop of _rome_ assembled a councell at _rhemes_; and _thurstine_ desired licence of the king to goe to that councell. this hee obtained vnder faithfull promise, that he should there attempt nothing to the preiudice of the church of _canterburie_. in the meane time the king dealt secretly with the pope, that _thurstine_ should not bee consecrated by him. this the pope did faithfully assure; and yet by meanes of some of his cardinals, whom _thurstine_ had wrought to bee suiters for him; by reason also of his hate against _radulph_, for taking inuestiture from the king; the pope was drawen to giue him consecration, and therewith the pall. for this cause the king was displeased with _thurstine_, and forbad him to returne into the realme. after this, the pope came to _gisors_, to which place the king went vnto him; and desired that he would not send any legates into _england_, except the king should so require. the reason was, for that certaine legates had come into _england_ lately before, to wit, one _guido_, and another named _anselme_, and another called _peter_; who had demeaned themselues, not as pillars of the church, but as pillagers of all the realme. also he required that hee might reteine all such customes, as his auncestors had vsed in _england_ and in _normandie_. the pope vpon promise that the king should ayd him against his enemies, yeelded to these demands: and required againe of the king, to permit _thurstine_ to returne with his fauour into _england_. the king excused himselfe by his oath. the pope answered, that he might and would dispence with him for his oath. the king craued respite, affirming that he would aduise with his counsaile, and then signifie to the pope what he should resolue. so in short time hee declared to the pope, that for loue to him, _thurstine_ should bee receiued both into the realme and to his church: vpon condition, that he should professe subiection to the sea of _canterburie_, as in former times his predecessors had done; otherwise (said hee) so long as i shall bee king of _england_, hee shall neuer sit archbishop of _yorke_. the yeere following the pope directed his letters to the king, and likewise to _radulph_. and herewith he interdicted both the church of _canterburie_ and the church of _yorke_, with all the parish churches of both prouinces; from diuine seruice, from buriall of the dead, from all other offices of the church; except onely baptizing of children, and absolution of those who shal lie at the point of death: vnlesse within one moneth after the receit of the same letters, _thurstine_ should be receiued to the sea of _yorke_, without acknowledging subiection to the sea of _canterburie_. it was further signified to the king, that he should also be excommunicate, vnlesse hee would consent to the same. vpon these letters _thurstine_ was sent for, and reconciled to the king, and quietly placed in his church at _yorke_. and thus when the bishops of rome had gained absolute superiority ouer the state of the church, euen for managing external actions and affaires (which seeme to be a part of ciuill gouernement) there wanted nothing but either a weake prince, or a factious nobilitie, or a headstrong tumultuous people, to giue him absolute superioritie ouer all. in the second yeere of this kings reigne the cities of _gloucester_ and _winchester_ were for the most part wasted with fire. in the fourth yeere a blasing starre appeared, and foure circles were seene about the sunne. the yeere next following the king preuailed much in _normandie_, and so did the sea in _flanders_: insomuch as a great part of that countrey lay buried in the waters. in the seuenth yeere a blazing starre appeared: and vpon thursday night before easter, two full moones were seene, one in the east, and the other in the west. the same yeere _robert_ duke of _normandie_ was taken & brought prisoner into _england_. in the tenth yeere the abbey of _elie_ was made a bishops sea, and cambridge shire was appointed for the diocesse thereof. in regard whereof, the king gaue the mannour of _spalding_ to the bishop of _lincolne_, for that the shire of _cambridge_ was formerly vnder the iurisdiction of _lincolne_. the same yeere a comet appeared after a strange fashion. about _shrewsburie_ was a great earthquake. the water of _trent_ was dried vp at _nottingham_ the space of a mile, from one of the clocke vntill three: so as men might passe ouer the channell on foote. warres ensued against the earle of _aniou_; a great mortalitie of men; a murraine of beastes both domesticke and of the fielde: yea, the foules perished in great abundance. in the . yeere the citie of _worcester_, and therein the chiefe church, the castle, with much people were consumed with fire. a pigge was farrowed with a face like a childe. a chicken was hatched with foure legs. the yeere next ensuing the riuer of _medeway_ so fayled for many miles, that in the middest of the channell the smallest boates could not floate. in the _thames_ also was such defect of water, that betweene the tower and the bridge many men and children did wade ouer on foote. this happened by reason of a great ebbe in the ocean, which layd the sands bare many miles from the shoare, and so continued one whole day. much rage and violence of weather ensued, and a blasing starre. the citie of _chichester_ with the principall monastery was burnt. the yeere next following almost all the bridges in _england_ being then of timber, by reason of a hard winter were borne downe with ice. in the . yeere the towne of _peterborough_ with the stately church were burned to the ground. the citie of _bath_ also was much ruined and defaced with fire. in march there happened fearefull lightning, and in december grieuous thunder and haile. the moone at both times seemed to be turned into blood, by reason of the euill qualited vapours through which it gaue light. the yeere following, _mathild_ the queene departed this life: a woman in pietie, chastitie, modestie, and all other vertues nothing inferiour to her mother; but in learning and iudgement farre beyond her: who did not act, nor speake, nor scarce thinke any thing, but first it was weighed by wisdome and vertue. when the king desired her in marriage, for the publicke good and tranquilitie of the state, in reducing the _saxon_ blood to the crowne; she first modestly, then earnestly refused the offer; shewing no lesse magnanimitie in despising honours, then others doe in affecting them. but when she was not so much perswaded as importuned to forsake her profession, she is reported by some to haue taken the matter so to heart, that she cursed such issue as she should bring forth: which curse did afterwards lie heauie vpon them. for her sonne _william_ perished by shipwrack, and her daughter _matild_ was neuer voyd of great vexations. as she trauailed ouer the riuer of _lue_, at the _old-foord_ neere _london_, she was well washed, and somewhat endangered in her passage: whereupon he caused two stone-bridges to be built ouer the same riuer, one at the head of the towne of _stratford_, the other ouer another streame thereof, commonly called _channels-bridge_; and paued the way betweene them with grauel. she gaue also certaine mannours, and a mill called _wiggon_ mill, for repairing of the same bridges and way. these were the first stone-bridges that were made in _england_. and because they were arched like a bow, the towne of _stratford_ was afterwards called _bow_. in the . yere, a great earthquake hapned, in the moneth of september. in the . yeere, the citie of _glocester_, with the principal monasterie was fired againe. the yeere next following, the citie of _lincolne_ was for the most part burned downe, and many persons perished with the rage of the flame. in the . yeere, the king receiued an oath of the chiefe of the prelats and nobilitie of the realme; that after his death, they should maintaine the kingdom against al men for his daughter _matild_, in case she should suruiue, and the king not leaue issue male in life. in the . yeere, the citie of _rochester_ was much defaced with fire, euen in the presence and view of the king. the yeere next following the oath to _matild_ was receiued againe. about this time the king was much troubled with fearefull dreames; which did so affright him, that he would often leape out of his bed, and lay hand on his sword, as if it were to defend himselfe. this yeere as he returned out of _normandie_ into _england_, when he had bene caried not farre from land, the winde began to rise, and the sea swelled somewhat bigge. this weather did almost suddenly encrease to so dangerous a storme, that all expected to be cast away. the king, dismayed the more by his sonnes mishap, reconciled himselfe to god; and vowed to reforme many errours of his life, if he did escape. so after his arriuall, he went to the monasterie of s. _edmund_; and there both ratified and renued the promise he had made. after this he was better ordered in his actions; he erected a bishopricke at _caerlile_, and endowed it with many honours: he caused iustice indifferently to be administred; and eased the people of the tribute called _dane guilt_. in the . yeere, _matilde_ daughter to the king was deliuered of a sonne, who was named _henry_. hereupon the king assembled his nobilitie at _oxeford_, where he did celebrate his feast of easter; and there ordeined, that shee and her heires should succeed him in the kingdome. and albeit they were often sworne to this appointment; albeit _stephen_ earle of _bloise_ was the first man who tooke that oath: yet was he the first who did rise against it; yet did many others also ioyne with him in his action. for oathes are commonly troden vnder foote, when they lye in the way, either to honour or reuenge. the same yeere the citie of _london_ was very much defaced with fire. the yeere next following, many prodigies happened, which seemed to portend the death of the king, or rather the troublesome times which did thereupon ensue. in the moneth of august, the sunne was so deepely eclipsed, that by reason of the darkenesse of the ayre, many starres did plainely appeare. the second day after this defect of light, the earth trembled with so great violence, that many buildings were shaken downe. _malmesb._ sayth, that the house wherein he sate, was lift vp with a double remooue, and at the third time setled againe in the proper place. the earth in diuers places yeelded foorth a hideous noyse; it cast foorth flames at certaine rifts diuers dayes together, which neither by water nor by any other meanes could be suppressed. during the time of the eclipse mentioned before, the king was trauersing the sea into _normandie_; whither hee vsually went, sometimes euery yeere, but euery third yeere at the furthest. here he spent the whole yeere following, in ordering affaires of state, and in visiting euery corner of the countrey. he neuer gaue greater contentment to the people, as well by his gifts, as by his gentle and courteous behauiour: he neuer receiued greater contentment from them, by the liuely expressing of their loue. but nothing did so much affect him with ioy, as that his daughter _matild_ had brought foorth other two sonnes, _geoffrey_ and _william_: whereby hee conceiued, that the succession of his issue to the crowne of _england_ was so well backed, that he needed not to trouble his thoughts with any feare that his heires would faile. at the last he began to languish a little and droupe in health; and neither feeling nor fearing any great cause, hee rode on hunting, to passe it ouer with exercise and delight. herewith being somewhat cheered, hee returned home, and eate of a lamprey, albeit against his physicians aduise, which meate he alwayes loued, but was neuer able well to digest. after this, and happely vpon this vicious feeding, he fell into a feuer; which increased in him by such dangerous degrees, that within seuen dayes it led him to the period of his life. hee died vpon the first of december, in the . yere of his age: when hee had reigned . yeeres and foure moneths, wanting one day. his bowels and eyes were buried at _roan_: the rest of his bodie was stuffed with salt, wrapped vp in oxe hides, and brought ouer into _england_; and with honourable exequies buried in the monastery of _reading_, which hee had founded. his physician who tooke out his braines, by reason of the intolerable stinch which breathed from them, in short time after ended his life. so of all that king _henrie_ slue, this physician was the last. he had by his first wife a sonne named _william_, who perished by shipwracke; and _matild_ a daughter, who was espoused to the emperour _henrie_ the . when she was scarce sixe yeeres olde, and at the age of eleuen yeeres was married vnto him. when shee had been married vnto him twelue yeeres, he died; and shee returned to the king her father, both against her owne minde, and against the desire of the greatest princes of the empire: who in regard of her wise and gracious behauiour, were suitors to the king more then once, to haue her remaine as empresse among them. but the king would not consent to their intreatie: for that shee was the onely heire to his crowne. then many great princes desired her in marriage. but the king bestowed her vpon _geoffrey_, sonne to _fulke_ earle of _aniou_: somewhat against her owne liking, but greatly to the suretie of his estate in _france_. by him she had _henrie_, who afterwards was king of _england_. further, the king had by a concubine, _richard_ a sonne, and _mary_ a daughter; who were lost vpon the sea with their brother _william_. by another concubine hee had a sonne named _robert_, whom he created earle of _glocester_: a man for valour of minde and abilitie of bodie inferiour to none; in counsailes so aduised, as was fit for a right noble commander. by his faith, industrie, and felicitie chiefly, his sister _matild_ did afterwards resist and ouerbeare, both the forces and fortunes of king _stephen_. he is reported to haue had . other bastards; which were of no great either note or continuance, according to that saying of the wise man: _bastard plants take no deepe rootes_.[ ] this king in the beginning of his reigne made many fauourable lawes: and namely, _that he would reserue no possessions of the church vpon their vacancies: that the heires of his nobilitie should possesse their fathers lands without redemption from him, and that the nobilitie likewise should afford the like fauour to their tenants: that gentlemen might giue their daughters and kinsewomen in marriage without his licence, so it were not to his enemie: that the widow should haue her ioynture, and not be compelled to marrie against her owne liking: that the mother or next of kinred should bee guardian of the lands of her children: that all debts to the crowne and certaine offences also should bee remitted_. but these lawes afterwards were but slenderly obserued. three vertues were most famous in him; wisedome, courage, and sweetenesse of speach. by the last hee gained much fauour from the people. by the other two he purchased, both peace at home, and victory abroad. he was noted also for some vices: but out of doubt they were farre exceeded by his vertues. and for these vices also, being himselfe of a pleasant disposition, he was well pleased with pleasant reproofes. _guymund_ his chapleine (obseruing that vnworthy men for the most part were aduanced to the best dignities of the church) as he celebrated diuine seruice before him, and was to read these words out of s. _iames_; [_it rained not vpon the earth iij. yeres and vj. moneths_:][ ] hee did read it thus: [_it rained not vpon the earth one, one, one yeres, and fiue, one, moneths_.] the king obserued this reading, and afterwards rebuked his chapleine for it: but _guymund_ answered, that he did it of purpose, for that such readers were soonest preferred by the king. the king smiled, and in short time after preferred him to the gouernment of s. _frideswides_ in _oxeford_. in this king failed the heires male of king _william_ the first: and then the crowne was possessed by title of heires generall. in these times flourished two excellent ornaments of the church; _anselme_ in _england_, and _bernard_ in _france_: both of them enrolled in the list of saints. and no lesse infamous for vice was _gerard_, archbishop of _yorke_; a man of some learning; not so much in substance, as in seeming and shew; of commendable wit, which he applied chiefly, to giue a couler for euery vice of his owne, and for euery vertue of others either a slander or a ieast: of enuious disposition; plagued lesse with his owne calamities, then with the well either doing or being of other men; in wiping money from his subiects by dishonest meanes, subtill and shamelesse; and no lesse sordide in his expences: giuen to magicall enchantments as many doe affirme. on a certaine day as he slept vpon a cushion after dinner, in his garden at _southwell_, and many of his chapleines walked neere him; he was found in such a stiffe cold dead sleepe, as will require the trumpe of an archangel to awake him. his face then looked with an ougly hell-burnt hue. his body was caried to _yorke_; few vouchsafing to accompany, none to meete it (according to the vse of exequies) when it came to the citie; but the boyes in scorne throwing stones at the hearse. he was basely buried without the church without any funerall solemnities, without any signe either of honour or of griefe. footnotes: [ ] senticetum. [ ] scriptor omnium sceleratissimus. [ ] mendacissimus. [ ] adulator. [ ] _lib._ . _in princ. ingulph. lib._ . _cap._ . [ ] {pollakis de toi nothoi te polloi gnêsiôn ameinones.} eurip. in androm. [ ] _rich. ._ |-----|-----| | | _rich. ._ _emma._ . . _robert._ _edward._ . _william._ [ ] _heu vani monitus, fiustráq; morantia parcas prodigia. lucan._ [ ] _flo. lib._ . _eutr. lib._ . _epit. liu._ . [ ] _eutro. lib._ . _epit. liu._ . [ ] _cic. agrar. orat._ . _liu. lib._ . [ ] _tacit. lib._ . [ ] _tacit. an._ . [ ] _salust. bel. iug._ [ ] . _reg._ . [ ] _geogr._ . [ ] _tritem. cap._ . [ ] _theod. nehem. lib._ . _cap._ . [ ] _arg. l. creditor. & l. claudius. d qui pot. in pign. ha._ [ ] _moribus antiquis res stat romana virisque. aeneid._ [ ] _imperium ijs artibus facilime retinetur quibus partum est. sal. catil._ [ ] _quos viceris caue amicos tibi credas. curt. lib._ . [ ] _tranquil. in calig_. [ ] _nicet. pag._ . {houtô chronô kratynthe ethos genous kai thrêskeias estin ischyroteron.} [ ] _chrys. orat._ . {peri ethous}, _suid. dict._ {ethos}. [ ] _agath. lib._ . {eudêlon men hoti dê tôn anthrôpeiôn ethnôn hôs hekastos eige hotôdêoun nomô ek pleistou nenikêkoti embioteusaien, touton dê ariston hêgountai kai thespesion.} [ ] _temperatus enim timor est qui cohibet, assiduus & acer ad vindictam excitat. senec. . de clemen._ [ ] _perfecto demum scelere, magnitudo eius intelligitur. tacit. xv. annal._ [ ] . _reg._ . & [ ] . _paral._ . [ ] _bald. in proem. decr. §. rex. nu._ . _archid._ . _q._ . _§ item obijcitur._ [ ] _gen._ . [ ] _iust. lib._ . [ ] _host. io. and. collect. pet. anch. anto. imo. card. flo. & sere omnes in c. licet de voto._ [ ] _l. si arrogator. d. de arrog. l. de interd. & rel._ [ ] _io. and. in c. significasti de fo. comp. pan. cons._ . _li._ . _molin. consuet. paris. tit._ . § . _gl._ . _q._ . _infi._ [ ] _iust. lib._ [ ] _iust. lib._ . [ ] _pausan. lib._ . _iustin. lib._ . [ ] _girard. lib._ . _de l'estate._ [ ] _d. benedict. in. rep. c. rainutius verb. in eodem testamento le._ . _nu._ . [ ] _io. de terr. rub. concl._ . . . . [ ] _li._ . _de l'estate de france._ [ ] _in c. vlt._ . _q._ . [ ] _in polyhim._ [ ] _l. ex hoc d. de iust. & iure._ [ ] _in epist. ad o nagr. & in gen._ . [ ] _chrys. hom._ . _aduers. iudæos._ [ ] _glo. pan. in. c._ . _de cens. luc. pen. in l. decurio. c. de decu. lib._ . [ ] _gen._ . . [ ] _deut._ . . [ ] _exo._ . & . & . _levit._ . _num._ . & . & . _neh._ . _ezech._ . _luc._ . . [ ] _io. ign. in. qu. an. rex franciæ recognoscat superiorem. col._ . _ang. in l. cum prætor. § non autem. d. de iudi. ias. in l. nemo d. de leg._ . [ ] _l._ . _c. de tut. vel. cur. illustr. c. grandi. de sup. negl. præl._ [ ] _herod. in terpsych._ [ ] _herod. ibidem pausan. lib._ . [ ] _plut. aemil. in eius vita. oros. lib._ . _cap._ . [ ] _plut. in lisandr._ [ ] _ioseph. ant._ . _cap._ . [ ] _liu. lib._ . . _belli punici._ [ ] _allobroges._ [ ] _plut. in eius vita._ [ ] _mich. riccius._ [ ] _cons._ . _lib._ . [ ] _de l'estate de france. lib._ . [ ] onely the persians had rather a superstition then a law, that no man might be king who had but one eye: for which cause _cosroes_ the sonne of _cabades_ was preferred before _bozi_ his elder brother. _procop. lib._ . [ ] _bald. cons._ . _l._ . _socin. cons._ . _l._ . _card. alex. in c._ . _tit. an. mut. vel imperfect. and. isern. in c. vlt. tit. episc. vel abb._ [ ] _l. vlt. d. de senat. l._ . _d. de interd. & rel. l._ . _c. de libert. & eo. lib. l. diui. d. de iure patr. l. quæritur. d. de bo. lib. pan. cons._ . _l. . io. and. in c. significasti. de fo. comp._ [ ] _nubrig. lib._ . _ca._ . [ ] _nihil est quod male narrando non possit deprauarier. ter. in eun._ [ ] {kalon ti glôss' hotô pistis parê}, _eurip. res pulchra lingua cui siet fides._ [ ] {tous stratiôtas ploutizete, tôn oligôn pantôn kataphroneite.} _milites ditate, reliquos omnes spernite. severus apud dionem._ [ ] _concilium baronense._ [ ] _hæc conditio principum vt quicquid faciant præcipere videantur. quint. declam._ . [ ] _quæ fato manent quamuis significata non vitantur. tacit._ . _hist._ [ ] _seris venit vsus ab annis._ ouid. . metam. [ ] _in polyhim._ [ ] _iust. lib._ . _plut. de fraterna beneuolentia._ [ ] _antiq. lib._ . _cap._ . [ ] _guicc. lib._ . _blond. decad._ . _lib._ . [ ] _sigeb. in chron._ [ ] _l. neque doroth._ . _l. doctitij_ . _l. neminem._ . _cum l. pen. & vit. c. de decur. lib._ _l. ex libera._ . _c. suis & legit._ [ ] _l. imperialis._ . _§ his illud. c. de nupt. l. quincunque_ . _c. de princip. agent. in reb._ [ ] _l. eos qui._ . _d. de rit. nupt. l. etsi_ . _c. de nupt._ [ ] _l. senator._ . _c. de dignit. lib._ . [ ] _l. emancipatum._ . _d. de senat. facit l. diuo marco._ . _c. de quæst. l._ . _d. de interd. & rel. l._ . _c. de lib. & eor. libe._ [ ] _gl. in d. l. imperialis. bar. in l. si. senator. c. de dig. li._ . _bald. in l. cum suis d. de lib. posth. anch. & phil. franc. in c. ne aliqui de priuil. li._ . . _ana. in c._ . _de iudæ. facit l. ex libera. c. de su. & le. l. j. § fi. d. de bo. po. co. ta. l. si neque. §. si deport. d. de bon. libert. l. filij. §. senatores. d. ad municipia. l. quicunq; c. de princ. agen. in reb. lib._ . _& ib. luc. pen._ [ ] _in d. l. imperialis. § illud._ [ ] _in l. si senat. c. de dign. li._ . [ ] _in c. licet. de vot._ [ ] _in c. ex tenore. qui fil. sunt legit._ [ ] _in l._ _§. in filijs. d. de decu. & in l. moris. §. sed vtrum d. de poenis._ [ ] _sing._ . _& ib. addit._ [ ] _in tract. primogen._ [ ] _in c. adrianus. di._ . [ ] _in c. inter ceteras de rescrip._ [ ] _in l. bona fides. d. deposit._ [ ] _in tract. nobilitatis. part._ . _ad fin._ [ ] _in tract. de poten. & excellentia regia._ [ ] _pet. iac. in. arb. succ. reg. franc. io. ray. in c. prætereà. de prohi. feud. ali. & in tract. nobil. q._ . _iac. à s. georgio. in tract. feud. d. benedict. in rep. c. ramutius. n._ . _de test._ [ ] _in artax._ [ ] _blond. dec._ . _lib._ . _mich. ritius. de reg. hung. lib._ . [ ] _l. si quis. c. de poenis._ [ ] {dryos pesousês pas anêr xyleuetai.} [ ] . cor. . . [ ] _dunne_ a famous thiefe. [ ] _sapien._ . . [ ] _iam._ . . * * * * * * transcriber's note: original spellings were retained, including inconsistent spellings. sidenotes have been repositioned as endnotes. macrons have been replaced with the appropriate nasal (n, m). errata have been corrected in the text. this ebook was produced by tapio riikonen and david widger book iii. the house of godwin. chapter i. and all went to the desire of duke william the norman. with one hand he curbed his proud vassals, and drove back his fierce foes. with the other, he led to the altar matilda, the maid of flanders; and all happened as lanfranc had foretold. william's most formidable enemy, the king of france, ceased to conspire against his new kinsman; and the neighbouring princes said, "the bastard hath become one of us since he placed by his side the descendant of charlemagne." and mauger, archbishop of rouen, excommunicated the duke and his bride, and the ban fell idle; for lanfranc sent from rome the pope's dispensation and blessing [ ], conditionally only that bride and bridegroom founded each a church. and mauger was summoned before the synod, and accused of unclerical crimes; and they deposed him from his state, and took from him abbacies and sees. and england every day waxed more and more norman; and edward grew more feeble and infirm, and there seemed not a barrier between the norman duke and the english throne, when suddenly the wind blew in the halls of heaven, and filled the sails of harold the earl. and his ships came to the mouth of the severn. and the people of somerset and devon, a mixed and mainly a celtic race, who bore small love to the saxons, drew together against him, and he put them to flight. [ ] meanwhile, godwin and his sons sweyn, tostig, and gurth, who had taken refuge in that very flanders from which william the duke had won his bride,--(for tostig had wed, previously, the sister of matilda, the rose of flanders; and count baldwin had, for his sons-in-law, both tostig and william,)--meanwhile, i say, these, not holpen by the count baldwin, but helping themselves, lay at bruges, ready to join harold the earl. and edward, advised of this from the anxious norman, caused forty ships [ ] to be equipped, and put them under command of rolf, earl of hereford. the ships lay at sandwich in wait for godwin. but the old earl got from them, and landed quietly on the southern coast. and the fort of hastings opened to his coming with a shout from its armed men. all the boatmen, all the mariners, far and near, thronged to him, with sail and with shield, with sword and with oar. all kent (the foster- mother of the saxons) sent forth the cry, "life or death with earl godwin." [ ] fast over the length and breadth of the land, went the bodes [ ] and riders of the earl; and hosts, with one voice, answered the cry of the children of horsa, "life or death with earl godwin." and the ships of king edward, in dismay, turned flag and prow to london, and the fleet of harold sailed on. so the old earl met his young son on the deck of a war-ship, that had once borne the raven of the dane. swelled and gathering sailed the armament of the english men. slow up the thames it sailed, and on either shore marched tumultuous the swarming multitudes. and king edward sent after more help, but it came up very late. so the fleet of the earl nearly faced the julliet keape of london, and abode at southwark till the flood-tide came up. when he had mustered his host, then came the flood tide. [ ] chapter ii. king edward sate, not on his throne, but on a chair of state, in the presence-chamber of his palace of westminster. his diadem, with the three zimmes shaped into a triple trefoil [ ] on his brow, his sceptre in his right hand. his royal robe, tight to the throat, with a broad band of gold, flowed to his feet; and at the fold gathered round the left knee, where now the kings of england wear the badge of st. george, was embroidered a simple cross [ ]. in that chamber met the thegns and proceres of his realm; but not they alone. no national witan there assembled, but a council of war, composed at least one third part of normans--counts, knights, prelates, and abbots of high degree. and king edward looked a king! the habitual lethargic meekness had vanished from his face, and the large crown threw a shadow, like a frown, over his brow. his spirit seemed to have risen from the weight it took from the sluggish blood of his father, ethelred the unready, and to have remounted to the brighter and earlier sources of ancestral heroes. worthy in that hour he seemed to boast the blood and wield the sceptre of athelstan and alfred. [ ] thus spoke the king: "right worthy and beloved, my ealdermen, earls, and thegns of england; noble and familiar, my friends and guests, counts and chevaliers of normandy, my mother's land; and you, our spiritual chiefs, above all ties of birth and country, christendom your common appanage, and from heaven your seignories and fiefs,--hear the words of edward, the king of england under grace of the most high. the rebels are in our river; open yonder lattice, and you will see the piled shields glittering from their barks, and hear the hum of their hosts. not a bow has yet been drawn, not a sword left its sheath; yet on the opposite side of the river are our fleets of forty sail--along the strand, between our palace and the gates of london, are arrayed our armies. and this pause because godwin the traitor hath demanded truce and his nuncius waits without. are ye willing that we should hear the message? or would ye rather that we dismiss the messenger unheard, and pass at once, to rank and to sail, the war-cry of a christian king, 'holy crosse and our lady!'" the king ceased, his left hand grasping firm the leopard head carved on his throne, and his sceptre untrembling in his lifted hand. a murmur of notre dame, notre dame, the war-cry of the normans, was heard amongst the stranger-knights of the audience; but haughty and arrogant as those strangers were, no one presumed to take precedence, in england's danger, of men english born. slowly then rose alred, bishop of winchester, the worthiest prelate in all the land. [ ] "kingly son," said the bishop, "evil is the strife between men of the same blood and lineage, nor justified but by extremes, which have not yet been made clear to us. and ill would it sound throughout england were it said that the king's council gave, perchance, his city of london to sword and fire, and rent his land in twain, when a word in season might have disbanded yon armies, and given to your throne a submissive subject, where now you are menaced by a formidable rebel. wherefore, i say, admit the nuncius." scarcely had alred resumed his seat, before robert the norman prelate of canterbury started up,--a man, it was said, of worldly learning-- and exclaimed: "to admit the messenger is to approve the treason. i do beseech the king to consult only his own royal heart and royal honour. reflect-- each moment of delay swells the rebel hosts, strengthens their cause; of each moment they avail themselves to allure to their side the misguided citizens. delay but proves our own weakness; a king's name is a tower of strength, but only when fortified by a king's authority. give the signal for--war i call it not--no--for chastisement and justice." "as speaks my brother of canterbury, speak i," said william, bishop of london, another norman. but then there rose up a form at whose rising all murmurs were hushed. grey and vast, as some image of a gone and mightier age towered over all, siward, the son of beorn, the great earl of northumbria. "we have naught to do with the normans. were they on the river, and our countrymen, dane or saxon, alone in this hall, small doubt of the king's choice, and niddering were the man who spoke of peace; but when norman advises the dwellers of england to go forth and slay each other, no sword of mine shall be drawn at his hest. who shall say that siward of the strong arm, the grandson of the berserker, ever turned from a foe? the foe, son of ethelred, sits in these halls; i fight thy battles when i say nay to the norman! brothers-in-arms of the kindred race and common tongue, dane and saxon long intermingled, proud alike of canute the glorious and alfred the wise, ye will hear the man whom godwin, our countryman, sends to us; he at least will speak our tongue, and he knows our laws. if the demand he delivers be just, such as a king should grant, and our witan should hear, woe to him who refuses; if unjust be the demand, shame to him who accedes. warrior sends to warrior, countryman to countryman; hear we as countrymen, and judge as warriors. i have said." the utmost excitement and agitation followed the speech of siward,-- unanimous applause from the saxons, even those who in times of peace were most under the norman contagion; but no words can paint the wrath and scorn of the normans. they spoke loud and many at a time; the greatest disorder prevailed. but the majority being english, there could be no doubt as to the decision; and edward, to whom the emergence gave both a dignity and presence of mind rare to him, resolved to terminate the dispute at once. he stretched forth his sceptre, and motioning to his chamberlain, bade him introduce the nuncius. [ ] a blank disappointment, not unmixed with apprehensive terror, succeeded the turbulent excitement of the normans; for well they knew that the consequences, if not condition, of negotiations, would be their own downfall and banishment at the least;--happy, it might be, to escape massacre at the hands of the exasperated multitude. the door at the end of the room opened, and the nuncius appeared. he was a sturdy, broad-shouldered man, of middle age, and in the long loose garb originally national with the saxon, though then little in vogue; his beard thick and fair, his eyes grey and calm--a chief of kent, where all the prejudices of his race were strongest, and whose yeomanry claimed in war the hereditary right to be placed in the front of battle. he made his manly but deferential salutation to the august council as he approached; and, pausing midway between the throne and door, he fell on his knees without thought of shame, for the king to whom he knelt was the descendant of woden, and the heir of hengist. at a sign and a brief word from the king, still on his knees, vebba, the kentman, spoke. "to edward, son of ethelred, his most gracious king and lord, godwin, son of wolnoth, sends faithful and humble greeting, by vebba, the thegn-born. he prays the king to hear him in kindness, and judge of him with mercy. not against the king comes he hither with ships and arms; but against those only who would stand between the king's heart and the subject's: those who have divided a house against itself, and parted son and father, man and wife." at those last words edward's sceptre trembled in this hand, and his face grew almost stern. "of the king, godwin but prays with all submiss and earnest prayer, to reverse the unrighteous outlawry against him and his; to restore him and his sons their just possessions and well-won honours; and, more than all, to replace them where they have sought by loving service not unworthily to stand, in the grace of their born lord and in the van of those who would uphold the laws and liberties of england. this done-- the ships sail back to their haven; the thegn seeks his homestead and the ceorl returns to the plough; for with godwin are no strangers; and his force is but the love of his countrymen." "hast thou said?" quoth the king. "i have said." "retire, and await our answer." the thegn of kent was then led back into an ante-room, in which, armed from head to heel in ring-mail, were several normans whose youth or station did not admit them into the council, but still of no mean interest in the discussion, from the lands and possessions they had already contrived to gripe out of the demesnes of the exiles;--burning for battle and eager for the word. amongst these was mallet de graville. the norman valour of this young knight was, as we have seen, guided by norman intelligence; and he had not disdained, since william's departure, to study the tongue of the country in which he hoped to exchange his mortgaged tower on the seine, for some fair barony on the humber or the thames. while the rest of his proud countrymen stood aloof, with eyes of silent scorn, from the homely nuncius, mallet approached him with courteous bearing, and said in saxon: "may i crave to know the issue of thy message from the reb--that is from the doughty earl?" "i wait to learn it," said vebba, bluffly. "they heard thee throughout, then?" "throughout." "friendly sir," said the sire de graville, seeking to subdue the tone of irony habitual to him, and acquired, perhaps, from his maternal ancestry, the franks. "friendly and peace-making sir, dare i so far venture to intrude on the secrets of thy mission as to ask if godwin demands, among other reasonable items, the head of thy humble servant --not by name indeed, for my name is as yet unknown to him--but as one of the unhappy class called normans?" "had earl godwin," returned the nuncius, "thought fit to treat for peace by asking vengeance, he would have chosen another spokesman. the earl asks but his own; and thy head is not, i trow, a part of his goods and chattels." "that is comforting," said mallet. "marry, i thank thee, sir saxon; and thou speakest like a brave man and an honest. and if we fall to blows, as i suspect we shall, i should deem it a favour of our lady the virgin if she send thee across my way. next to a fair friend i love a bold foe." vebba smiled, for he liked the sentiment, and the tone and air of the young knight pleased his rough mind, despite his prejudices against the stranger. encouraged by the smile, mallet seated himself on the corner of the long table that skirted the room, and with a debonnair gesture invited vebba to do the same; then looking at him gravely, he resumed: "so frank and courteous thou art, sir envoy, that i yet intrude on thee my ignorant and curious questions." "speak out, norman." "how comes it, then, that you english so love this earl godwin?--still more, why think you it right and proper that king edward should love him too? it is a question i have often asked, and to which i am not likely in these halls to get answer satisfactory. if i know aught of your troublous history, this same earl has changed sides oft eno'; first for the saxon, then for canute the dane--canute dies, and your friend takes up arms for the saxon again. he yields to the advice of your witan, and sides with hardicanute and harold, the danes--a letter, nathless, is written as from emma, the mother to the young saxon princes, edward and alfred, inviting them over to england, and promising aid; the saints protect edward, who continues to say aves in normandy--alfred comes over, earl godwin meets him, and, unless belied, does him homage, and swears to him faith. nay, listen yet. this godwin, whom ye love so, then leads alfred and his train into the ville of guildford, i think ye call it,--fair quarters enow. at the dead of the night rush in king harold's men, seize prince and follower, six hundred men in all; and next morning, saving only every tenth man, they are tortured and put to death. the prince is born off to london, and shortly afterwards his eyes are torn out in the islet of ely, and he dies of the anguish! that ye should love earl godwin withal may be strange, but yet possible. but is it possible, cher envoy, for the king to love the man who thus betrayed his brother to the shambles?" "all this is a norman fable," said the thegn of kent, with a disturbed visage; "and godwin cleared himself on oath of all share in the foul murder of alfred." "the oath, i have heard, was backed," said the knight drily, "by a present to hardicanute, who after the death of king harold resolved to avenge the black butchery; a present, i say, of a gilt ship, manned by fourscore warriors with gold-hilted swords, and gilt helms.--but let this pass." "let it pass," echoed vebba with a sigh. "bloody were those times, and unholy their secrets." "yet answer me still, why love you earl godwin? he hath changed sides from party to party, and in each change won lordships and lands. he is ambitious and grasping, ye all allow; for the ballads sung in your streets liken him to the thorn and the bramble, at which the sheep leaves his wool. he is haughty and overbearing. tell me, o saxon, frank saxon, why you love godwin the earl? fain would i know; for, please the saints (and you and your earl so permitting), i mean to live and die in this merrie england; and it would be pleasant to learn that i have but to do as earl godwin, in order to win love from the english." the stout vebba looked perplexed; but after stroking his beard thoughtfully, he answered thus: "though of kent, and therefore in his earldom, i am not one of godwin's especial party; for that reason was i chosen his bode. those who are under him doubtless love a chief liberal to give and strong to protect. the old age of a great leader gathers reverence, as an oak gathers moss. but to me, and those like me, living peaceful at home, shunning courts, and tempting not broils, godwin the man is not dear-- it is godwin the thing." "though i do my best to know your language," said the knight, "ye have phrases that might puzzle king solomon. what meanest thou by 'godwin the thing'?" "that which to us godwin only seems to uphold. we love justice; whatever his offences, godwin was banished unjustly. we love our laws; godwin was dishonoured by maintaining them. we love england, and are devoured by strangers; godwin's cause is england's, and-- stranger, forgive me for not concluding." then examining the young norman with a look of rough compassion, he laid his large hand upon the knight's shoulder and whispered: "take my advice--and fly." "fly!" said de graville, reddening. "is it to fly, think you, that i have put on my mail, and girded my sword?" "vain--vain! wasps are fierce, but the swarm is doomed when the straw is kindled. i tell you this--fly in time, and you are safe; but let the king be so misguided as to count on arms, and strive against yon multitude, and verily before nightfall not one norman will be found alive within ten miles of the city. look to it, youth! perhaps thou hast a mother--let her not mourn a son!" before the norman could shape into saxon sufficiently polite and courtly his profound and indignant disdain of the counsel, his sense of the impertinence with which his shoulder had been profaned, and his mother's son had been warned, the nuncius was again summoned into the presence-chamber. nor did he return into the ante-room, but conducted forthwith from the council--his brief answer received--to the stairs of the palace, he reached the boat in which he had come, and was rowed back to the ship that held the earl and his sons. now this was the manoeuvre of godwin's array. his vessels having passed london bridge, had rested awhile on the banks of the southward suburb (suth-weorde)--since called southwark--and the king's ships lay to the north; but the fleet of the earl's, after a brief halt, veered majestically round, and coming close to the palace of westminster, inclined northward, as if to hem the king's ships. meanwhile the land forces drew up close to the strand, almost within bow-shot of the king's troops, that kept the ground inland; thus vebba saw before him, so near as scarcely to be distinguished from each other, on the river the rival fleets, on the shore the rival armaments. high above all the vessels towered the majestic bark, or aesca, that had borne harold from the irish shores. its fashion was that of the ancient sea-kings, to one of whom it had belonged. its curved and mighty prow, richly gilded, stood out far above the waves: the prow, the head of the sea-snake; the stern its spire; head and spire alike glittering in the sun. the boat drew up to the lofty side of the vessel, a ladder was lowered, the nuncius ascended lightly and stood on deck. at the farther end grouped the sailors, few in number, and at respectful distance from the earl and his sons. godwin himself was but half armed. his head was bare, nor had he other weapon of offence than the gilt battle-axe of the danes--weapon as much of office as of war; but his broad breast was covered with the ring mail of the time. his stature was lower than that of any of his sons; nor did his form exhibit greater physical strength than that of a man, well shaped, robust, and deep of chest, who still preserved in age the pith and sinew of mature manhood. neither, indeed, did legend or fame ascribe to that eminent personage those romantic achievements, those feats of purely animal prowess, which distinguished his rival, siward. brave he was, but brave as a leader; those faculties in which he appears to have excelled all his contemporaries, were more analogous to the requisites of success in civilised times, than those which won renown of old. and perhaps england was the only country then in europe which could have given to those faculties their fitting career. he possessed essentially the arts of party; he knew how to deal with vast masses of mankind; he could carry along with his interests the fervid heart of the multitude; he had in the highest degree that gift, useless in most other lands--in all lands where popular assemblies do not exist--the gift of popular eloquence. ages elapsed, after the norman conquest, ere eloquence again became a power in england. [ ] but like all men renowned for eloquence, he went with the popular feeling of his times; he embodied its passions, its prejudices--but also that keen sense of self-interest, which is the invariable characteristic of a multitude. he was the sense of the commonalty carried to its highest degree. whatever the faults, it may be the crimes, of a career singularly prosperous and splendid, amidst events the darkest and most terrible,--shining with a steady light across the thunder-clouds,--he was never accused of cruelty or outrage to the mass of the people. english, emphatically, the english deemed him; and this not the less that in his youth he had sided with canute, and owed his fortunes to that king; for so intermixed were danes and saxons in england, that the agreement which had given to canute one half the kingdom had been received with general applause; and the earlier severities of that great prince had been so redeemed in his later years by wisdom and mildness--so, even in the worst period of his reign, relieved by extraordinary personal affability, and so lost now in men's memories by pride in his power and fame,--that canute had left behind him a beloved and honoured name [ ], and godwin was the more esteemed as the chosen counsellor of that popular prince. at his death, godwin was known to have wished, and even armed, for the restoration of the saxon line; and only yielded to the determination of the witan, no doubt acted upon by the popular opinion. of one dark crime he was suspected, and, despite his oath to the contrary, and the formal acquittal of the national council, doubt of his guilt rested then, as it rests still, upon his name; viz., the perfidious surrender of alfred, edward's murdered brother. but time had passed over the dismal tragedy; and there was an instinctive and prophetic feeling throughout the english nation, that with the house of godwin was identified the cause of the english people. everything in this man's aspect served to plead in his favour. his ample brows were calm with benignity and thought; his large dark blue eyes were serene and mild, though their expression, when examined, was close and inscrutable. his mien was singularly noble, but wholly without formality or affected state; and though haughtiness and arrogance were largely attributed to him, they could be found only in his deeds, not manner--plain, familiar, kindly to all men, his heart seemed as open to the service of his countrymen as his hospitable door to their wants. behind him stood the stateliest group of sons that ever filled with pride a father's eye. each strikingly distinguished from the other, all remarkable for beauty of countenance and strength of frame. sweyn, the eldest [ ], had the dark hues of his mother the dane: a wild and mournful majesty sat upon features aquiline and regular, but wasted by grief or passion; raven locks, glossy even in neglect, fell half over eyes hollow in their sockets, but bright, though with troubled fire. over his shoulder he bore his mighty axe. his form, spare, but of immense power, was sheathed in mail, and he leant on his great pointed danish shield. at his feet sate his young son haco, a boy with a countenance preternaturally thoughtful for his years, which were yet those of childhood. next to him stood the most dreaded and ruthless of the sons of godwin --he, fated to become to the saxon what julian was to the goth. with his arms folded on his breast stood tostig; his face was beautiful as a greek's, in all save the forehead, which was low and lowering. sleek and trim were his bright chestnut locks; and his arms were damascened with silver, for he was one who loved the pomp and luxury of war. wolnoth, the mother's favourite, seemed yet in the first flower of youth, but he alone of all the sons had something irresolute and effeminate in his aspect and bearing; his form, though tall, had not yet come to its full height and strength; and, as if the weight of mail were unusual to him, he leant with both hands upon the wood of his long spear. leofwine, who stood next to wolnoth, contrasted him notably; his sunny locks wreathed carelessly over a white unclouded brow, and the silken hair on the upper lip quivered over arch lips, smiling, even in that serious hour. at godwin's right hand, but not immediately near him, stood the last of the group, gurth and harold. gurth had passed his arm over the shoulder of his brother, and, not watching the nuncius while he spoke, watched only the effect his words produced on the face of harold. for gurth loved harold as jonathan loved david. and harold was the only one of the group not armed; and had a veteran skilled in war been asked who of that group was born to lead armed men, he would have pointed to the man unarmed. "so what says the king?" asked earl godwin. "this; he refuses to restore thee and thy sons, or to hear thee, till thou hast disbanded thine army, dismissed thy ships, and consented to clear thyself and thy house before the witanagemot." a fierce laugh broke from tostig; sweyn's mournful brow grew darker; leofwine placed his right hand on his ateghar; wolnoth rose erect; gurth kept his eyes on harold, and harold's face was unmoved. "the king received thee in his council of war," said godwin, thoughtfully, "and doubtless the normans were there. who were the englishmen most of mark?" "siward of northumbria, thy foe." "my sons," said the earl, turning to his children, and breathing loud as if a load were off his heart; "there will be no need of axe or armour to-day. harold alone was wise," and he pointed to the linen tunic of the son thus cited. "what mean you, sir father?" said tostig, imperiously. "think you to----" "peace, son, peace;" said godwin, without asperity, but with conscious command. "return, brave and dear friend," he said to vebba, "find out siward the earl; tell him that i, godwin, his foe in the old time, place honour and life in his hands, and what he counsels that will we do.--go." the kent man nodded, and regained his boat. then spoke harold. "father, yonder are the forces of edward; as yet without leaders, since the chiefs must still be in the halls of the king. some fiery norman amongst them may provoke an encounter; and this city of london is not won, as it behoves us to win it, if one drop of english blood dye the sword of one english man. wherefore, with your leave, i will take boat, and land. and unless i have lost in my absence all right here in the hearts of our countrymen, at the first shout from our troops which proclaims that harold, son of godwin, is on the soil of our fathers, half yon array of spears and helms pass at once to our side." "and if not, my vain brother?" said tostig, gnawing his lip with envy. "and if not, i will ride alone into the midst of them, and ask what englishmen are there who will aim shaft or spear at this breast, never mailed against england!" godwin placed his hand on harold's head, and the tears came to those close cold eyes. "thou knowest by nature what i have learned by art. go, and prosper. be it as thou wilt." "he takes thy post, sweyn--thou art the elder," said tostig, to the wild form by his side. "there is guilt on my soul, and woe in my heart," answered sweyn, moodily. "shall esau lose his birthright, and cain retain it?" so saying, he withdrew, and, reclining against the stern of the vessel, leant his face upon the edge of his shield. harold watched him with deep compassion in his eyes, passed to his side with a quick step, pressed his hand, and whispered, "peace to the past, o my brother!" the boy haco, who had noiselessly followed his father, lifted his sombre, serious looks to harold as he thus spoke; and when harold turned away, he said to sweyn, timidly, "he, at least, is ever good to thee and to me." "and thou, when i am no more, shalt cling to him as thy father, haco," answered sweyn, tenderly smoothing back the child's dark locks. the boy shivered; and, bending his head, murmured to himself, "when thou art no more! no more? has the vala doomed him, too? father and son, both?" meanwhile, harold had entered the boat lowered from the sides of the aesca to receive him; and gurth, looking appealingly to his father, and seeing no sign of dissent, sprang down after the young earl, and seated himself by his side. godwin followed the boat with musing eyes. "small need," said he, aloud, but to himself, "to believe in soothsayers, or to credit hilda the saga, when she prophesied, ere we left our shores, that harold--" he stopped short, for tostig's wrathful exclamation broke on his reverie. "father, father! my blood surges in my ears, and boils in my heart, when i hear thee name the prophecies of hilda in favour of thy darling. dissension and strife in our house have they wrought already; and if the feuds between harold and me have sown grey in thy locks, thank thyself when, flushed with vain soothsayings for thy favoured harold, thou saidst, in the hour of our first childish broil, 'strive not with harold; for his brothers will be his men.'" "falsify the prediction," said godwin, calmly; "wise men may always make their own future, and seize their own fates. prudence, patience, labour, valour; these are the stars that rule the career of mortals." tostig made no answer; for the splash of oars was near, and two ships, containing the principal chiefs that had joined godwin's cause, came alongside the runic aesca to hear the result of the message sent to the king. tostig sprang to the vessel's side, and exclaimed, "the king, girt by his false counsellors, will hear us not, and arms must decide between us." "hold, hold! malignant, unhappy boy!" cried godwin, between his grinded teeth, as a shout of indignant, yet joyous ferocity broke from the crowded ships thus hailed. "the curse of all time be on him who draws the first native blood in sight of the altars and hearths of london! hear me, thou with the vulture's blood-lust, and the peacock's vain joy in the gaudy plume! hear me, tostig, and tremble. if but by one word thou widen the breach between me and the king, outlaw thou enterest england, outlaw shalt thou depart--for earldom and broad lands; choose the bread of the stranger, and the weregeld of the wolf!" the young saxon, haughty as he was, quailed at his father's thrilling voice, bowed his head, and retreated sullenly. godwin sprang on the deck of the nearest vessel, and all the passions that tostig had aroused, he exerted his eloquence to appease. in the midst of his arguments, there rose from the ranks on the strand, the shout of "harold! harold the earl! harold and holy crosse!" and godwin, turning his eye to the king's ranks, saw them agitated, swayed, and moving; till suddenly, from the very heart of the hostile array, came, as by irresistible impulse, the cry, "harold, our harold! all hail, the good earl!" while this chanced without,--within the palace, edward had quitted the presence-chamber, and was closeted with stigand, the bishop. this prelate had the more influence with edward, inasmuch as though saxon, he was held to be no enemy to the normans, and had, indeed, on a former occasion, been deposed from his bishopric on the charge of too great an attachment to the norman queen-mother emma [ ]. never in his whole life had edward been so stubborn as on this occasion. for here, more than his realm was concerned, he was threatened in the peace of his household, and the comfort of his tepid friendships. with the recall of his powerful father-in-law, he foresaw the necessary reintrusion of his wife upon the charm of his chaste solitude. his favourite normans would be banished, he should be surrounded with faces he abhorred. all the representations of stigand fell upon a stern and unyielding spirit, when siward entered the king's closet. "sir, my king," said the great son of beorn, "i yielded to your kingly will in the council, that, before we listened to godwin, he should disband his men, and submit to the judgment of the witan. the earl hath sent to me to say, that he will put honour and life in my keeping, and abide by my counsel. and i have answered as became the man who will never snare a foe, or betray a trust." "how hast thou answered?" asked the king. "that he abide by the laws of england; as dane and saxon agreed to abide in the days of canute; that he and his sons shall make no claim for land or lordship, but submit all to the witan." "good," said the king; "and the witan will condemn him now, as it would have condemned when he shunned to meet it." "and the witan now," returned the earl emphatically, "will be free, and fair, and just." "and meanwhile, the troops----" "will wait on either side; and if reason fail, then the sword," said siward. "this i will not hear," exclaimed edward; when the tramp of many feet thundered along the passage; the door was flung open, and several captains (norman as well as saxon) of the king's troops rushed in, wild, rude, and tumultuous. "the troops desert! half the ranks have thrown down their arms at the very name of harold!" exclaimed the earl of hereford. "curses on the knaves!" "and the lithsmen of london," cried a saxon thegn, "are all on his side, and marching already through the gates." "pause yet," whispered stigand; "and who shall say, this hour to- morrow, if edward or godwin reign on the throne of alfred?" his stern heart moved by the distress of his king, and not the less for the unwonted firmness which edward displayed, siward here approached, knelt, and took the king's hand. "siward can give no niddering counsel to his king; to save the blood of his subjects is never a king's disgrace. yield thou to mercy, godwin to the law!" "oh for the cowl and cell!" exclaimed the prince, wringing his hands. "oh norman home, why did i leave thee?" he took the cross from his breast, contemplated it fixedly, prayed silently but with fervour, and his face again became tranquil. "go," he said, flinging himself on his seat in the exhaustion that follows passion, "go, siward, go, stigand, deal with things mundane as ye will." the bishop, satisfied with this reluctant acquiescence, seized siward by the arm and withdrew him from the closet. the captains remained a few moments behind, the saxons silently gazing on the king, the normans whispering each other, in great doubt and trouble, and darting looks of the bitterest scorn at their feeble benefactor. then, as with one accord, these last rushed along the corridor, gained the hall where their countrymen yet assembled, and exclaimed, "a toute bride! franc etrier!--all is lost but life!--god for the first man,--knife and cord for the last!" then, as the cry of fire, or as the first crash of an earthquake, dissolves all union, and reduces all emotion into one thought of self- saving, the whole conclave, crowding pell-mell on each other, bustled, jostled, clamoured to the door--happy he who could find horse, palfrey,--even monk's mule! this way, that way, fled those lordly normans, those martial abbots, those mitred bishops--some singly, some in pairs; some by tens, and some by scores; but all prudently shunning association with those chiefs whom they had most courted the day before, and who, they now knew, would be the main mark for revenge; save only two, who yet, from that awe of the spiritual power which characterised the norman, who was already half monk, half soldier (crusader and templar before crusades were yet preached, or the templars yet dreamed of),--even in that hour of selfish panic rallied round them the prowest chivalry of their countrymen, viz., the bishop of london and the archbishop of canterbury. both these dignitaries, armed cap-a-pie, and spear in hand, headed the flight; and good service that day, both as guide and champion, did mallet de graville. he led them in a circuit behind both armies, but being intercepted by a new body, coming from the pastures of hertfordshire to the help of godwin, he was compelled to take the bold and desperate resort of entering the city gates. these were wide open; whether to admit the saxon earls, or vomit forth their allies, the londoners. through these, up the narrow streets, riding three abreast, dashed the slaughtering fugitives; worthy in flight of their national renown, they trampled down every obstacle. bodies of men drew up against them at every angle, with the saxon cry of "out--out!" "down with the outland men!" through each, spear pierced, and sword clove, the way. red with gore was the spear of the prelate of london; broken to the hilt was the sword militant in the terrible hand of the archbishop of canterbury. so on thy rode, so on they slaughtered--gained the eastern gate, and passed with but two of their number lost. the fields once gained, for better precaution they separated. some few, not quite ignorant of the saxon tongue, doffed their mail, and crept through forest and fell towards the sea-shore; others retained steed and arms, but shunned equally the high roads. the two prelates were among the last; they gained, in safety, ness, in essex, threw themselves into an open, crazy, fishing-boat, committed themselves to the waves, and, half drowned and half famished, drifted over the channel to the french shores. of the rest of the courtly foreigners, some took refuge in the forts yet held by their countrymen; some lay concealed in creeks and caves till they could find or steal boats for their passage. and thus, in the year of our lord , occurred the notable dispersion and ignominious flight of the counts and vavasours of great william the duke! chapter iii. the witana-gemot was assembled in the great hall of westminster in all its imperial pomp. it was on his throne that the king sate now--and it was the sword that was in his right hand. some seated below, and some standing beside, the throne, were the officers of the basileus [ ] of britain. there were to be seen camararius and pincerna, chamberlain and cupbearer; disc thegn and hors thegn [ ]; the thegn of the dishes, and the thegn of the stud; with many more, whose state offices may not impossibly have been borrowed from the ceremonial pomp of the byzantine court; for edgar, king of england, had in the old time styled himself the heir of constantine. next to these sat the clerks of the chapel, with the king's confessor at their head. officers were they of higher note than their name bespeaks, and wielders, in the trust of the great seal, of a power unknown of old, and now obnoxious to the saxon. for tedious is the suit which lingers for the king's writ and the king's seal; and from those clerks shall arise hereafter a thing of torture and of might, which shall grind out the hearts of men, and be called chancery! [ ] below the scribes, a space was left on the floor, and farther down sat the chiefs of the witan. of these, first in order, both from their spiritual rank and their vast temporal possessions, sat the lords of the church; the chairs of the prelates of london and canterbury were void. but still goodly was the array of saxon mitres, with the harsh, hungry, but intelligent face of stigand,--stigand the stout and the covetous; and the benign but firm features of alred, true priest and true patriot, distinguished amidst all. around each prelate, as stars round a sun, were his own special priestly retainers, selected from his diocese. farther still down the hall are the great civil lords and viceking vassals of the "lord-paramount." vacant the chair of the king of the scots, for siward hath not yet had his wish; macbeth is in his fastnesses, or listening to the weird sisters in the wold; and malcolm is a fugitive in the halls of the northumbrian earl. vacant the chair of the hero gryffyth, son of llewelyn, the dread of the marches, prince of gwyned, whose arms had subjugated all cymry. but there are the lesser sub-kings of wales, true to the immemorial schisms amongst themselves, which destroyed the realm of ambrosius, and rendered vain the arm of arthur. with their torques of gold, and wild eyes, and hair cut round ears and brow [ ], they stare on the scene. on the same bench with these sub-kings, distinguished from them by height of stature, and calm collectedness of mien, no less than by their caps of maintenance and furred robes, are those props of strong thrones and terrors of weak--the earls to whom shires and counties fall, as hyde and carricate to the lesser thegns. but three of these were then present, and all three the foes of godwin,--siward, earl of northumbria; leofric of mercia (that leofric whose wife godiva yet lives in ballad and song); and rolf, earl of hereford and worcestershire, who, strong in his claim of "king's blood," left not the court with his norman friends. and on the same benches, though a little apart, are the lesser earls, and that higher order of thegns, called king's thegns. not far from these sat the chosen citizens from the free burgh of london, already of great weight in the senate [ ],--sufficing often to turn its counsels; all friends were they of the english earl and his house. in the same division of the hall were found the bulk and true popular part of the meeting--popular indeed--as representing not the people, but the things the people most prized-valour and wealth; the thegn landowners, called in the old deeds the "ministers:" they sate with swords by their side, all of varying birth, fortune, and connection, whether with king, earl, or ceorl. for in the different districts of the old heptarchy, the qualification varied; high in east anglia, low in wessex; so that what was wealth in the one shire was poverty in the other. there sate, half a yeoman, the saxon thegn of berkshire or dorset, proud of his five hydes of land; there, half an ealderman, the danish thegn of norfolk or ely, discontented with his forty; some were there in right of smaller offices under the crown; some traders, and sons of traders, for having crossed the high seas three times at their own risk; some could boast the blood of offa and egbert; and some traced but three generations back to neatherd and ploughman; and some were saxons and some were danes: and some from the western shires were by origin britons, though little cognisant of their race. farther down still, at the extreme end of the hall, crowding by the open doors, filling up the space without, were the ceorls themselves, a vast and not powerless body; in these high courts (distinct from the shire gemots, or local senates)--never called upon to vote or to speak or to act, or even to sign names to the doom, but only to shout "yea, yea," when the proceres pronounced their sentence. yet not powerless were they, but rather to the witan what public opinion is to the witan's successor, our modern parliament: they were opinion! and according to their numbers and their sentiments, easily known and boldly murmured, often and often must that august court of basileus and prelate, vassal-king and mighty earl, have shaped the council and adjudged the doom. and the forms of the meeting had been duly said and done; and the king had spoken words no doubt wary and peaceful, gracious and exhortatory; but those words--for his voice that day was weak--travelled not beyond the small circle of his clerks and his officers; and a murmur buzzed through the hall, when earl godwin stood on the floor with his six sons at his back; and you might have heard the hum of the gnat that vexed the smooth cheek of earl rolf, or the click of the spider from the web on the vaulted roof, the moment before earl godwin spoke. "if," said he, with the modest look and downcast eye of practised eloquence, "if i rejoice once more to breathe the air of england, in whose service, often perhaps with faulty deeds, but at all times with honest thoughts, i have, both in war and council, devoted so much of my life that little now remains--but (should you, my king, and you, prelates, proceres, and ministers so vouchsafe) to look round and select that spot of my native soil which shall receive my bones;--if i rejoice to stand once more in that assembly which has often listened to my voice when our common country was in peril, who here will blame that joy? who among my foes, if foes now i have, will not respect the old man's gladness? who amongst you, earls and thegns, would not grieve, if his duty bade him say to the grey-haired exile, 'in this english air you shall not breathe your last sigh--on this english soil you shall not find a grave!' who amongst you would not grieve to say it?" (suddenly he drew up his head and faced his audience.) "who amongst you hath the courage and the heart to say it? yes, i rejoice that i am at last in an assembly fit to judge my cause, and pronounce my innocence. for what offence was i outlawed? for what offence were i, and the six sons i have given to my land, to bear the wolf's penalty, and be chased and slain as the wild beasts? hear me, and answer!" "eustace, count of boulogne, returning to his domains from a visit to our lord the king, entered the town of dover in mail and on his war steed; his train did the same. unknowing our laws and customs (for i desire to press light upon all old grievances, and will impute ill designs to none) these foreigners invade by force the private dwellings of citizens, and there select their quarters. ye all know that this was the strongest violation of saxon right; ye know that the meanest ceorl hath the proverb on his lip, 'every man's house is his castle.' one of the townsmen acting on this belief,--which i have yet to learn was a false one,--expelled from his threshold a retainer of the french earl's. the stranger drew his sword and wounded him; blows followed--the stranger fell by the arm he had provoked. the news arrives to earl eustace; he and his kinsmen spur to the spot; they murder the englishman on his hearth-stone.--" here a groan, half-stifled and wrathful, broke from the ceorls at the end of the hall. godwin held up his hand in rebuke of the interruption, and resumed. "this deed done, the outlanders rode through the streets with their drawn swords; they. butchered those who came in their way; they trampled even children under their horses' feet. the burghers armed. i thank the divine father, who gave me for my countrymen those gallant burghers! they fought, as we english know how to fight; they slew some nineteen or score of these mailed intruders; they chased them from the town. earl eustace fled fast. earl eustace, we know, is a wise man: small rest took he, little bread broke he, till he pulled rein at the gate of gloucester, where my lord the king then held court. he made his complaint. my lord the king, naturally hearing but one side, thought the burghers in the wrong; and, scandalised that such high persons of his own kith should be so aggrieved, he sent for me, in whose government the burgh of dover is, and bade me chastise, by military execution, those who had attacked the foreign count. i appeal to the great earls whom i see before me--to you, illustrious leofric; to you, renowned siward--what value would ye set on your earldoms, if ye had not the heart and the power to see right done to the dwellers therein?" "what was the course i proposed? instead of martial execution, which would involve the whole burgh in one sentence, i submitted that the reeve and gerefas of the burgh should be cited to appear before the king, and account for the broil. my lord, though ever most clement and loving to his good people, either unhappily moved against me, or overswayed by the foreigners, was counselled to reject this mode of doing justice, which our laws, as settled under edgar and canute, enjoin. and because i would not,--and i say in the presence of all, because i, godwin, son of wolnoth, durst not, if i would, have entered the free burgh of dover with mail on my back and the doomsman at my right hand, these outlanders induced my lord the king to summon me to attend in person (as for a sin of my own) the council of the witan, convened at gloucester, then filled with the foreigners, not, as i humbly opined, to do justice to me and my folk of dover, but to secure to this count of boulogne a triumph over english liberties, and sanction his scorn for the value of english lives." "i hesitated, and was menaced with outlawry; i armed in self-defence, and in defence of the laws of england; i armed, that men might not be murdered on their hearth-stones, nor children trampled under the hoofs of a stranger's war-steed. my lord the king gathered his troops round 'the cross and the martlets.' yon noble earls, siward and leofric, came to that standard, as (knowing not then my cause) was their duty to the basileus of britain. but when they knew my cause, and saw with me the dwellers of the land, against me the outland aliens, they righteously interposed. an armistice was concluded; i agreed to refer all matters to a witan held where it is held this day. my troops were disbanded; but the foreigners induced my lord not only to retain his own, but to issue his herr-bann for the gathering of hosts far and near, even allies beyond the seas. when i looked to london for the peaceful witan, what saw i? the largest armament that had been collected in this reign--that armament headed by norman knights. was this the meeting where justice could be done mine and me? nevertheless, what was my offer? that i and my six sons would attend, provided the usual sureties, agreeable to our laws, from which only thieves [ ] are excluded, were given that we should come and go life- free and safe. twice this offer was made, twice refused; and so i and my sons were banished. we went;--we have returned!" "and in arms," murmured earl rolf, son-in-law to that count eustace of boulogne, whose violence had been temperately and truly narrated. [ ] "and in arms," repeated godwin: "true; in arms against the foreigners who had thus poisoned the ear of our gracious king; in arms, earl rolf; and at the first clash of those arms, franks and foreigners have fled. we have no need of arms now. we are amongst our countrymen, and no frenchman interposes between us and the ever gentle; ever generous nature of our born king." "peers and proceres, chiefs of this witan, perhaps the largest ever yet assembled in man's memory, it is for you to decide whether i and mine, or the foreign fugitives, caused the dissensions in these realms; whether our banishment was just or not; whether in our return we have abused the power we possessed. ministers, on those swords by your sides there is not one drop of blood! at all events, in submitting to you our fate, we submit to our own laws and our own race. i am here to clear myself, on my oath, of deed and thought of treason. there are amongst my peers as king's thegns, those who will attest the same on my behalf, and prove the facts i have stated, if they are not sufficiently notorious. as for my sons, no crime can be alleged against them, unless it be a crime to have in their veins that blood which flows in mine--blood which they have learned from me to shed in defence of that beloved land to which they now ask to be recalled." the earl ceased and receded behind his children, having artfully, by his very abstinence from the more heated eloquence imputed to him often as a fault and a wile, produced a powerful effect upon an audience already prepared for his acquittal. but now as, from the sons, sweyn the eldest stepped forth; with a wandering eye and uncertain foot, there was a movement like a shudder amongst the large majority of the audience, and a murmur of hate or of horror. the young earl marked the sensation his presence produced, and stopped short. his breath came thick; he raised his right hand, but spoke not. his voice died on his lips; his eyes roved wildly round with a haggard stare more imploring than defying. then rose, in his episcopal stole, alred the bishop, and his clear sweet voice trembled as he spoke. "comes sweyn, son of godwin, here to prove his innocence of treason against the king?--if so, let him hold his peace; for if the witan acquit godwin, son of wolnoth, of that charge, the acquittal includes his house. but in the name of the holy church here represented by its fathers, will sweyn say, and fasten his word by oath, that he is guiltless of treason to the king of kings--guiltless of sacrilege that my lips shrink to name? alas, that the duty falls on me,--for i loved thee once, and love thy kindred now. but i am god's servant before all things"--the prelate paused, and gathering up new energy, added in unfaltering accents, "i charge thee here, sweyn the outlaw, that, moved by the fiend, thou didst bear off from god's house and violate a daughter of the church--algive, abbess of leominster!" "and i," cried siward, rising to the full height of his stature, "i, in the presence of these proceres, whose proudest title is milites or warriors--i charge sweyn, son of godwin, that, not in open field and hand to hand, but by felony and guile, he wrought the foul and abhorrent murder of his cousin, beorn the earl!" at these two charges from men so eminent, the effect upon the audience was startling. while those not influenced by godwin raised their eyes, sparkling with wrath and scorn, upon the wasted, yet still noble face of the eldest born, even those most zealous on behalf of that popular house evinced no sympathy for its heir. some looked down abashed and mournful--some regarded the accused with a cold, unpitying gaze. only perhaps among the ceorls, at the end of the hall, might be seen some compassion on anxious faces; for before those deeds of crime had been bruited abroad, none among the sons of godwin more blithe of mien and bold of hand, more honoured and beloved, than sweyn the outlaw. but the hush that succeeded the charges was appalling in its depth. godwin himself shaded his face with his mantle, and only those close by could see that his breast heaved and his limbs trembled. the brothers had shrunk from the side of the accused, outlawed even amongst his kin--all save harold, who, strong in his blameless name and beloved repute, advanced three strides, amidst the silence, and, standing by his brother's side, lifted his commanding brow above the seated judges, but he did not speak. then said sweyn the earl, strengthened by such solitary companionship in that hostile assemblage,--"i might answer that for these charges in the past, for deeds alleged as done eight long years ago, i have the king's grace, and the inlaw's right; and that in the witans over which i as earl presided, no man was twice judged for the same offence. that i hold to be the law, in the great councils as the small." "it is! it is!" exclaimed godwin: his paternal feelings conquering his prudence and his decorous dignity. "hold to it, my son!" "i hold to it not," resumed the young earl, casting a haughty glance over the somewhat blank and disappointed faces of his foes, "for my law is here"--and he smote his heart--"and that condemns me not once alone, but evermore! alred, o holy father, at whose knees i once confessed my every sin,--i blame thee not that thou first, in the witan, liftest thy voice against me, though thou knowest that i loved algive from youth upward; she, with her heart yet mine, was given in the last year of hardicanute, when might was right, to the church. i met her again, flushed with my victories over the walloon kings, with power in my hand and passion in my veins. deadly was my sin!--but what asked i? that vows compelled should be annulled; that the love of my youth might yet be the wife of my manhood. pardon, that i knew not then how eternal are the bonds ye of the church have woven round those of whom, if ye fail of saints, ye may at least make martyrs!" he paused, and his lip curled, and his eye shot wild fire; for in that moment his mother's blood was high within him, and he looked and thought, perhaps, as some heathen dane, but the flash of the firmer man was momentary, and humbly smiting his breast, he murmured,-- "avaunt, satan!--yea, deadly was my sin! and the sin was mine alone; algive, if stained, was blameless; she escaped--and--and died!" "the king was wroth; and first to strive against my pardon was harold my brother, who now alone in my penitence stands by my side: he strove manfully and openly; i blamed him not: but beorn, my cousin, desired my earldom; and he strove against me, wilily and in secret,--to my face kind, behind my back despiteful. i detected his falsehood, and meant to detain, but not to slay him. he lay bound in my ship; he reviled and he taunted me in the hour of my gloom; and when the blood of the sea-kings flowed in fire through my veins. and i lifted my axe in ire; and my men lifted theirs, and so,--and so!--again i say-- deadly was my sin! think not that i seek now to make less my guilt, as i sought when i deemed that life was yet long, and power was yet sweet. since then i have known worldly evil, and worldly good,--the storm and the shine of life; i have swept the seas, a sea-king; i have battled with the dane in his native land; i have almost grasped in my right hand, as i grasped in my dreams, the crown of my kinsman, canute;--again, i have been a fugitive and an exile;--again, i have been inlawed, and earl of all the lands from isis to the wye [ ]. and whether in state or in penury,--whether in war or in peace, i have seen the pale face of the nun betrayed, and the gory wounds of the murdered man. wherefore i come not here to plead for a pardon, which would console me not, but formally to dissever my kinsmen's cause from mine, which alone sullies and degrades it;--i come here to say, that, coveting not your acquittal, fearing not your judgment, i pronounce mine own doom. cap of noble, and axe of warrior, i lay aside for ever; barefooted, and alone, i go hence to the holy sepulchre; there to assoil my soul, and implore that grace which cannot come from man! harold, step forth in the place of sweyn the first-born! and ye prelates and peers, milites and ministers, proceed to adjudge the living! to you, and to england, he who now quits you is the dead!" he gathered his robe of state over his breast as a monk his gown, and looking neither to right nor to left, passed slowly down the hall, through the crowd, which made way for him in awe and silence; and it seemed to the assembly as if a cloud had gone from the face of day. and godwin still stood with his face covered by his robe. and harold anxiously watched the faces of the assembly, and saw no relenting. and gurth crept to harold's side. and the gay leofwine looked sad. and the young wolnoth turned pale and trembled. and the fierce tostig played with his golden chain. and one low sob was heard, and it came from the breast of alred the meek accuser,--god's firm but gentle priest. chapter iv. this memorable trial ended, as the reader will have forseen, in the formal renewal of sweyn's outlawry, and the formal restitution of the earl godwin and his other sons to their lands and honours, with declarations imputing all the blame of the late dissensions to the foreign favourites, and sentences of banishment against them, except only, by way of a bitter mockery, some varlets of low degree, such as humphrey cock's-foot, and richard son of scrob. [ ] the return to power of this able and vigorous family was attended with an instantaneous effect upon the long-relaxed strings of the imperial government. macbeth heard, and trembled in his moors; gryffyth of wales lit the fire-beacon on moel and craig. earl rolf was banished, but merely as a nominal concession to public opinion; his kinship to edward sufficed to restore him soon, not only to england, but to the lordship of the marches, and thither was he sent, with adequate force, against the welch, who had half-repossessed themselves of the borders they harried. saxon prelates and abbots replaced the norman fugitives; and all were contented with the revolution, save the king, for the king lost his norman friends, and regained his english wife. in conformity with the usages of the times, hostages of the loyalty and faith of godwin were required and conceded. they were selected from his own family; and the choice fell on wolnoth, his son, and haco, the son of sweyn. as, when nearly all england may be said to have repassed to the hands of godwin, it would have been an idle precaution to consign these hostages to the keeping of edward, it was settled, after some discussion, that they should be placed in the court of the norman duke until such time as the king, satisfied with the good faith of the family, should authorise their recall:--fatal hostage, fatal ward and host! it was some days after this national crisis, and order and peace were again established in city and land, forest and shire, when, at the setting of the sun, hilda stood alone by the altar-stone of thor. the orb was sinking red and lurid, amidst long cloud-wracks of vermeil and purple, and not one human form was seen in the landscape, save that tall and majestic figure by the runic shrine and the druid crommell. she was leaning both hands on her wand, or seid-staff, as it was called in the language of scandinavian superstition, and bending slightly forward as in the attitude of listening or expectation. long before any form appeared on the road below she seemed to be aware of coming footsteps, and probably her habits of life had sharpened her senses; for she smiled, muttered to herself, "ere it sets!" and changing her posture, leant her arm on the altar, and rested her face upon her hand. at length, two figures came up the road; they neared the hill; they saw her, and slowly ascended the knoll. the one was dressed in the serge of a pilgrim, and his cowl thrown back, showed the face where human beauty and human power lay ravaged and ruined by human passions. he upon whom the pilgrim lightly leaned was attired simply, without the brooch or bracelet common to thegns of high degree, yet his port was that of majesty, and his brow that of mild command. a greater contrast could not be conceived than that between these two men, yet united by a family likeness. for the countenance of the last described was, though sorrowful at that moment, and indeed habitually not without a certain melancholy, wonderfully imposing from its calm and sweetness. there, no devouring passions had left the cloud or ploughed the line; but all the smooth loveliness of youth took dignity from the conscious resolve of men. the long hair, of a fair brown, with a slight tinge of gold, as the last sunbeams shot through its luxuriance, was parted from the temples, and fell in large waves half way to the shoulder. the eyebrows, darker in hue, arched and finely traced; the straight features, not less manly than the norman, but less strongly marked: the cheek, hardy with exercise and exposure, yet still retaining somewhat of youthful bloom under the pale bronze of its sunburnt surface: the form tall, not gigantic, and vigorous rather from perfect proportion and athletic habits than from breadth and bulk--were all singularly characteristic of the saxon beauty in its highest and purest type. but what chiefly distinguished this personage, was that peculiar dignity, so simple, so sedate, which no pomp seems to dazzle, no danger to disturb; and which perhaps arises from a strong sense of self-dependence, and is connected with self- respect--a dignity common to the indian and the arab, and rare except in that state of society in which each man is a power in himself. the latin tragic poet touches close upon that sentiment in the fine lines-- "rex est qui metuit nihil; hoc regnum sibi quisque dat." [ ] so stood the brothers, sweyn the outlaw and harold the earl, before the reputed prophetess. she looked on both with a steady eye, which gradually softened almost into tenderness, as it finally rested upon the pilgrim. "and is it thus," she said at last, "that i see the first-born of godwin the fortunate, for whom so often i have tasked the thunder, and watched the setting sun? for whom my runes have been graven on the bark of the elm, and the scin-laeca [ ] been called in pale splendour from the graves of the dead?" "hilda," said sweyn, "not now will i accuse thee of the seeds thou hast sown: the harvest is gathered and the sickle is broken. abjure thy dark galdra [ ], and turn as i to the sole light in the future, which shines from the tomb of the son divine." the prophetess bowed her head and replied: "belief cometh as the wind. can the tree say to the wind, 'rest thou on my boughs,' or man to belief, 'fold thy wings on my heart'? go where thy soul can find comfort, for thy life hath passed from its use on earth. and when i would read thy fate, the runes are as blanks, and the wave sleeps unstirred on the fountain. go where the fylgia [ ], whom alfader gives to each at his birth, leads thee. thou didst desire love that seemed shut from thee, and i predicted that thy love should awake from the charnel in which the creed that succeeds to the faith of our sires inters life in its bloom. and thou didst covet the fame of the jarl and the viking, and i blessed thine axe to thy hand, and wove the sail for thy masts. so long as man knows desire, can hilda have power over his doom. but when the heart lies in ashes, i raise but a corpse, that at the hush of the charm falls again into its grave. yet, come to me nearer, o sweyn, whose cradle i rocked to the chaunt of my rhyme." the outlaw turned aside his face, and obeyed. she sighed as she took his passive hand in her own, and examined the lines on the palm. then, as if by an involuntary impulse of fondness and pity, she put aside his cowl and kissed his brow. "thy skein is spun, and happier than the many who scorn, and the few who lament thee, thou shalt win where they lose. the steel shall not smite thee, the storm shall forbear thee, the goal that thou yearnest for thy steps shall attain. night hallows the ruin,--and peace to the shattered wrecks of the brave!" the outlaw heard as if unmoved. but when he turned to harold, who covered his face with his hand; but could not restrain the tears that flowed through the clasped fingers, a moisture came into his own wild, bright eyes, and he said, "now, my brother, farewell, for no farther step shalt thou wend with me." harold started, opened his arms, and the outlaw fell upon his breast. no sound was heard save a single sob, and so close was breast to breast, that you could not say from whose heart it came. then the outlaw wrenched himself from the embrace, and murmured, "and haco--my son--motherless, fatherless--hostage in the land of the stranger! thou wilt remember--thou wilt shield him; thou be to him mother, father in the days to come! so may the saints bless thee!" with these words he sprang down the hillock. harold bounded after him; but sweyn, halting, said, mournfully, "is this thy promise? am i so lost that faith should be broken even with thy father's son?" at that touching rebuke, harold paused, and the outlaw passed his way alone. as the last glimpse of his figure vanished at the turn of the road, whence, on the second of may, the norman duke and the saxon king had emerged side by side, the short twilight closed abruptly, and up from the far forestland rose the moon. harold stood rooted to the spot, and still gazing on the space, when the vala laid her hand on his arm. "behold, as the moon rises on the troubled gloaming, so rises the fate of harold, as yon brief, human shadow, halting between light and darkness, passes away to night. thou art now the first-born of a house that unites the hopes of the saxon with the fortunes of the dane." "thinkest thou," said harold, with a stern composure, "that i can have joy and triumph in a brother's exile and woe?" "not now, and not yet, will the voice of thy true nature be heard; but the warmth of the sun brings the thunder, and the glory of fortune wakes the storm of the soul." "kinswoman," said harold, with a slight curl of his lip, "by me at least have thy prophecies ever passed as the sough of the air; neither in horror nor with faith do i think of thy incantations and charms; and i smile alike at the exorcism of the shaveling and the spells of the saga. i have asked thee not to bless mine axe, nor weave my sail. no runic rhyme is on the sword-blade of harold. i leave my fortunes to the chance of mine own cool brain and strong arm. vala, between thee and me there is no bond." the prophetess smiled loftily. "and what thinkest thou, o self-dependent! what thinkest thou is the fate which thy brain and thine arm shall will?" "the fate they have won already. i see no beyond. the fate of a man sworn to guard his country, love justice, and do right." the moon shone full on the heroic face of the young earl as he spoke; and on its surface there seemed nought to belie the noble words. yet, the prophetess, gazing earnestly on that fair countenance, said, in a whisper, that, despite a reason singularly sceptical for the age in which it had been cultured, thrilled to the saxon's heart, "under that calm eye sleeps the soul of thy sire, and beneath that brow, so haught and so pure, works the genius that crowned the kings of the north in the lineage of thy mother the dane." "peace!" said harold, almost fiercely; then, as if ashamed of the weakness of his momentary irritation, he added, with a faint smile, "let us not talk of these matters while my heart is still sad and away from the thoughts of the world, with my brother the lonely outlaw. night is on us, and the ways are yet unsafe; for the king's troops, disbanded in haste, were made up of many who turn to robbers in peace. alone, and unarmed, save my ateghar, i would crave a night's rest under thy roof; and"--he hesitated, and as light blush came over his cheek--"and i would fain see if your grandchild is as fair as when i last looked on her blue eyes, that then wept for harold ere he went into exile." "her tears are not at her command, nor her smiles," said the vala, solemnly; "her tears flow from the fount of thy sorrows, and her smiles are the beams from thy joys. for know, o harold! that edith is thine earthly fylgia; thy fate and her fate are as one. and vainly as man would escape from his shadow, would soul wrench itself from the soul that skulda hath linked to his doom." harold made no reply; but his step, habitually slow, grew more quick and light, and this time his reason found no fault with the oracles of the vala. chapter v. as hilda entered the hall, the various idlers accustomed to feed at her cost were about retiring, some to their homes in the vicinity, some, appertaining to the household, to the dormitories in the old roman villa. it was not the habit of the saxon noble, as it was of the norman, to put hospitality to profit, by regarding his guests in the light of armed retainers. liberal as the briton, the cheer of the board and the shelter of the roof were afforded with a hand equally unselfish and indiscriminate; and the doors of the more wealthy and munificent might be almost literally said to stand open from morn to eve. as harold followed the vala across the vast atrium, his face was recognised, and a shout of enthusiastic welcome greeted the popular earl. the only voices that did not swell that cry, were those of three monks from a neighbouring convent, who choose to wink at the supposed practices of the morthwyrtha [ ], from the affection they bore to her ale and mead, and the gratitude they felt for her ample gifts to their convent. "one of the wicked house, brother," whispered the monk. "yea; mockers and scorners are godwin and his lewd sons," answered the monk. and all three sighed and scowled, as the door closed on the hostess and her stately guest. two tall and not ungraceful lamps lighted the same chamber in which hilda was first presented to the reader. the handmaids were still at their spindles, and the white web nimbly shot as the mistress entered. she paused, and her brow knit, as she eyed the work. "but three parts done?" she said, "weave fast, and weave strong." harold, not heeding the maids or their task, gazed inquiringly round, and from a nook near the window, edith sprang forward with a joyous cry, and a face all glowing with delight--sprang forward, as if to the arms of a brother; but, within a step or so of that noble guest, she stopped short, and her eyes fell to the ground. harold held his breath in admiring silence. the child he had loved from her cradle stood before him as a woman. even since we last saw her, in the interval between the spring and the autumn, the year had ripened the youth of the maiden, as it had mellowed the fruits of the earth; and her cheek was rosy with the celestial blush, and her form rounded to the nameless grace, which say that infancy is no more. he advanced and took her hand, but for the first time in his life in their greetings, he neither gave nor received the kiss. "you are no child now, edith," said he, involuntarily; "but still set apart, i pray you, some remains of the old childish love for harold." edith's charming lips smiled softly; she raised her eyes to his, and their innocent fondness spoke through happy tears. but few words passed in the short interval between harold's entrance and his retirement to the chamber prepared for him in haste. hilda herself led him to a rude ladder which admitted to a room above, evidently added, by some saxon lord, to the old roman pile. the ladder showed the precaution of one accustomed to sleep in the midst of peril, for, by a kind of windlass in the room, it could be drawn up at the inmate's will, and, so drawn, left below a dark and deep chasm, delving down to the foundations of the house; nevertheless the room itself had all the luxury of the time; the bedstead was quaintly carved, and of some rare wood; a trophy of arms--though very ancient, sedulously polished--hung on the wall. there were the small round shield and spear of the earlier saxon, with his vizorless helm, and the short curved knife or saex [ ], from which some antiquarians deem that the saxish men take their renowned name. edith, following hilda, proffered to the guest, on a salver of gold, spiced wines and confections; while hilda, silently and unperceived, waved her seid-staff over the bed, and rested her pale hand on the pillow. "nay, sweet cousin," said harold, smiling, "this is not one of the fashions of old, but rather, methinks, borrowed from the frankish manners in the court of king edward." "not so, harold," answered hilda, quickly turning; such was ever the ceremony due to saxon king, when he slept in a subject's house, ere our kinsmen the danes introduced that unroyal wassail, which left subject and king unable to hold or to quaff cup, when the board was left for the bed." "thou rebukest, o hilda, too tauntingly, the pride of godwin's house, when thou givest to his homely son the ceremonial of a king. but, so served, i envy not kings, fair edith." he took the cup, raised it to his lips, and when he placed it on the small table by his side the women had left the chamber, and he was alone. he stood for some minutes absorbed in reverie, and his soliloquy ran somewhat thus: "why said the vala that edith's fate was inwoven with mine? and why did i believe and bless the vala, when she so said? can edith ever be my wife? the monk-king designs her for the cloister--woe, and well-a- day! sweyn, sweyn, let thy doom forewarn me! and if i stand up in my place and say, 'give age and grief to the cloister--youth and delight to man's hearth,' what will answer the monks? 'edith cannot be thy wife, son of godwin, for faint and scarce traced though your affinity of blood, ye are within the banned degrees of the church. edith may be wife to another, if thou wilt,--barren spouse of the church or mother of children who lisp not harold's name as their father.' out on these priests with their mummeries, and out on their war upon human hearts!" his fair brow grew stern and fierce as the norman duke's in his ire; and had you seen him at the moment you would have seen the true brother of sweyn. he broke from his thoughts with the strong effort of a man habituated to self-control, and advanced to the narrow window, opened the lattice, and looked out. the moon was in all her splendour. the long deep shadows of the breathless forest chequered the silvery whiteness of open sward and intervening glade. ghostly arose on the knoll before him the grey columns of the mystic druid,--dark and indistinct the bloody altar of the warrior god. but there his eye was arrested; for whatever is least distinct and defined in a landscape has the charm that is the strongest; and, while he gazed, he thought that a pale phosphoric light broke from the mound with the bautastein, that rose by the teuton altar. he thought, for he was not sure that it was not some cheat of the fancy. gazing still, in the centre of that light there appeared to gleam forth, for one moment, a form of superhuman height. it was the form of a man, that seemed clad in arms like those on the wall, leaning on a spear, whose point was lost behind the shafts of the crommell. and the face grew in that moment distinct from the light which shimmered around it, a face large as some early god's, but stamped with unutterable and solemn woe. he drew back a step, passed his hand over his eyes, and looked again. light and figure alike had vanished; nought was seen save the grey columns and dim fane. the earl's lip curved in derision of his weakness. he closed the lattice, undressed, knelt for a moment or so by the bedside, and his prayer was brief and simple, nor accompanied with the crossings and signs customary in his age. he rose, extinguished the lamp, and threw himself on the bed. the moon, thus relieved of the lamp-light, came clear and bright through the room, shone on the trophied arms, and fell upon harold's face, casting its brightness on the pillow on which the vala had breathed her charm. and harold slept--slept long--his face calm, his breathing regular: but ere the moon sunk and the dawn rose the features were dark and troubled, the breath came by gasps, the brow was knit, and the teeth clenched. this ebook was produced by tapio riikonen and david widger book xi. the norman schemer, and the norwegian sea-king. chapter i. it was the eve of the th of january--the eve of the day announced to king edward as that of his deliverance from earth; and whether or not the prediction had wrought its own fulfilment on the fragile frame and susceptible nerves of the king, the last of the line of cerdic was fast passing into the solemn shades of eternity. without the walls of the palace, through the whole city of london, the excitement was indescribable. all the river before the palace was crowded with boats; all the broad space on the isle of thorney itself, thronged with anxious groups. but a few days before the new-built abbey had been solemnly consecrated; with the completion of that holy edifice, edward's life itself seemed done. like the kings of egypt, he had built his tomb. within the palace, if possible, still greater was the agitation; more dread the suspense. lobbies, halls, corridors, stairs, ante-rooms, were filled with churchmen and thegns. nor was it alone for news of the king's state that their brows were so knit, that their breath came and went so short. it is not when a great chief is dying, that men compose their minds to deplore a loss. that comes long after, when the worm is at its work, and comparison between the dead and the living often rights the one to wrong the other. but while the breath is struggling, and the eye glazing, life, busy in the bystanders, murmurs, "who shall be the heir?" and, in this instance, never had suspense been so keenly wrought up into hope and terror. for the news of duke william's designs had now spread far and near; and awful was the doubt, whether the abhorred norman should receive his sole sanction to so arrogant a claim from the parting assent of edward. although, as we have seen, the crown was not absolutely within the bequests of a dying king, but at the will of the witan, still, in circumstances so unparalleled, the utter failure of all natural heirs, save a boy feeble in mind as body, and half foreign by birth and rearing; the love borne by edward to the church; and the sentiments, half of pity half of reverence, with which he was regarded throughout the land;--his dying word would go far to influence the council and select the successor. some whispering to each other, with pale lips, all the dire predictions then current in men's mouths and breasts; some in moody silence; all lifted eager eyes, as, from time to time, a gloomy benedictine passed in the direction to or fro the king's chamber. in that chamber, traversing the past of eight centuries, enter we with hushed and noiseless feet--a room known to us in many a later scene and legend of england's troubled history, as "the painted chamber," long called "the confessor's." at the farthest end of that long and lofty space, raised upon a regal platform, and roofed with regal canopy, was the bed of death. at the foot stood harold; on one side knelt edith, the king's lady; at the other alred; while stigand stood near--the holy rood in his hand-- and the abbot of the new monastery of westminster by stigand's side; and all the greatest thegns, including morcar and edwin, gurth and leofwine, all the more illustrious prelates and abbots, stood also on the dais. in the lower end of the hall, the king's physician was warming a cordial over the brazier, and some of the subordinate officers of the household were standing in the niches of the deep-set windows; and they--not great eno' for other emotions than those of human love for their kindly lord--they wept. the king, who had already undergone the last holy offices of the church, was lying quite quiet, his eyes half closed, breathing low but regularly. he had been speechless the two preceding days; on this he had uttered a few words, which showed returning consciousness. his hand, reclined on the coverlid, was clasped in his wife's who was praying fervently. something in the touch of her hand, or the sound of her murmur, stirred the king from the growing lethargy, and his eyes opening, fixed on the kneeling lady. "ah?" said he faintly, "ever good, ever meek! think not i did not love thee; hearts will be read yonder; we shall have our guerdon." the lady looked up through her streaming tears. edward released his hand, and laid it on her head as in benediction. then motioning to the abbot of westminster, he drew from his finger the ring which the palmer had brought to him [ ], and murmured scarce audibly: "be this kept in the house of st. peter in memory of me!" "he is alive now to us--speak--" whispered more than one thegn, one abbot, to alred and to stigand. and stigand, as the harder and more worldly man of the two, moved up, and bending over the pillow, between alred and the king, said: "o royal son, about to win the crown to which that of earth is but an idiot's wreath of withered leaves, not yet may thy soul forsake us. whom commendest thou to us as shepherd to thy bereaven flock? whom shall we admonish to tread in those traces thy footsteps leave below?" the king made a slight gesture of impatience; and the queen, forgetful of all but her womanly sorrow, raised her eye and finger in reproof that the dying was thus disturbed. but the stake was too weighty, the suspense too keen, for that reverent delicacy in those around; and the thegns pressed on each other, and a murmur rose, which murmured the name of harold. "bethink thee, my son," said alred, in a tender voice tremulous with emotion; "the young atheling is too much an infant yet for these anxious times." edward signed his head in assent. "then," said the norman bishop of london, who till that moment had stood in the rear, almost forgotten amongst the crowd of saxon prelates, but who himself had been all eyes and ears. "then," said bishop william, advancing, "if thine own royal line so fail, who so near to thy love, who so worthy to succeed, as william thy cousin, the count of the normans?" dark was the scowl on the brow of every thegn, and a muttered "no, no: never the norman!" was heard distinctly. harold's face flushed, and his hand was on the hilt of his ateghar. but no other sign gave he of his interest in the question. the king lay for some moments silent, but evidently striving to re- collect his thoughts. meanwhile the two archprelates bent over him-- stigand eagerly, alred fondly. then raising himself on one arm, while with the other he pointed to harold at the foot of the bed, the king said: "your hearts, i see, are with harold the earl: so be it." at those words he fell back on his pillow; a loud shriek burst from his wife's lips; all crowded around; he lay as the dead. at the cry, and the indescribable movement of the throng, the physician came quick from the lower part of the hall. he made his way abruptly to the bedside, and said chidingly, "air, give him air." the throng parted, the leach moistened the king's pale lips with the cordial, but no breath seemed to come forth, no pulse seemed to beat; and while the two prelates knelt before the human body and by the blessed rood, the rest descended the dais, and hastened to depart. harold only remained; but he had passed from the foot to the head of the bed. the crowd had gained the centre of the hall, when a sound that startled them as if it had come from the grave, chained every footstep--the sound of the king's voice, loud, terribly distinct, and full, as with the vigour of youth restored. all turned their eyes, appalled; all stood spell-bound. there sate the king upright on the bed, his face seen above the kneeling prelates, and his eyes bright and shining down the hall. "yea," he said, deliberately, "yea, as this shall be a real vision or a false illusion, grant me, almighty one, the power of speech to tell it." he paused a moment, and thus resumed: "it was on the banks of the frozen seine, this day thirty-and-one winters ago, that two holy monks, to whom the gift of prophecy was vouchsafed, told me of direful woes that should fall on england; 'for god,' said they, 'after thy death, has delivered england into the hand of the enemy, and fiends shall wander over the land.' then i asked in my sorrow, 'can nought avert the doom? and may not my people free themselves by repentance, like the ninevites of old?' and the prophets answered, 'nay, nor shall the calamity cease, and the curse be completed, till a green tree be sundered in twain, and the part cut off be carried away; yet move, of itself, to the ancient trunk, unite to the stem, bud out with the blossom, and stretch forth its fruit.' so said the monks, and even now, ere i spoke, i saw them again, there, standing mute, and with the paleness of dead men, by the side of my bed!" these words were said so calmly, and as it were so rationally, that their import became doubly awful from the cold precision of the tone. a shudder passed through the assembly, and each man shrunk from the king's eye, which seemed to each man to dwell on himself. suddenly that eye altered in its cold beam; suddenly the voice changed its deliberate accent; the grey hairs seemed to bristle erect, the whole face to work with horror; the arms stretched forth, the form writhed on the couch, distorted fragments from the lips: "sanguelac! sanguelac!--the lake of blood," shrieked forth the dying king, "the lord hath bent his bow--the lord hath bared his sword. he comes down as a warrior to war, and his wrath is in the steel and the flame. he boweth the mountains, and comes down, and darkness is under his feet!" as if revived but for these tremendous denunciations, while the last word left his lips the frame collapsed, the eyes set, and the king fell a corpse in the arms of harold. but one smile of the sceptic or the world-man was seen on the paling lips of those present: that smile was not on the lips of warriors and men of mail. it distorted the sharpened features of stigand, the world-man and the miser, as, passing down, and amidst the group, he said, "tremble ye at the dreams of a sick old man?" [ ] chapter ii. the time of year customary for the national assembly; the recent consecration of westminster, for which edward had convened all his chief spiritual lords, the anxiety felt for the infirm state of the king, and the interest as to the impending succession--all concurred to permit the instantaneous meeting of a witan worthy, from rank and numbers, to meet the emergency of the time, and proceed to the most momentous election ever yet known in england. the thegns and prelates met in haste. harold's marriage with aldyth, which had taken place but a few weeks before, had united all parties with his own; not a claim counter to the great earl's was advanced; the choice was unanimous. the necessity of terminating at such a crisis all suspense throughout the kingdom, and extinguishing the danger of all counter intrigues, forbade to men thus united any delay in solemnising their decision; and the august obsequies of edward were followed on the same day by the coronation of harold. it was in the body of the mighty abbey church, not indeed as we see it now, after successive restorations and remodellings, but simple in its long rows of saxon arch and massive column, blending the first teuton with the last roman masonries, that the crowd of the saxon freemen assembled to honour the monarch of their choice. first saxon king, since england had been one monarchy, selected not from the single house of cerdic--first saxon king, not led to the throne by the pale shades of fabled ancestors tracing their descent from the father-god of the teuton, but by the spirits that never know a grave--the arch- eternal givers of crowns, and founders of dynasties-valour and fame. alred and stigand, the two great prelates of the realm, had conducted harold to the church [ ], and up the aisle to the altar, followed by the chiefs of the witan in their long robes; and the clergy with their abbots and bishops sung the anthems--"fermetur manus tua," and "gloria patri." and now the music ceased; harold prostrated himself before the altar, and the sacred melody burst forth with the great hymn, "te deum." as it ceased, prelate and thegn raised their chief from the floor, and in imitation of the old custom of teuton and northman--when the lord of their armaments was borne on shoulder and shield--harold mounted a platform, and rose in full view of the crowd. "thus," said the arch-prelate, "we choose harold son of godwin for lord and for king." and the thegns drew round, and placed hand on harold's knee, and cried aloud, "we choose thee, o harold, for lord and for king." and row by row, line by line, all the multitude shouted forth, "we choose thee, o harold, for lord and king." so there he stood with his calm brow, facing all, monarch of england, and basileus of britain. now unheeded amidst the throng, and leaning against a column in the arches of the aisle, was a woman with her veil round her face; and she lifted the veil for a moment to gaze on that lofty brow, and the tears were streaming fast down her cheek, but her face was not sad. "let the vulgar not see, to pity or scorn thee, daughter of kings as great as he who abandons and forsakes thee!" murmured a voice in her ear; and the form of hilda, needing no support from column or wall, rose erect by the side of edith. edith bowed her head and lowered the veil, as the king descended the platform and stood again by the altar, while clear through the hushed assembly rang the words of his triple promise to his people: "peace to his church and the christian flock." "interdict of rapacity and injustice." "equity and mercy in his judgments, as god the gracious and just might show mercy to him." and deep from the hearts of thousands came the low "amen." then after a short prayer, which each prelate repeated, the crowd saw afar the glitter of the crown held over the head of the king. the voice of the consecrator was heard, low till it came to the words "so potently and royally may he rule, against all visible and invisible foes, that the royal throne of the angles and saxons may not desert his sceptre." as the prayer ceased, came the symbolical rite of anointment. then pealed the sonorous organ [ ], and solemn along the aisles rose the anthem that closed with the chorus which the voice of the multitude swelled, "may the king live for ever!" then the crown that had gleamed in the trembling hand of the prelate, rested firm in its splendour on the front of the king. and the sceptre of rule, and the rod of justice, "to sooth the pious and terrify the bad," were placed in the royal hands. and the prayer and the blessings were renewed,-- till the close; "bless, lord, the courage of this prince, and prosper the works of his hand. with his horn, as the horn of the rhinoceros, may he blow the waters to the extremities of the earth; and may he who has ascended to the skies be his aid for ever!" then hilda stretched forth her hand to lead edith from the place. but edith shook her head and murmured "but once again, but once!" and with involuntary step moved on. suddenly, close where she paused, the crowd parted, and down the narrow lane so formed amidst the wedged and breathless crowd came the august procession;--prelate and thegn swept on from the church to the palace; and alone, with firm and measured step, the diadem on his brow, the sceptre in his hand, came the king. edith checked the rushing impulse at her heart, but she bent forward, with veil half drawn aside, and so gazed on that face and form of more than royal majesty, fondly, proudly. the king swept on and saw her not; love lived no more for him. chapter iii. the boat shot over the royal thames. borne along the waters, the shouts and the hymns of swarming thousands from the land shook, like a blast, the gelid air of the wolf month. all space seemed filled and noisy with the name of harold the king. fast rowed the rowers,--on shot the boat; and hilda's face, stern and ominous, turned to the still towers of the palace, gleaming wide and white in the wintry sun. suddenly edith lifted her hand from her bosom, and said passionately: "o mother of my mother, i cannot live again in the house where the very walls speak to me of him; all things chain my soul to the earth; and my soul should be in heaven, that its prayers may be heard by the heedful angels. the day that the holy lady of england predicted hath come to pass, and the silver cord is loosed at last. ah why, why did i not believe her then? why did i then reject the cloister? yet no, i will not repent; at least i have been loved! but now i will go to the nunnery of waltham, and kneel at the altars he hath hallowed to the mone and the monechyn." "edith," said the vala, "thou wilt not bury thy life yet young in the living grave! and, despite all that now severs you--yea, despite harold's new and loveless ties--still clearer than ever it is written in the heavens, that a day shall come, in which you are to be evermore united. many of the shapes i have seen, many of the sounds i have heard, in the trance and the dream, fade in the troubled memory of waking life. but never yet hath grown doubtful or dim the prophecy, that the truth pledged by the grave shall be fulfilled." "oh, tempt not! oh, delude not!" cried edith, while the blood rushed over her brow. "thou knowest this can not be. another's! he is another's! and in the words thou hast uttered there is deadly sin." "there is no sin in the resolves of a fate that rules us in spite of ourselves. tarry only till the year bring round the birth-day of harold; for my sayings shall be ripe with the grape, and when the feet of the vineherd are red in the month of the vine [ ], the nornas shall knit ye together again!" edith clasped her hands mutely, and looked hard into the face of hilda,--looked and shuddered she knew not why. the boat landed on the eastern shore of the river, beyond the walls of the city, and then edith bent her way to the holy walls of waltham. the frost was sharp in the glitter of the unwarming sun; upon leafless boughs hung the barbed ice-gems; and the crown was on the brows of harold! and at night, within the walls of the convent, edith heard the hymns of the kneeling monks; and the blasts howled, and the storm arose, and the voices of destroying hurricanes were blent with the swell of the choral hymns. chapter iv. tostig sate in the halls of bruges, and with him sate judith, his haughty wife. the earl and his countess were playing at chess, (or the game resembling it, which amused the idlesse of that age,) and the countess had put her lord's game into mortal disorder, when tostig swept his hand over the board, and the pieces rolled on the floor. "that is one way to prevent defeat," said judith, with a half smile and half frown. "it is the way of the bold and the wise, wife mine," answered tostig, rising, "let all be destruction where thou thyself canst win not! peace to these trifles! i cannot keep my mind to the mock fight; it flies to the real. our last news sours the taste of the wine, and steals the sleep from my couch. it says that edward cannot live through the winter, and that all men bruit abroad, there can be no king save harold my brother." "and will thy brother as king give to thee again thy domain as earl?" "he must!" answered tostig, "and, despite all our breaches, with soft message he will. for harold has the heart of the saxon, to which the sons of one father are dear; and githa, my mother, when we first fled, controlled the voice of my revenge, and bade me wait patient and hope yet." scarce had these words fallen from tostig's lips, when the chief of his danish house-carles came in, and announced the arrival of a bode from england. "his news? his news?" cried the earl, "with his own lips let him speak his news." the house-carle withdrew but to usher in the messenger, an anglo-dane. "the weight on thy brow shows the load on thy heart," cried tostig. "speak, and be brief." "edward is dead." "ha? and who reigns?" "thy brother is chosen and crowned." the face of the earl grew red and pale in a breath, and successive emotions of envy and old rivalship, humbled pride and fierce discontent, passed across his turbulent heart. but these died away as the predominant thought of self-interest, and somewhat of that admiration for success which often seems like magnanimity in grasping minds, and something too of haughty exultation, that he stood a king's brother in the halls of his exile, came to chase away the more hostile and menacing feelings. then judith approached with joy on her brow, and said: "we shall no more eat the bread of dependence even at the hand of a father; and since harold hath no dame to proclaim to the church, and to place on the dais, thy wife, o my tostig, will have state in far england little less than her sister in rouen." "methinks so will it be," said tostig. "how now, nuncius? why lookest thou so grim, and why shakest thou thy head?" "small chance for thy dame to keep state in the halls of the king; small hope for thyself to win back thy broad earldom. but a few weeks ere thy brother won the crown, he won also a bride in the house of thy spoiler and foe. aldyth, the sister of edwin and morcar, is lady of england; and that union shuts thee out from northumbria for ever." at these words, as if stricken by some deadly and inexpressible insult, the earl recoiled, and stood a moment mute with rage and amaze. his singular beauty became distorted into the lineaments of a fiend. he stamped with his foot, as he thundered a terrible curse. then haughtily waving his hand to the bode, in sign of dismissal, he strode to and fro the room in gloomy perturbation. judith, like her sister matilda, a woman fierce and vindictive, continued, by that sharp venom that lies in the tongue of the sex, to incite still more the intense resentment of her lord. perhaps some female jealousies of aldyth might contribute to increase her own indignation. but without such frivolous addition to anger, there was cause eno' in this marriage thoroughly to complete the alienation between the king and his brother. it was impossible that one so revengeful as tostig should not cherish the deepest animosity, not only against the people that had rejected, but the new earl that had succeeded him. in wedding the sister of this fortunate rival and despoiler, harold could not, therefore, but gall him in his most sensitive sores of soul. the king, thus, formally approved and sanctioned his ejection, solemnly took part with his foe, robbed him of all legal chance of recovering his dominions, and, in the words of the bode, "shut him out from northumbria for ever." nor was this even all. grant his return to england; grant a reconciliation with harold; still those abhorred and more fortunate enemies, necessarily made now the most intimate part of the king's family, must be most in his confidence, would curb and chafe and encounter tostig in every scheme for his personal aggrandisement. his foes, in a word, were in the camp of his brother. while gnashing his teeth with a wrath the more deadly because he saw not yet his way to retribution,--judith, pursuing the separate thread of her own cogitations, said: "and if my sister's lord, the count of the normans, had, as rightly he ought to have, succeeded his cousin the monk-king, then i should have a sister on the throne, and thou in her husband a brother more tender than harold. one who supports his barons with sword and mail, and gives the villeins rebelling against them but the brand and the cord." "ho!" cried tostig, stopping suddenly in his disordered strides, "kiss me, wife, for those words! they have helped thee to power, and lit me to revenge. if thou wouldst send love to thy sister, take graphium and parchment, and write fast as a scribe. ere the sun is an hour older, i am on my road to count william." chapter v. the duke of the normans was in the forest, or park land, of rouvray, and his quens and his knights stood around him, expecting some new proof of his strength and his skill with the bow. for the duke was trying some arrows, a weapon he was ever employed in seeking to improve; sometimes shortening, sometimes lengthening, the shaft; and suiting the wing of the feather, and the weight of the point, to the nicest refinement in the law of mechanics. gay and debonnair, in the brisk fresh air of the frosty winter, the great count jested and laughed as the squires fastened a live bird by the string to a stake in the distant sward; and "pardex," said duke william, "conan of bretagne, and philip of france, leave us now so unkindly in peace, that i trow we shall never again have larger butt for our arrows than the breast of yon poor plumed trembler." as the duke spoke and laughed, all the sere boughs behind him rattled and cranched, and a horse at full speed came rushing over the hard rime of the sward. the duke's smile vanished in the frown of his pride. "bold rider and graceless," quoth he, "who thus comes in the presence of counts and princes?" right up to duke william spurred the rider, and then leaped from his steed; vest and mantle, yet more rich than the duke's, all tattered and soiled. no knee bent the rider, no cap did he doff; but seizing the startled norman with the gripe of a hand as strong as his own, he led him aside from the courtiers, and said: "thou knowest me, william? though not thus alone should i come to thy court, if i did not bring thee a crown." "welcome, brave tostig!" said the duke, marvelling. "what meanest thou? nought but good, by thy words and thy smile." "edward sleeps with the dead!--and harold is king of all england!" "king!--england!--king!" faltered william, stammering in his agitation. "edward dead!--saints rest him! england then is mine! king!--i am the king! harold hath sworn it; my quens and prelates heard him; the bones of the saints attest the oath!" "somewhat of this have i vaguely learned from our beau-pere count baldwin; more will i learn at thy leisure; but take meanwhile, my word as miles and saxon,--never, while there is breath on his lips, or one beat in his heart, will my brother, lord harold, give an inch of english land to the norman." william turned pale and faint with emotion, and leant for support against a leafless oak. busy were the rumours, and anxious the watch, of the quens and knights, as their prince stood long in the distant glade, conferring with the rider, whom one or two of them had recognised as tostig, the spouse of matilda's sister. at length, side by side, still talking earnestly, they regained the group; and william, summoning the lord of tancarville, bade him conduct tostig to rouen, the towers of which rose through the forest trees. "rest and refresh thee, noble kinsman," said the duke; "see and talk with matilda. i will join thee anon." the earl remounted his steed, and saluting the company with a wild and hasty grace, soon vanished amidst the groves. then william, seating himself on the sward, mechanically unstrung his bow, sighing oft, and oft frowning; and--without vouchsafing other word to his lords than "no further sport to-day!" rose slowly, and went alone through the thickest parts of the forest. but his faithful fitzosborne marked his gloom, and fondly followed him. the duke arrived at the borders of the seine, where his galley waited him. he entered, sat down on the bench, and took no notice of fitzosborne, who quietly stepped in after his lord, and placed himself on another bench. the little voyage to rouen was performed in silence, and as soon as he had gained his palace, without seeking either tostig or matilda, the duke turned into the vast hall, in which he was wont to hold council with his barons; and walked to and fro "often," say the chronicles, "changing posture and attitude, and oft loosening and tightening, and drawing into knots, the strings of his mantle." fitzosborne, meanwhile, had sought the ex-earl, who was closeted with matilda; and now returning, he went boldly up to the duke, whom no one else dared approach, and said: "why, my liege, seek to conceal what is already known--what ere the eve will be in the mouths of all? you are troubled that edward is dead, and that harold, violating his oath, has seized the english realm." "truly," said the duke mildly, and with the tone of a meek man much injured; "my dear cousin's death, and the wrongs i have received from harold, touch me nearly." then said fitzosborne, with that philosophy, half grave as became the scandinavian, half gay as became the frank: "no man should grieve for what he can help--still less for what he cannot help. for edward's death, i trow, remedy there is none; but for harold's treason, yea! have you not a noble host of knights and warriors? what want you to destroy the saxon and seize his realm? what but a bold heart? a great deed once well begun, is half done. begin, count of the normans, and we will complete the rest." starting from his sorely tasked dissimulation; for all william needed, and all of which he doubted, was the aid of his haughty barons; the duke raised his head, and his eyes shone out. "ha, sayest thou so! then, by the splendour of god, we will do this deed. haste thou--rouse hearts, nerve hands--promise, menace, win! broad are the lands of england, and generous a conqueror's hand. go and prepare all my faithful lords for a council, nobler than ever yet stirred the hearts and strung the hands of the sons of rou." chapter vi. brief was the sojourn of tostig at the court of rouen; speedily made the contract between the grasping duke and the revengeful traitor. all that had been promised to harold, was now pledged to tostig--if the last would assist the norman to the english throne. at heart, however, tostig was ill satisfied. his chance conversations with the principal barons, who seemed to look upon the conquest of england as the dream of a madman, showed him how doubtful it was that william could induce his quens to a service, to which the tenure of their fiefs did not appear to compel them; and at all events, tostig prognosticated delays, that little suited his fiery impatience. he accepted the offer of some two or three ships, which william put at his disposal, under pretence to reconnoitre the northumbrian coasts, and there attempt a rising in his own favour. but his discontent was increased by the smallness of the aid afforded him; for william, ever suspicious, distrusted both his faith and his power. tostig, with all his vices, was a poor dissimulator, and his sullen spirit betrayed itself when he took leave of his host. "chance what may," said the fierce saxon, "no stranger shall seize the english crown without my aid. i offer it first to thee. but thou must come to take it in time, or----" "or what?" asked the duke, gnawing his lip. "or the father race of rou will be before thee! my horse paws without. farewell to thee, norman; sharpen thy swords, hew out thy vessels, and goad thy slow barons." scarce had tostig departed, ere william began to repent that he had so let him depart: but seeking counsel of lanfranc, that wise minister reassured him. "fear no rival, son and lord," said he. "the bones of the dead are on thy side, and little thou knowest, as yet, how mighty their fleshless arms! all tostig can do is to distract the forces of harold. leave him to work out his worst; nor then be in haste. much hath yet to be done--cloud must gather and fire must form, ere the bolt can be launched. send to harold mildly, and gently remind him of oath and of relics--of treaty and pledge. put right on thy side, and then----" "ah, what then?" "rome shall curse the forsworn--rome shall hallow thy banner; this be no strife of force against force, but a war of religion; and thou shalt have on thy side the conscience of man, and the arm of the church." meanwhile, tostig embarked at harfleur; but instead of sailing to the northern coasts of england, he made for one of the flemish ports: and there, under various pretences, new manned the norman vessels with flemings, fins, and northmen. his meditations during his voyage had decided him not to trust to william; and he now bent his course, with fair wind and favouring weather, to the shores of his maternal uncle, king sweyn of denmark. in truth, to all probable calculation, his change of purpose was politic. the fleets of england were numerous, and her seamen renowned. the normans had neither experience nor fame in naval fights; their navy itself was scarcely formed. thus, even william's landing in england was an enterprise arduous and dubious. moreover, even granting the amplest success, would not this norman prince, so profound and ambitious, be a more troublesome lord to earl tostig than his own uncle sweyn? so, forgetful of the compact at rouen, no sooner had the saxon lord come in presence of the king of the danes, than he urged on his kinsman the glory of winning again the sceptre of canute. a brave, but a cautious and wily veteran, was king sweyn; and a few days before tostig arrived, he had received letters from his sister githa, who, true to godwin's command, had held all that harold did and counselled, as between himself and his brother, wise and just. these letters had placed the dane on his guard, and shown him the true state of affairs in england. so king sweyn, smiling, thus answered his nephew tostig: "a great man was canute, a small man am i: scarce can i keep my danish dominion from the gripe of the norwegian, while canute took norway without slash and blow [ ]; but great as he was, england cost him hard fighting to win, and sore peril to keep. wherefore, best for the small man to rule by the light of his own little sense, nor venture to count on the luck of great canute;--for luck but goes with the great." "thine answer," said tostig, with a bitter sneer, "is not what i expected from an uncle and warrior. but other chiefs may be found less afraid of the luck of high deeds." "so," saith the norwegian chronicler, "not just the best friends, the earl left the king," and went on in haste to harold hardrada of norway. true hero of the north, true darling of war and of song, was harold hardrada! at the terrible battle of stiklestad, at which his brother, st. olave, had fallen, he was but fifteen years of age, but his body was covered with the wounds of a veteran. escaping from the field, he lay concealed in the house of a bonder peasant, remote in deep forests, till his wounds were healed. thence, chaunting by the way, (for a poet's soul burned bright in hardrada,) "that a day would come when his name would be great in the land he now left," he went on into sweden, thence into russia, and after wild adventures in the east, joined, with the bold troop he had collected around him, that famous body-guard of the greek emperors [ ], called the vaeringers, and of these he became the chief. jealousies between himself and the greek general of the imperial forces, (whom the norwegian chronicler calls gyrger,) ended in harold's retirement with his vaeringers into the saracen land of africa. eighty castles stormed and taken, vast plunder in gold and in jewels, and nobler meed in the song of the scald and the praise of the brave, attested the prowess of the great scandinavian. new laurels, blood-stained, new treasures, sword-won, awaited him in sicily; and thence, rough foretype of the coming crusader, he passed on to jerusalem. his sword swept before him moslem and robber. he bathed in jordan, and knelt at the holy cross. returned to constantinople, the desire for his northern home seized hardrada. there he heard that his nephew magnus, the illegitimate son of st. olave, had become king of norway,--and he himself aspired to a throne. so he gave up his command under zoe the empress; but, if scald be believed, zoe the empress loved the bold chief, whose heart was set on maria her niece. to detain hardrada, a charge of mal- appropriation, whether of pay or of booty, was brought against him. he was cast into prison. but when the brave are in danger, the saints send the fair to their help! moved by a holy dream, a greek lady lowered ropes from the roof of the tower to the dungeon wherein hardrada was cast. he escaped from the prison, he aroused his vaeringers, they flocked round their chief; he went to the house of his lady maria, bore her off to the galley, put out into the black sea, reached novgorod, (at the friendly court of whose king he had safely lodged his vast spoils,) sailed home to the north: and, after such feats as became sea-king of old, received half of norway from magnus, and on the death of his nephew the whole of that kingdom passed to his sway. a king so wise and so wealthy, so bold and so dread, had never yet been known in the north. and this was the king to whom came tostig the earl, with the offer of england's crown. it was one of the glorious nights of the north, and winter had already begun to melt into early spring, when two men sate under a kind of rustic porch of rough pine-logs, not very unlike those seen now in switzerland and the tyrol. this porch was constructed before a private door, to the rear of a long, low, irregular building of wood which enclosed two or more courtyards, and covering an immense space of ground. this private door seemed placed for the purpose of immediate descent to the sea; for the ledge of the rock over which the log-porch spread its rude roof, jutted over the ocean; and from it a rugged stair, cut through the crag, descended to the beach. the shore, with bold, strange, grotesque slab, and peak, and splinter, curved into a large creek; and close under the cliff were moored seven warships, high and tall, with prows and sterns all gorgeous with gilding in the light of the splendid moon. and that rude timber house, which seemed but a chain of barbarian huts linked into one, was a land palace of hardrada of norway; but the true halls of his royalty, the true seats of his empire, were the decks of those lofty war-ships. through the small lattice-work of the windows of the loghouse, lights blazed; from the roof-top smoke curled; from the hall on the other side of the dwelling, came the din of tumultuous wassail, but the intense stillness of the outer air, hushed in frost, and luminous with stars, contrasted and seemed to rebuke the gross sounds of human revel. and that northern night seemed almost as bright as (but how much more augustly calm, than) the noon of the golden south! on a table within the ample porch was an immense bowl of birchwood, mounted in silver, and filled with potent drink, and two huge horns, of size suiting the mighty wassailers of the age. the two men seemed to care nought for the stern air of the cold night--true that they were wrapped in furs reft from the polar bear. but each had hot thoughts within, that gave greater warmth to the veins than the bowl or the bearskin. they were host and guest; and as if with the restlessness of his thoughts, the host arose from his seat, and passed through the porch and stood on the bleak rock under the light of the moon; and so seen, he seemed scarcely human, but some war-chief of the farthest time,-- yea, of a time ere the deluge had shivered those rocks, and left beds on the land for the realm of that icy sea. for harold hardrada was in height above all the children of modern men. five ells of norway made the height of harold hardrada [ ]. nor was this stature accompanied by any of those imperfections in symmetry, nor by that heaviness of aspect, which generally render any remarkable excess above human stature and strength rather monstrous than commanding. on the contrary, his proportions were just; his appearance noble; and the sole defect that the chronicler remarks in his shape, was "that his hands and feet were large, but these were well made." [ ] his face had all the fair beauty of the norseman; his hair, parted in locks of gold over a brow that bespoke the daring of the warrior and the genius of the bard, fell in glittering profusion to his shoulders; a short beard and long moustache of the same colour as the hair, carefully trimmed, added to the grand and masculine beauty of the countenance, in which the only blemish was the peculiarity of one eyebrow being somewhat higher than the other [ ], which gave something more sinister to his frown, something more arch to his smile. for, quick of impulse, the poet-titan smiled and frowned often. harold hardrada stood in the light of the moon, and gazing thoughtfully on the luminous sea. tostig marked him for some moments where he sate in the porch, and then rose and joined him. "why should my words so disturb thee, o king of the norseman?" "is glory, then, a drug that soothes to sleep?" returned the norwegian. "i like thine answer," said tostig, smiling, "and i like still more to watch thine eye gazing on the prows of thy war-ships. strange indeed it were if thou, who hast been fighting fifteen years for the petty kingdom of denmark, shouldst hesitate now, when all england lies before thee to seize." "i hesitate," replied the king, "because he whom fortune has befriended so long, should beware how he strain her favour too far. eighteen pitched battles fought i in the saracen land, and in every one was a victor--never, at home or abroad, have i known shame and defeat. doth the wind always blow from one point?--and is fate less unstable than the wind?" "now, out on thee, harold hardrada," said tostig the fierce; "the good pilot wins his way through all winds, and the brave heart fastens fate to its flag. all men allow that the north never had warrior like thee; and now, in the mid-day of manhood, wilt thou consent to repose on the mere triumph of youth?" "nay," said the king, who, like all true poets, had something of the deep sense of a sage, and was, indeed, regarded as the most prudent as well as the most adventurous chief in the northland,--"nay, it is not by such words, which my soul seconds too well, that thou canst entrap a ruler of men. thou must show me the chances of success, as thou wouldst to a grey-beard. for we should be as old men before we engage, and as youths when we wish to perform." then the traitor succinctly detailed all the weak points in the rule of his brother. a treasury exhausted by the lavish and profitless waste of edward; a land without castle or bulwark, even at the mouths of the rivers; a people grown inert by long peace, and so accustomed to own lord and king in the northern invaders, that a single successful battle might induce half the population to insist on the saxon coming to terms with the foe, and yielding, as ironsides did to canute, one half of the realm. he enlarged on the terror of the norsemen that still existed throughout england, and the affinity between the northumbrians and east anglians with the race of hardrada. that affinity would not prevent them from resisting at the first; but grant success, and it would reconcile them to the after sway. and, finally, he aroused hardrada's emulation by the spur of the news, that the count of the normans would seize the prize if he himself delayed to forestall him. these various representations, and the remembrance of canute's victory, decided hardrada; and, when tostig ceased, he stretched his hand towards his slumbering warships, and exclaimed: "eno'; you have whetted the beaks of the ravens, and harnessed the steeds of the sea!" chapter vii. meanwhile, king harold of england had made himself dear to his people, and been true to the fame he had won as harold the earl. from the moment of his accession, "he showed himself pious, humble, and affable [ ], and omitted no occasions to show any token of bounteous liberality, gentleness, and courteous behaviour."--"the grievous customs, also, and taxes which his predecessors had raised, he either abolished or diminished; the ordinary wages of his servants and men- of-war he increased, and further showed himself very well bent to all virtue and goodness." [ ] extracting the pith from these eulogies, it is clear that, as wise statesman no less than as good king, harold sought to strengthen himself in the three great elements of regal power;--conciliation of the church, which had been opposed to his father; the popular affection, on which his sole claim to the crown reposed; and the military force of the land, which had been neglected in the reign of his peaceful predecessor. to the young atheling he accorded a respect not before paid to him; and, while investing the descendant of the ancient line with princely state, and endowing him with large domains, his soul, too great for jealousy, sought to give more substantial power to his own most legitimate rival, by tender care and noble counsels,--by efforts to raise a character feeble by nature, and denationalised by foreign rearing. in the same broad and generous policy, harold encouraged all the merchants from other countries who had settled in england, nor were even such normans as had escaped the general sentence of banishment on godwin's return, disturbed in their possessions. "in brief," saith the anglo-norman chronicler [ ], "no man was more prudent in the land, more valiant in arms, in the law more sagacious, in all probity more accomplished:" and "ever active," says more mournfully the saxon writer, "for the good of his country, he spared himself no fatigue by land or by sea." [ ] from this time, harold's private life ceased. love and its charms were no more. the glow of romance had vanished. he was not one man; he was the state, the representative, the incarnation of saxon england: his sway and the saxon freedom, to live or fall together! the soul really grand is only tested in its errors. as we know the true might of the intellect by the rich resources and patient strength with which it redeems a failure, so do we prove the elevation of the soul by its courageous return into light, its instinctive rebound into higher air, after some error that has darkened its vision and soiled its plumes. a spirit less noble and pure than harold's, once entering on the dismal world of enchanted superstition, had habituated itself to that nether atmosphere; once misled from hardy truth and healthful reason, it had plunged deeper and deeper into the maze. but, unlike his contemporary, macbeth, the man escaped from the lures of the fiend. not as hecate in hell, but as dian in heaven, did he confront the pale goddess of night. before that hour in which he had deserted the human judgment for the ghostly delusion; before that day in which the brave heart, in its sudden desertion, had humbled his pride--the man, in his nature, was more strong than the god. now, purified by the flame that had scorched, and more nerved from the fall that had stunned,--that great soul rose sublime through the wrecks of the past, serene through the clouds of the future, concentering in its solitude the destinies of mankind, and strong with instinctive eternity amidst all the terrors of time. king harold came from york, whither he had gone to cement the new power of morcar, in northumbria, and personally to confirm the allegiance of the anglo-danes:--king harold came from york, and in the halls of westminster he found a monk who awaited him with the messages of william the norman. bare-footed, and serge-garbed, the norman envoy strode to the saxon's chair of state. his form was worn with mortification and fast, and his face was hueless and livid, with the perpetual struggle between zeal and flesh. "thus saith william, count of the normans," began hugues maigrot, the monk. "with grief and amaze hath he heard that you, o harold, his sworn liege-man, have, contrary to oath and to fealty, assumed the crown that belongs to himself. but, confiding in thy conscience, and forgiving a moment's weakness, he summons thee, mildly and brother- like, to fulfil thy vow. send thy sister, that he may gave her in marriage to one of his quens. give him up the stronghold of dover; march to thy coast with thine armies to aid him,--thy liege lord,--and secure him the heritage of edward his cousin. and thou shalt reign at his right-hand, his daughter thy bride, northumbria thy fief, and the saints thy protectors." the king's lip was firm, though pale, as he answered: "my young sister, alas! is no more: seven nights after i ascended the throne, she died: her dust in the grave is all i could send to the arms of the bridegroom. i cannot wed the child of thy count: the wife of harold sits beside him." and he pointed to the proud beauty of aldyth, enthroned under the drapery of gold. "for the vow that i took, i deny it not. but from a vow of compulsion, menaced with unworthy captivity, extorted from my lips by the very need of the land whose freedom had been bound in my chains--from a vow so compelled, church and conscience absolve me. if the vow of a maiden on whom to bestow but her hand, when unknown to her parents, is judged invalid by the church, how much more invalid the oath that would bestow on a stranger the fates of a nation [ ], against its knowledge, and unconsulting its laws! this royalty of england hath ever rested on the will of the people, declared through its chiefs in their solemn assembly. they alone who could bestow it, have bestowed it on me:--i have no power to resign it to another--and were i in my grave, the trust of the crown would not pass to the norman, but return to the saxon people." "is this, then, thy answer, unhappy son?" said the monk, with a sullen and gloomy aspect. "such is my answer." "then, sorrowing for thee, i utter the words of william. 'with sword and with mail will he come to punish the perjurer: and by the aid of st. michael, archangel of war, he will conquer his own.' amen." "by sea and by land, with sword and with mail, will we meet the invader," answered the king, with a flashing eye. "thou hast said:-- so depart." the monk turned and withdrew. "let the priest's insolence chafe thee not, sweet lord," said aldyth. "for the vow which thou mightest take as subject, what matters it now thou art king?" harold made no answer to aldyth, but turned to his chamberlain, who stood behind his throne chair. "are my brothers without?" "they are: and my lord the king's chosen council." "admit them: pardon, aldyth; affairs fit only for men claim me now." the lady of england took the hint, and rose. "but the even-mete will summon thee soon," said she. harold, who had already descended from his chair of state, and was bending over a casket of papers on the table, replied: "there is food here till the morrow; wait me not." aldyth sighed, and withdrew at the one door, while the thegns most in harold's confidence entered at the other. but, once surrounded by her maidens, aldyth forgot all, save that she was again a queen,--forgot all, even to the earlier and less gorgeous diadem which her lord's hand had shattered on the brows of the son of pendragon. leofwine, still gay and blithe-hearted, entered first: gurth followed, then haco, then some half-score of the greater thegns. they seated themselves at the table, and gurth spoke first: "tostig has been with count william." "i know it," said harold. "it is rumoured that he has passed to our uncle sweyn." "i foresaw it," said the king. "and that sweyn will aid him to reconquer england for the dane." "my bode reached sweyn, with letters from githa, before tostig; my bode has returned this day. sweyn has dismissed tostig; sweyn will send fifty ships, armed with picked men, to the aid of england." "brother," cried leofwine, admiringly, "thou providest against danger ere we but surmise it." "tostig," continued the king, unheeding the compliment, "will be the first assailant: him we must meet. his fast friend is malcolm of scotland: him we must secure. go thou, leofwine, with these letters to malcolm.--the next fear is from the welch. go thou, edwin of mercia, to the princes of wales. on thy way, strengthen the forts and deepen the dykes of the marches. these tablets hold thy instructions. the norman, as doubtless ye know, my thegns, hath sent to demand our crown, and hath announced the coming of his war. with the dawn i depart to our port at sandwich [ ], to muster our fleets. thou with me, gurth." "these preparations need much treasure," said an old thegn, "and thou hast lessened the taxes at the hour of need." "not yet is it the hour of need. when it comes, our people will the more readily meet it with their gold as with their iron. there was great wealth in the house of godwin; that wealth mans the ships of england. what hast thou there, haco?" "thy new-issued coin: it hath on its reverse the word peace." [ ] who ever saw one of those coins of the last saxon king, the bold simple head on the one side, that single word "peace" on the other, and did not feel awed and touched! what pathos in that word compared with the fate which it failed to propitiate! "peace," said harold: "to all that doth not render peace, slavery. yea, may i live to leave peace to our children! now, peace only rests on our preparation for war. you, morcar, will return with all speed to york, and look well to the mouth of the humber." then, turning to each of the thegns successively he gave to each his post and his duty; and that done, converse grew more general. the many things needful that had been long rotting in neglect under the monk-king, and now sprung up, craving instant reform, occupied them long and anxiously. but cheered and inspirited by the vigour and foresight of harold, whose earlier slowness of character seemed winged by the occasion into rapid decision (as is not uncommon with the englishman), all difficulties seemed light, and hope and courage were in every breast. chapter viii. back went hugues maigrot, the monk, to william, and told the reply of harold to the duke, in the presence of lanfranc. william himself heard it in gloomy silence, for fitzosborne as yet had been wholly unsuccessful in stirring up the norman barons to an expedition so hazardous, in a cause so doubtful; and though prepared for the defiance of harold, the duke was not prepared with the means to enforce his threats and make good his claim. so great was his abstraction, that he suffered the lombard to dismiss the monk without a word spoken by him; and he was first startled from his reverie by lanfranc's pale hand on his vast shoulder, and lanfranc's low voice in his dreamy ear: "up! hero of europe: for thy cause is won! up! and write with thy bold characters, bold as if graved with the point of the sword, my credentials to rome. let me depart ere the sun sets: and as i go, look on the sinking orb, and behold the sun of the saxon that sets evermore on england!" then briefly, that ablest statesman of the age, (and forgive him, despite our modern lights, we must; for, sincere son of the church, he regarded the violated oath of harold as entailing the legitimate forfeiture of his realm, and, ignorant of true political freedom, looked upon church and learning as the only civilisers of men,) then, briefly, lanfranc detailed to the listening norman the outline of the arguments by which he intended to move the pontifical court to the norman side; and enlarged upon the vast accession throughout all europe which the solemn sanction of the church would bring to his strength. william's reawaking and ready intellect soon seized upon the importance of the object pressed upon him. he interrupted the lombard, drew pen and parchment towards him, and wrote rapidly. horses were harnessed, horsemen equipped in haste, and with no unfitting retinue lanfranc departed on the mission, the most important in its consequences that ever passed from potentate to pontiff. [ ] rebraced to its purpose by lanfranc's cheering assurances, the resolute, indomitable soul of william now applied itself, night and day, to the difficult task of rousing his haughty vavasours. yet weeks passed before he could even meet a select council composed of his own kinsmen and most trusted lords. these, however, privately won over, promised to serve him "with body and goods." but one and all they told him, he must gain the consent of the whole principality in a general council. that council was convened: thither came not only lords and knights, but merchants and traders,--all the rising middle class of a thriving state. the duke bared his wrongs, his claims, and his schemes. the assembly would not or did not discuss the matter in his presence, they would not be awed by its influence; and william retired from the hall. various were the opinions, stormy the debate; and so great the disorder grew, that fitzosborne, rising in the midst, exclaimed: "why this dispute?--why this unduteous discord? is not william your lord? hath he not need of you? fail him now--and, you know him well --by g--- he will remember it! aid him--and you know him well--large are his rewards to service and love!" up rose at once baron and merchant; and when at last their spokesman was chosen, that spokesman said: "william is our lord; is it not enough to pay to our lord his dues? no aid do we owe beyond the seas! sore harassed and taxed are we already by his wars! let him fail in this strange and unparalleled hazard, and our land is undone!" loud applause followed this speech; the majority of the council were against the duke. "then," said fitzosborne, craftily, "i, who know the means of each man present, will, with your leave, represent your necessities to your count, and make such modest offer of assistance as may please ye, yet not chafe your liege." into the trap of this proposal the opponents fell; and fitzosborne, at the head of the body, returned to william. the lord of breteuil approached the dais, on which william sate alone, his great sword in his hand, and thus spoke: "my liege, i may well say that never prince has people more leal than yours, nor that have more proved their faith and love by the burdens they have borne and the monies they have granted." an universal murmur of applause followed these words. "good! good!" almost shouted the merchants especially. william's brows met, and he looked very terrible. the lord of breteuil gracefully waved his hand, and resumed: "yea, my liege, much have they borne for your glory and need; much more will they bear." the faces of the audience fell. "their service does not compel them to aid you beyond the seas." the faces of the audience brightened. "but now they will aid you, in the land of the saxon as in that of the frank." "how?" cried a stray voice or two. "hush, o gentilz amys. forward, then, o my liege, and spare them in nought. he who has hitherto supplied you with two good mounted soldiers, will now grant you four; and he who--" "no, no, no!" roared two-thirds of the assembly; "we charged you with no such answer; we said not that, nor that shall it be!" out stepped a baron. "within this country, to defend it, we will serve our count; but to aid him to conquer another man's country, no!" out stepped a knight. "if once we rendered this double service, beyond seas as at home, it would be held a right and a custom hereafter; and we should be as mercenary soldiers, not free-born normans." out stepped a merchant. "and we and our children would be burdened for ever to feed one man's ambition, whenever he saw a king to dethrone, or a realm to seize." and then cried a general chorus: "'t shall not be--it shall not!" the assembly broke at once into knots of tens, twenties, thirties, gesticulating and speaking aloud, like freemen in anger. and ere william, with all his prompt dissimulation, could do more than smother his rage, and sit griping his sword hilt, and setting his teeth, the assembly dispersed. such were the free souls of the normans under the greatest of their chiefs; and had those souls been less free, england had not been enslaved in one age, to become free again, god grant, to the end of time! chapter ix. through the blue skies over england there rushed the bright stranger-- a meteor, a comet, a fiery star! "such as no man before ever saw;" it appeared on the th, before the kalends of may; seven nights did it shine [ ], and the faces of sleepless men were pale under the angry glare. the river of thames rushed blood-red in the beam, the winds at play on the broad waves of the humber, broke the surge of the billows into sparkles of fire. with three streamers, sharp and long as the sting of a dragon, the foreboder of wrath rushed through the hosts of the stars. on every ruinous fort, by sea-coast and march, the warder crossed his breast to behold it; on hill and in thoroughfare, crowds nightly assembled to gaze on the terrible star. muttering hymns, monks hudded together round the altars, as if to exorcise the land of a demon. the gravestone of the saxon father-chief was lit up, as with the coil of the lightning; and the morthwyrtha looked from the mound, and saw in her visions of awe the valkyrs in the train of the fiery star. on the roof of his palace stood harold the king, and with folded arms he looked on the rider of night. and up the stairs of the turret came the soft steps of haco, and stealing near to the king, he said: "arm in haste, for the bodes have come breathless to tell thee that tostig, thy brother, with pirate and war-ship, is wasting thy shores and slaughtering thy people!" chapter x. tostig, with the ships he had gained both from norman and norwegian, recruited by flemish adventurers, fled fast from the banners of harold. after plundering the isle of wight, and the hampshire coasts, he sailed up the humber, where his vain heart had counted on friends yet left him in his ancient earldom; but harold's soul of vigour was everywhere. morcar, prepared by the king's bodes, encountered and chased the traitor, and, deserted by most of his ships, with but twelve small craft tostig gained the shores of scotland. there, again forestalled by the saxon king, he failed in succour from malcolm, and retreating to the orkneys, waited the fleets of hardrada. and now harold, thus at freedom for defence against a foe more formidable and less unnatural, hastened to make secure both the sea and the coast against william the norman. "so great a ship force, so great a land force, no king in the land had before." all the summer, his fleets swept the channel; his forces "lay everywhere by the sea." but alas! now came the time when the improvident waste of edward began to be felt. provisions and pay for the armaments failed [ ]. on the defective resources at harold's disposal, no modern historian hath sufficiently dwelt. the last saxon king, the chosen of the people, had not those levies, and could impose not those burdens which made his successors mighty in war; and men began now to think that, after all, there was no fear of this norman invasion. the summer was gone; the autumn was come; was it likely that william would dare to trust himself in an enemy's country as the winter drew near? the saxons-- unlike their fiercer kindred of scandinavia, had no pleasure in war;-- they fought well in front of a foe, but they loathed the tedious preparations and costly sacrifices which prudence demanded for self- defence. they now revolted from a strain upon their energies, of the necessity of which they were not convinced! joyous at the temporary defeat of tostig, men said, "marry, a joke indeed, that the norman will put his shaven head into the hornets' nest! let him come, if he dare!" still, with desperate effort, and at much risk of popularity, harold held together a force sufficient to repel any single invader. from the time of his accession his sleepless vigilance had kept watch on the norman, and his spies brought him news of all that passed. and now what had passed in the councils of william? the abrupt disappointment which the grand assembly had occasioned him did not last very long. made aware that he could not trust to the spirit of an assembly, william now artfully summoned merchant, and knight, and baron, one by one. submitted to the eloquence, the promises, the craft, of that master intellect, and to the awe of that imposing presence; unassisted by the courage which inferiors take from numbers, one by one yielded to the will of the count, and subscribed his quota for monies, for ships, and for men. and while this went on, lanfranc was at work in the vatican. at that time the archdeacon of the roman church was the famous hildebrand. this extraordinary man, fit fellow- spirit to lanfranc, nursed one darling project, the success of which indeed founded the true temporal power of the roman pontiffs. it was no less than that of converting the mere religious ascendancy of the holy see into the actual sovereignty over the states of christendom. the most immediate agents of this gigantic scheme were the normans, who had conquered naples by the arm of the adventurer robert guiscard, and under the gonfanon of st. peter. most of the new norman countships and dukedoms thus created in italy had declared themselves fiefs of the church; and the successor of the apostle might well hope, by aid of the norman priest-knights, to extend his sovereignty over italy, and then dictate to the kings beyond the alps. the aid of hildebrand in behalf of william's claims was obtained at once by lanfranc. the profound archdeacon of rome saw at a glance the immense power that would accrue to the church by the mere act of arrogating to itself the disposition of crowns, subjecting rival princes to abide by its decision, and fixing the men of its choice on the thrones of the north. despite all its slavish superstition, the saxon church was obnoxious to rome. even the pious edward had offended, by withholding the old levy of peter pence; and simony, a crime peculiarly reprobated by the pontiff, was notorious in england. therefore there was much to aid hildebrand in the assembly of the cardinals, when he brought before them the oath of harold, the violation of the sacred relics, and demanded that the pious normans, true friends to the roman church, should be permitted to christianise the barbarous saxons [ ], and william he nominated as heir to a throne promised to him by edward, and forfeited by the perjury of harold. nevertheless, to the honour of that assembly, and of man, there was a holy opposition to this wholesale barter of human rights-- this sanction of an armed onslaught on a christian people. "it is infamous," said the good, "to authorise homicide." but hildebrand was all-powerful, and prevailed. william was at high feast with his barons when lanfranc dismounted at his gates and entered his hall. "hail to thee, king of england!" he said. "i bring the bull that excommunicates harold and his adherents; i bring to thee the gift of the roman church, the land and royalty of england. i bring to thee the gonfanon hallowed by the heir of the apostle, and the very ring that contains the precious relic of the apostle himself! now who will shrink from thy side? publish thy ban, not in normandy alone, but in every region and realm where the church is honoured. this is the first war of the cross." then indeed was it seen--that might of the church! soon as were made known the sanction and gifts of the pope, all the continent stirred as to the blast of the trump in the crusade, of which that war was the herald. from maine and from anjou, from poitou and bretagne, from france and from flanders, from aquitaine and burgundy, flashed the spear, galloped the steed. the robber-chiefs from the castles now grey on the rhine; the hunters and bandits from the roots of the alps; baron and knight, varlet and vagrant,--all came to the flag of the church,--to the pillage of england. for side by side with the pope's holy bull was the martial ban:--"good pay and broad lands to every one who will serve count william with spear, and with sword, and with cross-bow." and the duke said to fitzosborne, as he parcelled out the fair fields of england into norman fiefs: "harold hath not the strength of mind to promise the least of those things that belong to me. but i have the right to promise that which is mine, and also that which belongs to him. he must be the victor who can give away both his own and what belongs to his foe." [ ] all on the continent of europe regarded england's king as accursed-- william's enterprise as holy; and mothers who had turned pale when their sons went forth to the boar-chase, sent their darlings to enter their names, for the weal of their souls, in the swollen muster-roll of william the norman. every port now in neustria was busy with terrible life; in every wood was heard the axe felling logs for the ships; from every anvil flew the sparks from the hammer, as iron took shape into helmet and sword. all things seemed to favour the church's chosen one. conan, count of bretagne, sent to claim the duchy of normandy, as legitimate heir. a few days afterwards, conan died, poisoned (as had died his father before him) by the mouth of his horn and the web of his gloves. and the new count of bretagne sent his sons to take part against harold. all the armament mustered at the roadstead of st. valery, at the mouth of the somme. but the winds were long hostile, and the rains fell in torrents. chapter xi. and now, while war thus hungered for england at the mouth of the somme, the last and most renowned of the sea-kings, harold hardrada, entered his galley, the tallest and strongest of a fleet of three hundred sail, that peopled the seas round solundir. and a man named gyrdir, on board the king's ship, dreamed a dream [ ]. he saw a great witch-wife standing on an isle of the sulen, with a fork in one hand and a trough in the other [ ]. he saw her pass over the whole fleet;--by each of the three hundred ships he saw her; and a fowl sat on the stern of each ship, and that fowl was a raven; and he heard the witch-wife sing this song: "from the east i allure him, at the west i secure him; in the feast i foresee rare the relics for me; red the drink, white the bones. the ravens sit greeding, and watching, and heeding; thoro' wind, over water, comes scent of the slaughter, and ravens sit greeding their share of the bones. thoro' wind, thoro' weather, we're sailing together; i sail with the ravens; i watch with the ravens; i snatch from the ravens my share of the bones." there was also a man called thord [ ], in a ship that lay near the king's; and he too dreamed a dream. he saw the fleet nearing land, and that land was england. and on the land was a battle-array two- fold, and many banners were flapping on both sides. and before the army of the landfolk was riding a huge witch-wife upon a wolf; the wolf had a man's carcase in his mouth, and the blood was dripping and dropping from his jaws; and when the wolf had eaten up that carcase, the witch-wife threw another into his jaws; and so, one after another; and the wolf cranched and swallowed them all. and the witch-wife sang this song: "the green waving fields are hidden behind the flash of the shields, and the rush of the banners that toss in the wind. but skade's eagle eyes pierce the wall of the steel, and behold from the skies what the earth would conceal; o'er the rush of the banners she poises her wing, and marks with a shadow the brow of the king. and, in bode of his doom, jaw of wolf, be the tomb of the bones and the flesh, gore-bedabbled and fresh, that cranch and that drip under fang and from lip. as i ride in the van of the feasters on man, with the king! grim wolf, sate my maw, full enow shall there be. hairy jaw, hungry maw, both for ye and for me! meaner food be the feast of the fowl and the beast; but the witch, for her share, takes the best of the fare and the witch shall be fed with the king of the dead, when she rides in the van of the slayers of man, with the king." and king harold dreamed a dream. and he saw before him his brother, st. olave. and the dead, to the scald-king sang this song: "bold as thou in the fight, blithe as thou in the hall, shone the noon of my might, ere the night of my fall! how humble is death, and how haughty is life; and how fleeting the breath between slumber and strife! all the earth is too narrow, o life, for thy tread! two strides o'er the barrow can measure the dead. yet mighty that space is which seemeth so small; the realm of all races, with room for them all!" but harold hardrada scorned witch-wife and dream; and his fleets sailed on. tostig joined him off the orkney isles, and this great armament soon came in sight of the shores of england. they landed at cleveland [ ], and at the dread of the terrible norsemen, the coastmen fled or submitted. with booty and plunder they sailed on to scarborough, but there the townsfolk were brave, and the walls were strong. the norsemen ascended a hill above the town, lit a huge pile of wood, and tossed the burning piles down on the roofs. house after house caught the flame, and through the glare and the crash rushed the men of hardrada. great was the slaughter, and ample the plunder; and the town, awed and depeopled, submitted to flame and to sword. then the fleet sailed up the humber and ouse, and landed at richall, not far from york; but morcar, the earl of northumbria, came out with all his forces,--all the stout men and tall of the great race of the anglo-dane. then hardrada advanced his flag, called land-eyda, the "ravager of the world," [ ] and, chaunting a war-stave,--led his men to the onslaught. the battle was fierce, but short. the english troops were defeated, they fled into york; and the ravager of the world was borne in triumph to the gates of the town. an exiled chief, however tyrannous and hateful, hath ever some friends among the desperate and lawless; and success ever finds allies among the weak and the craven,--so many northumbrians now came to the side of tostig. dissension and mutiny broke out amidst the garrison within; morcar, unable to control the townsfolk, was driven forth with those still true to their country and king, and york agreed to open its gates to the conquering invader. at the news of this foe on the north side of the land, king harold was compelled to withdraw all the forces at watch in the south against the tardy invasion of william. it was the middle of september; eight months had elapsed since the norman had launched forth his vaunting threat. would he now dare to come?--come or not, that foe was afar, and this was in the heart of the country! now, york having thus capitulated, all the land round was humbled and awed; and hardrada and tostig were blithe and gay; and many days, thought they, must pass ere harold the king can come from the south to the north. the camp of the norsemen was at standford bridge, and that day it was settled that they should formally enter york. their ships lay in the river beyond; a large portion of the armament was with the ships. the day was warm, and the men with hardrada had laid aside their heavy mail and were "making merry," talking of the plunder of york, jeering at saxon valour, and gloating over thoughts of the saxon maids, whom saxon men had failed to protect,--when suddenly between them and the town rose and rolled a great cloud of dust. high it rose, and fast it rolled, and from the heart of the cloud shone the spear and the shield. "what army comes yonder?" said harold hardrada. "surely," answered tostig, "it comes from the town that we are to enter as conquerors, and can be but the friendly northumbrians who have deserted morcar for me." nearer and nearer came the force, and the shine of the arms was like the glancing of ice. "advance the world-ravager!" cried harold hardrada, "draw up, and to arms!" then, picking out three of his briskest youths, he despatched them to the force on the river with orders to come up quick to the aid. for already, through the cloud and amidst the spears, was seen the flag of the english king. on the previous night king harold had entered york, unknown to the invaders--appeased the mutiny--cheered the townsfolks; and now came like a thunderbolt borne by the winds, to clear the air of england from the clouds of the north. both armaments drew up in haste, and hardrada formed his array in the form of a circle,--the line long but not deep, the wings curving round till they met [ ], shield to shield. those who stood in the first rank set their spear shafts on the ground, the points level with the breast of a horseman; those in the second, with spears yet lower, level with the breast of a horse; thus forming a double palisade against the charge of cavalry. in the centre of this circle was placed the ravager of the world, and round it a rampart of shields. behind that rampart was the accustomed post at the onset of battle for the king and his body-guard. but tostig was in front, with his own northumbrian lion banner, and his chosen men. while this army was thus being formed, the english king was marshalling his force in the far more formidable tactics, which his military science had perfected from the warfare of the danes. that form of battalion, invincible hitherto under his leadership, was in the manner of a wedge or triangle. so that, in attack, the men marched on the foe presenting the smallest possible surface to the missives, and in defence, all three lines faced the assailants. king harold cast his eye over the closing lines, and then, turning to gurth, who rode by his side, said: "take one man from yon hostile army, and with what joy should we charge on the northmen!" "i conceive thee," answered gurth, mournfully, "and the same thought of that one man makes my arm feel palsied." the king mused, and drew down the nasal bar of his helmet. "thegns," said he suddenly, to the score of riders who grouped round him, "follow." and shaking the rein of his horse, king harold rode straight to that part of the hostile front from which rose, above the spears, the northumbrian banner of tostig. wondering, but mute, the twenty thegns followed him. before the grim array, and hard by tostig's banner, the king checked his steed and cried: "is tostig, the son of godwin and githa, by the flag of the northumbrian earldom?" with his helmet raised, and his norwegian mantle flowing over his mail, earl tostig rode forth at that voice, and came up to the speaker. [ ] "what wouldst thou with me, daring foe?" the saxon horseman paused, and his deep voice trembled tenderly, as he answered slowly: "thy brother, king harold, sends to salute thee. let not the sons from the same womb wage unnatural war in the soil of their fathers." "what will harold the king give to his brother?" answered tostig, "northumbria already he hath bestowed on the son of his house's foe." the saxon hesitated, and a rider by his side took up the word. "if the northumbrians will receive thee again, northumbria shalt thou have, and the king will bestow his late earldom of wessex on morcar; if the northumbrians reject thee, thou shalt have all the lordships which king harold hath promised to gurth." "this is well," answered tostig; and he seemed to pause as in doubt;-- when, made aware of this parley, king harold hardrada, on his coal- black steed, with his helm all shining with gold, rode from the lines, and came into hearing. "ha!" said tostig, then turning round, as the giant form of the norse king threw its vast shadow over the ground. "and if i take the offer, what will harold son of godwin give to my friend and ally hardrada of norway?" the saxon rider reared his head at these words, and gazed on the large front of hardrada, as he answered, loud and distinct: "seven feet of land for a grave, or, seeing that he is taller than other men, as much more as his corse may demand!" "then go back, and tell harold my brother to get ready for battle; for never shall the scalds and the warriors of norway say that tostig lured their king in his cause, to betray him to his foe. here did he come, and here came i, to win as the brave win, or die as the brave die!" a rider of younger and slighter form than the rest, here whispered the saxon king: "delay no more, or thy men's hearts will fear treason." "the tie is rent from my heart, o haco," answered the king, "and the heart flies back to our england." he waved his hand, turned his steed, and rode off. the eye of hardrada followed the horseman. "and who," he asked calmly, "is that man who spoke so well?" [ ] "king harold!" answered tostig, briefly. "how!" cried the norseman, reddening, "how was not that made known to me before? never should he have gone back,--never told hereafter the doom of this day!" with all his ferocity, his envy, his grudge to harold, and his treason to england, some rude notions of honour still lay confused in the breast of the saxon; and he answered stoutly: "imprudent was harold's coming, and great his danger; but he came to offer me peace and dominion. had i betrayed him, i had not been his foe, but his murderer!" the norse king smiled approvingly, and, turning to his chiefs, said drily: "that man was shorter than some of us, but he rode firm in his stirrups." and then this extraordinary person, who united in himself all the types of an age that vanished for ever in his grave, and who is the more interesting, as in him we see the race from which the norman sprang, began, in the rich full voice that pealed deep as an organ, to chaunt his impromptu war-song. he halted in the midst, and with great composure said: "that verse is but ill-tuned: i must try a better." [ ] he passed his hand over his brow, mused an instant, and then, with his fair face all illumined, he burst forth as inspired. this time, air, rhythm, words, all so chimed in with his own enthusiasm and that of his men, that the effect was inexpressible. it was, indeed, like the charm of those runes which are said to have maddened the berserker with the frenzy of war. meanwhile the saxon phalanx came on, slow and firm, and in a few minutes the battle began. it commenced first with the charge of the english cavalry (never numerous), led by leofwine and haco, but the double palisade of the norman spears formed an impassable barrier; and the horsemen, recoiling from the frieze, rode round the iron circle without other damage than the spear and javelin could effect. meanwhile, king harold, who had dismounted, marched, as was his wont, with the body of footmen. he kept his post in the hollow of the triangular wedge; whence he could best issue his orders. avoiding the side over which tostig presided, he halted his array in full centre of the enemy, where the ravager of the world, streaming high above the inner rampart of shields, showed the presence of the giant hardrada. the air was now literally darkened with the flights of arrows and spears; and in a war of missives, the saxons were less skilled than the norsemen. still king harold restrained the ardour of his men, who, sore harassed by the darts, yearned to close on the foe. he himself, standing on a little eminence, more exposed than his meanest soldier, deliberately eyed the sallies of the horse, and watched the moment he foresaw, when, encouraged by his own suspense and the feeble attacks of the cavalry, the norsemen would lift their spears from the ground, and advance themselves to the assault. that moment came; unable to withhold their own fiery zeal, stimulated by the tromp and the clash, and the war hymns of their king, and his choral scalds, the norsemen broke ground and came on. "to your axes, and charge!" cried harold; and passing at once from the centre to the front, he led on the array. the impetus of that artful phalanx was tremendous; it pierced through the ring of the norwegians; it clove into the rampart of shields; and king harold's battle-axe was the first that shivered that wall of steel; his step the first that strode into the innermost circle that guarded the ravager of the world. then forth, from under the shade of that great flag, came, himself also on foot, harold hardrada: shouting and chaunting, he leapt with long strides into the thick of the onslaught. he had flung away his shield, and swaying with both hands his enormous sword, he hewed down man after man till space grew clear before him; and the english, recoiling in awe before an image of height and strength that seemed superhuman, left but one form standing firm, and in front, to oppose his way. at that moment the whole strife seemed not to belong to an age comparatively modern, it took a character of remotest eld; and thor and odin seemed to have returned to the earth. behind this towering and titan warrior, their wild hair streaming long under their helms, came his scalds, all singing their hymns, drunk with the madness of battle. and the ravager of the world tossed and flapped as it followed, so that the vast raven depicted on its folds seemed horrid with life. and calm and alone, his eye watchful, his axe lifted, his foot ready for rush or for spring--but firm as an oak against flight-- stood the last of the saxon kings. down bounded hardrada, and down shore his sword; king harold's shield was cloven in two, and the force of the blow brought himself to his knee. but, as swift as the flash of that sword, he sprang to his feet; and while hardrada still bowed his head, not recovered from the force of his blow, the axe of the saxon came so full on his helmet, that the giant reeled, dropped his sword, and staggered back; his scalds and his chiefs rushed around him. that gallant stand of king harold saved his english from flight; and now, as they saw him almost lost in the throng, yet still cleaving his way--on, on--to the raven standard, they rallied with one heart, and shouting forth, "out, out! holy crosse!" forced their way to his side, and the fight now waged hot and equal, hand to hand. meanwhile hardrada, borne a little apart, and relieved from his dinted helmet, recovered the shock of the weightiest blow that had ever dimmed his eye and numbed his hand. tossing the helmet on the ground, his bright locks glittering like sun-beams, he rushed back to the melee. again helm and mail went down before him; again through the crowd he saw the arm that had smitten him; again he sprang forwards to finish the war with a blow,--when a shaft from some distant bow pierced the throat which the casque now left bare; a sound like the wail of a death-song murmured brokenly from his lips, which then gushed out with blood, and tossing up his arms wildly, he fell to the ground, a corpse. at that sight, a yell of such terror, and woe, and wrath all commingled, broke from the norsemen, that it hushed the very war for the moment! "on!" cried the saxon king; "let our earth take its spoiler! on to the standard, and the day is our own!" "on to the standard!" cried haco, who, his horse slain under him, all bloody with wounds not his own, now came to the king's side. grim and tall rose the standard, and the streamer shrieked and flapped in the wind as if the raven had voice, when, right before harold, right between him and the banner, stood tostig his brother, known by the splendour of his mail, the gold work on his mantle--known by the fierce laugh, and the defying voice. "what matters!" cried haco; "strike, o king, for thy crown!" harold's hand griped haco's arm convulsively; he lowered his axe, turned round, and passed shudderingly away. both armies now paused from the attack; for both were thrown into great disorder, and each gladly gave respite to the other, to re-form its own shattered array. the norsemen were not the soldiers to yield because their leader was slain--rather the more resolute to fight, since revenge was now added to valour; yet, but for the daring and promptness with which tostig had cut his way to the standard, the day had been already decided. during the pause, harold summoning gurth, said to him in great emotion, "for the sake of nature, for the love of god, go, o gurth,-- go to tostig; urge him, now hardrada is dead, urge him to peace. all that we can proffer with honour, proffer--quarter and free retreat to every norseman [ ]. oh, save me, save us, from a brother's blood!" gurth lifted his helmet, and kissed the mailed hand that grasped his own. "i go," said he. and so, bareheaded, and with a single trumpeter, he went to the hostile lines. harold awaited him in great agitation; nor could any man have guessed what bitter and awful thoughts lay in that heart, from which, in the way to power, tie after tie had been wrenched away. he did not wait long; and even before gurth rejoined him, he knew by an unanimous shout of fury, to which the clash of countless shields chimed in, that the mission had been in vain. tostig had refused to hear gurth, save in presence of the norwegian chiefs; and when the message had been delivered, they all cried, "we would rather fall one across the corpse of the other [ ], than leave a field in which our king was slain." "ye hear them," said tostig; "as they speak, speak i" "not mine this guilt, too, o god!" said harold, solemnly lifting his hand on high. "now, then, to duty." by this time the norwegian reinforcements had arrived from the ships, and this for a short time rendered the conflict, that immediately ensued, uncertain and critical. but harold's generalship was now as consummate as his valour had been daring. he kept his men true to their irrefragable line. even if fragments splintered off, each fragment threw itself into the form of the resistless wedge. one norwegian, standing on the bridge of stanford, long guarded that pass; and no less than forty saxons are said to have perished by his arm. to him the english king sent a generous pledge, not only of safety for the life, but honour for the valour. the viking refused to surrender, and fell at last by a javelin from the hand of haco. as if in him had been embodied the unyielding war-god of the norsemen, in that death died the last hope of the vikings. they fell literally where they stood; many, from sheer exhaustion and the weight of their mail, died without a blow [ ]. and in the shades of nightfall, harold stood amidst the shattered rampart of shields, his foot on the corpse of the standard-bearer, his hand on the ravager of the world. "thy brother's corpse is borne yonder," said haco in the ear of the king, as wiping the blood from his sword, he plunged it back into the sheath. chapter xii. young olave, the son of hardrada, had happily escaped the slaughter. a strong detachment of the norwegians had still remained with the vessels, and amongst them some prudent old chiefs, who foreseeing the probable results of the day, and knowing that hardrada would never quit, save as a conqueror or a corpse, the field on which he had planted the ravager of the world, had detained the prince almost by force from sharing the fate of his father. but ere those vessels could put out to sea, the vigorous measures of the saxon king had already intercepted the retreat of the vessels. and then, ranging their shields as a wall round their masts, the bold vikings at least determined to die as men. but with the morning came king harold himself to the banks of the river, and behind him, with trailed lances, a solemn procession that bore the body of the scald king. they halted on the margin, and a boat was launched towards the norwegian fleet, bearing a monk, who demanded the chief, to send a deputation, headed by the young prince himself, to receive the corpse of their king, and hear the proposals of the saxon. the vikings, who had anticipated no preliminaries to the massacre they awaited, did not hesitate to accept these overtures. twelve of the most famous chiefs still surviving, and olave himself, entered the boat; and, standing between his brothers, leofwine and gurth, harold thus accosted them: "your king invaded a people that had given him no offence; he has paid the forfeit--we war not with the dead! give to his remains the honours due to the brave. without ransom or condition, we yield to you what can no longer harm us. and for thee, young prince," continued the king, with a tone of pity in his voice, as he contemplated the stately boyhood, and proud, but deep grief in the face of olave; "for thee, wilt thou not live to learn that the wars of odin are treason to the faith of the cross? we have conquered--we dare not butcher. take such ships as ye need for those that survive. three-and-twenty i offer for your transport. return to your native shores, and guard them as we have guarded ours. are ye contented?" amongst those chiefs was a stern priest--the bishop of the orcades--he advanced and bent his knee to the king. "o lord of england," said he, "yesterday thou didst conquer the form-- to-day, the soul. and never more may generous norsemen invade the coast of him who honours the dead and spares the living." "amen!" cried the chiefs, and they all knelt to harold. the young prince stood a moment irresolute, for his dead father was on the bier before him, and revenge was yet a virtue in the heart of a sea-king. but lifting his eyes to harold's, the mild and gentle majesty of the saxon's brow was irresistible in its benign command; and stretching his right hand to the king, he raised on high the other, and said aloud, "faith and friendship with thee and england evermore." then all the chiefs rising, they gathered round the bier, but no hand, in the sight of the conquering foe, lifted the cloth of gold that covered the corpse of the famous king. the bearers of the bier moved on slowly towards the boat; the norwegians followed with measured funereal steps. and not till the bier was placed on board the royal galley was there heard the wail of woe; but then it came, loud, and deep, and dismal, and was followed by a burst of wild song from a surviving scald. the norwegian preparations for departure were soon made, and the ships vouchsafed to their convoy raised anchor, and sailed down the stream. harold's eye watched the ships from the river banks. "and there," said he, at last, "there glide the last sails that shall ever bear the devastating raven to the shores of england." truly, in that field had been the most signal defeat those warriors, hitherto almost invincible, had known. on that bier lay the last son of berserker and sea-king: and be it, o harold, remembered in thine honour, that not by the norman, but by thee, true-hearted saxon, was trampled on the english soil the ravager of the world! [ ] "so be it," said haco, "and so, methinks, will it be. but forget not the descendant of the norsemen, the count of rouen!" harold started, and turned to his chiefs. "sound trumpet, and fall in. to york we march. there re-settle the earldom, collect the spoil, and then back, my men, to the southern shores. yet first kneel thou, haco, son of my brother sweyn: thy deeds were done in the light of heaven, in the sight of warriors in the open field; so should thine honours find thee! not with the vain fripperies of norman knighthood do i deck thee, but make thee one of the elder brotherhood of minister and miles. i gird round thy loins mine own baldric of pure silver; i place in thy hand mine own sword of plain steel; and bid thee rise to take place in council and camps amongst the proceres of england,--earl of hertford and essex. boy," whispered the king, as he bent over the pale cheek of his nephew, "thank not me. from me the thanks should come. on the day that saw tostig's crime and his death, thou didst purify the name of my brother sweyn! on to our city of york!" high banquet was held in york; and, according to the customs of the saxon monarchs, the king could not absent himself from the victory feast of his thegns. he sate at the head of the board, between his brothers. morcar, whose departure from the city had deprived him of a share in the battle, had arrived that day with his brother edwin, whom he had gone to summon to his aid. and though the young earls envied the fame they had not shared, the envy was noble. gay and boisterous was the wassail; and lively song, long neglected in england, woke, as it wakes ever, at the breath of joy and fame. as if in the days of alfred, the harp passed from hand to hand; martial and rough the strain beneath the touch of the anglo-dane, more refined and thoughtful the lay when it chimed to the voice of the anglo-saxon. but the memory of tostig--all guilty though he was--a brother slain in war with a brother, lay heavy on harold's soul. still, so had he schooled and trained himself to live but for england--know no joy and no woe not hers--that by degrees and strong efforts he shook off his gloom. and music, and song, and wine, and blazing lights, and the proud sight of those long lines of valiant men, whose hearts had beat and whose hands had triumphed in the same cause, all aided to link his senses with the gladness of the hour. and now, as night advanced, leofwine, who was ever a favourite in the banquet, as gurth in the council, rose to propose the drink-hael, which carries the most characteristic of our modern social customs to an antiquity so remote, and the roar was hushed at the sight of the young earl's winsome face. with due decorum, he uncovered his head [ ], composed his countenance, and began: "craving forgiveness of my lord the king, and this noble assembly," said leofwine, "in which are so many from whom what i intend to propose would come with better grace, i would remind you that william, count of the normans, meditates a pleasure excursion, of the same nature as our late visitor, harold hardrada's." a scornful laugh ran through the hall. "and as we english are hospitable folk, and give any man, who asks, meat and board for one night, so one day's welcome, methinks, will be all that the count of the normans will need at our english hands." flushed with the joyous insolence of wine, the wassailers roared applause. "wherefore, this drink-hael to william of rouen! and, to borrow a saying now in every man's lips, and which, i think, our good scops will take care that our children's children shall learn by heart,-- since he covets our saxon soil, 'seven feet of land' in frank pledge to him for ever!" "drink-hael to william the norman!" shouted the revellers; and each man, with mocking formality, took off his cap, kissed his hand, and bowed [ ]. "drink-hael to william the norman!" and the shout rolled from floor to roof--when, in the midst of the uproar, a man all bedabbled with dust and mire, rushed into the hall, rushed through the rows of the banqueters, rushed to the throne-chair of harold, and cried aloud, "william the norman is encamped on the shores of sussex; and with the mightiest armament ever yet seen in england, is ravaging the land far and near!" this ebook was produced by tapio riikonen and david widger book ix. the bones of the dead. chapter i. william, count of the normans, sate in a fair chamber of his palace of rouen; and on the large table before him were ample evidences of the various labours, as warrior, chief, thinker, and statesman, which filled the capacious breadth of that sleepless mind. there lay a plan of the new port of cherbourg, and beside it an open ms. of the duke's favourite book, the commentaries of caesar, from which, it is said, he borrowed some of the tactics of his own martial science; marked, and dotted, and interlined with his large bold handwriting, were the words of the great roman. a score or so of long arrows, which had received some skilful improvement in feather or bolt, lay carelessly scattered over some architectural sketches of a new abbey church, and the proposed charter for its endowment. an open cyst, of the beautiful workmanship for which the english goldsmiths were then pre-eminently renowned, that had been among the parting gifts of edward, contained letters from the various potentates near and far, who sought his alliance or menaced his repose. on a perch behind him sate his favourite norway falcon unhooded, for it had been taught the finest polish in its dainty education--viz., "to face company undisturbed." at a kind of easel at the farther end of the hall, a dwarf, misshapen in limbs, but of a face singularly acute and intelligent, was employed in the outline of that famous action at val des dunes, which had been the scene of one of the most brilliant of william's feats in arms--an outline intended to be transferred to the notable "stitchwork" of matilda the duchess. upon the floor, playing with a huge boar-hound of english breed, that seemed but ill to like the play, and every now and then snarled and showed his white teeth, was a young boy, with something of the duke's features, but with an expression more open and less sagacious; and something of the duke's broad build of chest and shoulder, but without promise of the duke's stately stature, which was needed to give grace and dignity to a strength otherwise cumbrous and graceless. and indeed, since william's visit to england, his athletic shape had lost much of its youthful symmetry, though not yet deformed by that corpulence which was a disease almost as rare in the norman as the spartan. nevertheless, what is a defect in the gladiator is often but a beauty in the prince; and the duke's large proportions filled the eye with a sense both of regal majesty and physical power. his countenance, yet more than his form, showed the work of time; the short dark hair was worn into partial baldness at the temples by the habitual friction of the casque, and the constant indulgence of wily stratagem and ambitious craft had deepened the wrinkles round the plotting eye and the firm mouth: so that it was only by an effort like that of an actor, that his aspect regained the knightly and noble frankness it had once worn. the accomplished prince was no longer, in truth, what the bold warrior had been,--he was greater in state and less in soul. and already, despite all his grand qualities as a ruler, his imperious nature had betrayed signs of what he (whose constitutional sternness the norman freemen, not without effort, curbed into the limits of justice) might become, if wider scope were afforded to his fiery passions and unsparing will. before the duke, who was leaning his chin on his hand, stood mallet de graville, speaking earnestly, and his discourse seemed both to interest and please his lord. "eno'!" said william, "i comprehend the nature of the land and its men,--a land that, untaught by experience, and persuaded that a peace of twenty or thirty years must last till the crack of doom, neglects all its defences, and has not one fort, save dover, between the coast and the capital,--a land which must be won or lost by a single battle, and men (here the duke hesitated,) and men," he resumed with a sigh, "whom it will be so hard to conquer that, pardex, i don't wonder they neglect their fortresses. enough i say, of them. let us return to harold,--thou thinkest, then, that he is worthy of his fame?" "he is almost the only englishman i have seen," answered de graville, "who hath received scholarly rearing and nurture; and all his faculties are so evenly balanced, and all accompanied by so composed a calm, that methinks, when i look at and hear him, i contemplate some artful castle,--the strength of which can never be known at the first glance, nor except by those who assail it." "thou art mistaken, sire de graville," said the duke, with a shrewd and cunning twinkle of his luminous dark eyes. "for thou tellest me that he hath no thought of my pretensions to the english throne,--that he inclines willingly to thy suggestions to come himself to my court for the hostages,--that, in a word, he is not suspicious." "certes, he is not suspicious," returned mallet. "and thinkest thou that an artful castle were worth much without warder or sentry,--or a cultivated mind strong and safe, without its watchman,--suspicion?" "truly, my lord speaks well and wisely," said the knight, startled; "but harold is a man thoroughly english, and the english are a gens the least suspecting of any created thing between an angel and a sheep." william laughed aloud. but his laugh was checked suddenly; for at that moment a fierce yell smote his ears, and looking hastily up, he saw his hound and his son rolling together on the ground, in a grapple that seemed deadly. william sprang to the spot; but the boy, who was then under the dog, cried out, "laissez aller! laissez aller! no rescue! i will master my own foe;" and, so saying, with a vigorous effort he gained his knee, and with both hands griped the hound's throat, so that the beast twisted in vain, to and fro, with gnashing jaws, and in another minute would have panted out its last. "i may save my good hound now," said william, with the gay smile of his earlier days, and, though not without some exertion of his prodigious strength, he drew the dog from his son's grasp. "that was ill done, father," said robert, surnamed even then the courthose, "to take part with thy son's foe." "but my son's foe is thy father's property, my vaillant," said the duke; "and thou must answer to me for treason in provoking quarrel and feud with my own fourfooted vavasour." "it is not thy property, father; thou gavest the dog to me when a whelp." "fables, monseigneur de courthose; i lent it to thee but for a day, when thou hadst put out thine ankle bone in jumping off the rampire; and all maimed as thou went, thou hadst still malice enow in thee to worry the poor beast into a fever." "give or lent, it is the same thing, father; what i have once, that will i hold, as thou didst before me, in thy cradle." then the great duke, who in his own house was the fondest and weakest of men, was so doltish and doting as to take the boy in his arms and kiss him, nor, with all his far-sighted sagacity, deemed he that in that kiss lay the seed of the awful curse that grew up from a father's agony; to end in a son's misery and perdition. even mallet de graville frowned at the sight of the sire's infirmity, --even turold the dwarf shook his head. at that moment an officer entered, and announced that an english nobleman, apparently in great haste (for his horse had dropped down dead as he dismounted), had arrived at the palace, and craved instant audience of the duke. william put down the boy, gave the brief order for the stranger's admission, and, punctilious in ceremonial, beckoning de graville to follow him, passed at once into the next chamber, and seated himself on his chair of state. in a few moments one of the seneschals of the palace ushered in a visitor, whose long moustache at once proclaimed him saxon, and in whom de graville with surprise recognised his old friend, godrith. the young thegn, with a reverence more hasty than that to which william was accustomed, advanced to the foot of the days, and, using the norman language, said, in a voice thick with emotion: "from harold the earl, greeting to thee, monseigneur. most foul and unchristian wrong hath been done the earl by thy liegeman, guy, count of ponthieu. sailing hither in two barks from england, with intent to visit thy court, storm and wind drove the earl's vessels towards the mouth of the somme [ ]; there landing, and without fear, as in no hostile country, he and his train were seized by the count himself, and cast into prison in the castle of belrem [ ]. a dungeon fit but for malefactors holds, while i speak, the first lord of england, and brother-in-law to its king. nay, hints of famine, torture, and death itself, have been darkly thrown out by this most disloyal count, whether in earnest, or with the base view of heightening ransom. at length, wearied perhaps by the earl's firmness and disdain, this traitor of ponthieu hath permitted me in the earl's behalf to bear the message of harold. he came to thee as to a prince and a friend; sufferest thou thy liegeman to detain him as a thief or a foe?" "noble englishman," replied william, gravely, "this is a matter more out of my cognisance than thou seemest to think. it is true that guy, count of ponthieu, holds fief under me, but i have no control over the laws of his realm. and by those laws, he hath right of life and death over all stranded and waifed on his coast. much grieve i for the mishap of your famous earl, and what i can do, i will; but i can only treat in this matter with guy as prince with prince, not as lord to vassal. meanwhile i pray you to take rest and food; and i will seek prompt counsel as to the measures to adopt." the saxon's face showed disappointment and dismay at this answer, so different from what he had expected; and he replied with the natural honest bluntness which all his younger affection of norman manners had never eradicated: "food will i not touch, nor wine drink, till thou, lord count, hast decided what help, as noble to noble, christian to christian, man to man, thou givest to him who has come into this peril solely from his trust in thee." "alas!" said the grand dissimulator, "heavy is the responsibility with which thine ignorance of our land, laws, and men would charge me. if i take but one false step in this matter, woe indeed to thy lord! guy is hot and haughty, and in his droits; he is capable of sending me the earl's head in reply to too dure a request for his freedom. much treasure and broad lands will it cost me, i fear, to ransom the earl. but be cheered; half my duchy were not too high a price for thy lord's safety. go, then, and eat with a good heart, and drink to the earl's health with a hopeful prayer." "and it please you, my lord," said de graville, "i know this gentle thegn, and will beg of you the grace to see to his entertainment, and sustain his spirits." "thou shalt, but later; so noble a guest none but my chief seneschal should be the first to honour." then turning to the officer in waiting, he bade him lead the saxon to the chamber tenanted by william fitzosborne (who then lodged within the palace), and committed him to that count's care. as the saxon sullenly withdrew, and as the door closed on him, william rose and strode to and fro the room exultingly. "i have him! i have him!" he cried aloud; "not as free guest, but as ransomed captive. i have him--the earl!--i have him! go, mallet, my friend, now seek this sour-looking englishman; and, hark thee! fill his ear with all the tales thou canst think of as to guy's cruelty and ire. enforce all the difficulties that lie in my way towards the earl's delivery. great make the danger of the earl's capture, and vast all the favour of release. comprehendest thou?" "i am norman, monseigneur," replied de graville, with a slight smile; "and we normans can make a short mantle cover a large space. you will not be displeased with my address." "go then--go," said william, "and send me forthwith--lanfranc--no, hold--not lanfranc, he is too scrupulous; fitzosborne--no, too haughty. go, first, to my brother, odo of bayeux, and pray him to seek me on the instant." the knight bowed and vanished, and william continued to pace the room, with sparkling eyes and murmuring lips. chapter ii. not till after repeated messages, at first without talk of ransom and in high tone, affected, no doubt, by william to spin out the negotiations, and augment the value of his services, did guy of ponthieu consent to release his illustrious captive,--the guerdon, a large sum and un bel maneir [ ] on the river eaulne. but whether that guerdon were the fair ransom fee, or the price for concerted snare, no man now can say, and sharper than ours the wit that forms the more likely guess. these stipulations effected, guy himself opened the doors of the dungeon; and affecting to treat the whole matter as one of law and right, now happily and fairly settled, was as courteous and debonnair as he had before been dark and menacing. he even himself, with a brilliant train, accompanied harold to the chateau d'eu [ ], whither william journeyed to give him the meeting; and laughed with a gay grace at the earl's short and scornful replies to his compliments and excuses. at the gates of this chateau, not famous, in after times, for the good faith of its lords, william himself, laying aside all the pride of etiquette which he had established at his court, came to receive his visitor; and aiding him to dismount embraced him cordially, amidst a loud fanfaron of fifes and trumpets. the flower of that glorious nobility, which a few generations had sufficed to rear out of the lawless pirates of the baltic, had been selected to do honour alike to guest and host. there were hugo de montfort and roger de beaumont, famous in council as in the field, and already grey with fame. there was henri, sire de ferrers, whose name is supposed to have arisen from the vast forges that burned around his castle, on the anvils of which were welded the arms impenetrable in every field. there was raoul de tancarville, the old tutor of william, hereditary chamberlain of the norman counts; and geoffroi de mandeville, and tonstain the fair, whose name still preserved, amidst the general corruption of appellations, the evidence of his danish birth; and hugo de grantmesnil, lately returned from exile; and humphrey de bohun, whose old castle in carcutan may yet be seen; and st. john, and lacie, and d'aincourt, of broad lands between the maine and the oise; and william de montfichet, and roger, nicknamed "bigod," and roger de mortemer; and many more, whose fame lives in another land than that of neustria! there, too, were the chief prelates and abbots of a church that since william's accession had risen into repute with rome and with learning, unequalled on this side the alps; their white aubes over their gorgeous robes; lanfranc, and the bishop of coutance, and the abbot of bec, and foremost of all in rank, but not in learning, odo of bayeux. so great the assemblage of quens and prelates, that there was small room in the courtyard for the lesser knights and chiefs, who yet hustled each other, with loss of norman dignity, for a sight of the lion which guarded england. and still, amidst all those men of mark and might, harold, simple and calm, looked as he had looked on his war-ship in the thames, the man who could lead them all! from those, indeed, who were fortunate enough to see him as he passed up by the side of william, as tall as the duke, and no less erect--of far slighter bulk, but with a strength almost equal, to a practised eye, in his compacter symmetry and more supple grace,--from those who saw him thus, an admiring murmur rose; for no men in the world so valued and cultivated personal advantages as the norman knighthood. conversing easily with harold, and well watching him while he conversed, the duke led his guest into a private chamber in the third floor [ ] of the castle, and in that chamber were haco and wolnoth. "this, i trust, is no surprise to you," said the duke, smiling; "and now i shall but mar your commune." so saying, he left the room, and wolnoth rushed to his brother's arms, while haco, more timidly, drew near and touched the earl's robe. as soon as the first joy of the meeting was over, the earl said to haco, whom he had drawn to his breast with an embrace as fond as that bestowed on wolnoth: "remembering thee a boy, i came to say to thee, 'be my son;' but seeing thee a man, i change the prayer;--supply thy father's place, and be my brother! and thou, wolnoth, hast thou kept thy word to me? norman is thy garb, in truth; is thy heart still english?" "hist!" whispered haco; "hist! we have a proverb, that walls have ears." "but norman walls can hardly understand our broad saxon of kent, i trust," said harold, smiling, though with a shade on his brow. "true; continue to speak saxon," said haco, "and we are safe." "safe!" echoed harold. "haco's fears are childish, my brother," said wolnoth, "and he wrongs the duke." "not the duke, but the policy which surrounds him like an atmosphere," exclaimed haco. "oh, harold, generous indeed wert thou to come hither for thy kinsfolk--generous! but for england's weal, better that we had rotted out our lives in exile, ere thou, hope and prop of england, set foot in these webs of wile." "tut!" said wolnoth, impatiently; "good is it for england that the norman and saxon should be friends." harold, who had lived to grow as wise in men's hearts as his father, save when the natural trustfulness that lay under his calm reserve lulled his sagacity, turned his eye steadily on the faces of his two kinsmen; and he saw at the first glance that a deeper intellect and a graver temper than wolnoth's fair face betrayed characterised the dark eye and serious brow of haco. he therefore drew his nephew a little aside, and said to him: "forewarned is forearmed. deemest thou that this fairspoken duke will dare aught against my life?" "life, no; liberty, yes." harold startled, and those strong passions native to his breast, but usually curbed beneath his majestic will, heaved in his bosom and flashed in his eye. "liberty!--let him dare! though all his troops paved the way from his court to his coasts, i would hew my way through their ranks." "deemest thou that i am a coward?" said haco, simply, "yet contrary to all law and justice, and against king edward's well-known remonstrance, hath not the count detained me years, yea, long years, in his land? kind are his words, wily his deeds. fear not force; fear fraud." "i fear neither," answered harold, drawing himself up, "nor do i repent me one moment--no! nor did i repent in the dungeon of that felon count, whom god grant me life to repay with fire and sword for his treason--that i myself have come hither to demand my kinsmen. i come in the name of england, strong in her might, and sacred in her majesty." before haco could reply, the door opened, and raoul de tancarville, as grand chamberlain, entered, with all harold's saxon train, and a goodly number of norman squires and attendants, bearing rich vestures. the noble bowed to the earl with his country's polished courtesy, and besought leave to lead him to the bath, while his own squires prepared his raiment for the banquet to be held in his honour. so all further conference with his young kinsmen was then suspended. the duke, who affected a state no less regal than that of the court of france, permitted no one, save his own family and guests, to sit at his own table. his great officers (those imperious lords) stood beside his chair; and william fitzosborne, "the proud spirit," placed on the board with his own hand the dainty dishes for which the norman cooks were renowned. and great men were those norman cooks; and often for some "delicate," more ravishing than wont, gold chain and gem, and even "bel maneir," fell to their guerdon [ ]. it was worth being a cook in those days! the most seductive of men was william in his fair moods; and he lavished all the witcheries at his control upon his guest. if possible, yet more gracious was matilda the duchess. this woman, eminent for mental culture, for personal beauty, and for a spirit and ambition no less great than her lord's, knew well how to choose such subjects of discourse as might most flatter an english ear. her connection with harold, through her sister's marriage with tostig, warranted a familiarity almost caressing, which she assumed towards the comely earl; and she insisted, with a winning smile, that all the hours the duke would leave at his disposal he must spend with her. the banquet was enlivened by the song of the great taillefer himself, who selected a theme that artfully flattered alike the norman and the saxon; viz., the aid given by rolfganger to athelstan, and the alliance between the english king and the norman founder. he dexterously introduced into the song praises of the english, and the value of their friendship; and the countess significantly applauded each gallant compliment to the land of the famous guest. if harold was pleased by such poetic courtesies, he was yet more surprised by the high honour in which duke, baron, and prelate evidently held the poet: for it was among the worst signs of that sordid spirit, honouring only wealth, which had crept over the original character of the anglo- saxon, that the bard or scop, with them, had sunk into great disrepute, and it was even forbidden to ecclesiastics [ ] to admit such landless vagrants to their company. much, indeed, there was in that court which, even on the first day, harold saw to admire--that stately temperance, so foreign to english excesses, (but which, alas! the norman kept not long when removed to another soil)--that methodical state and noble pomp which characterised the feudal system, linking so harmoniously prince to peer, and peer to knight--the easy grace, the polished wit of the courtiers--the wisdom of lanfranc, and the higher ecclesiastics, blending worldly lore with decorous, not pedantic, regard to their sacred calling--the enlightened love of music, letters, song, and art, which coloured the discourse both of duke and duchess and the younger courtiers, prone to emulate high example, whether for ill or good--all impressed harold with a sense of civilisation and true royalty, which at once saddened and inspired his musing mind--saddened him when he thought how far behind-hand england was in much, with this comparatively petty principality--inspired him when he felt what one great chief can do for his native land. the unfavorable impressions made upon his thoughts by haco's warnings could scarcely fail to yield beneath the prodigal courtesies lavished upon him, and the frank openness with which william laughingly excused himself for having so long detained the hostages, "in order, my guest, to make thee come and fetch them. and, by st. valery, now thou art here, thou shalt not depart, till, at least, thou hast lost in gentler memories the recollection of the scurvy treatment thou hast met from that barbarous count. nay, never bite thy lip, harold, my friend, leave to me thy revenge upon guy. sooner or later, the very maneir he hath extorted from me shall give excuse for sword and lance, and then, pardex, thou shalt come and cross steel in thine own quarrel. how i rejoice that i can show to the beau frere of my dear cousin and seigneur some return for all the courtesies the english king and kingdom bestowed upon me! to-morrow we will ride to rouen; there, all knightly sports shall be held to grace thy coming; and by st. michael, knight-saint of the norman, nought less will content me than to have thy great name in the list of my chosen chevaliers. but the night wears now, and thou sure must need sleep;" and, thus talking, the duke himself led the way to harold's chamber, and insisted on removing the ouche from his robe of state. as he did so, he passed his hand, as if carelessly, along the earl's right arm. "ha!" said he suddenly, and in his natural tone of voice, which was short and quick, "these muscles have known practice! dost think thou couldst bend my bow!" "who could bend that of--ulysses?" returned the earl, fixing his deep blue eye upon the norman's. william unconsciously changed colour, for he felt that he was at that moment more ulysses than achilles. chapter iii. side by side, william and harold entered the fair city of rouen, and there, a succession of the brilliant pageants and knightly entertainments, (comprising those "rare feats of honour," expanded, with the following age, into the more gorgeous display of joust and tourney,) was designed to dazzle the eyes and captivate the fancy of the earl. but though harold won, even by the confession of the chronicles most in favour of the norman, golden opinions in a court more ready to deride than admire the saxon,--though not only the "strength of his body," and "the boldness of his spirit," as shown in exhibitions unfamiliar to saxon warriors, but his "manners," his "eloquence, intellect, and other good qualities," [ ] were loftily conspicuous amidst those knightly courtiers, that sublime part of his character, which was found in his simple manhood and intense nationality, kept him unmoved and serene amidst all intended to exercise that fatal spell which normanised most of those who came within the circle of norman attraction. these festivities were relieved by pompous excursions and progresses from town to town, and fort to fort, throughout the duchy, and, according to some authorities, even to a visit to philip the french king at compiegne. on the return to rouen, harold and the six thegns of his train were solemnly admitted into that peculiar band of warlike brothers which william had instituted, and to which, following the chronicles of the after century, we have given the name of knights. the silver baldrick was belted on, and the lance, with its pointed banderol, was placed in the hand, and the seven saxon lords became norman knights. the evening after this ceremonial, harold was with the duchess and her fair daughters--all children. the beauty of one of the girls drew from him those compliments so sweet to a mother's ear. matilda looked up from the broidery on which she was engaged, and beckoned to her the child thus praised. "adeliza," she said, placing her hand on the girl's dark locks, "though we would not that thou shouldst learn too early how men's tongues can gloze and flatter, yet this noble guest hath so high a repute for truth, that thou mayest at least believe him sincere when he says thy face is fair. think of it, and with pride, my child; let it keep thee through youth proof against the homage of meaner men; and, peradventure, st. michael and st. valery may bestow on thee a mate valiant and comely as this noble lord." the child blushed to her brow; but answered with the quickness of a spoiled infant--unless, perhaps, she had been previously tutored so to reply: "sweet mother, i will have no mate and no lord but harold himself; and if he will not have adeliza as his wife, she will die a nun." "froward child, it is not for thee to woo!" said matilda, smiling. "thou heardst her, noble harold: what is thine answer? "that she will grow wiser," said the earl, laughing, as he kissed the child's forehead. "fair damsel, ere thou art ripe for the altar, time will have sown grey in these locks; and thou wouldst smile indeed in scorn, if harold then claimed thy troth." "not so," said matilda, seriously; "highborn damsels see youth not in years but in fame--fame, which is young for ever!" startled by the gravity with which matilda spoke, as if to give importance to what had seemed a jest, the earl, versed in courts, felt that a snare was round him; and replied in a tone between jest and earnest: "happy am i to wear on my heart a charm, proof against all the beauty even of this court." matilda's face darkened; and william entering at that time with his usual abruptness, lord and lady exchanged glances, not unobserved by harold. the duke, however, drew aside the saxon; and saying gaily, "we normans are not naturally jealous; but then, till now, we have not had saxon gallants closeted with our wives;" added more seriously, "harold, i have a grace to pray at thy hands--come with me." the earl followed william into his chamber, which he found filled with chiefs, in high converse; and william then hastened to inform him that he was about to make a military expedition against the bretons; and knowing his peculiar acquaintance with the warfare, as with the language and manners, of their kindred welch, he besought his aid in a campaign which he promised him should be brief. perhaps the earl was not, in his own mind, averse from returning william's display of power by some evidence of his own military skill, and the valour of the saxon thegns in his train. there might be prudence in such exhibition, and, at all events, he could not with a good grace decline the proposal. he enchanted william therefore by a simple acquiescence; and the rest of the evening--deep into night--was spent in examining charts of the fort and country intended to be attacked. the conduct and courage of harold and his saxons in this expedition are recorded by the norman chroniclers. the earl's personal exertions saved, at the passage of coesnon, a detachment of soldiers, who would otherwise have perished in the quicksands; and even the warlike skill of william, in the brief and brilliant campaign, was, if not eclipsed, certainly equalled, by that of the saxon chief. while the campaign lasted, william and harold had but one table and one tent. to outward appearance, the familiarity between the two was that of brothers; in reality, however, these two men, both so able-- one so deep in his guile, the other so wise in his tranquil caution-- felt that a silent war between the two for mastery was working on, under the guise of loving peace. already harold was conscious that the politic motives for his mission had failed him; already he perceived, though he scarce knew why, that william the norman was the last man to whom he could confide his ambition, or trust for aid. one day, as, during a short truce with the defenders of the place they were besieging, the normans were diverting their leisure with martial games, in which taillefer shone pre-eminent: while harold and william stood without their tent, watching the animated field, the duke abruptly exclaimed to mallet de graville, "bring me my bow. now, harold, let me see if thou canst bend it." the bow was brought, and saxon and norman gathered round the spot. "fasten thy glove to yonder tree, mallet," said the duke, taking that mighty bow in his hand, and bending its stubborn yew into the noose of the string with practised ease. then he drew the arc to his ear; and the tree itself seemed to shake at the shock, as the shaft, piercing the glove, lodged half-way in the trunk. "such are not our weapons," said the earl; "and ill would it become me, unpractised, so to peril our english honour, as to strive against the arm that could bend that arc and wing that arrow. but, that i may show these norman knights, that at least we have some weapon wherewith we can parry shaft and smite assailer,--bring me forth, godrith, my shield and my danish axe." taking the shield and axe which the saxon brought to him, harold then stationed himself before the tree. "now, fair duke," said he, smiling, "choose thou thy longest shaft--bid thy ten doughtiest archers take their bows; round this tree will i move, and let each shaft be aimed at whatever space in my mailless body i leave unguarded by my shield." "no!" said william, hastily; "that were murder." "it is but the common peril of war," said harold, simply; and he walked to the tree. the blood mounted to william's brow, and the lion's thirst of carnage parched his throat. "an he will have it so," said he, beckoning to his archers; "let not normandy be shamed. watch well, and let every shaft go home; avoid only the head and the heart; such orgulous vaunting is best cured by blood-letting." the archers nodded, and took their post, each at a separate quarter; and deadly indeed seemed the danger of the earl, for as he moved, though he kept his back guarded by the tree, some parts of his form the shield left exposed, and it would have been impossible, in his quick-shifting movements, for the archers so to aim as to wound, but to spare life; yet the earl seemed to take no peculiar care to avoid the peril; lifting his bare head fearlessly above the shield, and including in one gaze of his steadfast eye, calmly bright even at the distance, all the shafts of the archers. at one moment five of the arrows hissed through the air, and with such wonderful quickness had the shield turned to each, that three fell to the ground blunted against it, and two broke on its surface. but william, waiting for the first discharge, and seeing full mark at harold's shoulder as the buckler turned, now sent forth his terrible shaft. the noble taillefer with a poet's true sympathy cried, "saxon, beware!" but the watchful saxon needed not the warning. as if in disdain, harold met not the shaft with his shield, but swinging high the mighty axe, (which with most men required both arms to wield it,) he advanced a step, and clove the rushing arrow in twain. before william's loud oath of wrath and surprise left his lips, the five shafts of the remaining archers fell as vainly as their predecessors against the nimble shield. then advancing, harold said, cheerfully: "this is but defence, fair duke--and little worth were the axe if it could not smite as well as ward. wherefore, i pray you, place upon yonder broken stone pillar, which seems some relic of druid heathenesse, such helm and shirt of mail as thou deemest most proof against sword and pertuizan, and judge then if our english axe can guard well our english land." "if thy axe can cleave the helmet i wore at bavent, when the franks and their king fled before me," said the duke, grimly, "i shall hold caesar in fault, not to have invented a weapon so dread." and striding back into his pavilion, he came forth with the helm and shirt of mail, which was worn stronger and heavier by the normans, as fighting usually on horseback, than by dane and saxon, who, mainly fighting on foot, could not have endured so cumbrous a burthen: and if strong and dour generally with the norman, judge what solid weight that mighty duke could endure! with his own hand william placed the mail on the ruined druid stone, and on the mail the helm. harold looked long and gravely at the edge of the axe; it was so richly gilt and damasquined, that the sharpness of its temper could not well have been divined under that holiday glitter. but this axe had come to him from canute the great, who himself, unlike the danes, small and slight [ ], had supplied his deficiency of muscle by the finest dexterity and the most perfect weapons. famous had been that axe in the delicate hand of canute--how much more tremendous in the ample grasp of harold! swinging now in both hands this weapon, with a peculiar and rapid whirl, which gave it an inconceivable impetus, the earl let fall the crushing blow: at the first stroke, cut right in the centre, rolled the helm; at the second, through all the woven mail (cleft asunder, as if the slightest filigree work of the goldsmith,) shore the blade, and a great fragment of the stone itself came tumbling on the sod. the normans stood aghast, and william's face was as pale as the shattered stone. the great duke felt even his matchless dissimulation fail him; nor, unused to the special practice and craft which the axe required, could he have pretended, despite a physical strength superior even to harold's, to rival blows that seemed to him more than mortal. "lives there any other man in the wide world whose arm could have wrought that feat?" exclaimed bruse, the ancestor of the famous scot. "nay," said harold, simply, "at least thirty thousand such men have i left at home! but this was but the stroke of an idle vanity, and strength becomes tenfold in a good cause." the duke heard, and fearful lest he should betray his sense of the latent meaning couched under his guest's words, he hastily muttered forth reluctant compliment and praise; while fitzosborne, de bohun, and other chiefs more genuinely knightly, gave way to unrestrained admiration. then beckoning de graville to follow him, the duke strode off towards the tent of his brother of bayeux, who, though, except on extraordinary occasions, he did not join in positive conflict, usually accompanied william in his military excursions, both to bless the host, and to advise (for his martial science was considerable) the council of war. the bishop, who, despite the sanctimony of the court, and his own stern nature, was (though secretly and decorously) a gallant of great success in other fields than those of mars [ ], sate alone in his pavilion, inditing an epistle to a certain fair dame in rouen, whom he had unwillingly left to follow his brother. at the entrance of william, whose morals in such matters were pure and rigid, he swept the letter into the chest of relics which always accompanied him, and rose, saying, indifferently: "a treatise on the authenticity of st. thomas's little finger! but what ails you? you are disturbed!" "odo, odo, this man baffles me--this man fools me; i make no ground with him. i have spent--heaven knows what i have spent," said the duke, sighing with penitent parsimony, "in banquets, and ceremonies, and processions; to say nothing of my bel maneir of yonne, and the sum wrung from my coffers by that greedy ponthevin. all gone--all wasted --all melted like snow! and the saxon is as saxon as if he had seen neither norman splendour, nor been released from the danger by norman treasure. but, by the splendour divine, i were fool indeed if i suffered him to return home. would thou hadst seen the sorcerer cleave my helmet and mail just now, as easily as if they had been willow twigs. oh, odo, odo, my soul is troubled, and st. michael forsakes me!" while william ran on thus distractedly, the prelate lifted his eyes inquiringly to de graville, who now stood within the tent, and the knight briefly related the recent trial of strength. "i see nought in this to chafe thee," said odo; "the man once thine, the stronger the vassal, the more powerful the lord." "but he is not mine; i have sounded him as far as i dare go. matilda hath almost openly offered him my fairest child as his wife. nothing dazzles, nothing moves him. thinkest thou i care for his strong arm? tut, no: i chafe at the proud heart that set the arm in motion; the proud meaning his words symbolled out, 'so will english strength guard english land from the norman--so axe and shield will defy your mail and your shafts.' but let him beware!" growled the duke, fiercely, "or----" "may i speak," interrupted de graville, "and suggest a counsel?" "speak out, in god's name!" cried the duke. "then i should say, with submission, that the way to tame a lion is not by gorging him, but daunting. bold is the lion against open foes; but a lion in the toils loses his nature. just now, my lord said that harold should not return to his native land----" "nor shall he, but as my sworn man!" exclaimed the duke. "and if you now put to him that choice, think you it will favour your views? will he not reject your proffers, and with hot scorn?" "scorn! darest thou that word to me?" cried the duke. "scorn! have i no headsman whose axe is as sharp as harold's? and the neck of a captive is not sheathed in my norman mail." "pardon, pardon, my liege," said mallet, with spirit; but to save my chief from a hasty action that might bring long remorse, i spoke thus boldly. give the earl at least fair warning:--a prison, or fealty to thee, that is the choice before him!--let him know it; let him see that thy dungeons are dark, and thy walls impassable. threaten not his life--brave men care not for that!--threaten thyself nought, but let others work upon him with fear of his freedom. i know well these saxish men; i know well harold; freedom is their passion, they are cowards when threatened with the doom of four walls." [ ] "i conceive thee, wise son," exclaimed odo. "ha!" said the duke, slowly; "and yet it was to prevent such suspicion that i took care, after the first meeting, to separate him from haco and wolnoth, for they must have learned much in norman gossip, ill to repeat to the saxon." "wolnoth is almost wholly norman," said the bishop, smiling; "wolnoth is bound par-amours, to a certain fair norman dame; and, i trow well, prefers her charms here to the thought of his return. but haco, as thou knowest, is sullen and watchful." "so much the better companion for harold now," said de graville. "i am fated ever to plot and to scheme!" said the duke, groaning, as if he had been the simplest of men; "but, nathless, i love the stout earl, and i mean all for his own good,--that is, compatibly with my rights and claims to the heritage of edward my cousin." "of course," said the bishop. chapter iv. the snares now spread for harold were in pursuance of the policy thus resolved on. the camp soon afterwards broke up, and the troops took their way to bayeux. william, without greatly altering his manner towards the earl, evaded markedly (or as markedly replied not to) harold's plain declarations, that his presence was required in england, and that he could no longer defer his departure; while, under pretence of being busied with affairs, he absented himself much from the earl's company, or refrained from seeing him alone, and suffered mallet de graville, and odo the bishop, to supply his place with harold. the earl's suspicions now became thoroughly aroused, and these were fed both by the hints, kindly meant, of de graville, and the less covert discourse of the prelate: while mallet let drop, as in gossiping illustration of william's fierce and vindictive nature, many anecdotes of that cruelty which really stained the norman's character, odo, more bluntly, appeared to take it for granted that harold's sojourn in the land would be long. "you will have time," said he, one day, as they rode together, "to assist me, i trust, in learning the language of our forefathers. danish is still spoken much at bayeux, the sole place in neustria [ ] where the old tongue and customs still linger; and it would serve my pastoral ministry to receive your lessons; in a year or so i might hope so to profit by them as to discourse freely with the less frankish part of my flock." "surely, lord bishop, you jest," said harold, seriously; "you know well that within a week, at farthest, i must sail back for england with my young kinsmen." the prelate laughed. "i advise you, dear count and son, to be cautious how you speak so plainly to william. i perceive that you have already ruffled him by such indiscreet remarks; and you must have seen eno' of the duke to know that, when his ire is up, his answers are short but his arms are long." "you most grievously wrong duke william," cried harold, indignantly, "to suppose, merely in that playful humor, for which ye normans are famous, that he could lay force on his confiding guest?" "no, not a confiding guest,--a ransomed captive. surely my brother will deem that he has purchased of count guy his rights over his illustrious prisoner. but courage! the norman court is not the ponthevin dungeon; and your chains, at least, are roses." the reply of wrath and defiance that rose to harold's lip, was checked by a sign from de graville, who raised his finger to his lip with a face expressive of caution and alarm; and, some little time after, as they halted to water their horses, de graville came up to him and said in a low voice, and in saxon: "beware how you speak too frankly to odo. what is said to him is said to william; and the duke, at times, so acts on the spur of the moment that--but let me not wrong him, or needlessly alarm you." "sire de graville," said harold, "this is not the first time that the prelate of bayeux hath hinted at compulsion, nor that you (no doubt kindly) have warned me of purpose hostile or fraudful. as plain man to plain man, i ask you, on your knightly honour, to tell me if you know aught to make you believe that william the duke will, under any pretext, detain me here a captive?" now, though mallet de graville had lent himself to the service of an ignoble craft, he justified it by a better reason than complaisance to his lords; for, knowing william well, his hasty ire, and his relentless ambition, he was really alarmed for harold's safety. and, as the reader may have noted, in suggesting that policy of intimidation, the knight had designed to give the earl at least the benefit of forewarning. so, thus adjured, de graville replied sincerely: "earl harold, on my honour as your brother in knighthood i answer your plain question. i have cause to believe and to know that william will not suffer you to depart, unless fully satisfied on certain points, which he himself will, doubtless, ere long make clear to you." "and if i insist on my departure, not so satisfying him?" "every castle on our road hath a dungeon as deep as count guy's; but where another william to deliver you from william?" "over yon seas, a prince mightier than william, and men as resolute, at least, as your normans." "cher et puissant, my lord earl," answered de graville, "these are brave words, but of no weight in the ear of a schemer so deep as the duke. think you really, that king edward--pardon my bluntness--would rouse himself from his apathy, to do more in your behalf than he has done in your kinsmen's--remonstrate and preach?--are you even sure that on the representation of a man he hath so loved as william, he will not be content to rid his throne of so formidable a subject? you speak of the english people; doubtless you are popular and beloved, but it is the habit of no people, least of all your own, to stir actively and in concert, without leaders. the duke knows the factions of england as well as you do. remember how closely he is connected with tostig, your ambitious brother. have you no fear that tostig himself, earl of the most warlike part of the kingdom, will not only do his best to check the popular feeling in your favour, but foment every intrigue to detain you here, and leave himself the first noble in the land? as for other leaders, save gurth (who is but your own vice earl), who is there that will not rejoice at the absence of harold? you have made foes of the only family that approaches the power of your own--the heirs of leofric and algar.--your strong hand removed from the reins of the empire, tumults and dissensions ere long will break forth that will distract men's minds from an absent captive, and centre them on the safety of their own hearths, or the advancement of their own interests. you see that i know something of the state of your native land; but deem not my own observation, though not idle, sufficed to bestow that knowledge. i learn it more from william's discourses; william, who from flanders, from boulogne, from england itself, by a thousand channels, hears all that passes between the cliffs of dover and the marches of scotland." harold paused long before he replied, for his mind was now thoroughly awakened to his danger; and, while recognising the wisdom and intimate acquaintance of affairs with which de graville spoke, he was also rapidly revolving the best course for himself to pursue in such extremes. at length he said: "i pass by your remarks on the state of england, with but one comment. you underrate gurth, my brother, when you speak of him but as the vice earl of harold. you underrate one, who needs but an object, to excel, in arms and in council, my father godwin himself.--that object a brother's wrongs would create from a brother's love, and three hundred ships would sail up the seine to demand your captive, manned by warriors as hardy as those who wrested neustria from king charles." "granted," said de graville. "but william, who could cut off the hands and feet of his own subjects for an idle jest on his birth, could as easily put out the eyes of a captive foe. and of what worth are the ablest brain, and the stoutest arm, when the man is dependent on another for very sight!" harold involuntarily shuddered, but recovering himself on the instant, he replied, with a smile: "thou makest thy duke a butcher more fell than his ancestor rolfganger. but thou saidst he needed but to be satisfied on certain points. what are they?" "ah, that thou must divine, or he unfold. but see, william himself approaches you." and here the duke, who had been till then in the rear, spurred up with courteous excuses to harold for his long defection from his side; and, as they resumed their way, talked with all his former frankness and gaiety. "by the way, dear brother in arms," said he, "i have provided thee this evening with comrades more welcome, i fear, than myself--haco and wolnoth. that last is a youth whom i love dearly: the first is unsocial eno', and methinks would make a better hermit than soldier. but, by st. valery, i forgot to tell thee that an envoy from flanders to-day, amongst other news, brought me some, that may interest thee. there is a strong commotion in thy brother tostig's northumbrian earldom, and the rumour runs that his fierce vassals will drive him forth and select some other lord: talk was of the sons of algar--so i think ye called the stout dead earl. this looks grave, for my dear cousin edward's health is failing fast. may the saints spare him long from their rest!" "these are indeed ill tidings," said the earl; "and i trust that they suffice to plead at once my excuse for urging any immediate departure. grateful i am for thy most gracious hostship, and thy just and generous intercession with thy liegeman" (harold dwelt emphatically on the last word), "for my release from a capture disgraceful to all christendom. the ransom so nobly paid for me i will not insult thee, dear my lord, by affecting to repay; but such gifts as our cheapmen hold most rare, perchance thy lady and thy fair children will deign to receive at my hands. of these hereafter. now may i ask but a vessel from thy nearest port." "we will talk of this, dear guest and brother knight, on some later occasion. lo, yon castle--ye have no such in england. see its vawmures and fosses!" "a noble pile," answered harold. "but pardon me that i press for--" "ye have no such strongholds, i say, in england?" interrupted the duke petulantly. "nay," replied the englishman, "we have two strongholds far larger than that--salisbury plain and newmarket heath! [ ]--strongholds that will contain fifty thousand men who need no walls but their shields. count william, england's ramparts are her men, and her strongest castles are her widest plains." "ah!" said the duke, biting his lip, "ah, so be it--but to return:--in that castle, mark it well, the dukes of normandy hold their prisoners of state;" and then he added with a laugh; "but we hold you, noble captive, in a prison more strong--our love and our heart." as he spoke, he turned his eye full upon harold, and the gaze of the two encountered: that of the duke was brilliant, but stern and sinister; that of harold, steadfast and reproachful. as if by a spell, the eye of each rested long on that of the other--as the eyes of two lords of the forest, ere the rush and the spring. william was the first to withdraw his gaze, and as he did so, his lip quivered and his brow knit. then waving his hand for some of the lords behind to join him and the earl, he spurred his steed, and all further private conversation was suspended. the train pulled not bridle before they reached a monastery, at which they rested for the night. chapter v. on entering the chamber set apart for him in the convent, harold found haco and wolnoth already awaiting him; and a wound he had received in the last skirmish against the bretons, having broken out afresh on the road, allowed him an excuse to spend the rest of the evening alone with his kinsmen. on conversing with them--now at length, and unrestrainedly--harold saw everything to increase his alarm; for even wolnoth, when closely pressed, could not but give evidence of the unscrupulous astuteness with which, despite all the boasted honour of chivalry, the duke's character was stained. for, indeed in his excuse, it must be said, that from the age of eight, exposed to the snares of his own kinsmen, and more often saved by craft than by strength, william had been taught betimes to justify dissimulation, and confound wisdom with guile. harold now bitterly recalled the parting words of edward, and recognised their justice, though as yet he did not see all that they portended. fevered and disquieted yet more by the news from england, and conscious that not only the power of his house and the foundations of his aspiring hopes, but the very weal and safety of the land, were daily imperilled by his continued absence, a vague and unspeakable terror for the first time in his life preyed on his bold heart--a terror like that of superstition, for, like superstition, it was of the unknown; there was everything to shun, yet no substance to grapple with. he who could have smiled at the brief pangs of death, shrunk from the thought of the perpetual prison; he, whose spirit rose elastic to every storm of life, and exulted in the air of action, stood appalled at the fear of blindness;--blindness in the midst of a career so grand;--blindness in the midst of his pathway to a throne;-- blindness, that curse which palsies the strong and enslaves the free, and leaves the whole man defenceless;--defenceless in an age of iron. what, too, were those mysterious points on which he was to satisfy the duke? he sounded his young kinsmen; but wolnoth evidently knew nothing; haco's eye showed intelligence, but by his looks and gestures he seemed to signify that what he knew he would only disclose to harold. fatigued, not more with his emotions than with that exertion to conceal them so peculiar to the english character (proud virtue of manhood so little appreciated, and so rarely understood!) he at length kissed wolnoth, and dismissed him, yawning, to his rest. haco, lingering, closed the door, and looked long and mournfully at the earl. "noble kinsman," said the young son of sweyn, "i foresaw from the first, that as our fate will be thine;--only round thee will be wall and fosse; unless, indeed, thou wilt lay aside thine own nature--it will give thee no armour here--and assume that which----" "ho!" interrupted the earl, shaking with repressed passion, "i see already all the foul fraud and treason to guest and noble that surround me! but if the duke dare such shame he shall do so in the eyes of day. i will hail the first boat i see on his river, or his sea-coast; and woe to those who lay hand on this arm to detain me!" haco lifted his ominous eyes to harold's; and there was something in their cold and unimpassioned expression which seemed to repel all enthusiasm, and to deaden all courage. "harold," said he, "if but for one such moment thou obeyest the impulses of thy manly pride, or thy just resentment, thou art lost for ever; one show of violence, one word of affront, and thou givest the duke the excuse he thirsts for. escape! it is impossible. for the last five years, i have pondered night and day the means of flight; for i deem that my hostageship, by right, is long since over; and no means have i seen or found. spies dog my every step, as spies, no doubt, dog thine." "ha! it is true," said harold; "never once have i wandered three paces from the camp or the troop, but, under some pretext, i have been followed by knight or courtier. god and our lady help me, if but for england's sake! but what counsellest thou? boy, teach me; thou hast been reared in this air of wile--to me it is strange, and i am as a wild beast encompassed by a circle of fire." "then," answered haco, "meet craft by craft, smile by smile. feel that thou art under compulsion, and act,--as the church itself pardons men for acting, so compelled." harold started, and the blush spread red over his cheeks. haco continued. "once in prison, and thou art lost evermore to the sight of men. william would not then dare to release thee--unless, indeed, he first rendered thee powerless to avenge. though i will not malign him, and say that he himself is capable of secret murder, yet he has ever those about him who are. he drops in his wrath some hasty word; it is seized by ready and ruthless tools. the great count of bretagne was in his way; william feared him as he fears thee; and in his own court, and amongst his own men, the great count of bretagne died by poison. for thy doom, open or secret, william, however, could find ample excuse." "how, boy? what charge can the norman bring against a free englishman?" "his kinsman alfred," answered haco, "was blinded, tortured, and murdered. and in the court of rouen, they say these deeds were done by godwin, thy father. the normans who escorted alfred were decimated in cold blood; again, they say godwin thy father slaughtered them." "it is hell's own lie!" cried harold, "and so have i proved already to the duke." "proved? no! the lamb does not prove the cause which is prejudged by the wolf. often and often have i heard the normans speak of those deeds, and cry that vengeance yet shall await them. it is but to renew the old accusation, to say godwin's sudden death was god's proof of his crime, and even edward himself would forgive the duke for thy bloody death. but grant the best; grant that the more lenient doom were but the prison; grant that edward and the english invaded normandy to enforce thy freedom; knowest thou what william hath ere now done with hostages? he hath put them in the van of his army, and seared out their eyes in the sight of both hosts. deemest thou he would be more gentle to us and to thee? such are thy dangers. be bold and frank,--and thou canst not escape them; be wary and wise, promise and feign,--and they are baffled: cover thy lion heart with the fox's hide until thou art free from the toils." "leave me, leave me," said harold, hastily. "yet, hold. thou didst seem to understand me when i hinted of--in a word, what is the object william would gain from me?" haco looked around; again went to the door--again opened and closed it--approached, and whispered, "the crown of england!" the earl bounded as if shot to the heart; then, again he cried: "leave me. i must be alone--alone now. go! go!" chapter vi. only in solitude could that strong man give way to his emotions; and at first they rushed forth so confused and stormy, so hurtling one the other, that hours elapsed before he could serenely face the terrible crisis of his position. the great historian of italy has said, that whenever the simple and truthful german came amongst the plotting and artful italians and experienced their duplicity and craft, he straightway became more false and subtle than the italians themselves: to his own countrymen, indeed, he continued to retain his characteristic sincerity and good faith; but, once duped and tricked by the southern schemers, as if with a fierce scorn, he rejected troth with the truthless; he exulted in mastering them in their own wily statesmanship; and if reproached for insincerity, retorted with naive wonder, "ye italians, and complain of insincerity! how otherwise can one deal with you--how be safe amongst you?" somewhat of this revolution of all the natural elements of his character took place in harold's mind that stormy and solitary night. in the transport of his indignation, he resolved not doltishly to be thus outwitted to his ruin. the perfidious host had deprived himself of that privilege of truth,--the large and heavenly security of man;-- it was but a struggle of wit against wit, snare against snare. the state and law of warfare had started up in the lap of fraudful peace; and ambush must be met by ambush, plot by plot. such was the nature of the self-excuses by which the saxon defended his resolves, and they appeared to him more sanctioned by the stake which depended on success--a stake which his undying patriotism allowed to be far more vast than his individual ambition. nothing was more clear than that if he were detained in a norman prison, at the time of king edward's death, the sole obstacle to william's design on the english throne would be removed. in the interim, the duke's intrigues would again surround the infirm king with norman influences; and in the absence both of any legitimate heir to the throne capable of commanding the trust of the people, and of his own preponderating ascendancy both in the witan and the armed militia of the nation, what could arrest the designs of the grasping duke? thus his own liberty was indissolubly connected with that of his country; and for that great end, the safety of england, all means grew holy. when the next morning he joined the cavalcade, it was only by his extreme paleness that the struggle and agony of the past night could be traced, and he answered with correspondent cheerfulness william's cordial greetings. as they rode together--still accompanied by several knights, and the discourse was thus general, the features of the country suggested the theme of the talk. for, now in the heart of normandy, but in rural districts remote from the great towns, nothing could be more waste and neglected than the face of the land. miserable and sordid to the last degree were the huts of the serfs; and when these last met them on their way, half naked and hunger-worn, there was a wild gleam of hate and discontent in their eyes, as they louted low to the norman riders, and heard the bitter and scornful taunts with which they were addressed; for the norman and the frank had more than indifference for the peasants of their land; they literally both despised and abhorred them, as of different race from the conquerors. the norman settlement especially was so recent in the land, that none of that amalgamation between class and class which centuries had created in england, existed there; though in england the theowe was wholly a slave, and the ceorl in a political servitude to his lord, yet public opinion, more mild than law, preserved the thraldom from wanton aggravation; and slavery was felt to be wrong and unchristian. the saxon church-- not the less, perhaps, for its very ignorance--sympathised more with the subject population and was more associated with it, than the comparatively learned and haughty ecclesiastics of the continent, who held aloof from the unpolished vulgar. the saxon church invariably set the example of freeing the theowe and emancipating the ceorl, and taught that such acts were to the salvation of the soul. the rude and homely manner in which the greater part of the saxon thegns lived-- dependent solely for their subsistence on their herds and agricultural produce, and therefore on the labour of their peasants--not only made the distinctions of rank less harsh and visible, but rendered it the interest of the lords to feed and clothe well their dependents. all our records of the customs of the saxons prove the ample sustenance given to the poor, and a general care of their lives and rights, which, compared with the frank laws, may be called enlightened and humane. and above all, the lowest serf ever had the great hope both of freedom and of promotion; but the beast of the field was holier in the eyes of the norman, than the wretched villein [ ]. we have likened the norman to the spartan, and, most of all, he was like him in his scorn of the helot. thus embruted and degraded, deriving little from religion itself, except its terrors, the general habits of the peasants on the continent of france were against the very basis of christianity-- marriage. they lived together for the most part without that tie, and hence the common name, with which they were called by their masters, lay and clerical, was the coarsest word contempt can apply to the sons of women. "the hounds glare at us," said odo, as a drove of these miserable serfs passed along. "they need ever the lash to teach them to know the master. are they thus mutinous and surly in england, lord harold?" "no: but there our meanest theowes are not seen so clad, nor housed in such hovels," said the earl. "and is it really true that a villein with you can rise to be a noble?" "of at least yearly occurrence. perhaps the forefathers of one-fourth of our anglo-saxon thegns held the plough, or followed some craft mechanical." duke william politicly checked odo's answer, and said mildly: "every land its own laws: and by them alone should it be governed by a virtuous and wise ruler. but, noble harold, i grieve that you should thus note the sore point in my realm. i grant that the condition of the peasants and the culture of the land need reform. but in my childhood, there was a fierce outbreak of rebellion among the villeins, needing bloody example to check, and the memories of wrath between lord and villein must sleep before we can do justice between them, as please st. peter, and by lanfranc's aid, we hope to do. meanwhile, one great portion of our villeinage in our larger towns we have much mitigated. for trade and commerce are the strength of rising states; and if our fields are barren our streets are prosperous." harold bowed, and rode musingly on. that civilisation he had so much admired bounded itself to the noble class, and, at farthest, to the circle of the duke's commercial policy. beyond it, on the outskirts of humanity, lay the mass of the people. and here, no comparison in favour of the latter could be found between english and norman civilisation. the towers of bayeux rose dim in the distance, when william proposed a halt in a pleasant spot by the side of a small stream, overshadowed by oak and beech. a tent for himself and harold was pitched in haste, and after an abstemious refreshment, the duke, taking harold's arm, led him away from the train along the margin of the murmuring stream. they were soon in a remote, pastoral, primitive spot, a spot like those which the old menestrels loved to describe, and in which some pious hermit might, pleased, have fixed his solitary home. halting where a mossy bank jutted over the water, william motioned to his companion to seat himself, and reclining at his side, abstractedly took the pebbles from the margin and dropped them into the stream. they fell to the botton with a hollow sound; the circle they made on the surface widened, and was lost; and the wave rushed and murmured on, disdainful. "harold," said the duke at last, "thou hast thought, i fear, that i have trifled with thy impatience to return. but there is on my mind a matter of great moment to thee and to me, and it must out, before thou canst depart. on this very spot where we now sit, sate in early youth, edward thy king, and william thy host. soothed by the loneliness of the place, and the music of the bell from the church tower, rising pale through yonder glade, edward spoke of his desire for the monastic life, and of his content with his exile in the norman land. few then were the hopes that he should ever attain the throne of alfred. i, more martial, and ardent for him as myself, combated the thought of the convent, and promised, that, if ever occasion meet arrived, and he needed the norman help, i would, with arm and heart, do a chief's best to win him his lawful crown. heedest thou me, dear harold?" "ay, my host, with heart as with ear." "and edward then, pressing my hand as i now press thine, while answering gratefully, promised, that if he did, contrary to all human foresight, gain his heritage, he, in case i survived him, would bequeath that heritage to me. thy hand withdraws itself from mine." "but from surprise: duke william, proceed." "now," resumed william, "when thy kinsmen were sent to me as hostages for the most powerful house in england--the only one that could thwart the desire of my cousin--i naturally deemed this a corroboration of his promise, and an earnest of his continued designs; and in this i was reassured by the prelate, robert, archbishop of canterbury, who knew the most secret conscience of your king. wherefore my pertinacity in retaining those hostages; wherefore my disregard to edward's mere remonstrances, which i not unnaturally conceived to be but his meek confessions to the urgent demands of thyself and house. since then, fortune or providence hath favoured the promise of the king, and my just expectations founded thereon. for one moment, it seemed indeed, that edward regretted or reconsidered the pledge of our youth. he sent for his kinsman, the atheling, natural heir to the throne. but the poor prince died. the son, a mere child, if i am rightly informed, the laws of thy land will set aside, should edward die ere the child grown a man; and, moreover, i am assured, that the young edgar hath no power of mind or intellect to wield so weighty a sceptre as that of england. your king, also, even since your absence, hath had severe visitings of sickness, and ere another year his new abbey may hold his tomb." william here paused; again dropped the pebbles into the stream, and glanced furtively on the unrevealing face of the earl. he resumed: "thy brother tostig, as so nearly allied to my house, would, i am advised, back my claims; and wert thou absent from england, tostig, i conceive, would be in thy place as the head of the great party of godwin. but to prove how little i care for thy brother's aid compared with thine, and how implicitly i count on thee, i have openly told thee what a wilier plotter would have concealed--viz., the danger to which thy brother is menaced in his own earldom. to the point, then, i pass at once. i might, as my ransomed captive, detain thee here, until, without thee, i had won my english throne, and i know that thou alone couldst obstruct my just claims, or interfere with the king's will, by which that appanage will be left to me. nevertheless, i unbosom myself to thee, and would owe my crown solely to thine aid. i pass on to treat with thee, dear harold, not as lord with vassal, but as prince with prince. on thy part, thou shalt hold for me the castle of dover, to yield to my fleet when the hour comes; thou shalt aid me in peace, and through thy national witan, to succeed to edward, by whose laws i will reign in all things conformably with the english rites, habits, and decrees. a stronger king to guard england from the dane, and a more practised head to improve her prosperity, i am vain eno' to say thou wilt not find in christendom. on my part, i offer to thee my fairest daughter, adeliza, to whom thou shalt be straightway betrothed: thine own young unwedded sister, thyra, thou shalt give to one of my greatest barons: all the lands, dignities, and possessions thou holdest now, thou shalt still retain; and if, as i suspect, thy brother tostig cannot keep his vast principality north the humber, it shall pass to thee. whatever else thou canst demand in guarantee of my love and gratitude, or so to confirm thy power that thou shalt rule over thy countships as free and as powerful as the great counts of provence or anjou reign in france over theirs, subject only to the mere form of holding in fief to the suzerain, as i, stormy subject, hold normandy under philip of france,--shall be given to thee. in truth, there will be two kings in england, though in name but one. and far from losing by the death of edward, thou shalt gain by the subjection of every meaner rival, and the cordial love of thy grateful william.--splendour of god, earl, thou keepest me long for thine answer!" "what thou offerest," said the earl, fortifying himself with the resolution of the previous night, and compressing his lips, livid with rage, "is beyond my deserts, and all that the greatest chief under royalty could desire. but england is not edward's to leave, nor mine to give: its throne rests with the witan." "and the witan rests with thee," exclaimed william sharply. "i ask but for possibilities, man; i ask but all thine influence on my behalf; and if it be less than i deem, mine is the loss. what dost thou resign? i will not presume to menace thee; but thou wouldst indeed despise my folly, if now, knowing my designs, i let thee forth --not to aid, but betray them. i know thou lovest england, so do i. thou deemest me a foreigner; true, but the norman and dane are of precisely the same origin. thou, of the race of canute, knowest how popular was the reign of that king. why should william's be less so? canute had no right whatsoever, save that of the sword. my right will be kinship to edward--edward's wish in my favour--the consent through thee of the witan--the absence of all other worthy heir--my wife's clear descent from alfred, which, in my children, restore the saxon line, through its purest and noblest ancestry, to the throne. think over all this, and then wilt thou tell me that i merit not this crown?" harold yet paused, and the fiery duke resumed: "are the terms i give not tempting eno' to my captive--to the son of the great godwin, who, no doubt falsely, but still by the popular voice of all europe, had power of life and death over my cousin alfred and my norman knights? or dost thou thyself covet the english crown; and is it to a rival that i have opened my heart?" "nay," said harold in the crowning effort of his new and fatal lesson in simulation. "thou hast convinced me, duke william: let it be as thou sayest." the duke gave way to his joy by a loud exclamation, and then recapitulated the articles of the engagement, to which harold simply bowed his head. amicably then the duke embraced the earl, and the two returned towards the tent. while the steeds were brought forth, william took the opportunity to draw odo apart; and, after a short whispered conference, the prelate hastened to his barb, and spurred fast to bayeux in advance of the party. all that day, and all that night, and all the next morn till noon, courtiers and riders went abroad, north and south, east and west, to all the more famous abbeys and churches in normandy, and holy and awful was the spoil with which they returned for the ceremony of the next day. chapter vii. the stately mirth of the evening banquet seemed to harold as the malign revel of some demoniac orgy. he thought he read in every face the exultation over the sale of england. every light laugh in the proverbial ease of the social normans rang on his ear like the joy of a ghastly sabbat. all his senses preternaturally sharpened to that magnetic keenness in which we less hear and see than conceive and divine, the lowest murmur william breathed in the ear of odo boomed clear to his own; the slightest interchange of glance between some dark-browed priest and large-breasted warrior, flashed upon his vision. the irritation of his recent and neglected wound combined with his mental excitement to quicken, yet to confuse, his faculties. body and soul were fevered. he floated, as it were, between a delirium and a dream. late in the evening he was led into the chamber where the duchess sat alone with adeliza and her second son william--a boy who had the red hair and florid hues of the ancestral dane, but was not without a certain bold and strange kind of beauty, and who, even in childhood, all covered with broidery and gems, betrayed the passion for that extravagant and fantastic foppery for which william the red king, to the scandal of church and pulpit, exchanged the decorous pomp of his father's generation. a formal presentation of harold to the little maid was followed by a brief ceremony of words, which conveyed what to the scornful sense of the earl seemed the mockery of betrothal between infant and bearded man. glozing congratulations buzzed around him; then there was a flash of lights on his dizzy eyes, he found himself moving through a corridor between odo and william. he was in his room hung with arras and strewed with rushes; before him in niches, various images of the virgin, the archangel michael, st. stephen, st. peter, st. john, st. valery; and from the bells in the monastic edifice hard by tolled the third watch [ ] of the night--the narrow casement was out of reach, high in the massive wall, and the starlight was darkened by the great church tower. harold longed for air. all his earldom had he given at that moment, to feel the cold blast of his native skies moaning round his saxon wolds. he opened his door, and looked forth. a lanthorn swung on high from the groined roof of the corridor. by the lanthorn stood a tall sentry in arms, and its gleam fell red upon an iron grate that jealously closed the egress. the earl closed the door, and sat down on his bed, covering his face with his clenched hand. the veins throbbed in every pulse, his own touch seemed to him like fire. the prophecies of hilda on the fatal night by the bautastein, which had decided him to reject the prayer of gurth, the fears of edith, and the cautions of edward, came back to him, dark, haunting, and overmasteringly. they rose between him and his sober sense, whenever he sought to re-collect his thoughts, now to madden him with the sense of his folly in belief, now to divert his mind from the perilous present to the triumphant future they foretold; and of all the varying chaunts of the vala, ever two lines seemed to burn into his memory, and to knell upon his ear, as if they contained the counsel they ordained him to pursue: "guile by guile oppose, and never crown and brow shall force dissever!" so there he sat, locked and rigid, not reclining, not disrobing, till in that posture a haggard, troubled, fitful sleep came over him; nor did he wake till the hour of prime [ ], when ringing bells and tramping feet, and the hum of prayer from the neighbouring chapel, roused him into waking yet more troubled, and well-nigh as dreamy. but now godrith and haco entered the room, and the former inquired with some surprise in his tone, if he had arranged with the duke to depart that day; "for," said he, "the duke's hors-thegn has just been with me, to say that the duke himself, and a stately retinue, are to accompany you this evening towards harfleur, where a ship will be in readiness for our transport; and i know that the chamberlain (a courteous and pleasant man) is going round to my fellow-thegns in your train, with gifts of hawks, and chains, and broidered palls." "it is so," said haco, in answer to harold's brightening and appealing eye. "go then, at once, godrith," exclaimed the earl, bounding to his feet, "have all in order to part at the first break of the trump. never, i ween, did trump sound so cheerily as the blast that shall announce our return to england. haste--haste!" as godrith, pleased in the earl's pleasure, though himself already much fascinated by the honours he had received and the splendor he had witnessed, withdrew, haco said, "thou has taken my counsel, noble kinsman?" "question me not, haco! out of my memory, all that hath passed here!" "not yet," said haco, with that gloomy and intense seriousness of voice and aspect, which was so at variance with his years, and which impressed all he said with an indescribable authority. "not yet; for even while the chamberlain went his round with the parting gifts, i, standing in the angle of the wall in the yard, heard the duke's deep whisper to roger bigod, who has the guard of the keape, 'have the men all armed at noon in the passage below the council-hall, to mount at the stamp of my foot: and if then i give thee a prisoner--wonder not, but lodge him--' the duke paused; and bigod said, 'where, my liege?' and the duke answered fiercely, 'where? why, where but in the tour noir?--where but in the cell in which malvoisin rotted out his last hour?' not yet, then, let the memory of norman wile pass away; let the lip guard the freedom still." all the bright native soul that before haco spoke had dawned gradually back on the earl's fair face, now closed itself up, as the leaves of a poisoned flower; and the pupil of the eye receding, left to the orb that secret and strange expression which had baffled all readers of the heart in the look of his impenetrable father. "guile by guile oppose!" he muttered vaguely; then started, clenched his hand, and smiled. in a few moments, more than the usual levee of norman nobles thronged into the room; and what with the wonted order of the morning, in the repast, the church service of tierce, and a ceremonial visit to matilda, who confirmed the intelligence that all was in preparation for his departure, and charged him with gifts of her own needlework to his sister the queen, and various messages of gracious nature, the time waxed late into noon without his having yet seen either william or odo. he was still with matilda, when the lords fitzosborne and raoul de tancarville entered in full robes of state, and with countenances unusually composed and grave, and prayed the earl to accompany them into the duke's presence. harold obeyed in silence, not unprepared for covert danger, by the formality of the counts, as by the warnings of haco; but, indeed, undivining the solemnity of the appointed snare. on entering the lofty hall, he beheld william seated in state; his sword of office in his hand, his ducal robe on his imposing form, and with that peculiarly erect air of the head which he assumed upon all ceremonial occasions [ ]. behind him stood odo of bayeux, in aube and gallium; some score of the duke's greatest vassals; and at a little distance from the throne chair, was what seemed a table; or vast chest, covered all over with cloth of gold. small time for wonder or self-collection did the duke give the saxon. "approach, harold," said he, in the full tones of that voice, so singularly effective in command; "approach, and without fear, as without regret. before the members of this noble assembly--all witnesses of thy faith, and all guarantees of mine--i summon thee to confirm by oath the promises thou mad'st me yesterday; namely, to aid me to obtain the kingdom of england on the death of king edward, my cousin; to marry my daughter adeliza; and to send thy sister hither, that i may wed her, as we agreed, to one of my worthiest and prowest counts. advance thou, odo, my brother, and repeat to the noble earl the norman form by which he will take the oath." then odo stood forth by that mysterious receptacle covered with the cloth of gold, and said briefly, "thou wilt swear, as far as is in thy power, to fulfil thy agreement with william, duke of the normans, if thou live, and god aid thee; and in witness of that oath thou wilt lay thy hand upon the reliquaire," pointing to a small box that lay on the cloth of gold. all this was so sudden--all flashed so rapidly upon the earl, whose natural intellect, however great, was, as we have often seen, more deliberate than prompt--so thoroughly was the bold heart, which no siege could have sapped, taken by surprise and guile--so paramount through all the whirl and tumult of his mind, rose the thought of england irrevocably lost, if he who alone could save her was in the norman dungeons--so darkly did all haco's fears, and his own just suspicions, quell and master him, that mechanically, dizzily, dreamily, he laid his hand on the reliquaire, and repeated, with automaton lips: "if i live, and if god aid me to it!" then all the assembly repeated solemnly: "god aid him!" and suddenly, at a sign from william, odo and raoul de tancarville raised the gold cloth, and the duke's voice bade harold look below. as when man descends from the gilded sepulchre to the loathsome charnel, so at the lifting of that cloth, all the dread ghastliness of death was revealed. there, from abbey and from church, from cyst and from shrine, had been collected all the relics of human nothingness in which superstition adored the mementos of saints divine; there lay, pell mell and huddled, skeleton and mummy--the dry dark skin, the white gleaming bones of the dead, mockingly cased in gold, and decked with rubies; there, grim fingers protruded through the hideous chaos, and pointed towards the living man ensnared; there, the skull grinned scoff under the holy mitre;--and suddenly rushed back, luminous and searing upon harold's memory, the dream long forgotten, or but dimly remembered in the healthful business of life--the gibe and the wirble of the dead men's bones. "at that sight," say the norman chronicles, "the earl shuddered and trembled." "awful, indeed, thine oath, and natural thine emotion," said the duke; "for in that cyst are all those relics which religion deems the holiest in our land. the dead have heard thine oath, and the saints even now record it in the halls of heaven! cover again the holy bones!" makers of history william the conqueror by jacob abbott with engravings new york and london harper & brothers publishers entered, according to act of congress, in the year one thousand eight hundred and forty-nine, by harper & brothers, in the clerk's office of the district court of the southern district of new york. copyright, , by jacob abbott. preface. in selecting the subjects for the successive volumes of this series, it has been the object of the author to look for the names of those great personages whose histories constitute useful, and not merely entertaining, knowledge. there are certain names which are familiar, as names, to all mankind; and every person who seeks for any degree of mental cultivation, feels desirous of informing himself of the leading outlines of their history, that he may know, in brief, what it was in their characters or their doings which has given them so widely-extended a fame. this knowledge, which it seems incumbent on every one to obtain in respect to such personages as hannibal, alexander, cæsar, cleopatra, darius, xerxes, alfred, william the conqueror, queen elizabeth, and mary queen of scots, it is the design and object of these volumes to communicate, in a faithful, and, at the same time, if possible, in an attractive manner. consequently, great historical names alone are selected; and it has been the writer's aim to present the prominent and leading traits in their characters, and all the important events in their lives, in a bold and free manner, and yet in the plain and simple language which is so obviously required in works which aim at permanent and practical usefulness. contents. chapter page i. normandy ii. birth of william iii. the accession iv. william's reign in normandy v. the marriage vi. the lady emma vii. king harold viii. preparations for the invasion ix. crossing the channel x. the battle of hastings xi. prince robert's rebellion xii. the conclusion engravings. page map--the situation of normandy william and arlotte william's escape the bayeux tapestry the rescue harold's interview with edward william receiving tostig's tidings map--normandy the norwegians at scarborough william's horse stepping on the embers william the conqueror. chapter i. normandy. a.d. - the norman conquest.--claim of william to the throne.--the right of the strongest.--map of normandy.--the english channel.--nature of the french coast.--nature of the english coast.--northmen and danes.--character of the northmen.--their descendants.--the dukes of normandy.--the first duke, rollo.--history of rollo.--his rendezvous on the scottish coast.--expedition of rollo.--his descent upon flanders.--difficulties encountered.--rollo passes the straits of dover.--charles the simple.--defeated by rollo.--treaty of peace.--its conditions.--the three ceremonies.--rollo's pride.--kissing the king's foot.--the baptism and marriage.--rollo's peaceful and prosperous reign.--description of normandy.--scenery.--hamlets.--chateaux.--peasantry.--public roads.--rouen.--its situation.--the port of rouen.--its name of le havre de grace.--intermingling of races.--superiority of the norman stock. one of those great events in english history, which occur at distant intervals, and form, respectively, a sort of bound or landmark, to which all other events, preceding or following them for centuries, are referred, is what is called the norman conquest. the norman conquest was, in fact, the accession of william, duke of normandy, to the english throne. this accession was not altogether a matter of military force, for william claimed a _right_ to the throne, which, if not altogether perfect, was, as he maintained, at any rate superior to that of the prince against whom he contended. the rightfulness of his claim was, however, a matter of little consequence, except so far as the moral influence of it aided him in gaining possession. the right to rule was, in those days, rather more openly and nakedly, though not much more really, than it is now, the right of the strongest. normandy, william's native land, is a very rich and beautiful province in the north of france. the following map shows its situation: [illustration: map of england and part of france, showing the situation of normandy.] it lies, as will be seen upon the map, on the coast of france, adjoining the english channel. the channel is here irregular in form, but may be, perhaps, on the average, one hundred miles wide. the line of coast on the southern side of the channel, which forms, of course, the northern border of normandy, is a range of cliffs, which are almost perpendicular toward the sea, and which frown forbiddingly upon every ship that sails along the shore. here and there, it is true, a river opens a passage for itself among these cliffs from the interior, and these river mouths would form harbors into which ships might enter from the offing, were it not that the northwestern winds prevail so generally, and drive such a continual swell of rolling surges in upon the shore, that they choke up all these estuary openings, as well as every natural indentation of the land, with shoals and bars of sand and shingle. the reverse is the case with the northern, or english shore of this famous channel. there the harbors formed by the mouths of the rivers, or by the sinuosities of the shore, are open and accessible, and at the same time sheltered from the winds and the sea. thus, while the northern or english shore has been, for many centuries, all the time enticing the seaman in and out over the calm, deep, and sheltered waters which there penetrate the land, the southern side has been an almost impassable barrier, consisting of a long line of frowning cliffs, with every opening through it choked with shoals and sand-banks, and guarded by the rolling and tumbling of surges which scarcely ever rest. it is in a great measure owing to these great physical differences between the two shores, that the people who live upon the one side, though of the same stock and origin with those who live upon the other, have become so vastly superior to them in respect to naval exploits and power. they are really of the same stock and origin, since both england and the northern part of france were overrun and settled by what is called the scandinavian race, that is, people from norway, denmark, and other countries on the baltic. these people were called the _northmen_ in the histories of those times. those who landed in england are generally termed _danes_, though but a small portion of them came really from denmark. they were all, however, of the same parent stock, and possessed the same qualities of courage, energy, and fearless love of adventure and of danger which distinguish their descendants at the present day. they came down in those early times in great military hordes, and in fleets of piratical ships, through the german ocean and the various british seas, braving every hardship and every imaginable danger, to find new regions to dwell in, more genial, and fertile, and rich than their own native northern climes. in these days they evince the same energy, and endure equal privations and hardships, in hunting whales in the pacific ocean; in overrunning india, and seizing its sources of wealth and power; or in sallying forth, whole fleets of adventurers at a time, to go more than half round the globe, to dig for gold in california. the times and circumstances have changed, but the race and spirit are the same. normandy takes its name from the northmen. it was the province of france which the northmen made peculiarly their own. they gained access to it from the sea by the river seine, which, as will be seen from the map, flows, as it were, through the heart of the country. the lower part of this river, and the sea around its mouth, are much choked up with sand and gravel, which the waves have been for ages washing in. their incessant industry would result in closing up the passage entirely, were it not that the waters of the river must have an outlet; and thus the current, setting outward, wages perpetual war with the surf and surges which are continually breaking in. the expeditions of the northmen, however, found their way through all these obstructions. they ascended the river with their ships, and finally gained a permanent settlement in the country. they had occupied the country for some centuries at the time when our story begins--the province being governed by a line of princes--almost, if not quite, independent sovereigns--called the _dukes of normandy_. the first duke of normandy, and the founder of the line--the chieftain who originally invaded and conquered the country--was a wild and half-savage hero from the north, named _rollo_. he is often, in history, called rollo the dane. norway was his native land. he was a chieftain by birth there, and, being of a wild and adventurous disposition, he collected a band of followers, and committed with them so many piracies and robberies, that at length the king of the country expelled him. rollo seems not to have considered this banishment as any very great calamity, since, far from interrupting his career of piracy and plunder, it only widened the field on which he was to pursue it. he accordingly increased the equipment and the force of his fleet, enlisted more followers, and set sail across the northern part of the german ocean toward the british shores. off the northwestern coast of scotland there are some groups of mountainous and gloomy islands, which have been, in many different periods of the world, the refuge of fugitives and outlaws. rollo made these islands his rendezvous now; and he found collected there many other similar spirits, who had fled to these lonely retreats, some on account of political disturbances in which they had become involved, and some on account of their crimes. rollo's impetuous, ardent, and self-confident character inspired them with new energy and zeal. they gathered around him as their leader. finding his strength thus increasing, he formed a scheme of concentrating all the force that he could command, so as to organize a grand expedition to proceed to the southward, and endeavor to find some pleasant country which they could seize and settle upon, and make their own. the desperate adventurers around him were ready enough to enter into this scheme. the fleet was refitted, provisioned, and equipped. the expedition was organized, arms and munitions of war provided, and when all was ready they set sail. they had no definite plan in respect to the place of their destination, their intention being to make themselves a home on the first favorable spot that they should find. they moved southward, cruising at first along the coast of scotland, and then of england. they made several fruitless attempts to land on the english shores, but were every where repulsed. the time when these events took place was during the reign of alfred the great. through alfred's wise and efficient measures the whole of his frontier had been put into a perfect state of defense, and rollo found that there was no hope for him there. he accordingly moved on toward the straits of dover; but, before passing them, he made a descent upon the coast of flanders. here there was a country named hainault. it was governed by a potentate called the count of hainault. rollo made war upon him, defeated him in battle, took him prisoner, and then compelled the countess his wife to raise and pay him an immense sum for his ransom. thus he replenished his treasury by an exploit which was considered in those days very great and glorious. to perpetrate such a deed now, unless it were on a _very_ great scale, would be to incur the universal reprobation of mankind; but rollo, by doing it then, not only enriched his coffers, but acquired a very extended and honorable fame. for some reason or other, rollo did not attempt to take permanent possession of hainault, but, after receiving his ransom money, and replenishing his ammunition and stores, he sailed away with his fleet, and, turning westward, he passed through the straits of dover, and cruised along the coast of france. he found that the country on the french side of the channel, though equally rich and beautiful with the opposite shore, was in a very different state of defense. he entered the mouth of the seine. he was embarrassed at first by the difficulties of the navigation in entering the river; but as there was no efficient enemy to oppose him, he soon triumphed over these difficulties, and, once fairly in the river, he found no difficulty in ascending to rouen.[a] [footnote a: see the map at the commencement of this chapter.] in the mean time, the king of france, whose name was charles, and who is generally designated in history as charles the simple, began to collect an army to meet the invader. rollo, however, had made himself master of rouen before charles was able to offer him any effectual opposition. rouen was already a strong place, but rollo made it stronger. he enlarged and repaired the fortifications, built store-houses, established a garrison, and, in a word, made all the arrangements requisite for securing an impregnable position for himself and his army. a long and obstinate war followed between rollo and charles, rollo being almost uniformly victorious in the combats that took place. rollo became more and more proud and imperious in proportion to his success. he drove the french king from port to port, and from field to field, until he made himself master of a large part of the north of france, over which he gradually established a regular government of his own. charles struggled in vain to resist these encroachments. rollo continually defeated him; and finally he shut him up and besieged him in paris itself. at length charles was compelled to enter into negotiations for peace. rollo demanded that the large and rich tract on both sides of the seine, next the sea--the same, in fact, that now constitutes normandy--should be ceded to him and his followers for their permanent possession. charles was extremely unwilling thus to alienate a part of his kingdom. he would not consent to cede it absolutely and entirely, so as to make it an independent realm. it should be a _dukedom_, and not a separate _kingdom_, so that it might continue still a part of his own royal domains--rollo to reign over it as a duke, and to acknowledge a general allegiance to the french king. rollo agreed to this. the war had been now protracted so long that he began himself to desire repose. it was more than thirty years since the time of his landing. charles had a daughter named giselle, and it was a part of the treaty of peace that she should become rollo's wife. he also agreed to become a christian. thus there were, in the execution of the treaty, three ceremonies to be performed. first, rollo was to _do homage_, as it was called, for his duchy; for it was the custom in those days for subordinate princes, who held their possessions of some higher and more strictly sovereign power, to perform certain ceremonies in the presence of their superior lord, which was called doing homage. these ceremonies were of various kinds in different countries, though they were all intended to express the submission of the dependent prince to the superior authority and power of the higher potentate of whom he held his lands. this act of homage was therefore to be performed, and next to the homage was to come the baptism, and after the baptism, the marriage. when, however, the time came for the performance of the first of these ceremonies, and all the great chieftains and potentates of the respective armies were assembled to witness it, rollo, it was found, would not submit to what the customs of the french monarchy required. he ought to kneel before the king, and put his hands, clasped together, between the king's hands, in token of submission, and then to kiss his foot, which was covered with an elegantly fashioned slipper on such occasions. rollo would do all except the last; but that, no remonstrances, urgencies, or persuasions would induce him to consent to. and yet it was not a very unusual sign or token of political subordination to sovereign power in those days. the pope had exacted it even of an emperor a hundred years before; and it is continued by that dignitary to the present day, on certain state occasions; though in the case of the pope, there is embroidered on the slipper which the kneeling suppliant kisses, a _cross_, so that he who humbles himself to this ceremony may consider, if he pleases, that it is that sacred symbol of the divine redeemer's sufferings and death that he so reverently kisses, and not the human foot by which it is covered. rollo could not be made to consent, himself, to kiss king charles's foot; and, finally, the difficulty was compromised by his agreeing to do it by proxy. he ordered one of his courtiers to perform that part of the ceremony. the courtier obeyed, but when he came to lift the foot, he did it so rudely and lifted it so high as to turn the monarch over off his seat. this made a laugh, but rollo was too powerful for charles to think of resenting it. a few days after this rollo was baptized in the cathedral church at rouen, with great pomp and parade; and then, on the following week, he was married to giselle. the din of war in which he had lived for more than thirty years was now changed into festivities and rejoicings. he took full and peaceable possession of his dukedom, and governed it for the remainder of his days with great wisdom, and lived in great prosperity. he made it, in fact, one of the richest and most prosperous realms in europe, and laid the foundations of still higher degrees of greatness and power, which were gradually developed after his death. and this was the origin of normandy. it appears thus that this part of france was seized by rollo and his northmen partly because it was nearest at hand to them, being accessible from the english channel through the river seine, and partly on account of its exceeding richness and fertility. it has been famous in every age as the garden of france, and travelers at the present day gaze upon its picturesque and beautiful scenery with the highest admiration and pleasure. and yet the scenes which are there presented to the view are wholly unlike those which constitute picturesque and beautiful rural scenery in england and america. in normandy, the land is not inclosed. no hedges, fences, or walls break the continuity of the surface, but vast tracts spread in every direction, divided into plots and squares, of various sizes and forms, by the varieties of cultivation, like a vast carpet of an irregular tesselated pattern, and varied in the color by a thousand hues of brown and green. here and there vast forests extend, where countless thousands of trees, though ancient and venerable in form, stand in rows, mathematically arranged, as they were planted centuries ago. these are royal demesnes, and hunting grounds, and parks connected with the country palaces of the kings or the chateaux of the ancient nobility. the cultivators of the soil live, not, as in america, in little farm-houses built along the road-sides and dotting the slopes of the hills, but in compact villages, consisting of ancient dwellings of brick or stone, densely packed together along a single street, from which the laborers issue, in picturesque dresses, men and women together, every morning, to go miles, perhaps, to the scene of their daily toil. except these villages, and the occasional appearance of an ancient chateau, no habitations are seen. the country seems a vast solitude, teeming everywhere, however, with fertility and beauty. the roads which traverse these scenes are magnificent avenues, broad, straight, continuing for many miles an undeviating course over the undulations of the land, with nothing to separate them from the expanse of cultivation and fruitfulness on either hand but rows of ancient and venerable trees. between these rows of trees the traveler sees an interminable vista extending both before him and behind him. in england, the public road winds beautifully between walls overhung with shrubbery, or hedge-rows, with stiles or gateways here and there, revealing hamlets or cottages, which appear and disappear in a rapid and endlessly varied succession, as the road meanders, like a rivulet, between its beautiful banks. in a word, the public highway in england is beautiful; in france it is grand. the greatest city in normandy in modern times is rouen, which is situated, as will be seen by referring to the map at the commencement of this chapter, on the seine, half way between paris and the sea. at the mouth of the seine, or, rather, on the northern shore of the estuary which forms the mouth of the river, is a small inlet, which has been found to afford, on the whole, the best facilities for a harbor that can be found on the whole line of the coast. even this little port, however, is so filled up with sand, that when the water recedes at low tide it leaves the shipping all aground. the inlet would, in fact, probably become filled up entirely were it not for artificial means taken to prevent it. there are locks and gateways built in such a manner as to retain a large body of water until the tide is down, and then these gates are opened, and the water is allowed to rush out all together, carrying with it the mud and sand which had begun to accumulate. this haven, being, on the whole, the best and most commodious on the coast, was called _the_ harbor, or, as the french expressed it in their language, _le havre_, the word _havre_ meaning harbor. in fact, the name was in full _le havre de grace_, as if the normans considered it a matter of special good luck to have even such a chance of a harbor as this at the mouth of their river. the english world have, however, dropped all except the principal word from this long phrase of designation, and call the port simply havre. * * * * * from rollo the line of dukes of normandy continued in uninterrupted succession down to the time of william, a period of about a hundred and fifty years. the country increased all the time in wealth, in population, and in prosperity. the original inhabitants were not, however, expelled; they remained as peasants, herdsmen, and agriculturists, while the norman chieftains settled over them, holding severally large estates of land which william granted them. the races gradually became intermingled, though they continued for many centuries to evince the superior spirit and energy which was infused into the population by the norman stock. in fact, it is thought by many observers that that superiority continues to the present day. chapter ii. birth of william. a.d. - castle at falaise.--present ruins of the castle.--scenery of the town and castle.--wall and buildings.--watch-towers.--sentinels.--enchanting prospect.--chronological history of the norman line.--rollo.--william i., second duke.--richard i., third duke.--richard ii., fourth duke.--richard iii., fifth duke.--intrigues of robert.--he becomes the sixth duke.--robert and henry.--william's mother.--robert's first meeting with arlotte.--he is captivated.--robert sends for arlotte.--scruples of her father.--arlotte sent to the castle.--robert's affection for her.--birth of william.--the nurse's prediction.--william's childhood.--he is a universal favorite.--robert determines to visit the holy land.--dangers of the journey.--he makes william his heir.--surprise of the assembly.--the nobles do homage to william.--william is taken to paris.--he is presented to the french king. although rouen is now very far before all the other cities of normandy in point of magnitude and importance, and though rollo, in his conquest of the country, made it his principal head-quarters and his main stronghold, it did not continue exclusively the residence of the dukes of normandy in after years. the father of william the conqueror was robert, who became subsequently the duke, the sixth in the line. he resided, at the time when william was born, in a great castle at falaise. falaise, as will be seen upon the map, is west of rouen, and it stands, like rouen, at some distance from the sea. the castle was built upon a hill, at a little distance from the town. it has long since ceased to be habitable, but the ruins still remain, giving a picturesque but mournful beauty to the eminence which they crown. they are often visited by travelers, who go to see the place where the great hero and conqueror was born. the hill on which the old castle stands terminates, on one side, at the foot of the castle walls, in a precipice of rocks, and on two other sides, also, the ascent is too steep to be practicable for an enemy. on the fourth side there is a more gradual declivity, up which the fortress could be approached by means of a winding roadway. at the foot of this roadway was the town. the access to the castle from the town was defended by a ditch and draw-bridge, with strong towers on each side of the gateway to defend the approach. there was a beautiful stream of water which meandered along through the valley, near the town, and, after passing it, it disappeared, winding around the foot of the precipice which the castle crowned. the castle inclosures were shut in with walls of stone of enormous thickness; so thick, in fact, they were, that some of the apartments were built in the body of the wall. there were various buildings within the inclosure. there was, in particular, one large, square tower, several stories in height, built of white stone. this tower, it is said, still stands in good preservation. there was a chapel, also, and various other buildings and apartments within the walls, for the use of the ducal family and their numerous retinue of servants and attendants, for the storage of munitions of war, and for the garrison. there were watch-towers on the corners of the walls, and on various lofty projecting pinnacles, where solitary sentinels watched, the livelong day and night, for any approaching danger. these sentinels looked down on a broad expanse of richly-cultivated country, fields beautified with groves of trees, and with the various colors presented by the changing vegetation, while meandering streams gleamed with their silvery radiance among them, and hamlets of laborers and peasantry were scattered here and there, giving life and animation to the scene. we have said that william's father was robert, the sixth duke of normandy, so that william himself, being his immediate successor, was the seventh in the line. and as it is the design of these narratives not merely to amuse the reader with what is entertaining as a tale, but to impart substantial historical knowledge, we must prepare the way for the account of william's birth, by presenting a brief chronological view of the whole ducal line, extending from rollo to william. we recommend to the reader to examine with special attention this brief account of william's ancestry, for the true causes which led to william's invasion of england can not be fully appreciated without thoroughly understanding certain important transactions in which some members of the family of his ancestors were concerned before he was born. this is particularly the case with the lady emma, who, as will be seen by the following summary, was the sister of the third duke in the line. the extraordinary and eventful history of her life is so intimately connected with the subsequent exploits of william, that it is necessary to relate it in full, and it becomes, accordingly, the subject of one of the subsequent chapters of this volume. _chronological history of the norman line._ rollo, first duke of normandy. from a.d. to a.d. . it was about that rollo was banished from norway, and a few years after that, at most, that he landed in france. it was not, however, until that he concluded his treaty of peace with charles, so as to be fully invested with the title of duke of normandy. he was advanced in age at this time, and, after spending five years in settling the affairs of his realm, he resigned his dukedom into the hands of his son, that he might spend the remainder of his days in rest and peace. he died in , five years after his resignation. william i., second duke of normandy. from to . william was rollo's son. he began to reign, of course, five years before his father's death. he had a quiet and prosperous reign of about twenty-five years, but he was assassinated at last by a political enemy, in . richard i., third duke of normandy. from to . he was only ten years old when his father was assassinated. he became involved in long and arduous wars with the king of france, which compelled him to call in the aid of more northmen from the baltic. his new allies, in the end, gave him as much trouble as the old enemy, with whom they came to help william contend; and he found it very hard to get them away. he wanted, at length, to make peace with the french king, and to have them leave his dominions; but they said, "that was not what they came for." richard had a beautiful daughter, named emma, who afterward became a very important political personage, as will be seen more fully in a subsequent chapter. richard died in , after reigning fifty-four years. richard ii., fourth duke of normandy. from to . richard ii. was the son of richard i., and as his father had been engaged during his reign in contentions with his sovereign lord, the king of france, he, in his turn, was harassed by long-continued struggles with his vassals, the barons and nobles of his own realm. he, too, sent for northmen to come and assist him. during his reign there was a great contest in england between the saxons and the danes, and ethelred, who was the saxon claimant to the throne, came to normandy, and soon afterward married the lady emma, richard's sister. the particulars of this event, from which the most momentous consequences were afterward seen to flow, will be given in full in a future chapter. richard died in . he left two sons, richard and robert. william the conqueror was the son of the youngest, and was born two years before this richard ii. died. richard iii., fifth duke of normandy. from to . he was the oldest brother, and, of course, succeeded to the dukedom. his brother robert was then only a baron--his son william, afterward the conqueror, being then about two years old. robert was very ambitious and aspiring, and eager to get possession of the dukedom himself. he adopted every possible means to circumvent and supplant his brother, and, as is supposed, shortened his days by the anxiety and vexation which he caused him; for richard died suddenly and mysteriously only two years after his accession. it was supposed by some, in fact, that he was poisoned, though there was never any satisfactory proof of this. robert, sixth duke of normandy. from to . robert, of course, succeeded his brother, and then, with the characteristic inconsistency of selfishness and ambition, he employed all the power of his realm in helping the king of france to subdue his younger brother, who was evincing the same spirit of seditiousness and insubmission that he had himself displayed. his assistance was of great importance to king henry; it, in fact, decided the contest in his favor; and thus one younger brother was put down in the commencement of his career of turbulence and rebellion, by another who had successfully accomplished a precisely similar course of crime. king henry was very grateful for the service thus rendered, and was ready to do all in his power, at all times, to co-operate with robert in the plans which the latter might form. robert died in , when william was about eleven years old. and here we close this brief summary of the history of the ducal line, as we have already passed the period of william's birth; and we return, accordingly, to give in detail some of the particulars of that event. [illustration: william and arlotte.] * * * * * although the dukes of normandy were very powerful potentates, reigning, as they did, almost in the character of independent sovereigns, over one of the richest and most populous territories of the globe, and though william the conqueror was the son of one of them, his birth was nevertheless very ignoble. his mother was not the wife of robert his father, but a poor peasant girl, the daughter of an humble tanner of falaise; and, indeed, william's father, robert, was not himself the duke at this time, but a simple baron, as his father was still living. it was not even certain that he ever would be the duke, as his older brother, who, of course, would come before him, was also then alive. still, as the son and prospective heir of the reigning duke, his rank was very high. the circumstances of robert's first acquaintance with the tanner's daughter were these. he was one day returning home to the castle from some expedition on which he had been sent by his father, when he saw a group of peasant girls standing on the margin of the brook, washing clothes. they were barefooted, and their dress was in other respects disarranged. there was one named arlotte,[b] the daughter of a tanner of the town, whose countenance and figure seem to have captivated the young baron. he gazed at her with admiration and pleasure as he rode along. her complexion was fair, her eyes full and blue, and the expression of her countenance was frank, and open, and happy. she was talking joyously and merrily with her companions as robert passed, little dreaming of the conspicuous place on the page of english history which she was to occupy, in all future time, in connection with the gay horseman who was riding by. [footnote b: her name is spelled variously, arlette, arlotte, harlotte, and in other ways.] the etiquette of royal and ducal palaces and castles in those days, as now, forbade that a noble of such lofty rank should marry a peasant girl. robert could not, therefore, have arlotte for his wife; but there was nothing to prevent his proposing her coming to the castle and living with him--that is, nothing but the law of god, and this was an authority to which dukes and barons in the middle ages were accustomed to pay very little regard. there was not even a public sentiment to forbid this, for a nobility like that of england and france in the middle ages stands so far above all the mass of society as to be scarcely amenable at all to the ordinary restrictions and obligations of social life. and even to the present day, in those countries where dukes exist, public sentiment seems to tolerate pretty generally whatever dukes see fit to do. accordingly, as soon as robert had arrived at the castle, he sent a messenger from his retinue of attendants down to the village, to the father of arlotte, proposing that she should come to the castle. the father seems to have had some hesitation in respect to his duty. it is said that he had a brother who was a monk, or rather hermit, who lived a life of reading, meditation and prayer, in a solitary place not far from falaise. arlotte's father sent immediately to this religious recluse for his spiritual counsel. the monk replied that it was right to comply with the wishes of so great a man, whatever they might be. the tanner, thus relieved of all conscientious scruples on the subject by this high religious authority, and rejoicing in the opening tide of prosperity and distinction which he foresaw for his family through the baron's love, robed and decorated his daughter, like a lamb for the sacrifice, and sent her to the castle. arlotte had one of the rooms assigned her, which was built in the thickness of the wall. it communicated by a door with the other apartments and inclosures within the area, and there were narrow windows in the masonry without, through which she could look out over the broad expanse of beautiful fields and meadows which were smiling below. robert seems to have loved her with sincere and strong affection, and to have done all in his power to make her happy. her room, however, could not have been very sumptuously furnished, although she was the favorite in a ducal castle--at least so far as we can judge from the few glimpses we get of the interior through the ancient chroniclers' stories. one story is, that when william was born, his first exploit was to grasp a handful of straw, and to hold it so tenaciously in his little fist that the nurse could scarcely take it away. the nurse was greatly delighted with this infantile prowess; she considered it an omen, and predicted that the babe would some day signalize himself by seizing and holding great possessions. the prediction would have been forgotten if william had not become the conqueror of england at a future day. as it was, it was remembered and recorded; and it suggests to our imagination a very different picture of the conveniences and comforts of arlotte's chamber from those presented to the eye in ducal palaces now, where carpets of velvet silence the tread on marble floors, and favorites repose under silken canopies on beds of down. the babe was named william, and he was a great favorite with his father. he was brought up at falaise. two years after his birth, robert's father died, and his oldest brother, richard iii., succeeded to the ducal throne. in two years more, which years were spent in contention between the brothers, richard also died, and then robert himself came into possession of the castle in his own name, reigning there over all the cities and domains of normandy. william was, of course, now about four years old. he was a bright and beautiful boy, and he grew more and more engaging every year. his father, instead of neglecting and disowning him, as it might have been supposed he would do, took a great deal of pride and pleasure in witnessing the gradual development of his powers and his increasing attractiveness, and he openly acknowledged him as his son. in fact, william was a universal favorite about the castle. when he was five and six years old he was very fond of playing the soldier. he would marshal the other boys of the castle, his playmates, into a little troop, and train them around the castle inclosures, just as ardent and aspiring boys do with their comrades now. he possessed a certain vivacity and spirit too, which gave him, even then, a great ascendency over his playfellows. he invented their plays; he led them in their mischief; he settled their disputes. in a word, he possessed a temperament and character which enabled him very easily and strongly to hold the position which his rank as son of the lord of the castle so naturally assigned him. a few years thus passed away, when, at length, robert conceived the design of making a pilgrimage to the holy land. this was a plan, not of humble-minded piety, but of ambition for fame. to make a pilgrimage to the holy land was a romantic achievement that covered whoever accomplished it with a sort of sombre glory, which, in the case of a prince or potentate, mingled with, and hallowed and exalted, his military renown. robert determined on making the pilgrimage. it was a distant and dangerous journey. in fact, the difficulties and dangers of the way were perhaps what chiefly imparted to the enterprise its romance, and gave it its charms. it was customary for kings and rulers, before setting out, to arrange all the affairs of their kingdoms, to provide a regency to govern during their absence, and to determine upon their successors, so as to provide for the very probable contingency of their not living to return. as soon, therefore, as robert announced his plan of a pilgrimage, men's minds were immediately turned to the question of the succession. robert had never been married, and he had consequently no son who was entitled to succeed him. he had two brothers, and also a cousin, and some other relatives, who had claims to the succession. these all began to maneuver among the chieftains and nobles, each endeavoring to prepare the way for having his own claims advanced, while robert himself was secretly determining that the little william should be his heir. he said nothing about this, however, but he took care to magnify the importance of his little son in every way, and to bring him as much as possible into public notice. william, on his part, possessed so much personal beauty, and so many juvenile accomplishments, that he became a great favorite with all the nobles, and chieftains, and knights who saw him, sometimes at his father's castle, and sometimes away from home, in their own fortresses or towns, where his father took him, from time to time, in his train. at length, when affairs were ripe for their consummation, duke robert called together a grand council of all the subordinate dukes, and earls, and barons of his realm, to make known to them the plan of his pilgrimage. they came together from all parts of normandy, each in a splendid cavalcade, and attended by an armed retinue of retainers. when the assembly had been convened, and the preliminary forms and ceremonies had been disposed of, robert announced his grand design. as soon as he had concluded, one of the nobles, whose name and title was guy, count of burgundy, rose and addressed the duke in reply. he was sorry, he said, to hear that the duke, his cousin, entertained such a plan. he feared for the safety of the realm when the chief ruler should be gone. all the estates of the realm, he said, the barons, the knights, the chieftains and soldiers of every degree, would be all without a head. "not so," said robert: "i will leave you a master in my place." then, pointing to the beautiful boy by his side, he added, "i have a little fellow here, who, though he is little now, i acknowledge, will grow bigger by and by, with god's grace, and i have great hopes that he will become a brave and gallant man. i present him to you, and from this time forth i give him _seizin_[c] of the duchy of normandy as my known and acknowledged heir. and i appoint alan, duke of brittany, governor of normandy in my name until i shall return, and in case i shall not return, in the name of william my son, until he shall become of manly age." [footnote c: seizin, an ancient feudal term denoting the inducting of a party to a legal possession of his right.] the assembly was taken wholly by surprise at this announcement. alan, duke of brittany, who was one of the chief claimants to the succession, was pleased with the honor conferred upon him in making him at once the governor of the realm, and was inclined to prefer the present certainty of governing at once in the name of others, to the remote contingency of reigning in his own. the other claimants to the inheritance were confounded by the suddenness of the emergency, and knew not what to say or do. the rest of the assembly were pleased with the romance of having the beautiful boy for their feudal sovereign. the duke saw at once that every thing was favorable to the accomplishment of his design. he took the lad in his arms, kissed him, and held him out in view of the assembly. william gazed around upon the panoplied warriors before him with a bright and beaming eye. they knelt down as by a common accord to do him homage, and then took the oath of perpetual allegiance and fidelity to his cause. robert thought, however, that it would not be quite prudent to leave his son himself in the custody of these his rivals, so he took him with him to paris when he set out upon his pilgrimage, with view of establishing him there, in the court of henry, the french king, while he should himself be gone. young william was presented to the french king, on a day set apart for the ceremony, with great pomp and parade. the king held a special court to receive him. he seated himself on his throne in a grand apartment of his palace, and was surrounded by his nobles and officers of state, all magnificently dressed for the occasion. at the proper time, duke robert came in, dressed in his pilgrim's garb, and leading young william by the hand. his attendant pilgrim knights accompanied him. robert led the boy to the feet of their common sovereign, and, kneeling there, ordered william to kneel too, to do homage to the king. king henry received him very graciously. he embraced him, and promised to receive him into his court, and to take the best possible care of him while his father was away. the courtiers were very much struck with the beauty and noble bearing of the boy. his countenance beamed with an animated, but yet very serious expression, as he was somewhat awed by the splendor of the scene around him. he was himself then nine years old. chapter iii. the accession. a.d. - robert departs on his pilgrimage.--he visits rome and constantinople.--robert's illness.--litter bearers.--death of robert.--claimants to the crown.--theroulde.--william's military education.--the earl of arques.--william proclaimed duke.--the pilgrim knights.--they embrace william's cause.--debates in the council on the propriety of william's return.--william's return to normandy.--its effects.--william's accomplishments.--impression upon the army.--claimants in the field.--iron rule of the nobles.--almost a quarrel.--interview between william and henry.--henry's demand.--william's indignation.--henry destroys one of william's castles.--difficulties which followed.--war with henry.--william rescues falaise.--william received with acclamations.--punishment of the governor.--the earl of arques.--advance of henry.--a dangerous defile.--henry's order of march.--william's ambuscade.--its success.--pretended flight of the normans.--disarray of the french.--rout of the french.--william's embassage to henry.--the castle at arques taken.--william crowned at falaise. after spending a little time at paris, robert took leave of the king, and of william his son, and went forth, with a train of attendant knights, on his pilgrimage. he had a great variety of adventures, which can not be related here, as it is the history of the son, and not of the father, which is the subject of this narrative. though he traveled strictly as a pilgrim, it was still with great pomp and parade. after visiting rome, and accomplishing various services and duties connected with his pilgrimage there, he laid aside his pilgrim's garb, and, assuming his proper rank as a great norman chieftain, he went to constantinople, where he made a great display of his wealth and magnificence. at the time of the grand procession, for example, by which he entered the city of constantinople, he rode a mule, which, besides being gorgeously caparisoned, had shoes of gold instead of iron; and these shoes were purposely attached so slightly to the hoofs, that they were shaken off as the animal walked along, to be picked up by the populace. this was to impress them with grand ideas of the rider's wealth and splendor. after leaving constantinople, robert resumed his pilgrim's garb, and went on toward the holy land. the journey, however, did not pass without the usual vicissitudes of so long an absence and so distant a pilgrimage. at one time robert was sick, and, after lingering for some time in a fever, he so far recovered his strength as to be borne on a litter by the strength of other men, though he could not advance himself, either on horseback or on foot; and as for traveling carriages, there had been no such invention in those days. they made arrangements, therefore, for carrying the duke on a litter. there were sixteen moorish slaves employed to serve as his bearers. this company was divided into sets, four in each, the several sets taking the burden in rotation. robert and his attendant knights looked down with great contempt on these black pagan slaves. one day the cavalcade was met by a norman who was returning home to normandy after having accomplished his pilgrimage. he asked duke robert if he had any message to send to his friends at home. "yes," said he; "tell them you saw me here, on my way to paradise, carried by sixteen _demons_." robert reached jerusalem, and set out on his return; and soon after rumors came back to paris that he had died on his way home. the accounts of the manner of his death were contradictory and uncertain; but the fact was soon made sure, and the news produced every where a great sensation. it soon appeared that the brothers and cousins of robert, who had claimed the right to succeed him in preference to his son william, had only suspended their claims--they had not abandoned them. they began to gather their forces, each in his own separate domain, and to prepare to take the field, if necessary, in vindication of what they considered their rights to the inheritance. in a word, their oaths of fealty to william were all forgotten, and each claimant was intent only on getting possession himself of the ducal crown. in the mean time, william himself was at paris, and only eleven years of age. he had been receiving a careful education there, and was a very prepossessing and accomplished young prince. still, he was yet but a mere boy. he had been under the care of a military tutor, whose name was theroulde. theroulde was a veteran soldier, who had long been in the employ of the king of france. he took great interest in his young pupil's progress. he taught him to ride and to practice all the evolutions of horsemanship which were required by the tactics of those days. he trained him, too, in the use of arms, the bow and arrow, the javelin, the sword, the spear, and accustomed him to wear, and to exercise in, the armor of steel with which warriors were used, in those days, to load themselves in going into battle. young princes like william had suits of this armor made for them, of small size, which they were accustomed to wear in private in their military exercises and trainings, and to appear in, publicly, on great occasions of state. these dresses of iron were of course very heavy and uncomfortable, but the young princes and dukes were, nevertheless, very proud and happy to wear them. while william was thus engaged in pursuing his military education in paris, several competitors for his dukedom immediately appeared in normandy and took the field. the strongest and most prominent among them was the earl of arques. his name was william too, but, to distinguish him from the young duke, we shall call him arques. he was a brother of robert, and maintained that, as robert left no lawful heir, he was indisputably entitled to succeed him. arques assembled his forces and prepared to take possession of the country. it will be recollected that robert, when he left normandy in setting out on his pilgrimage, had appointed a nobleman named alan to act as regent, or governor of the country, until he should return; or, in case he should never return, until william should become of age. alan had a council of officers, called the council of regency, with whose aid he managed the administration of the government. this council, with alan at their head, proclaimed young william duke, and immediately began to act in his name. when they found that the earl of arques was preparing to seize the government, they began to assemble their forces also, and thus both sides prepared for war. before they actually commenced hostilities, however, the pilgrim knights who had accompanied robert on his pilgrimage, and who had been journeying home slowly by themselves ever since their leader's death, arrived in normandy. these were chieftains and nobles of high rank and influence, and each of the contending parties were eager to have them join their side. besides the actual addition of force which these men could bring to the cause they should espouse, the moral support they would give to it was a very important consideration. their having been on this long and dangerous pilgrimage invested them with a sort of romantic and religious interest in the minds of all the people, who looked up to them, in consequence of it, with a sort of veneration and awe; and then, as they had been selected by robert to accompany him on his pilgrimage, and had gone on the long and dangerous journey with him, continuing to attend upon him until he died, they were naturally regarded as his most faithful and confidential friends. for these and similar reasons, it was obvious that the cause which they should espouse in the approaching contest would gain a large accession of moral power by their adhesion. as soon as they arrived in normandy, rejecting all proposals from other quarters, they joined young william's cause with the utmost promptitude and decision. alan received them at once into his councils. an assembly was convened, and the question was discussed whether william should be sent for to come to normandy. some argued that he was yet a mere boy, incapable of rendering them any real service in the impending contest, while he would be exposed, more perhaps than they themselves, to be taken captive or slain. they thought it best, therefore, that he should remain, for the present, in paris, under the protection of the french king. others, on the other hand, contended that the influence of william's presence, boy as he was, would animate and inspire all his followers, and awaken every where, throughout the country, a warm interest in his cause; that his very tenderness and helplessness would appeal strongly to every generous heart, and that his youthful accomplishments and personal charms would enlist thousands in his favor, who would forget, and perhaps abandon him, if he kept away. besides, it was by no means certain that he was so safe as some might suppose in king henry's custody and power. king henry might himself lay claims to the vacant duchy, with a view of bestowing it upon some favorite of his own, in which case he might confine young william in one of his castles, in an honorable, but still rigid and hopeless captivity, or treacherously destroy his life by the secret administration of poison. these latter counsels prevailed. alan and the nobles who were with him sent an embassage to the court of king henry to bring william home. henry made objections and difficulties. this alarmed the nobles. they feared that it would prove true that henry himself had designs on normandy. they sent a new embassage, with demands more urgent than before. finally, after some time spent in negotiations and delays, king henry concluded to yield, and william set out on his return. he was now about twelve or thirteen years old. his military tutor, theroulde, accompanied him, and he was attended likewise by the embassadors whom alan had sent for him, and by a strong escort for his protection by the way. he arrived in safety at alan's head-quarters. william's presence in normandy had the effect which had been anticipated from it. it awakened every where a great deal of enthusiasm in his favor. the soldiers were pleased to see how handsome their young commander was in form, and how finely he could ride. he was, in fact, a very superior equestrian for one so young. he was more fond, even, than other boys of horses; and as, of course, the most graceful and the fleetest horses which could be found were provided for him, and as theroulde had given him the best and most complete instruction, he made a fine display as he rode swiftly through the camp, followed by veteran nobles, splendidly dressed and mounted, and happy to be in his train, while his own countenance beamed with a radiance in which native intelligence and beauty were heightened by the animation and excitement of pride and pleasure. in respect to the command of the army, of course the real power remained in alan's hands, but every thing was done in william's name; and in respect to all external marks and symbols of sovereignty, the beautiful boy seemed to possess the supreme command; and as the sentiment of loyalty is always the strongest when the object which calls for the exercise of it is most helpless or frail, alan found his power very much increased when he had this beautiful boy to exhibit as the true and rightful heir, in whose name and for whose benefit all his power was held. still, however, the country was very far from becoming settled. the earl of arques kept the field, and other claimants, too, strengthened themselves in their various castles and towns, as if preparing to resist. in those days, every separate district of the country was almost a separate realm, governed by its own baron, who lived, with his retainers, within his own castle walls, and ruled the land around him with a rod of iron. these barons were engaged in perpetual quarrels among themselves, each plundering the dominions of the rest, or making hostile incursions into the territories of a neighbor to revenge some real or imaginary wrong. this turbulence and disorder prevailed every where throughout normandy at the time of william's return. in the general confusion, william's government scarcely knew who were his friends or his enemies. at one time, when a deputation was sent to some of the barons in william's name, summoning them to come with their forces and join his standard, as they were in duty bound to do, they felt independent enough to send back word to him that they had "too much to do in settling their own quarrels to be able to pay any attention to his." in the course of a year or two, moreover, and while his own realm continued in this unsettled and distracted state, william became involved in what was almost a quarrel with king henry himself. when he was fifteen years old, which was two or three years after his return from paris to normandy, henry sent directions to william to come to a certain town, called evreux, situated about half way between falaise and paris, and just within the confines of normandy,[d] to do homage to him there for his duchy. there was some doubt among william's counselors whether it would be most prudent to obey or disobey this command. they finally concluded that it was best to obey. grand preparations were accordingly made for the expedition; and, when all was ready, the young duke was conducted in great state, and with much pomp and parade, to meet his sovereign. [footnote d: see map at the commencement of chapter ix.] the interview between william and his sovereign, and the ceremonies connected with it, lasted some days. in the course of this time, william remained at evreux, and was, in some sense, of course, in henry's power. william, having been so long in henry's court as a mere boy, accustomed all the time to look up to and obey henry as a father, regarded him somewhat in that light now, and approached him with great deference and respect. henry received him in a somewhat haughty and imperious manner, as if he considered him still under the same subjection as heretofore. william had a fortress or castle on the frontiers of his dukedom, toward henry's dominions. the name of the castle was tellières, and the governor of it was a faithful old soldier named de crespin. william's father, robert, had intrusted de crespin with the command of the castle, and given him a garrison to defend it. henry now began to make complaint to william in respect to this castle. the garrison, he said, were continually making incursions into his dominions. william replied that he was very sorry that there was cause for such a complaint. he would inquire into it, and if the fact were really so, he would have the evil immediately corrected. henry replied that that was not sufficient. "you must deliver up the castle to me," he said, "to be destroyed." william was indignant at such a demand; but he was so accustomed to obey implicitly whatever king henry might require of him, that he sent the order to have the castle surrendered. when, however, the order came to de crespin, the governor of the castle, he refused to obey it. the fortress, he said, had been committed to his charge by robert, duke of normandy, and he should not give it up to the possession of any foreign power. when this answer was reported to william and his counselors, it made them still more indignant than before at the domineering tyranny of the command, and more disposed than ever to refuse obedience to it. still william was in a great measure in the monarch's power. on cool reflection, they perceived that resistance would then be vain. new and more authoritative orders were accordingly issued for the surrender of the castle. de crespin now obeyed. he gave up the keys and withdrew with his garrison. william was then allowed to leave evreux and return home, and soon afterward the castle was razed to the ground. this affair produced, of course, a great deal of animosity and irritation between the governments of france and normandy; and where such a state of feeling exists between two powers separated only by an imaginary line running through a populous and fertile country, aggressions from one side and from the other are sure to follow. these are soon succeeded by acts of retaliation and revenge, leading, in the end, to an open and general war. it was so now. henry marched his armies into normandy, seized towns, destroyed castles, and, where he was resisted by the people, he laid waste the country with fire and sword. he finally laid siege to the very castle of falaise. william and his government were for a time nearly overwhelmed with the tide of disaster and calamity. the tide turned, however, at length, and the fortune of war inclined in their favor. william rescued the town and castle of falaise; it was in a very remarkable manner, too, that this exploit was accomplished. the fortress was closely invested with henry's forces, and was on the very eve of being surrendered. the story is, that henry had offered bribes to the governor of the castle to give it up to him, and that the governor had agreed to receive them and to betray his trust. while he was preparing to do so, william arrived at the head of a resolute and determined band of normans. they came with so sudden an onset upon the army of besiegers as to break up their camp and force them to abandon the siege. the people of the town and the garrison of the castle were extremely rejoiced to be thus rescued, and when they came to learn through whose instrumentality they had been saved, and saw the beautiful horseman whom they remembered as a gay and happy child playing about the precincts of the castle, they were perfectly intoxicated with delight. they filled the air with the wildest acclamations, and welcomed william back to the home of his childhood with manifestations of the most extravagant joy. as to the traitorous governor, he was dealt with very leniently. perhaps the general feeling of joy awakened emotions of leniency and forgiveness in william's mind--or perhaps the proof against the betrayer was incomplete. they did not, therefore, take his life, which would have been justly forfeited, according to the military ideas of the times, if he had been really guilty. they deprived him of his command, confiscated his property, and let him go free. after this, william's forces continued for some time to make head successfully against those of the king of france; but then, on the other hand, the danger from his uncle, the earl of arques, increased. the earl took advantage of the difficulty and danger in which william was involved in his contests with king henry, and began to organize his forces again. he fortified himself in his castle at arques,[e] and was collecting a large force there. arques was in the northeastern part of normandy, near the sea, where the ruins of the ancient castle still remain. the earl built an almost impregnable tower for himself on the summit of the rock on which the castle stood, in a situation so inaccessible that he thought he could retreat to it in any emergency, with a few chosen followers, and bid defiance to any assault. in and around this castle the earl had got quite a large army together. william advanced with his forces, and, encamping around them, shut them in. king henry, who was then in a distant part of normandy, began to put his army in motion to come to the rescue of arques. [footnote e: see map, chapter ix.] things being in this state, william left a strong body of men to continue the investment and siege of arques, and went off himself, at the head of the remainder of his force, to intercept henry on his advance. the result was a battle and a victory, gained under circumstances so extraordinary, that william, young as he was, acquired by his exploits a brilliant and universal renown. it seems that henry, in his progress to arques, had to pass through a long and gloomy valley, which was bounded on either side by precipitous and forest-covered hills. through this dangerous defile the long train of henry's army was advancing, arranged and marshaled in such an order as seemed to afford the greatest hope of security in case of an attack. first came the vanguard, a strong escort, formed of heavy bodies of soldiery, armed with battle-axes and pikes, and other similar weapons, the most efficient then known. immediately after this vanguard came a long train of baggage, the tents, the provisions, the stores, and all the munitions of war. the baggage was followed by a great company of servants--the cooks, the carters, the laborers, the camp followers of every description--a throng of non-combatants, useless, of course, in a battle, and a burden on a march, and yet the inseparable and indispensable attendant of an army, whether at rest or in motion. after this throng came the main body of the army, with the king, escorted by his guard of honor, at the head of it. an active and efficient corps of lancers and men-at-arms brought up the rear. william conceived the design of drawing this cumbrous and unmanageable body into an ambuscade. he selected, accordingly, the narrowest and most dangerous part of the defile for the purpose, and stationed vast numbers of norman soldiers, armed with javelins and arrows, upon the slopes of the hill on either side, concealing them all carefully among the thickets and rocks. he then marshaled the remainder of his forces in the valley, and sent them up the valley to meet henry as he was descending. this body of troops, which was to advance openly to meet the king, as if they constituted the whole of william's force, were to fight a pretended battle with the vanguard, and then to retreat, in hopes to draw the whole train after them in a pursuit so eager as to throw them into confusion; and then, when the column, thus disarranged, should reach the place of ambuscade, the normans were to come down upon them suddenly from their hiding-places, and complete their discomfiture. the plan was well laid, and wisely and bravely executed; and it was most triumphantly successful in its result. the vanguard of henry's army were deceived by the pretended flight of the norman detachment. they supposed, too, that it constituted the whole body of their enemies. they pressed forward, therefore, with great exultation and eagerness to pursue them. news of the attack, and of the apparent repulse with which the french soldiers had met it, passed rapidly along the valley, producing every where the wildest excitement, and an eager desire to press forward to the scene of conflict. the whole valley was filled with shouts and outcries; baggage was abandoned, that those who had charge of it might hurry on; men ran to and fro for tidings, or ascended eminences to try to see. horsemen drove at full speed from front to rear, and from rear on to the front again; orders and counter orders were given, which nobody would understand or attend to in the general confusion and din. in fact, the universal attention seemed absorbed in one general and eager desire to press forward with headlong impetuosity to the scene of victory and pursuit which they supposed was enacting in the van. the army pressed on in this confused and excited manner until they reached the place of ambuscade. they went on, too, through this narrow passage, as heedlessly as ever; and, when the densest and most powerful portion of the column was crowding through, they were suddenly thunderstruck by the issuing of a thousand weapons from the heights and thickets above them on either hand--a dreadful shower of arrows, javelins, and spears, which struck down hundreds in a moment, and overwhelmed the rest with astonishment and terror. as soon as this first discharge had been effected, the concealed enemy came pouring down the sides of the mountain, springing out from a thousand hiding-places, as if suddenly brought into being by some magic power. the discomfiture of henry's forces was complete and irremediable. the men fled every where in utter dismay, trampling upon and destroying one another, as they crowded back in terrified throngs to find some place of safety up the valley. there, after a day or two, henry got together the scattered remains of his army, and established something like a camp. it is a curious illustration of the feudal feelings of those times in respect to the gradation of ranks, or else of the extraordinary modesty and good sense of william's character, that he assumed no airs of superiority over his sovereign, and showed no signs of extravagant elation after this battle. he sent a respectful embassage to henry, recognizing his own acknowledged subjection to henry as his sovereign, and imploring his protection! he looked confidently to him, he said, for aid and support against his rebellious subjects. though he thus professed, however, to rely on henry, he really trusted most, it seems, to his own right arm; for, as soon as this battle was fairly over, and while the whole country was excited with the astonishing brilliancy of the exploit performed by so young a man, william mounted his horse, and calling upon those to follow him who wished to do so, he rode at full speed, at the head of a small cavalcade, to the castle at arques. his sudden appearance here, with the news of the victory, inspirited the besiegers to such a degree that the castle was soon taken. he allowed the rebel earl to escape, and thus, perhaps, all the more effectually put an end to the rebellion. he was now in peaceable possession of his realm. he went in triumph to falaise, where he was solemnly crowned with great ceremony and parade, and all normandy was filled with congratulations and rejoicings. chapter iv. william's reign in normandy. a.d. - a lapse of twenty years.--conspiracy of guy of burgundy.--the fool or jester.--meetings of the conspirators.--final plans of the conspirators.--discovered by galet.--galet sets out in search of william.--he finds him asleep.--william's flight.--his narrow escape.--william is recognized.--hubert's castle.--hubert's sons.--pursuit of the conspirators.--defeat of the rebels.--their punishment.--curious incident.--coats of armor.--origin of heraldry.--rollo de tesson.--keeping both oaths.--changing sides.--character of the ancient chieftains.--their love of war.--ancient castles.--their interior construction.--nothing respectable for the nobility but war.--rebellions.--insulting allusions to william's birth.--the ambuscade.--its failure.--insults of the garrison.--indignation of william.--william's campaign in france.--his popularity.--william's prowess.--true nature of courage.--an ambuscade.--william's bravery.--william's victory.--applause of the french army.--william firmly seated on his throne.--his new projects. from the time of william's obtaining quiet possession of his realm to his invasion of england, a long period intervened. there was a lapse of more than twenty years. during this long interval, william governed his duchy, suppressed insurrections, built castles and towns, carried on wars, regulated civil institutions, and, in fact, exercised, in a very energetic and successful manner, all the functions of government--his life being diversified all the time by the usual incidents which mark the career of a great military ruler of an independent realm in the middle ages. we will give in this chapter a description of some of these incidents. on one occasion a conspiracy was formed to take his life by secret assassination. a great chieftain, named guy of burgundy, william's uncle, was the leader of it, and a half-witted man, named galet, who occupied the place of jester or fool in william's court, was the means of discovering and exposing it. these jesters, of whom there was always one or more in the retinue of every great prince in those days, were either very eccentric or very foolish, or half-insane men, who were dressed fantastically, in gaudy colors and with cap and bells, and were kept to make amusement for the court. the name of william's jester was galet. guy of burgundy and his fellow-conspirators occupied certain gloomy castles, built in remote and lonely situations on the confines of normandy. here they were accustomed to assemble for the purpose of concocting their plans, and gathering their men and their resources--doing every thing in the most cunning and secret manner. before their scheme was fully ripe for execution, it happened that william made a hunting excursion into the neighborhood of their territory with a small band of followers--such as would be naturally got together on such a party of pleasure. galet, the fool, was among them. as soon as guy and his fellow-conspirators learned that william was so near, they determined to precipitate the execution of their plan, and waylay and assassinate him on his return. they accordingly left their secret and lonely rendezvous among the mountains one by one, in order to avoid attracting observation, and went to a town called bayeux, through which they supposed that william would have to pass on his return. here they held secret consultations, and formed their final plans. they sent out a part of their number, in small bands, into the region of country which william would have to cross, to occupy the various roads and passes, and thus to cut off all possibility of his escape. they made all these arrangements in the most secret and cautious manner, and began to think that they were sure of their prey. it happened, however, that some of william's attendants, with galet the fool among them, had preceded william on his return, and had reached bayeux[f] at the time when the conspirators arrived there. the townspeople did not observe the coming of the conspirators particularly, as many horsemen and soldiers were coming and going at that time, and they had no means of distinguishing the duke's friends from his enemies; but galet, as he sauntered about the town, noticed that there were many soldiers and knights to be seen who were not of his master's party. this attracted his attention; he began to watch the motions of these strangers, and to listen, without seeming to listen, in order to catch the words they spoke to each other as they talked in groups or passed one another in the streets. he was soon satisfied that some mischief was intended. he immediately threw aside his cap and bells, and his fantastic dress, and, taking a staff in his hand, he set off on foot to go back as fast as possible in search of the duke, and give him the alarm. he found the duke at a village called valonges. he arrived there at night. he pressed forward hastily into his master's chamber, half forcing his way through the attendants, who, accustomed to the liberties which such a personage as he was accustomed to take on all occasions, made only a feeble resistance to his wishes. he found the duke asleep, and he called upon him with a very earnest voice to awake and arise immediately, for his life was in danger. [footnote f: see map, chapter ix.] william was at first inclined to disbelieve the story which galet told him, and to think that there was no cause to fear. he was, however, soon convinced that galet was right, and that there was reason for alarm. he arose and dressed himself hastily; and, inasmuch as a monarch, in the first moments of the discovery of a treasonable plot, knows not whom to trust, william wisely concluded not to trust any body. he went himself to the stables, saddled his horse with his own hand, mounted him, and rode away. he had a very narrow escape; for, at the same time, while galet was hastening to valonges to give his master warning of his danger, the conspirators had been advancing to the same place, and had completely surrounded it; and they were on the eve of making an attack upon william's quarters at the very hour when he set out upon his flight. william had accordingly proceeded only a little way on his route before he heard the footsteps of galloping horses, and the clanking of arms, on the road behind him. it was a troop of the conspirators coming, who, finding that william had fled, had set off immediately in pursuit. william rode hastily into a wood, and let them go by. [illustration: william's escape.] he remained for some time in his hiding-place, and then cautiously emerged from it to continue his way. he did not dare to keep the public road, although it was night, but took a wild and circuitous route, in lanes and bypaths, which conducted him, at length, to the vicinity of the sea. here, about day-break, he was passing a mansion, supposing that no one would observe him at so early an hour, when, suddenly, he perceived a man sitting at the gate, armed and equipped, and in an attitude of waiting. he was waiting for his horse. he was a nobleman named hubert. he recognized william immediately as the duke, and accosted him in a tone of astonishment, saying, "why, my lord duke, is it possible that this is you?" he was amazed to see the ruler of the realm out at such an hour, in such a condition, alone, exhausted, his dress all in disorder from the haste with which he had put it on, and his steed breathless and covered with dust, and ready, apparently, to drop down with fatigue and exhaustion. william, finding that he was recognized, related his story. it appeared, in the end, that hubert held his own castle and village as a tenant of one of the principal conspirators, and was bound, according to the feudal ideas of the time, to espouse his landlord's cause. he told william, however, that he had nothing to fear. "i will defend your life," said he, "as if it were my own." so saying, he called his three sons, who were all athletic and courageous young men, and commanded them to mount their horses and get ready for a march. he took william into his castle, and gave him the food and refreshment that he needed. then he brought him again into the court-yard of the house, where william found the three young horsemen mounted and ready, and a strong and fleet steed prepared for himself. he mounted. hubert commanded his sons to conduct the prince with all dispatch to falaise, without traveling at all upon the highway or entering a town. they took, accordingly, a straight course across the country--which was probably then, as now, nearly destitute of inclosures--and conducted william safely to his castle at falaise. in the course of the morning, william's pursuers came to hubert's castle, and asked if the duke had been seen going by. hubert replied in the affirmative, and he mounted his steed with great readiness to go and show them the road which the fugitive had taken. he urged them to ride hard, in hopes of soon overtaking the object of their pursuit. they drove on, accordingly, with great impetuosity and ardor, under hubert's guidance; but, as he had purposely taken a wrong road, he was only leading them further and further astray. finally they gave up the chase, and hubert returned with the disappointed pursuers to his fortress, william having in the mean time arrived safely at falaise. the conspirators now found that it was useless any longer to attempt to conceal their plans. in fact, they were already all exposed, and they knew that william would immediately summon his troops and come out to seize them. they must, therefore, either fly from the country or attempt an open rebellion. they decided on the latter--the result was a civil war. in the end, william was victorious. he took a large number of the rebels prisoners, and he adopted the following very singular plan for inflicting a suitable punishment upon them, and at the same time erecting a permanent monument of his victory. he laid out a public road across the country, on the line over which he had been conducted by the sons of hubert, and compelled the rebels to make it. a great part of this country was low and marshy, and had been for this reason avoided by the public road, which took a circuitous course around it. the rebel prisoners were now, however, set at work to raise a terrace or embankment, on a line surveyed by william's engineers, which followed almost exactly the course of his retreat. the high road was then laid out upon this terrace, and it became immediately a public thoroughfare of great importance. it continued for several centuries one of the most frequented highways in the realm, and was known by the name of the raised road--_terre levée_--throughout the kingdom. in fact, the remains of it, appearing like the ruins of an ancient rail-road embankment, exist to the present day. in the course of the war with these rebels a curious incident occurred at one of the battles, or, rather, is said to have occurred, by the historians who tell the story, which, if true, illustrates very strikingly the romantic and chivalrous ideas of the times. just as the battle was commencing, william perceived a strong and finely-equipped body of horsemen preparing to charge upon the very spot where he himself, surrounded by his officers, was standing. now the armor worn by knights in battle in those times covered and concealed the figure and the face so fully, that it would have been impossible even for acquaintances and friends to recognize each other, were it not that the knights were all accustomed to wear certain devices upon some part of their armor--painted, for instance, upon their shields, or embroidered on little banners which they bore--by means of which they might be known. these devices became at length hereditary in the great families--sons being proud to wear, themselves, the emblems to which the deeds of their fathers had imparted a trace of glory and renown. the devices of different chieftains were combined, sometimes, in cases of intermarriage, or were modified in various ways; and with these minor changes they would descend from generation to generation as the family coat of arms. and this was the origin of heraldry. now the body of horsemen that were advancing to the charge, as above described, had each of them his device upon a little flag or banner attached to their lances. as they were advancing, william scrutinized them closely, and presently recognized in their leader a man who had formerly been upon his side. his name was rollo de tesson. he was one of those who had sworn fealty to him at the time when his father robert presented him to the council, when setting out upon his pilgrimage. william accordingly exclaimed, with a loud voice, "why, these are my friends!" the officers and the soldiers of the body-guard who were with him, taking up the cry, shouted "_friends! friends!_" rollo de tesson and the other knights, who were slowly coming up, preparing to charge upon william's party, surprised at being thus accosted, paused in their advance, and finally halted. rollo said to the other knights, who gathered around him, "i _was_ his friend. i gave my oath to his father that i would stand by him and defend him with my life; and now i have this morning sworn to the count of cotentin"--the count of cotentin was the leader of the rebellion--"that i would seek out william on the battle-field, and be the first to give him a blow. i know not what to do." "keep both oaths," replied one of his companions. "go and strike him a gentle blow, and then defend him with your life." the whole troop seconded this proposal by acclamation. rollo advanced, followed by the other knights, with gestures and shouts denoting that they were friends. he rode up to william, told him that he had that morning sworn to strike him, and then dealt him a pretended blow upon his shoulder; but as both the shoulder and the hand which struck it were armed with steel, the clanking sound was all the effect that was produced. rollo and his troop--their sworn obligation to the count of cotentin being thus fulfilled--turned now into the ranks of william's soldiery, and fought valiantly all day upon his side. although william was generally victorious in the battles that he fought, and succeeded in putting down one rebellion after another with promptness and decision, still, new rebellions and new wars were constantly breaking out, which kept his dominions in a continual state of commotion. in fact, the chieftains, the nobles, and the knights, constituting the only classes of society that exercised any influence, or were regarded with any respect in those days, were never contented except when actively employed in military campaigns. the excitements and the glory of war were the only excitements and glory that they understood, or had the means of enjoying. their dwellings were great fortresses, built on the summits of the rocks, which, however picturesque and beautiful they appear as _ruins_ now, were very gloomy and desolate as residences then. they were attractive enough when their inmates were flying to them for refuge from an enemy, or were employed within the walls in concentrating their forces and brightening up their arms for some new expedition for vengeance or plunder, but they were lonely and lifeless scenes of restlessness and discontent in times of quietness and peace. it is difficult for us, at this day, to conceive how destitute of all the ordinary means of comfort and enjoyment, in comparison with a modern dwelling, the ancient feudal castles must have been. they were placed in situations as nearly inaccessible as possible, and the natural impediments of approach were increased by walls, and gates, and ditches, and draw-bridges. the door of access was often a window in the wall, ten or fifteen feet from the ground, to which the inmates or their friends mounted by a ladder. the floors were of stone, the walls were naked, the ceiling was a rudely-constructed series of arches. the apartments, too, were ordinarily small, and were arranged one above another, in the successive stories of a tower. nor could these cell-like chambers be enlivened by the wide and cheerful windows of modern times, which not only admit the light to animate the scene within, but also afford to the spectator there, wide-spread, and sometimes enchanting views of the surrounding country. the castle windows of ancient days were, on the contrary, narrow loop-holes, each at the bottom of a deep recess in the thick wall. if they had been made wide they would have admitted too easily the arrows and javelins of besiegers, as well as the wind and rain of wintery storms. there were no books in these desolate dwellings, no furniture but armor, no pleasures but drinking and carousals. nor could these noble and valiant knights and barons occupy themselves in any useful employment. there was nothing which it was respectable for them to do but to fight. they looked down with contempt upon all the industrial pursuits of life. the cultivation of farms, the rearing of flocks and herds, arts, manufactures, and commerce--every thing of this sort, by which man can benefit his fellow-man, was entirely beneath them. in fact, their descendants to the present day, even in england, entertain the same ideas. their younger sons can enter the army or the navy, and spend their lives in killing and destroying, or in awaiting, in idleness, dissipation, and vice, for orders to kill and destroy, without dishonor; but to engage in any way in those vast and magnificent operations of peaceful industry, on which the true greatness and glory of england depend, would be perpetual and irretrievable disgrace. a young nobleman can serve, in the most subordinate official capacity, on board a man-of-war, and take pay for it, without degradation; but to _build_ a man-of-war itself and take pay for it, would be to compel his whole class to disown him. it was in consequence of this state of feeling among the knights and barons of william's day that peace was always tedious and irksome to them, and they were never contented except when engaged in battles and campaigns. it was this feeling, probably, quite as much as any settled hostility to william's right to reign, that made his barons so eager to engage in insurrections and rebellions. there was, however, after all, a real and deep-seated opposition to william's right of succession, founded in the ideas of the day. they could not well endure that one of so humble and even ignominious birth, on the mother's side, should be the heir of so illustrious a line as the great dukes of normandy. william's enemies were accustomed to designate him by opprobrious epithets, derived from the circumstances of his birth. though he was patient and enduring, and often very generous in forgiving other injuries, these insults to the memory of his mother always stung him very deeply, and awakened the strongest emotions of resentment. one instance of this was so conspicuous that it is recorded in almost all the histories of william that have been written. it was in the midst of one of the wars in which he was involved, that he was advancing across the country to the attack of a strong castle, which, in addition to the natural strength of its walls and fortifications, was defended by a numerous and powerful garrison. so confident, in fact, were the garrison in their numbers and power, that when they heard that william was advancing to attack them, they sent out a detachment to meet him. this detachment, however, were not intending to give him open battle. their plan was to lay in ambuscade, and attack william's troops when they came to the spot, and while they were unaware of the vicinity of an enemy, and off their guard. william, however, they found, was not off his guard. he attacked the ambuscade with so much vigor as to put the whole force immediately to flight. of course the fugitives directed their steps toward the castle. william and his soldiers followed them in headlong pursuit. the end was, that the detachment from the garrison had scarcely time, after making good their own entrance, to raise the draw-bridges and secure the gates, so as to keep their pursuers from entering too. they did, however, succeed in doing this, and william, establishing his troops about the castle, opened his lines and commenced a regular siege. the garrison were very naturally vexed and irritated at the bad success of their intended stratagem. to have the ambuscade not only fail of its object, but to have also the men that formed it driven thus ignominiously in, and so narrowly escaping, also, the danger of letting in the whole troop of their enemies after them, was a great disgrace. to retaliate upon william, and to throw back upon him the feelings of mortification and chagrin which they felt themselves, they mounted the walls and towers, and shouted out all sorts of reproaches and insults. finally, when they found that they could not make mere words sufficiently stinging, they went and procured skins and hides, and aprons of leather, and every thing else that they could find that was connected with the trade of a tanner, and shook them at the troops of their assailants from the towers and walls, with shouts of merriment and derision. william was desperately enraged at these insults. he organized an assaulting party, and by means of the great exertions which the exasperation of his men stimulated them to make, he carried some of the outworks, and took a number of prisoners. these prisoners he cut to pieces, and then caused their bloody and mangled limbs and members to be thrown, by great slings, over the castle walls. at one time during the period which is included within the limits of this chapter, and in the course of one of those intervals of peace and quietness within his own dominions which william sometimes enjoyed, the king of france became involved in a war with one of his own rebellious subjects, and william went, with an army of normans, to render him aid. king henry was at first highly gratified at this prompt and effectual succor, but he soon afterward began to feel jealous of the universal popularity and renown which the young duke began soon to acquire. william was at that time only about twenty-four years old, but he took the direction of every thing--moved to and fro with the utmost celerity--planned the campaigns--directed the sieges, and by his personal accomplishments and his bravery, he won all hearts, and was the subject of every body's praises. king henry found himself supplanted, in some measure, in the regard and honorable consideration of his subjects, and he began to feel very envious and jealous of his rival. sometimes particular incidents would occur, in which william's feats of prowess or dexterity would so excite the admiration of the army that he would be overwhelmed with acclamations and applause. these were generally exploits of combat on the field, or of escape from pursuers when outnumbered, in which good fortune had often, perhaps, quite as much to do in securing the result as strength or courage. but in those days a soldier's good luck was perhaps as much the subject of applause as his muscular force or his bravery; and, in fact, it was as deservedly so; for the strength of arm, and the coolness, or, rather, the ferocity of courage, which make a good combatant in personal contests on a battle-field, are qualities of brutes rather than of men. we feel a species of respect for them in the lion or tiger, but they deserve only execration when exercised in the wantonness of hatred and revenge by man against his brother man. one of the instances of william's extraordinary success was the following. he was reconnoitering the enemy on one occasion, accompanied only by four or five knights, who acted as his attendants and body-guard. the party were at a distance from the camp of the enemy, and supposed they were not observed. they were observed, however, and immediately a party of twelve chosen horsemen was formed, and ordered to ride out and surprise them. this detachment concealed themselves in an ambuscade, at a place where the reconnoitering party must pass, and when the proper moment arrived, they burst out suddenly upon them and summoned them to surrender. twelve against six seemed to render both flight and resistance equally vain. william, however, advanced immediately to the attack of the ambuscaders. he poised his long lance, and, riding on with it at full speed, he unhorsed and killed the foremost of them at a blow. then, just drawing back his weapon to gather strength for another blow, he killed the second of his enemies in the same manner. his followers were so much animated at this successful onset, that they advanced very resolutely to the combat. in the mean time, the shouts carried the alarm to william's camp, and a strong party set off to rescue william and his companions. the others then turned to fly, while william followed them so eagerly and closely, that he and they who were with him overtook and disabled seven of them, and made them prisoners. the rest escaped. william and his party then turned and began to proceed toward their own camp, conveying their prisoners in their train. they were met by king henry himself at the head of a detachment of three hundred men, who, not knowing how much necessity there might be for efficient aid, were hastening to the scene of action. the sight of william coming home victorious, and the tales told by his companions of the invincible strength and daring which he had displayed in the sudden danger, awakened a universal enthusiasm, and the plaudits and encomiums with which the whole camp resounded were doubtless as delicious and intoxicating to him as they were bitter to the king. it was by such deeds, and by such personal and mental characteristics as these, that william, notwithstanding the untoward influences of his birth, fought his way, during the twenty years of which we have been speaking, into general favor, and established a universal renown. he completely organized and arranged the internal affairs of his own kingdom, and established himself firmly upon the ducal throne. his mind had become mature, his resources were well developed, and his soul, always ambitious and aspiring, began to reach forward to the grasping of some grander objects of pursuit, and to the entering upon some wider field of action than his duchy of normandy could afford. during this interval, however, he was married; and, as the circumstances of his marriage were somewhat extraordinary, we must make that event the subject of a separate chapter. chapter v. the marriage. a.d. - political importance of a royal marriage.--william's views in regard to his marriage.--his choice.--matilda's genealogy.--her relationship to william.--matilda's accomplishments.--her embroidery.--matilda's industry.--the bayeux tapestry.--the designs.--uncouth drawing.--preservation.--elements of decay.--great age of the bayeux tapestry.--specimens of the designs of the bayeux tapestry.--marriage negotiations.--matilda's objections.--matilda's refusal.--her attachment to brihtric.--matilda's attachment not reciprocated.--her thirst for revenge.--william and matilda's consanguinity.--an obstacle to their marriage.--negotiations with the pope.--causes of delay.--william's quarrel with matilda.--the reconciliation.--the marriage.--rejoicings and festivities.--residence at rouen.--ancient castles and palaces.--matilda's palace.--luxury and splendor.--mauger, archbishop of rouen.--william and matilda excommunicated.--lanfranc sent to negotiate with the pope.--his success.--conditions of lanfranc's treaty.--their fulfillment.--william and matilda's children.--matilda's domestic character.--objects of william's marriage.--baldwin, count of flanders.--the blank letter.--baldwin's surprise. one of the most important points which an hereditary potentate has to attend to, in completing his political arrangements, is the question of his marriage. until he has a family and an heir, men's minds are unsettled in respect to the succession, and the various rival candidates and claimants to the throne are perpetually plotting and intriguing to put themselves into a position to spring at once into his place if sickness, or a battle, or any sudden accident should take him away. this evil was more formidable than usual in the case of william, for the men who were prepared to claim his place when he was dead were all secretly or openly maintaining that their right to it was superior to his while he was living. this gave a double intensity to the excitement with which the public was perpetually agitated in respect to the crown, and kept the minds of the ambitious and the aspiring, throughout william's dominions, in a continual fever. it was obvious that a great part of the cause of this restless looking for change and consequent planning to promote it would be removed if william had a son. it became, therefore, an important matter of state policy that the duke should be married. in fact, the barons and military chieftains who were friendly to him urged this measure upon him, on account of the great effect which they perceived it would have in settling the minds of the people of the country and consolidating his power. william accordingly began to look around for a wife. it appeared, however, in the end, that, though policy was the main consideration which first led him to contemplate marriage, love very probably exercised an important influence in determining his choice of the lady; at all events, the object of his choice was an object worthy of love. she was one of the most beautiful and accomplished princesses in europe. she was the daughter of a great potentate who ruled over the country of flanders. flanders lies upon the coast, east of normandy, beyond the frontiers of france, and on the southern shore of the german ocean. her father's title was the earl of flanders. he governed his dominions, however, like a sovereign, and was at the head of a very effective military power. his family, too, occupied a very high rank, and enjoyed great consideration among the other princes and potentates of europe. it had intermarried with the royal family of england, so that matilda, the daughter of the earl, whom william was disposed to make his bride, was found, by the genealogists, who took great interest in those days in tracing such connections, to have descended in a direct line from the great english king, alfred himself. this relationship, by making matilda's birth the more illustrious, operated strongly in favor of the match, as a great part of the motive which william had in view, in his intended marriage, was to aggrandize and strengthen his own position, by the connection which he was about to form. there was, however, another consanguinity in the case which had a contrary tendency. matilda's father had been connected with the norman as well as with the english line, and matilda and william were in some remote sense cousins. this circumstance led, in the sequel, as will presently be seen, to serious difficulty and trouble. matilda was seven years younger than william. she was brought up in her father's court, and famed far and wide for her beauty and accomplishments. the accomplishments in which ladies of high rank sought to distinguish themselves in those days were two, music and embroidery. the embroidery of tapestry was the great attainment, and in this art the young matilda acquired great skill. the tapestry which was made in the middle ages was used to hang against the walls of some of the more ornamented rooms in royal palaces and castles, to hide the naked surface of the stones of which the building was constructed. the cloths thus suspended were at first plain, afterward they began to be ornamented with embroidered borders or other decorations, and at length ladies learned to employ their own leisure hours, and beguile the tedium of the long confinement which many of them had to endure within their castles, in embroidering various devices and designs on the hangings intended for their own chambers, or to execute such work as presents for their friends. matilda's industry and skill in this kind of work were celebrated far and wide. the accomplishments which ladies take great pains to acquire in their early years are sometimes, it is said, laid almost entirely aside after their marriage; not necessarily because they are then less desirous to please, but sometimes from the abundance of domestic duty, which allows them little time, and sometimes from the pressure of their burdens of care or sorrow, which leave them no heart for the occupations of amusement or gayety. it seems not to have been so in matilda's case, however. she resumed her needle often during the years of her wedded life, and after william had accomplished his conquest of england, she worked upon a long linen web, with immense labor, a series of designs illustrating the various events and incidents of his campaign, and the work has been preserved to the present day. at least there is such a web now existing in the ancient town of bayeux, in normandy, which has been there from a period beyond the memory of men, and which tradition says was worked by matilda. it would seem, however, that if she did it at all, she must have done it "as solomon built the temple--with a great deal of help;" for this famous piece of embroidery, which has been celebrated among all the historians and scholars of the world for several hundred years by the name of the _bayeux tapestry_, is over four hundred feet long, and nearly two feet wide. the wet is of linen, while the embroidery is of woolen. it was all obviously executed with the needle, and was worked with infinite labor and care. the woolen thread which was used was of various colors, suited to represent the different objects in the design, though these colors are, of course, now much tarnished and faded. the designs themselves are very simple and even rude, evincing very little knowledge of the principles of modern art. the specimens on the following page, of engravings made from them, will give some idea of the childish style of delineation which characterizes all matilda's designs. childish, however, as such a style of drawing would be considered now, it seems to have been, in matilda's days, very much praised and admired. [illustration: plowing. from the bayeux tapestry.] [illustration: sowing. from the bayeux tapestry.] we often have occasion to observe, in watching the course of human affairs, the frailty and transitoriness of things apparently most durable and strong. in the case of this embroidery, on the contrary, we are struck with the durability and permanence of what would seem to be most frail and fleeting. william's conquest of england took place in . this piece of tapestry, therefore, if matilda really worked it, is about eight hundred years old. and when we consider how delicate, slender, and frail is the fibre of a linen thread, and that the various elements of decay, always busy in the work of corrupting and destroying the works of man, have proved themselves powerful enough to waste away and crumble into ruin the proudest structures which he has ever attempted to rear, we are amazed that these slender filaments have been able to resist their action so long. the bayeux tapestry has lasted nearly a thousand years. it will probably last for a thousand years to come. so that the vast and resistless power, which destroyed babylon and troy, and is making visible progress in the work of destroying the pyramids, is foiled by the durability of a piece of needle-work, executed by the frail and delicate fingers of a woman. we may have occasion to advert to the bayeux tapestry again, when we come to narrate the exploits which it was the particular object of this historical embroidery to illustrate and adorn. in the mean time, we return to our story. the matrimonial negotiations of princes and princesses are always conducted in a formal and ceremonious manner, and through the intervention of legates, embassadors, and commissioners without number, who are, of course, interested in protracting the proceedings, so as to prolong, as much as possible, their own diplomatic importance and power. besides these accidental and temporary difficulties, it soon appeared that there were, in this case, some real and very formidable obstacles, which threatened for a time entirely to frustrate the scheme. among these difficulties there was one which was not usually, in such cases, considered of much importance, but which, in this instance, seemed for a long time to put an effectual bar to william's wishes, and that was the aversion which the young princess herself felt for the match. she could have, one would suppose, no personal feeling of repugnance against william, for he was a tall and handsome cavalier, highly graceful and accomplished, and renowned for his bravery and success in war. he was, in every respect, such a personage as would be most likely to captivate the imagination of a maiden princess in those warlike times. matilda, however, made objections to his birth. she could not consider him as the legitimate descendant and heir of the dukes of normandy. it is true, he was then in possession of the throne, but he was regarded by a large portion of the most powerful chieftains in his realm as a usurper. he was liable, at any time, on some sudden change of fortune, to be expelled from his dominions. his position, in a word, though for the time being very exalted, was too precarious and unstable, and his personal claims to high social rank were too equivocal, to justify her trusting her destiny in his hands. in a word, matilda's answer to william's proposals was an absolute refusal to become his wife. these ostensible grounds, however, on which matilda based her refusal, plausible as they were, were not the real and true ones. the secret motive was another attachment which she had formed. there had been sent to her father's court in flanders, from the english king, a young saxon embassador, whose name was brihtric. brihtric remained some little time at the court in flanders, and matilda, who saw him often at the various entertainments, celebrations, and parties of pleasure which were arranged for his amusement, conceived a strong attachment to him. he was of a very fair complexion, and his features were expressive and beautiful. he was a noble of high position in england, though, of course, his rank was inferior to that of matilda. as it would have been deemed hardly proper for him, under the circumstances of the case, to have aspired to the princess's hand, on account of the superiority of her social position, matilda felt that it was her duty to make known her sentiments to him, and thus to open the way. she did so; but she found, unhappy maiden, that brihtric did not feel, himself, the love which he had inspired in her, and all the efforts and arts to which she was impelled by the instinct of affection proved wholly unavailing to call it forth. brihtric, after fulfilling the object of his mission, took leave of matilda coldly, while _her_ heart was almost breaking, and went away. as the sweetest wine transforms itself into the sharpest vinegar, so the warmest and most ardent love turns, when it turns at all, to the most bitter and envenomed hate. love gave place soon in matilda's heart to indignation, and indignation to a burning thirst for revenge. the intensity of the first excitement subsided; but matilda never forgot and never forgave the disappointment and the indignity which she had endured. she had an opportunity long afterward to take terrible revenge on brihtric in england, by subjecting him to cruelties and hardships there which brought him to his grave. in the mean time, while her thoughts were so occupied with this attachment, she had, of course, no heart to listen favorably to william's proposals. her friends would have attached no importance to the real cause of her aversion to the match, but they felt the force of the objections which could justly be advanced against william's rank, and his real right to his throne. then the consanguinity of the parties was a great source of embarrassment and trouble. persons as nearly related to each other as they were, were forbidden by the roman catholic rules to marry. there was such a thing as getting a dispensation from the pope, by which the marriage would be authorized. william accordingly sent embassadors to rome to negotiate this business. this, of course, opened a new field for difficulties and delays. the papal authorities were accustomed, in such cases, to exact as the price, or, rather, as the condition of their dispensation, some grant or beneficial conveyance from the parties interested, to the church, such as the foundation of an abbey or a monastery, the building of a chapel, or the endowment of a charity, by way as it were, of making amends to the church, by the benefit thus received, for whatever injury the cause of religion and morality might sustain by the relaxation of a divine law. of course, this being the end in view, the tendency on the part of the authorities at rome would be to protract the negotiations, so as to obtain from the suitor's impatience better terms in the end. the embassadors and commissioners, too, on william's part, would have no strong motive for hastening the proceedings. rome was an agreeable place of residence, and to live there as the embassador of a royal duke of normandy was to enjoy a high degree of consideration, and to be surrounded continually by scenes of magnificence and splendor. then, again, william himself was not always at leisure to urge the business forward by giving it his own close attention; for, during the period while these negotiations were pending, he was occupied, from time to time, with foreign wars, or in the suppression of rebellions among his barons. thus, from one cause and another, it seemed as if the business would never come to an end. in fact, a less resolute and determined man than william would have given up in despair, for it was seven years, it is said, before the affair was brought to a conclusion. one story is told of the impetuous energy which william manifested in this suit, which seems almost incredible. it was after the negotiations had been protracted for several years, and at a time when the difficulties were principally those arising from matilda's opposition, that the occurrence took place. it was at an interview which william had with matilda in the streets of bruges, one of her father's cities. all that took place at the interview is not known, but in the end of it william's resentment at matilda's treatment of him lost all bounds. he struck her or pushed her so violently as to throw her down upon the ground. it is said that he struck her repeatedly, and then, leaving her with her clothes all soiled and disheveled, rode off in a rage. love quarrels are often the means of bringing the contending parties nearer together than they were before, but such a terrible love quarrel as this, we hope, is very rare. violent as it was, however, it was followed by a perfect reconciliation, and in the end all obstacles were removed, and william and matilda were married. the event took place in . the marriage ceremony was performed at one of william's castles, on the frontiers of normandy, as it is customary for princes and kings to be married always in their own dominions. matilda was conducted there with great pomp and parade by her parents, and was accompanied by a large train of attendants and friends. this company, mounted--both knights and ladies--on horses beautifully caparisoned, moved across the country like a little army on a march, or rather like a triumphal procession escorting a queen. matilda was received at the castle with distinguished honor, and the marriage celebrations, and the entertainments accompanying it, were continued for several days. it was a scene of unusual festivity and rejoicing. the dress both of william and matilda, on this occasion, was very specially splendid. she wore a mantle studded with the most costly jewels; and, in addition to the other splendors of his dress, william too wore a mantle and a helmet, both of which were richly adorned with the same costly decorations. so much importance was attached, in those days, to this outward show, and so great was the public interest taken in it, that these dresses of william and matilda, with all the jewelry that adorned them, were deposited afterward in the great church at bayeux, where they remained a sort of public spectacle, the property of the church, for nearly five hundred years. from the castle of augi, where the marriage ceremonies were performed, william proceeded, after these first festivities and rejoicings were over, to the great city of rouen, conducting his bride thither with great pomp and parade. here the young couple established themselves, living in the enjoyment of every species of luxury and splendor which were attainable in those days. as has already been said, the interiors, even of royal castles and palaces, presented but few of the comforts and conveniences deemed essential to the happiness of a home in modern times. the european ladies of the present day delight in their suites of retired and well-furnished apartments, adorned with velvet carpets, and silken curtains, and luxuriant beds of down, with sofas and couches adapted to every fancy which the caprice of fatigue or restlessness may assume, and cabinets stored with treasures, and libraries of embellished books--the whole scene illuminated by the splendor of gas-lights, whose brilliancy is reflected by mirrors and candelabras, sparkling with a thousand hues. matilda's feudal palace presented no such scenes as these. the cold stone floors were covered with mats of rushes. the walls--if the naked masonry was hidden at all--were screened by hangings of coarse tapestry, ornamented with uncouth and hideous figures. the beds were miserable pallets, the windows were loop-holes, and the castle itself had all the architectural characteristics of a prison. still, there was a species of luxury and splendor even then. matilda had splendid horses to ride, all magnificently caparisoned. she had dresses adorned most lavishly with gold and jewels. there were troops of valiant knights, all glittering in armor of steel, to escort her on her journeys, and accompany and wait upon her on her excursions of pleasure; and there were grand banquets and carousals, from time to time, in the long castle hall, with tournaments, and races, and games, and other military shows, conducted with great parade and pageantry. matilda thus commenced her married life in luxury and splendor. in luxury and splendor, but not in peace. william had an uncle, whose name was mauger. he was the archbishop of rouen, and was a dignitary of great influence and power. now it was, of course, the interest of william's relatives that he should not be married, as every increase of probability that his crown would descend to direct heirs diminished their future chances of the succession, and of course undermined their present importance. mauger had been very much opposed to this match, and had exerted himself in every way, while the negotiations were pending, to impede and delay them. the point which he most strenuously urged was the consanguinity of the parties, a point to which it was incumbent on him, as he maintained--being the head of the church in normandy--particularly to attend. it seems that, notwithstanding william's negotiations with the pope to obtain a dispensation, the affair was not fully settled at rome before the marriage; and very soon after the celebration of the nuptials, mauger fulminated an edict of excommunication against both william and matilda, for intermarrying within the degrees of relationship which the canons of the church proscribed. an excommunication, in the middle ages, was a terrible calamity. the person thus condemned was made, so far as such a sentence could effect it, an outcast from man, and a wretch accursed of heaven. the most terrible denunciations were uttered against him, and in the case of a prince, like that of william, his subjects were all absolved from their allegiance, and forbidden to succor or defend him. a powerful potentate like william could maintain himself for a time against the influence and effects of such a course, but it was pretty sure to work more and more strongly against him through the superstitions of the people, and to wear him out in the end. william resolved to appeal at once to the pope, and to effect, by some means or other, the object of securing his dispensation. there was a certain monk, then obscure and unknown, but who afterward became a very celebrated public character, named lanfranc, whom, for some reason or other, william supposed to possess the necessary qualifications for this mission. he accordingly gave him his instructions and sent him away. lanfranc proceeded to rome, and there he managed the negotiation with the pope so dexterously as soon to bring it to a conclusion. the arrangement which he made was this. the pope was to grant the dispensation and confirm the marriage, thus removing the sentence of excommunication which the archbishop mauger had pronounced, on condition that william should build and endow a hospital for a hundred poor persons, and also erect two abbeys, one to be built by himself, for monks, and one by matilda, for nuns. lanfranc agreed to these conditions on the part of william and matilda, and they, when they came to be informed of them, accepted and confirmed them with great joy. the ban of excommunication was removed; all normandy acquiesced in the marriage, and william and matilda proceeded to form the plans and to superintend the construction of the abbeys. they selected the city of caen for the site. the place of this city will be seen marked upon the map near the northern coast of normandy.[g] it was situated in a broad and pleasant valley, at the confluence of two rivers, and was surrounded by beautiful and fertile meadows. it was strongly fortified, being surrounded by walls and towers, which william's ancestors, the dukes of normandy, had built. william and matilda took a strong interest in the plans and constructions connected with the building of the abbeys. william's was a very extensive edifice, and contained within its inclosures a royal palace for himself, where, in subsequent years, himself and matilda often resided. [footnote g: see map, chapter ix.] the principal buildings of these abbeys still stand, though the walls and fortifications of caen are gone. the buildings are used now for other purposes than those for which they were erected, but they retain the names originally given them, and are visited by great numbers of tourists, being regarded with great interest as singular memorials of the past--twin monuments commemorating an ancient marriage. the marriage being thus finally confirmed and acquiesced in, william and matilda enjoyed a long period of domestic peace. the oldest child was a son. he was born within a year of the marriage, and william named him robert, that, as the reader will recollect, having been the name of william's father. there was, in process of time, a large family of children. their names were robert, william rufus, henry, cecilia, agatha, constance, adela, adelaide, and gundred. matilda devoted herself with great maternal fidelity to the care and education of these children, and many of them became subsequently historical personages of the highest distinction. the object which, it will be recollected, was one of william's main inducements for contracting this alliance, namely, the strengthening of his power by thus connecting himself with the reigning family of flanders, was, in a great measure, accomplished. the two governments, leagued together by this natural tie, strengthened each other's power, and often rendered each other essential assistance, though there was one occasion, subsequently, when william's reliance on this aid was disappointed. it was as follows: when he was planning his invasion of england, he sent to matilda's brother, baldwin, who was then count of flanders, inviting him to raise a force and join him. baldwin, who considered the enterprise as dangerous and quixotic, sent back word to inquire what share of the english territory william would give him if he would go and help him conquer it. william thought that this attempt to make a bargain beforehand, for a division of spoil, evinced a very mercenary and distrustful spirit on the part of his brother-in-law--a spirit which he was not at all disposed to encourage. he accordingly took a sheet of parchment, and writing nothing within, he folded it in the form of a letter, and wrote upon the outside the following rhyme: "beau frère, en angleterre vous aures ce qui dedans escript, vous trouveres." which royal distich might be translated thus: "your share, good brother, of the land we win, you'll find entitled and described within." william forwarded the empty missive by the hand of a messenger, who delivered it to baldwin as if it were a dispatch of great consequence. baldwin received it eagerly, and opened it at once. he was surprised at finding nothing within; and after turning the parchment every way, in vain search after the description of his share, he asked the messenger what it meant. "it means," said he, "that as there is nothing writ within, so nothing you shall have." notwithstanding this witticism, however, some arrangement seems afterward to have been made between the parties, for flanders did, in fact, contribute an important share toward the force which william raised when preparing for the invasion. chapter vi. the lady emma. a.d. - william's claims to the english throne.--the lady emma.--claimants to the english throne.--ethelred.--ethelred subdued.--he flies to normandy.--massacre of the danes.--horrors of civil war.--ethelred's tyranny.--emma's policy.--emma's humiliation.--ethelred invited to return.--restoration of ethelred and emma.--war with canute.--ethelred's death.--situation of emma.--her children.--war with canute.--treaty between edmund and canute.--death of edmund.--accession of canute.--canute's wise policy.--his treatment of edmund's children.--canute marries emma.--opposition of her sons.--emma again queen of england.--the earl godwin.--canute's death.--he bequeaths the kingdom to harold.--emma's plots for her children.--her letter to them.--disastrous issue of alfred's expedition.--his terrible sentence.--edward's accession.--emma wretched and miserable.--accusations against emma.--her wretched end.--edmund's children.--godwin.--harold.--plans of edward.--plots and counterplots. it is not to be supposed that, even in the warlike times of which we are writing, such a potentate as a duke of normandy would invade a country like england, so large and powerful in comparison to his own, without some pretext. william's pretext was, that he himself was the legitimate successor to the english crown, and that the english king who possessed it at the time of his invasion was a usurper. in order that the reader may understand the nature and origin of this his claim, it is necessary to relate somewhat in full the story of the lady emma. by referring to the genealogy of the norman line of dukes contained in the second chapter of this volume, it will be seen that emma was the daughter of the first richard. she was celebrated in her early years for her great personal beauty. they called her _the pearl of normandy_. she married, at length, one of the kings of england, whose name was ethelred. england was at that time distracted by civil wars, waged between the two antagonist races of saxons and danes. there were, in fact, two separate dynasties or lines of kings, who were contending, all the time, for the mastery. in these contests, sometimes the danes would triumph for a time, and sometimes the saxons; and sometimes both races would have a royal representative in the field, each claiming the throne, and reigning over separate portions of the island. thus there were, at certain periods, two kingdoms in england, both covering the same territory, and claiming the government of the same population--with two kings, two capitals, two administrations--while the wretched inhabitants were distracted and ruined by the terrible conflicts to which these hostile pretensions gave rise. ethelred was of the saxon line. he was a widower at the time of his marriage to emma, nearly forty years old, and he had, among other children by his former wife, a son named edmund, an active, energetic young man, who afterward became king. one motive which he had in view in marrying emma was to strengthen his position by securing the alliance of the normans of normandy. the danes, his english enemies, were normans. the government of normandy would therefore be naturally inclined to take part with them. by this marriage, however, ethelred hoped to detach the normans of france from the cause of his enemies, and to unite them to his own. he would thus gain a double advantage, strengthening himself by an accession which weakened his foes. his plan succeeded so far as inducing richard himself, the duke of normandy, to espouse his cause, but it did not enable ethelred to triumph over his enemies. they, on the contrary, conquered _him_, and, in the end, drove him from the country altogether. he fled to normandy for refuge, with emma his wife, and his two young sons. their names were edward and alfred. richard ii., emma's brother, who was then the duke of normandy, received the unhappy fugitives with great kindness, although _he_, at least, scarcely deserved it. it was not surprising that he was driven from his native realm, for he possessed none of those high qualities of mind which fit men to conquer or to govern. like all other weak-minded tyrants, he substituted cruelty for wisdom and energy in his attempts to subjugate his foes. as soon as he was married to emma, for instance, feeling elated and strong at the great accession of power which he imagined he had obtained by this alliance, he planned a general massacre of the danes, and executed it on a given day, by means of private orders, sent secretly throughout the kingdom. vast numbers of the danes were destroyed; and so great was the hatred of the two races for each other, that they who had these bloody orders to obey executed them with a savage cruelty that was absolutely horrible. in one instance they buried women to the waist, and then set dogs upon them, to tear their naked flesh until they died in agony. it would be best, in narrating history, to suppress such horrid details as these, were it not that in a land like this, where so much depends upon the influence of every individual in determining whether the questions and discussions which are from time to time arising, and are hereafter to arise, shall be settled peacefully, or by a resort to violence and civil war, it is very important that we should all know what civil war is, and to what horrible atrocities it inevitably leads. alfred the great, when he was contending with the danes in england, a century before this time, treated them, so far as he gained advantages over them, with generosity and kindness; and this policy wholly conquered them in the end. ethelred, on the other hand, tried the effect of the most tyrannical cruelty, and the effect was only to arouse his enemies to a more determined and desperate resistance. it was the phrensy of vengeance and hate that these atrocities awakened every where among the danes, which nerved them with so much vigor and strength that they finally expelled him from the island; so that, when he arrived in normandy, a fugitive and an exile, he came in the character of a dethroned tyrant, execrated for his senseless and atrocious cruelties, and not in that of an unhappy prince driven from his home by the pressure of unavoidable calamity. nevertheless, richard, the duke of normandy, received him, as we have already said, with kindness. he felt the obligation of receiving the exiled monarch in a hospitable manner, if not on his own account, at least for the sake of emma and the children. the origin and end of emma's interest in ethelred seems to have been merely ambition. the "pearl of normandy" had given herself to this monster for the sake, apparently, of the glory of being the english queen. her subsequent conduct compels the readers of history to make this supposition, which otherwise would be uncharitable. she now mourned her disappointment in finding that, instead of being sustained by her husband in the lofty position to which she aspired, she was obliged to come back to her former home again, to be once more dependent, and with the additional burden of her husband himself, and her children, upon her father's family. her situation was rendered even still more humiliating, in some degree, by the circumstances that her father was no longer alive, and that it was to her brother, on whom her natural claim was far less strong, that she had now to look for shelter and protection. richard, however, received them all in a kind and generous manner. in the mean time, the wars and commotions which had driven ethelred away continued to rage in england, the saxons gradually gaining ground against the danes. at length the king of the danes, who had seized the government when ethelred was expelled, died. the saxons then regained their former power, and they sent commissioners to ethelred to propose his return to england. at the same time, they expressed their unwillingness to receive him, unless they could bind him, by a solemn treaty, to take a very different course of conduct, in the future management of his government, from that which he had pursued before. ethelred and emma were eager to regain, on any terms, their lost throne. they sent over embassadors empowered to make, in ethelred's name, any promises which the english nobles might demand; and shortly afterward the royal pair crossed the channel and went to london, and ethelred was acknowledged there by the _saxon_ portion of the population of the island once more as king. the _danes_, however, though weakened, were not yet disposed to submit. they declared their allegiance to _canute_, who was the successor in the _danish_ line. then followed a long war between canute and ethelred. canute was a man of extraordinary sagacity and intelligence, and also of great courage and energy. ethelred, on the other hand, proved himself, notwithstanding all his promises, incurably inefficient, cowardly, and cruel. in fact, his son prince edmund, the son of his first wife, was far more efficient than his father in resisting canute and the danes. edmund was active and fearless, and he soon acquired very extensive power. in fact, he seems to have held the authority of his father in very little respect. one striking instance of this insubordination occurred. ethelred had taken offense, for some reason or other, at one of the nobles in his realm, and had put him to death, and confiscated his estates; and, in addition to this, with a cruelty characteristic of him, he shut up the unhappy widow of his victim, a young and beautiful woman, in a gloomy convent, as a prisoner. edmund, his son, went to the convent, liberated the prisoner, and made her his own wife. [illustration: the rescue.] with such unfriendly relations between the king and his son, who seems to have been the ablest general in his father's army, there could be little hope of making head against such an enemy as canute the dane. in fact, the course of public affairs went on from bad to worse, emma leading all the time a life of unceasing anxiety and alarm. at length, in , ethelred died, and emma's cup of disappointment and humiliation was now full. her own sons, edward and alfred, had no claims to the crown; for edmund, being the son by a former marriage, was older than they. they were too young to take personally an active part in the fierce contests of the day, and thus fight their way to importance and power. and then edmund, who was now to become king, would, of course, feel no interest in advancing _them_, or doing honor to _her_. a son who would thwart and counteract the plans and measures of a father, as edmund had done, would be little likely to evince much deference or regard for a mother-in-law, or for half brothers, whom he would naturally consider as his rivals. in a word, emma had reason to be alarmed at the situation of insignificance and danger in which she found herself suddenly placed. she fled a second time, in destitution and distress, to her brother's in normandy. she was now, however, a widow, and her children were fatherless. it is difficult to decide whether to consider her situation as better or worse on this account, than it was at her former exile. her sons were lads, but little advanced beyond the period of childhood; and edward, the eldest, on whom the duty of making exertions to advance the family interests would first devolve, was of a quiet and gentle spirit, giving little promise that he would soon be disposed to enter vigorously upon military campaigns. edmund, on the other hand, who was now king, was in the prime of life, and was a man of great spirit and energy. there was a reasonable prospect that he would live many years; and even if he were to be suddenly cut off, there seemed to be no hope of the restoration of emma to importance or power; for edmund was married and had two sons, one of whom would be entitled to succeed him in case of his decease. it seemed, therefore, to be emma's destiny now, to spend the remainder of her days with her children in neglect and obscurity. the case resulted differently, however, as we shall see in the end. edmund, notwithstanding his prospect of a long and prosperous career, was cut off suddenly, after a stormy reign of one year. during his reign, canute the dane had been fast gaining ground in england, notwithstanding the vigor and energy with which edmund had opposed him. finally, the two monarchs assembled their armies, and were about to fight a great final battle. edmund sent a flag of truce to canute's camp, proposing that, to save the effusion of blood, they should agree to decide the case by single combat, and that he and canute should be the champions, and fight in presence of the armies. canute declined this proposal. he was himself small and slender in form, while edmund was distinguished for his personal development and muscular strength. canute therefore declined the personal contest, but offered to leave the question to the decision of a council chosen from among the leading nobles on either side. this plan was finally adopted. the council convened, and, after long deliberations, they framed a treaty by which the country was divided between the two potentates, and a sort of peace was restored. a very short period after this treaty was settled, edmund was murdered. canute immediately laid claim to the whole realm. he maintained that it was a part of the treaty that the partition of the kingdom was to continue only during their joint lives, and that, on the death of either, the whole was to pass to the survivor of them. the saxon leaders did not admit this, but they were in no condition very strenuously to oppose it. ethelred's sons by emma were too young to come forward as leaders yet; and as to edmund's, they were mere children. there was, therefore, no one whom they could produce as an efficient representative of the saxon line, and thus the saxons were compelled to submit to canute's pretensions, at least for a time. they would not wholly give up the claims of edmund's children, but they consented to waive them for a season. they gave canute the guardianship of the boys until they should become of age, and allowed him, in the mean time, to reign, himself, over the whole land. canute exercised his power in a very discreet and judicious manner, seeming intent, in all his arrangements, to protect the rights and interests of the saxons as well as of the danes. it might be supposed that the lives of the young saxon princes, edmund's sons, would not have been safe in his hands; but the policy which he immediately resolved to pursue was to conciliate the saxons, and not to intimidate and coerce them. he therefore did the young children no harm, but sent them away out of the country to denmark, that they might, if possible, be gradually forgotten. perhaps he thought that, if the necessity should arise for it, they might there, at any time, be put secretly to death. there was another reason still to prevent canute's destroying these children, which was, that if _they_ were removed, the claims of the saxon line would not thereby be extinguished, but would only be transferred to emma's children in normandy, who, being older, were likely the sooner to be in a condition to give him trouble as rivals. it was therefore a very wise and sagacious policy which prompted him to keep the young children of edmund alive, but to remove them to a safe distance out of the way. in respect to emma's children, canute conceived a different plan for guarding against any danger which came from their claims, and that was, to propose to take their mother for his wife. by this plan her family would come into his power, and then her own influence and that of her norman friends would be forever prevented from taking sides against him. he accordingly made the proposal. emma was ambitious enough of again returning to her former position of greatness as english queen to accept it eagerly. the world condemned her for being so ready to marry, for her second husband, the deadly enemy and rival of the first; but it was all one to her whether her husband was saxon or dane, provided that she could be queen. the boys, or, rather, the young men, for they were now advancing to maturity, were very strongly opposed to this connection. they did all in their power to prevent its consummation, and they never forgave their mother for thus basely betraying their interests. they were the more incensed at this transaction, because it was stipulated in the marriage articles between canute and emma that their _future_ children--the offspring of the marriage then contracted--should succeed to the throne of england, to the exclusion of all previously born on either side. thus canute fancied that he had secured his title, and that of his descendants, to the crown forever, and emma prepared to return to england as once more its queen. the marriage was celebrated with great pomp and splendor, and emma, bidding normandy and her now alienated children farewell, was conducted in state to the royal palace in london. we must now pass over, with a very few words, a long interval of twenty years. it was the period of canute's reign, which was prosperous and peaceful. during this period emma's norman sons continued in normandy. she had another son in england a few years after her marriage, who was named canute, after his father, but he is generally known in history by the name of hardicanute, the prefix being a saxon word denoting energetic or strong. canute had also a very celebrated minister in his government named godwin. godwin was a saxon of a very humble origin, and the history of his life constitutes quite a romantic tale.[h] he was a man of extraordinary talents and character, and at the time of canute's death he was altogether the most powerful subject in the realm. [footnote h: it is given at length in the last chapter of our history of alfred the great.] when canute found that he was about to die, and began to consider what arrangements he should make for the succession, he concluded that it would not be safe for him to fulfill the agreement made in his marriage contract with emma, that the children of that marriage should inherit the kingdom; for hardicanute, who was entitled to succeed under that covenant, was only about sixteen or seventeen years old, and consequently too young to attempt to govern. he therefore made a will, in which he left the kingdom to an older son, named harold--a son whom he had had before his marriage with emma. this was the signal for a new struggle. the influence of the saxons and of emma's friends was of course in favor of hardicanute, while the danes espoused the cause of harold. godwin at length taking sides with this last-named party, harold was established on the throne, and emma and all her children, whether descended from ethelred or canute, were set aside and forgotten. emma was not at all disposed to acquiesce in this change of fortune. she remained in england, but was secretly incensed at her second husband's breach of faith toward her; and as he had abandoned the child of his marriage with her for _his_ former children, she now determined to abandon him for _hers_. she gave up hardicanute's cause, therefore, and began secretly to plot among the saxon population for bringing forward her son edward to the throne. when she thought that things were ripe for the execution of the plot, she wrote a letter to her children in normandy, saying to them that the saxon population were weary of the danish line, and were ready, she believed, to rise in behalf of the ancient saxon line, if the true representative of it would appear to lead them. she therefore invited them to come to london and consult with her on the subject. she directed them, however, to come, if they came at all, in a quiet and peaceful manner, and without any appearance of hostile intent, inasmuch as any thing which might seem like a foreign invasion would awaken universal jealousy and alarm. when this letter was received by the brothers in normandy, the eldest, edward, declined to go, but gave his consent that alfred should undertake the expedition if he were disposed. alfred accepted the proposal. in fact, the temperament and character of the two brothers were very different. edward was sedate, serious, and timid. alfred was ardent and aspiring. the younger, therefore, decided to take the risk of crossing the channel, while the elder preferred to remain at home. the result was very disastrous. contrary to his mother's instructions, alfred took with him quite a troop of norman soldiers. he crossed the channel in safety, and advanced across the country some distance toward london. harold sent out a force to intercept him. he was surrounded, and he himself and all his followers were taken prisoners. he was sentenced to lose his eyes, and he died in a few days after the execution of this terrible sentence, from the mingled effects of fever and of mental anguish and despair. emma fled to flanders. finally harold died, and hardicanute succeeded him. in a short time hardicanute died, leaving no heirs, and now, of course, there was no one left[i] to compete with emma's oldest son edward, who had remained all this time quietly in normandy. he was accordingly proclaimed king. this was in . he reigned for twenty years, having commenced his reign about the time that william the conqueror was established in the possession of his dominions as duke of normandy. edward had known william intimately during his long residence in normandy, and william came to visit him in england in the course of his reign. william, in fact, considered himself as edward's heir; for as edward, though married, had no children, the dukes of the norman line were his nearest relatives. he obtained, he said, a promise from edward that edward would sanction and confirm his claim to the english crown, in the event of his decease, by bequeathing it to william in his will. [footnote i: the children of ethelred's oldest son, edmund, were in hungary at this time, and seem to have been wellnigh forgotten.] emma was now advanced in years. the ambition which had been the ruling principle of her life would seem to have been well satisfied, so far as it is possible to satisfy ambition, for she had had two husbands and two sons, all kings of england. but as she advanced toward the close of her career, she found herself wretched and miserable. her son edward could not forgive her for her abandonment of himself and his brother, to marry a man who was their own and their father's bitterest enemy. she had made a formal treaty in her marriage covenant to exclude them from the throne. she had treated them with neglect during all the time of canute's reign, while she was living with him in london in power and splendor. edward accused her, also, of having connived at his brother alfred's death. the story is, that he caused her to be tried on this charge by the ordeal of fire. this method consisted of laying red-hot irons upon the stone floor of a church, at certain distances from each other, and requiring the accused to walk over them with naked feet. if the accused was innocent, providence, as they supposed, would so guide his footsteps that he should not touch the irons. thus, if he was innocent, he would go over safely; if guilty, he would be burned. emma, according to the story of the times, was subjected to this test, in the cathedral of winchester, to determine whether she was cognizant of the murder of her son. whether this is true or not, there is no doubt that edward confined her a prisoner in the monastery at winchester, where she ended her days at last in neglect and wretchedness. when edward himself drew near to the close of his life, his mind was greatly perplexed in respect to the succession. there was one descendant of his brother edmund--whose children, it will be remembered, canute had sent away to denmark, in order to remove them out of the way--who was still living in hungary. the name of this descendant was edward. he was, in fact, the lawful heir to the crown. but he had spent his life in foreign countries, and was now far away; and, in the mean time, the earl godwin, who has been already mentioned as the great saxon nobleman who rose from a very humble rank to the position of the most powerful subject in the realm, obtained such an influence, and wielded so great a power, that he seemed at one time stronger than the king himself. godwin at length died, but his son harold, who was as energetic and active as his father, inherited his power, and seemed, as edward thought, to be aspiring to the future possession of the throne. edward had hated godwin and all his family, and was now extremely anxious to prevent the possibility of harold's accession. he accordingly sent to hungary to bring edward, his nephew, home. edward came, bringing his family with him. he had a young son named edgar. it was king edward's plan to make arrangements for bringing this prince edward to the throne after his death, that harold might be excluded. the plan was a very judicious one, but it was unfortunately frustrated by prince edward's death, which event took place soon after he arrived in england. the young edgar, then a child, was, of course, his heir. the king was convinced that no government which could be organized in the name of edgar would be able to resist the mighty power of harold, and he turned his thoughts, therefore, again to the accession of william of normandy, who was the nearest relative on his mother's side, as the only means of saving the realm from falling into the hands of the usurper harold. a long and vexatious contest then ensued, in which the leading powers and influences of the kingdom were divided and distracted by the plans, plots, maneuvers, and counter maneuvers of harold to obtain the accession for himself, and of edward to secure it for william of normandy. in this contest harold conquered in the first instance, and edward and william in the end. chapter vii. king harold. a.d. - harold and william.--quarrel between godwin and edward.--treaty between godwin and edward.--hostages.--the giving of hostages now abandoned.--cruelties inflicted.--canute's hostages.--godwin's hostages.--edward declines to give up the hostages.--harold goes to normandy.--harold's interview with edward.--the storm.--harold shipwrecked.--guy, count of ponthieu.--harold a prisoner.--he is ransomed by william.--william's hospitality.--his policy in this.--william's treatment of his guests.--william's policy.--william makes known to harold his claims to the english crown.--harold's dissimulation.--william's precautions.--the betrothment.--william retains a hostage.--harold's apparent acquiescence.--the public oath.--the great assembly of knights and nobles.--the threefold oath.--william's precaution.--the sacred relics.--harold's departure.--his measures to secure the throne.--age and infirmities of edward.--westminster.--edward's death.--the crown offered to harold.--harold's coronation.--he knights edgar.--harold violates his plighted faith to william. harold, the son of the earl godwin, who was maneuvering to gain possession of the english throne, and william of normandy, though they lived on opposite sides of the english channel, the one in france and the other in england, were still personally known to each other; for not only had william, as was stated in the last chapter, paid a visit to england, but harold himself, on one occasion, made an excursion to normandy. the circumstances of this expedition were, in some respects, quite extraordinary, and illustrate in a striking manner some of the peculiar ideas and customs of the times. they were as follows: during the life of harold's father godwin, there was a very serious quarrel between him, that is, godwin, and king edward, in which both the king and his rebellious subject marshaled their forces, and for a time waged against each other an open and sanguinary war. in this contest the power of godwin had proved so formidable, and the military forces which he succeeded in marshaling under his banners were so great, that edward's government was unable effectually to put him down. at length, after a long and terrible struggle, which involved a large part of the country in the horrors of a civil war, the belligerents made a treaty with each other, which settled their quarrel by a sort of compromise. godwin was to retain his high position and rank as a subject, and to continue in the government of certain portions of the island which had long been under his jurisdiction; he, on his part, promising to dismiss his armies, and to make war upon the king no more. he bound himself to the faithful performance of these covenants by giving the king _hostages_. the hostages given up on such occasions were always near and dear relatives and friends, and the understanding was, that if the party giving them failed in fulfilling his obligations, the innocent and helpless hostages were to be entirely at the mercy of the other party into whose custody they had been given. the latter would, in such cases, imprison them, torture them, or put them to death, with a greater or less degree of severity in respect to the infliction of pain, according to the degree of exasperation which the real or fancied injury which he had received awakened in his mind. this cruel method of binding fierce and unprincipled men to the performance of their promises has been universally abandoned in modern times, though in the rude and early stages of civilization it has been practiced among all nations, ancient and modern. the hostages chosen were often of young and tender years, and were always such as to render the separation which took place when they were torn from their friends most painful, as it was the very object of the selection to obtain those who were most beloved. they were delivered into the hands of those whom they had always regarded as their bitterest enemies, and who, of course, were objects of aversion and terror. they were sent away into places of confinement and seclusion, and kept in the custody of strangers, where they lived in perpetual fear that some new outbreak between the contending parties would occur, and consign them to torture or death. the cruelties sometimes inflicted, in such cases, on the innocent hostages, were awful. at one time, during the contentions between ethelred and canute, canute, being driven across the country to the sea-coast, and there compelled to embark on board his ships to make his escape, was cruel enough to cut off the hands and the feet of some hostages which ethelred had previously given him, and leave them writhing in agony on the sands of the shore. the hostages which are particularly named by historians as given by godwin to king edward were his son and his grandson. their names were ulnoth and hacune. ulnoth, of course, was harold's brother, and hacune his nephew. edward, thinking that godwin would contrive some means of getting these securities back into his possession again if he attempted to keep them in england, decided to send them to normandy, and to put them under the charge of william the duke for safe keeping. when godwin died, harold applied to edward to give up the hostages, since, as he alleged, there was no longer any reason for detaining them. they had been given as security for _godwin's_ good behavior, and now godwin was no more. edward could not well refuse to surrender them, and yet, as harold succeeded to the power, and evidently possessed all the ambition of his father, it seemed to be, politically, as necessary to retain the hostages now as it had been before. edward, therefore, without absolutely refusing to surrender them, postponed and evaded compliance with harold's demand, on the ground that the hostages were in normandy. he was going, he said, to send for them as soon as he could make the necessary arrangements for bringing them home in safety. under these circumstances, harold determined to go and bring them himself. he proposed this plan to edward. edward would not absolutely refuse his consent, but he did all in his power to discourage such an expedition. he told harold that william of normandy was a crafty and powerful man; that by going into his dominions he would put himself entirely into his power, and would be certain to involve himself in some serious difficulty. this interview between harold and the king is commemorated on the bayeux tapestry by the opposite uncouth design. what effect edward's disapproval of the project produced upon harold's mind is not certainly known. it is true that he went across the channel, but the accounts of the crossing are confused and contradictory, some of them stating that, while sailing for pleasure with a party of attendants and companions on the coast, he was blown off from the shore and driven across to france by a storm. the probability, however, is, that this story was only a pretense. he was determined to go, but not wishing to act openly in defiance of the king's wishes, he contrived to be blown off, in order to make it seem that he went against his will. [illustration: harold's interview with edward.] at all events, the _storm_ was real, whether his being compelled to leave the english shores by the power of it was real or pretended. it carried him, too, out of his course, driving him up the channel to the eastward of normandy, where he had intended to land, and at length throwing his galley, a wreck, on the shore, not far from the mouth of the somme. the galley itself was broken up, but harold and his company escaped to land. they found that they were in the dominions of a certain prince who held possessions on that coast, whose style and title was guy, count of ponthieu. the law in those days was, that wrecks became the property of the lord of the territory on the shores of which they occurred; and not only were the ships and the goods which they contained thus confiscated in case of such a disaster, but the owners themselves became liable to be seized and held captive for a ransom. harold, knowing his danger, was attempting to secrete himself on the coast till he could get to normandy, when a fisherman who saw him, and knew by his dress and appearance, and by the deference with which he was treated by the rest of the company, that he was a man of great consequence in his native land, went to the count, and said that for ten crowns he would show him where there was a man who would be worth a thousand to him. the count came down with his retinue to the coast, seized the unfortunate adventurers, took possession of all the goods and baggage that the waves had spared, and shut the men themselves up in his castle at abbeville till they could pay their ransom. harold remonstrated against this treatment. he said that he was on his way to normandy on business of great importance with the duke, from the king of england, and that he could not be detained. but the count was very decided in refusing to let him go without his ransom. harold then sent word to william, acquainting him with his situation, and asking him to effect his release. william sent to the count, demanding that he should give his prisoner up. all these things, however, only tended to elevate and enlarge the count's ideas of the value and importance of the prize which he had been so fortunate to secure. he persisted in refusing to give him up without ransom. finally william paid the ransom, in the shape of a large sum of money, and the cession, in addition, of a considerable territory. harold and his companions in bondage were then delivered to william's messengers, and conducted by them in safety to rouen, where william was then residing. william received his distinguished guest with every possible mark of the most honorable consideration. he was escorted with great parade and ceremony into the palace, lodged in the most sumptuous manner, provided with every necessary supply, and games, and military spectacles, and feasts and entertainments without number, were arranged to celebrate his visit. william informed him that he was at liberty to return to england whenever he pleased, and that his brother and his nephew, the hostages that he had come to seek, were at his disposal. he, however, urged him not to return immediately, but to remain a short time in normandy with his companions. harold accepted the invitation. all this exuberance of hospitality had its origin, as the reader will readily divine, in the duke's joy in finding the only important rival likely to appear to contest his claims to the english crown so fully in his power, and in the hope which he entertained of so managing affairs at this visit as to divert harold's mind from the idea of becoming the king of england himself, and to induce him to pledge himself to act in his, that is, william's favor. he took, therefore, all possible pains to make him enjoy his visit in normandy; he exhibited to him the wealth and the resources of the country--conducting him from place to place to visit the castles, the abbeys, and the towns--and, finally, he proposed that he should accompany him on a military expedition into brittany. harold, pleased with the honors conferred upon him, and with the novelty and magnificence of the scenes to which he was introduced, entered heartily into all these plans, and his companions and attendants were no less pleased than he. william knighted many of these followers of harold, and made them costly presents of horses, and banners, and suits of armor, and other such gifts as were calculated to captivate the hearts of martial adventurers such as they. william soon gained an entire ascendency over their minds, and when he invited them to accompany him on his expedition into brittany, they were all eager to go. brittany was west of normandy, and on the frontiers of it, so that the expedition was not a distant one. nor was it long protracted. it was, in fact, a sort of pleasure excursion, william taking his guest across the frontier into his neighbor's territory, on a marauding party, just as a nobleman, in modern times, would take a party into a forest to hunt. william and harold were on the most intimate and friendly terms possible during the continuance of this campaign. they occupied the same tent, and ate at the same table. harold evinced great military talents and much bravery in the various adventures which they met with in brittany, and william felt more than ever the desirableness of securing his influence on his, that is, william's side, or, at least, of preventing his becoming an open rival and enemy. on their return from brittany into normandy, he judged that the time had arrived for taking his measures. he accordingly resolved to come to an open understanding with harold in respect to his plans, and to seek his co-operation. he introduced the subject, the historians say, one day as they were riding along homeward from their excursion, and had been for some time talking familiarly on the way, relating tales to one another of wars, battles, sieges, and hair-breadth escapes, and other such adventures as formed, generally, the subjects of narrative conversation in those days. at length william, finding harold, as he judged, in a favorable mood for such a communication, introduced the subject of the english realm and the approaching demise of the crown. he told him, confidentially, that there had been an arrangement between him, william, and king edward, for some time, that edward was to _adopt_ him as his successor. william told harold, moreover, that he should rely a great deal on his co-operation and assistance in getting peaceable possession of the kingdom, and promised to bestow upon him the very highest rewards and honors in return if he would give him his aid. the only rival claimant, william said, was the young child edgar, and he had no friends, no party, no military forces, and no means whatever for maintaining his pretensions. on the other hand, he, william, and harold, had obviously all the power in their own hands, and if they could only co-operate together on a common understanding, they would be sure to have the power and the honors of the english realm entirely at their disposal. harold listened to all these suggestions, and pretended to be interested and pleased. he was, in reality, interested, but he was not pleased. he wished to secure the kingdom for himself, not merely to obtain a share, however large, of its power and its honors as the subject of another. he was, however, too wary to evince his displeasure. on the contrary, he assented to the plan, professed to enter into it with all his heart, and expressed his readiness to commence, immediately, the necessary preliminary measures for carrying it into execution. william was much gratified with the successful result of his negotiation, and the two chieftains rode home to william's palace in normandy, banded together, apparently, by very strong ties. in secret, however, harold was resolving to effect his departure from normandy as soon as possible, and to make immediate and most effectual measures for securing the kingdom of england to himself, without any regard to the promises that he had made to william. nor must it be supposed that william himself placed any positive reliance on mere promises from harold. he immediately began to form plans for binding him to the performance of his stipulations, by the modes then commonly employed for securing the fulfillment of covenants made among princes. these methods were three--intermarriages, the giving of hostages, and solemn oaths. william proposed two marriages as means of strengthening the alliance between himself and harold. harold was to give to william one of his daughters, that william might marry her to one of his norman chieftains. this would be, of course, placing her in william's power, and making her a hostage all but in name. harold, however, consented. the second marriage proposed was between william's daughter and harold himself; but as his daughter was a child of only seven years of age, it could only be a betrothment that could take place at that time. harold acceded to this proposal too, and arrangements were made for having the faith of the parties pledged to one another in the most solemn manner. a great assembly of all the knights, nobles, and ladies of the court was convened, and the ceremony of pledging the troth between the fierce warrior and the gentle and wondering child was performed with as much pomp and parade as if it had been an actual wedding. the name of the girl was adela. in respect to hostages, william determined to detain one of those whom harold, as will be recollected, had come into normandy to recover. he told him, therefore, that he might take with him his nephew hacune, but that ulnoth, his brother, should remain, and william would bring him over himself when he came to take possession of the kingdom. harold was extremely unwilling to leave his brother thus in william's power; but as he knew very well that his being allowed to return to england himself would depend upon his not evincing any reluctance to giving william security, or manifesting any other indication that he was not intending to keep his plighted faith, he readily consented, and it was thus settled that ulnoth should remain. finally, in order to hold harold to the fulfillment of his promises by every possible form of obligation, william proposed that he should take a public and solemn oath, in the presence of a large assembly of all the great potentates and chieftains of the realm, by which he should bind himself, under the most awful sanctions, to keep his word. harold made no objection to this either. he considered himself as, in fact, in duress, and his actions as not free. he was in william's power, and was influenced in all he did by a desire to escape from normandy, and once more recover his liberty. he accordingly decided, in his own mind, that whatever oaths he might take he should afterward consider as forced upon him, and consequently as null and void, and was ready, therefore, to take any that william might propose. the great assembly was accordingly convened. in the middle of the council hall there was placed a great chair of state, which was covered with a cloth of gold. upon this cloth, and raised considerably above the seat, was the _missal_, that is, the book of service of the catholic church, written on parchment and splendidly illuminated. the book was open at a passage from one of the evangelists--the evangelists being a portion of the holy scriptures which was, in those days, supposed to invest an oath with the most solemn sanctions. harold felt some slight misgivings as he advanced in the midst of such an imposing scene as the great assembly of knights and ladies presented in the council hall, to repeat his promises in the very presence of god, and to imprecate the retributive curses of the almighty on the violation of them, which he was deliberately and fully determined to incur. he had, however, gone too far to retreat now. he advanced, therefore, to the open missal, laid his hand upon the book, and, repeating the words which william dictated to him from his throne, he took the threefold oath required, namely, to aid william to the utmost of his power in his attempt to secure the succession to the english crown, to marry william's daughter adela as soon as she should arrive at a suitable age, and to send over forthwith from england his own daughter, that she might be espoused to one of william's nobles. as soon as the oath was thus taken, william caused the missal and the cloth of gold to be removed, and there appeared beneath it, on the chair of state, a chest, containing the sacred relics of the church, which william had secretly collected from the abbeys and monasteries of his dominions, and placed in this concealment, that, without harold's being conscious of it, their dreadful sanction might be added to that which the holy evangelists imposed. these relics were fragments of bones set in caskets and frames, and portions of blood--relics, as the monks alleged, of apostles or of the savior--and small pieces of wood, similarly preserved, which had been portions of the cross of christ or of his thorny crown. these things were treasured up with great solemnity in the monastic establishments and in the churches of these early times, and were regarded with a veneration and awe, of which it is almost beyond our power even to conceive. harold trembled when he saw what he had unwittingly done. he was terrified to think how much more dreadful was the force of the imprecations that he had uttered than he had imagined while uttering them. but it was too late to undo what he had done. the assembly was finally dismissed. william thought he had the conscience of his new ally firmly secured, and harold began to prepare for leaving normandy. he continued on excellent terms with william until his departure. william accompanied him to the sea-shore when the time of his embarkation arrived, and dismissed him at last with many farewell honors, and a profusion of presents. harold set sail, and, crossing the channel in safety, he landed in england. he commenced immediately an energetic system of measures to strengthen his own cause, and prepare the way for his own accession. he organized his party, collected arms and munitions of war, and did all that he could to ingratiate himself with the most powerful and wealthy nobles. he sought the favor of the king, too, and endeavored to persuade him to discard william. the king was now old and infirm, and was growing more and more inert and gloomy as he advanced in age. his mind was occupied altogether in ecclesiastical rites and observances, or plunged in a torpid and lifeless melancholy, which made him averse to giving any thought to the course which the affairs of his kingdom were to take after he was gone. he did not care whether harold or william took the crown when he laid it aside, provided they would allow him to die in peace. he had had, a few years previous to this time, a plan of making a pilgrimage to jerusalem, but had finally made an arrangement with the pope, allowing him to build a cathedral church, to be dedicated to st. peter, a few miles west of london, in lieu of his pilgrimage. there was already a cathedral church or _minster_ in the heart of london which was dedicated to st. paul. the new one was afterward often called, to distinguish it from the other, the _west_ minster, which designation, westminster, became afterward its regular name. it was on this spot, where westminster abbey now stands, that edward's church was to be built. it was just completed at the time of which we are speaking, and the king was preparing for the dedication of it. he summoned an assembly of all the prelates and great ecclesiastical dignitaries of the land to convene at london, in order to dedicate the new cathedral. before they were ready for the service, the king was taken suddenly sick. they placed him upon his couch in his palace chamber, where he lay, restless, and moaning in pain, and repeating incessantly, half in sleep and half in delirium, the gloomy and threatening texts of scripture which seemed to haunt his mind. he was eager to have the dedication go on, and they hastened the service in order to gratify him by having it performed before he died. the next day he was obviously failing. harold and his friends were very earnest to have the departing monarch declare in _his_ favor before he died, and their coming and going, and their loud discussions, rude soldiers as they were, disturbed his dying hours. he sent them word to choose whom they would for king, duke or earl, it was indifferent to him, and thus expired. harold had made his arrangements so well, and had managed so effectually to secure the influence of all the powerful nobles of the kingdom, that they immediately convened and offered him the crown. edgar was in the court of edward at the time, but he was too young to make any effort to advance his claims. he was, in fact, a foreigner, though in the english royal line. he had been brought up on the continent of europe, and could not even speak the english tongue. he acquiesced, therefore, without complaint, in these proceedings, and was even present as a consenting spectator on the occasion of harold's coronation, which ceremony was performed with great pomp and parade, at st. paul's, in london, very soon after king edward's death. harold rewarded edgar for his complaisance and discretion by conferring upon him the honor of knighthood immediately after the coronation, and in the church where the ceremony was performed. he also conferred similar distinctions and honors upon many other aspiring and ambitious men whom he wished to secure to his side. he thus seemed to have secure and settled possession of the throne. previously to this time, harold had married a young lady of england, a sister of two very powerful noblemen, and the richest heiress in the realm. this marriage greatly strengthened his influence in england, and helped to prepare the way for his accession to the supreme power. the tidings of it, however, when they crossed the channel and reached the ears of william of normandy, as the act was an open and deliberate violation of one of the covenants which harold had made with william, convinced the latter that none of these covenants would be kept, and prepared him to expect all that afterward followed. chapter viii. the preparations. a.d. harold's brother tostig.--he brings intelligence of harold's accession.--william's strength and dexterity.--his surprise.--fitzosborne.--his interview with william.--the great council of state.--the embassy to harold.--harold reminded of his promises.--his replies.--return of the messenger.--william prepares for war.--william calls a general council.--want of funds.--means of raising money.--adverse views.--various opinions.--confusion and disorder.--plan of fitzosborne.--it is adopted by william.--success of fitzosborne's plan.--supplies flow in liberally.--embassage to the pope.--its success.--reasons why the pope favored william's claims.--the banner and the ring.--excitement produced by their reception.--william's proclamations.--their effects.--william's promises.--naval preparations.--philip, king of france.--william's visit to him.--william's interview with philip.--philip opposes his plans.--council of nobles.--result of their deliberations.--william's return.--final preparations.--matilda made duchess regent.--william's motives.--republican sentiments.--hereditary sovereigns.--enthusiasm of the people.--the two-tailed comet. the messenger who brought william the tidings of harold's accession to the throne was a man named tostig, harold's brother. though he was harold's brother, he was still his bitterest enemy. brothers are seldom friends in families where there is a crown to be contended for. there were, of course, no public modes of communicating intelligence in those days, and tostig had learned the facts of edward's death and harold's coronation through spies which he had stationed at certain points on the coast. he was himself, at that time, on the continent. he rode with all speed to rouen to communicate the news to william, eager to incite him to commence hostilities against his brother. [illustration: william receiving tostig's tidings.] when tostig arrived at rouen, william was in a park which lay in the vicinity of the city, trying a new bow that had been recently made for him. william was a man of prodigious muscular strength, and they gave him the credit of being able to use easily a bow which nobody else could bend. a part of this credit was doubtless due to the etiquette which, in royal palaces and grounds, leads all sensible courtiers to take good care never to succeed in attempts to excel the king. but, notwithstanding this consideration, there is no doubt that the duke really merited a great portion of the commendation that he received for his strength and dexterity in the use of the bow. it was a weapon in which he took great interest. a new one had been made for him, of great elasticity and strength, and he had gone out into his park, with his officers, to try its powers, when tostig arrived. tostig followed him to the place, and there advancing to his side, communicated the tidings to him privately. william was greatly moved by the intelligence. his arrow dropped upon the ground. he gave the bow to an attendant. he stood for a time speechless, tying and untying the cordon of his cloak in his abstraction. presently he began slowly to move away from the place, and to return toward the city. his attendants followed him in silence, wondering what the exciting tidings could be which had produced so sudden and powerful an effect. william went into the castle hall, and walked to and fro a long time, thoughtful, and evidently agitated. his attendants waited in silence, afraid to speak to him. rumors began at length to circulate among them in respect to the nature of the intelligence which had been received. at length a great officer of state, named fitzosborne, arrived at the castle. as he passed through the court-yard and gates, the attendants and the people, knowing that he possessed in a great degree the confidence of his sovereign, asked him what the tidings were that had made such an impression. "i know nothing certain about it," said he, "but i will soon learn." so saying, he advanced toward william, and accosted him by saying, "why should you conceal from us your news? it is reported in the city that the king of england is dead, and that harold has violated his oaths to you, and has seized the kingdom. is that true?" william acknowledged that that was the intelligence by which he had been so vexed and chagrined. fitzosborne urged the duke not to allow such events to depress or dispirit him. "as for the death of edward," said he, "that is an event past and sure, and can not be recalled; but harold's usurpation and treachery admits of a very easy remedy. you have the right to the throne, and you have the soldiers necessary to enforce that right. undertake the enterprise boldly. you will be sure to succeed." william revolved the subject in his mind for a few days, during which the exasperation and anger which the first receipt of the intelligence had produced upon him was succeeded by calm but indignant deliberation, in respect to the course which he should pursue. he concluded to call a great council of state, and to lay the case before them--not for the purpose of obtaining their advice, but to call their attention to the crisis in a formal and solemn manner, and to prepare them to act in concert in the subsequent measures to be pursued. the result of the deliberations of this council, guided, doubtless, by william's own designs, was, that the first step should be to send an embassy to harold to demand of him the fulfillment of his promises. the messenger was accordingly dispatched. he proceeded to london, and laid before harold the communication with which he had been intrusted. this communication recounted the three promises which harold had made, namely, to send his daughter to normandy to be married to one of william's generals; to marry william's daughter himself; and to maintain william's claims to the english crown on the death of edward. he was to remind harold, also, of the solemnity with which he had bound himself to fulfill these obligations, by oaths taken in the presence of the most sacred relics of the church, and in the most public and deliberate manner. harold replied, . that as to sending over his daughter to be married to one of william's generals, he could not do it, for his daughter was dead. he presumed, he said, that william did not wish him to send the corpse. . in respect to marrying william's daughter, to whom he had been affianced in normandy, he was sorry to say that that was also out of his power, as he could not take a foreign wife without the consent of his people, which he was confident would never be given; besides, he was already married, he said, to a saxon lady of his own dominions. . in regard to the kingdom: it did not depend upon him, he said, to decide who should rule over england as edward's successor, but upon the will of edward himself, and upon the english people. the english barons and nobles had decided, with edward's concurrence, that he, harold, was their legitimate and proper sovereign, and that it was not for him to controvert their will. however much he might be disposed to comply with william's wishes, and to keep his promise, it was plain that it was out of his power, for in promising him the english crown, he had promised what did not belong to him to give. . as to his oaths, he said that, notwithstanding the secret presence of the sacred relics under the cloth of gold, he considered them as of no binding force upon his conscience, for he was constrained to take them as the only means of escaping from the duress in which he was virtually held in normandy. promises, and oaths even, when extorted by necessity, were null and void. the messenger returned to normandy with these replies, and william immediately began to prepare for war. his first measure was to call a council of his most confidential friends and advisers, and to lay the subject before them. they cordially approved of the plan of an invasion of england, and promised to co-operate in the accomplishment of it to the utmost of their power. the next step was to call a general council of all the chieftains and nobles of the land, and also the _notables_, as they were called, or principal officers and municipal authorities of the _towns_. the main point of interest for the consideration of this assembly was, whether the country would submit to the necessary taxation for raising the necessary funds. william had ample power, as duke, to decide upon the invasion and to undertake it. he could also, without much difficulty, raise the necessary number of men; for every baron in his realm was bound, by the feudal conditions on which he held his land, to furnish his quota of men for any military enterprise in which his sovereign might see fit to engage. but for so distant and vast an undertaking as this, william needed a much larger supply of _funds_ than were usually required in the wars of those days. for raising such large supplies, the political institutions of the middle ages had not made any adequate provision. governments then had no power of taxation, like that so freely exercised in modern times; and even now, taxes in france and england take the form of _grants_ from the people to the kings. and as to the contrivance, so exceedingly ingenious, by which inexhaustible resources are opened to governments at the present day--that is, the plan of borrowing the money, and leaving posterity to pay or repudiate the debt, as they please, no minister of finance had, in william's day, been brilliant enough to discover it. thus each ruler had to rely, then, mainly on the rents and income from his own lands, and other private resources, for the comparatively small amount of money that he needed in his brief campaigns. but now william perceived that ships must be built and equipped, and great stores of provisions accumulated, and arms and munitions of war provided, all which would require a considerable outlay; and how was this money to be obtained? the general assembly which he convened were greatly distracted by the discussion of the question. the quiet and peaceful citizens who inhabited the towns, the artisans and tradesmen, who wished for nothing but to be allowed to go on in their industrial pursuits in peace, were opposed to the whole project. they thought it unreasonable and absurd that they should be required to contribute from their earnings to enable their lord and master to go off on so distant and desperate an undertaking, from which, even if successful, they could derive no benefit whatever. many of the barons, too, were opposed to the scheme. they thought it very likely to end in disaster and defeat; and they denied that their feudal obligation to furnish men for their sovereign's wars was binding to the extent of requiring them to go out of the country, and beyond the sea, to prosecute his claims to the throne of another kingdom. others, on the other hand, among the members of william's assembly, were strongly disposed to favor the plan. they were more ardent or more courageous than the rest, or perhaps their position and circumstances were such that they had more to hope from the success of the enterprise than they, or less to fear from its failure. thus there was great diversity of opinion; and as the parliamentary system of rules, by which a body of turbulent men, in modern times, are kept in some semblance of organization and order during a debate, had not then been developed, the meeting of these norman deliberators was, for a time, a scene of uproar and confusion. the members gathered in groups, each speaker getting around him as many as he could obtain to listen to his harangue; the more quiet and passive portion of the assembly moving to and fro, from group to group, as they were attracted by the earnestness and eloquence of the different speakers, or by their approval of the sentiments which they heard them expressing. the scene, in fact, was like that presented in exciting times by a political caucus in america, before it is called to order by the chairman. fitzosborne, the confidential friend and counselor, who has already been mentioned as the one who ventured to accost the duke at the time when the tidings of edward's death and of harold's accession first reached him, now seeing that any thing like definite and harmonious action on the part of this tumultuous assembly was out of the question, went to the duke, and proposed to him to give up the assembly as such, and make the best terms and arrangements that he could with the constituent elements of it, individually and severally. he would himself, he said, furnish forty ships, manned, equipped, and provisioned; and he recommended to the duke to call each of the others into his presence, and ask them what they were individually willing to do. the duke adopted this plan, and it was wonderfully successful. those who were first invited made large offers, and their offers were immediately registered in form by the proper officers. each one who followed was emulous of the example of those who had preceded him, and desirous of evincing as much zeal and generosity as they. then, besides, the duke received these vassals with so much condescension and urbanity, and treated them with so much consideration and respect, as greatly to flatter their vanity, and raise them in their own estimation, by exalting their ideas of the importance of the services which they could render in carrying so vast an enterprise to a successful result. in a word, the tide turned like a flood in favor of granting liberal supplies. the nobles and knights promised freely men, money, ships, arms, provisions--every thing, in short, that was required; and when the work of receiving and registering the offers was completed, and the officers summed up the aggregate amount, william found, to his extreme satisfaction, that his wants were abundantly supplied. there was another very important point, which william adopted immediate measures to secure, and that was obtaining the _pope's_ approval of his intended expedition. the moral influence of having the roman pontiff on his side, would, he knew, be of incalculable advantage to him. he sent an embassage, accordingly, to rome, to lay the whole subject before his holiness, and to pray that the pope would declare that he was justly entitled to the english crown, and authorize him to proceed and take possession of it by force of arms. lanfranc was the messenger whom he employed--the same lanfranc who had been so successful, some years before, in the negotiations at rome connected with the confirmation of william and matilda's marriage. lanfranc was equally successful now. the pope, after examining william's claims, pronounced them valid. he decided that william was entitled to the rank and honors of king of england. he caused a formal diploma to be made out to this effect. the diploma was elegantly executed, signed with the cross, according to the pontifical custom, and sealed with a round leaden seal.[j] [footnote j: the latin name for such a seal was _bulla_. it is on account of this sort of seal, which is customarily affixed to them, that papal edicts have received the name of _bulls_.] it was, in fact, very natural that the roman authorities should take a favorable view of william's enterprise, and feel an interest in its success, as it was undoubtedly for the interest of the church that william, rather than harold, should reign over england, as the accession of william would bring the english realm far more fully under the influence of the roman church. william had always been very submissive to the pontifical authority, as was shown in his conduct in respect to the question of his marriage. he himself, and also matilda his wife, had always taken a warm interest in the welfare and prosperity of the abbeys, the monasteries, the churches, and the other religious establishments of the times. then the very circumstance that he sent his embassador to rome to submit his claims to the pontiff's adjudication, while harold did not do so, indicated a greater deference for the authority of the church, and made it probable that he would be a far more obedient and submissive son of the church, in his manner of ruling his realm, if he should succeed in gaining possession of it, than harold his rival. the pope and his counselors at rome thought it proper to take all these things into the account in deciding between william and harold, as they honestly believed, without doubt, that it was their first and highest duty to exalt and aggrandize, by every possible means, the spiritual authority of the sacred institution over which they were called to preside. the pope and his cardinals, accordingly, espoused william's cause very warmly. in addition to the diploma which gave william formal authority to take possession of the english crown, the pope sent him a banner and a ring. the banner was of costly and elegant workmanship; its value, however, did not consist in its elegance or its cost, but in a solemn benediction which his holiness pronounced over it, by which it was rendered sacred and inviolable. the banner, thus blessed, was forwarded to william by lanfranc with great care. it was accompanied by the ring. the ring was of gold, and it contained a diamond of great value. the gold and the diamond both, however, served only as settings to preserve and honor something of far greater value than they. this choice treasure was a hair from the head of the apostle peter! a sacred relic of miraculous virtue and of inestimable value. when the edict with its leaden seal, and the banner and the ring arrived in normandy, they produced a great and universal excitement. to have bestowed upon the enterprise thus emphatically the solemn sanction of the great spiritual head of the church, to whom the great mass of the people looked up with an awe and a reverence almost divine, was to seal indissolubly the rightfulness of the enterprise, and to insure its success. there was thenceforward no difficulty in procuring men or means. every body was eager to share in the glory, and to obtain the rewards, of an enterprise thus commended by an authority duly commissioned to express, in all such cases, the judgment of heaven. finding that the current was thus fairly setting in his favor, william sent proclamations into all the countries surrounding normandy, inviting knights, and soldiers, and adventurers of every degree to join him in his projected enterprise. these proclamations awakened universal attention. great numbers of adventurous men determined to enter william's service. horses, arms, and accoutrements were everywhere in great demand. the invasion of england and the question of joining it were the universal topics of conversation. the roads were covered with knights and soldiers, some on horseback and alone, others in bands, large or small, all proceeding to normandy to tender their services. william received them all, and made liberal promises to bestow rewards and honors upon them in england, in the event of his success. to some he offered pay in money; to others, booty; to others, office and power. every one had his price. even the priests and dignitaries of the church shared the general enthusiasm. one of them furnished a ship and twenty armed men, under an agreement to be appointed bishop of a certain valuable english diocese when william should be established on his throne. while all these movements were going on in the interior of the country, all the sea-ports and towns along the coast of normandy presented a very busy scene of naval preparation. naval architects were employed in great numbers in building and fitting out vessels. some were constructed and furnished for the transportation of men, others for conveying provisions and munitions of war; and lighters and boats were built for ascending the rivers, and for aiding in landing troops upon shelving shores. smiths and armorers were occupied incessantly in manufacturing spears, and swords, and coats of mail; while vast numbers of laboring men and beasts of burden were employed in conveying arms and materials to and from the manufactories to the ships, and from one point of embarkation to another. as soon as william had put all these busy agencies thus in successful operation, he considered that there was one more point which it was necessary for him to secure before finally embarking, and that was the co-operation and aid of the french king, whose name at this time was philip. in his character of duke of normandy the king of france was his liege lord, and he was bound to act, in some degree, under an acknowledgment of his superior authority. in his new capacity, that is, as king of england, or, rather, as heir to the english kingdom, he was, of course, wholly independent of philip, and, consequently, not bound by any feudal obligation to look to him at all. he thought it most prudent, however, to attempt, at least, to conciliate philip's favor, and, accordingly, leaving his officers and his workmen to go on with the work of organizing his army and of building and equipping the fleet, he set off, himself, on an expedition to the court of the french king. he thought it safer to undertake this delicate mission himself, rather than to intrust it to an embassador or deputy. he found philip at his palace of st. germain's, which was situated at a short distance from paris. the duke assumed, in his interview with the king, a very respectful and deferential air and manner. philip was a very young man, though haughty and vain. william was very much his superior, not only in age and experience, but in talents and character, and in personal renown. still, he approached the monarch with all the respectful observance due from a vassal to his sovereign, made known his plans, and asked for philip's approbation and aid. he was willing, he said, in case that aid was afforded him, to hold his kingdom of england, as he had done the duchy of normandy, as a dependency of the french crown. philip seemed not at all disposed to look upon the project with favor. he asked william who was going to take care of his duchy while he was running off after a kingdom. william replied, at first, that that was a subject which he did not think his neighbors need concern themselves about. then thinking, on reflection, that a more respectful answer would be more politic, under the circumstances of the case, he added, that he was providentially blessed with a prudent wife and loving subjects, and that he thought he might safely leave his domestic affairs in their hands until he should return. philip still opposed the plan. it was quixotic, he said, and dangerous. he strongly advised william to abandon the scheme, and be content with his present possessions. such desperate schemes of ambition as those he was contemplating would only involve him in ruin. before absolutely deciding the case, however, philip called a council of his great nobles and officers of state, and laid william's proposals before them. the result of their deliberations was to confirm philip in his first decision. they said that the rendering to william the aid which he desired would involve great expense, and be attended with great danger; and as to william's promises to hold england as a vassal of the king of france, they had no faith in the performance of them. it had been very difficult, they said, for many years, for the kings of france to maintain any effectual authority over the dukes of normandy, and when once master of so distant and powerful a realm as england, all control over them would be sundered forever. philip then gave william his final answer in accordance with these counsels. the answer was received, on william's part, with strong feelings of disappointment and displeasure. philip conducted the duke to his retinue when the hour of departure arrived, in order to soothe, as far as possible, his irritated feelings, by dismissing him from his court with marks of his honorable consideration and regard. william, however, was not in a mood to be pleased. he told philip, on taking leave of him, that he was losing the most powerful vassal that any lord sovereign ever had, by the course which he had decided to pursue. "i would have held the whole realm of england as a part of your dominions, acknowledging you as sovereign over all, if you had consented to render me your aid, but i will not do it since you refuse. i shall feel bound to repay only those who assist me." william returned to normandy, where all the preparations for the expedition had been going on with great vigor during his absence, and proceeded to make arrangements for the last great measure which it was necessary to take previous to his departure; that was, the regular constitution of a government to rule in normandy while he should be gone. he determined to leave the supreme power in the hands of his wife matilda, appointing, at the same time, a number of civil and military officers as a council of regency, who were to assist her in her deliberations by giving her information and advice, and to manage, under her direction, the different departments of the government. her title was "duchess regent," and she was installed into her office in a public and solemn manner, at a great assembly of the estates of the realm. at the close of the ceremonies, after william had given matilda his charge, he closed his address by adding, "and do not let us fail to enjoy the benefit of your prayers, and those of all the ladies of your court, that the blessing of god may attend us, and secure the success of our expedition." we are not necessarily to suppose, as we might at first be strongly inclined to do, that there was any special hypocrisy and pretense in william's thus professing to rely on the protection of heaven in the personal and political dangers which he was about to incur. it is probable that he honestly believed that the inheritance of the english crown was his right, and, that being the case, that a vigorous and manly effort to enforce his right was a solemn duty. in the present age of the world, now that there are so many countries in which intelligence, industry, and love of order are so extensively diffused that the mass of the community are capable of organizing and administering a government themselves, republicans are apt to look upon hereditary sovereigns as despots, ruling only for the purpose of promoting their own aggrandizement, and the ends of an unholy and selfish ambition. that there have been a great many such despots no one can deny; but then, on the other hand, there have been many others who have acted, in a greater or less degree, under the influence of principles of duty in their political career. they have honestly believed that the vast power with which, in coming forward into life, they have found themselves invested, without, in most cases, any agency of their own, was a trust imposed upon them by divine providence, which could not innocently be laid aside; that on them devolved the protection of the communities over which they ruled from external hostility, and the preservation of peace and order within, and the promotion of the general industry and welfare, as an imperious and solemn duty; and they have devoted their lives to the performance of this duty, with the usual mixture, it is true, of ambition and selfishness, but still, after all, with as much conscientiousness and honesty as the mass of men in the humbler walks of life evince in performing theirs. william of normandy appears to have been one of this latter class; and in obeying the dictates of his ambition in seeking to gain possession of the english crown, he no doubt considered himself as fulfilling the obligations of duty too. however this may be, he went on with his preparations in the most vigorous and prosperous manner. the whole country were enthusiastic in the cause; and their belief that the enterprise about to be undertaken had unquestionably secured the favor of heaven, was confirmed by an extraordinary phenomenon which occurred just before the armament was ready to set sail. a comet appeared in the sky, which, as close observers declared, had a double tail. it was universally agreed that this portended that england and normandy were about to be combined, and to form a double kingdom, which should exhibit to all mankind a wonderful spectacle of splendor. chapter ix. crossing the channel. a.d. the river dive.--final assembling of the fleet.--map.--brilliant and magnificent scene.--equinoctial gales.--the expedition detained by them.--injurious effects of the storm.--discouragement of the men.--fears and forebodings.--some of the vessels wrecked.--favorable change.--the fleet puts to sea.--various delays.--its effects.--harold's want of information.--he withdraws his troops.--harold's vigilance.--he sends spies into normandy.--harold's spies.--they are detected.--william dismisses the spies.--his confidence in his cause.--fears of william's officers.--he reassures them.--arrival of matilda with the mira.--a present to william.--the squadron puts to sea again.--its appearance.--fleetness of the mira.--leaves the fleet out of sight.--william's unconcern.--reappearance of the fleet.--the fleet enters the bay of pevensey.--disembarkation.--landing of the troops.--anecdote.--the encampment.--scouts sent out.--william's supper.--the missing ships.--the conqueror's stone.--march of the army.--flight of the inhabitants.--the army encamps.--the town of hastings.--william's fortifications.--approach of harold. the place for the final assembling of the fleet which was to convey the expedition across the channel was the mouth of a small river called the dive, which will be seen upon the following map, flowing from the neighborhood of the castle of falaise northward into the sea. the grand gathering took place in the beginning of the month of september, in the year . this date, which marks the era of the norman conquest, is one of the dates which students of history fix indelibly in the memory. [illustration: normandy.] the gathering of the fleet in the estuary of the dive, and the assembling of the troops on the beach along its shores, formed a very grand and imposing spectacle. the fleets of galleys, ships, boats, and barges covering the surface of the water--the long lines of tents under the cliffs on the land--the horsemen, splendidly mounted, and glittering with steel--the groups of soldiers, all busily engaged in transporting provisions and stores to and fro, or making the preliminary arrangements for the embarkation--the thousands of spectators who came and went incessantly, and the duke himself, gorgeously dressed, and mounted on his war-horse, with the guards and officers that attended him--these, and the various other elements of martial parade and display usually witnessed on such occasions, conspired to produce a very gay and brilliant, as well as magnificent scene. of course, the assembling of so large a force of men and of vessels, and the various preparations for the embarkation, consumed some time, and when at length all was ready--which was early in september--the equinoctial gales came on, and it was found impossible to leave the port. there was, in fact, a continuance of heavy winds and seas, and stormy skies, for several weeks. short intervals, from time to time, occurred, when the clouds would break away, and the sun appear; but these intervals did not liberate the fleet from its confinement, for they were not long enough in duration to allow the sea to go down. the surf continued to come rolling and thundering in upon the shore, and over the sand-bars at the mouth of the river, making destruction the almost inevitable destiny of any ship which should undertake to brave its fury. the state of the skies gradually robbed the scene of the gay and brilliant colors which first it wore. the vessels furled their sails, and drew in their banners, and rode at anchor, presenting their heads doggedly to the storm. the men on the shore sought shelter in their tents. the spectators retired to their homes, while the duke and his officers watched the scudding clouds in the sky, day after day, with great and increasing anxiety. in fact, william had very serious cause for apprehension in respect to the effect which this long-continued storm was to have on the success of his enterprise. the delay was a very serious consideration in itself, for the winter would soon be drawing near. in one month more it would seem to be out of the question for such a vast armament to cross the channel at all. then, when men are embarking in such dark and hazardous undertakings as that in which william was now engaged, their spirits and their energy rise and sink in great fluctuations, under the influence of very slight and inadequate causes; and nothing has greater influence over them at such times than the aspect of the skies. william found that the ardor and enthusiasm of his army were fast disappearing under the effects of chilling winds and driving rain. the feelings of discontent and depression which the frowning expression of the heavens awakened in their minds, were deepened and spread by the influence of sympathy. the men had nothing to do, during the long and dreary hours of the day, but to anticipate hardships and dangers, and to entertain one another, as they watched the clouds driving along the cliffs, and the rolling of the surges in the offing, with anticipations of shipwrecks, battles, and defeats, and all the other gloomy forebodings which haunt the imagination of a discouraged and discontented soldier. nor were these ideas of wrecks and destruction wholly imaginary. although the body of the fleet remained in the river, where it was sheltered from the winds, yet there were many cases of single ships that were from time to time exposed to them. these were detached vessels coming in late to the rendezvous, or small squadrons sent out to some neighboring port under some necessity connected with the preparations, or strong galleys, whose commanders, more bold than the rest, were willing, in cases _not_ of absolute necessity, to brave the danger. many of these vessels were wrecked. the fragments of them, with the bodies of the drowned mariners, were driven to the shore. the ghastly spectacles presented by these dead bodies, swollen and mangled, and half buried in the sand, as if the sea had been endeavoring to hide the mischief it had done, shocked and terrified the spectators who saw them. william gave orders to have all these bodies gathered up and interred secretly, as fast as they were found; still, exaggerated rumors of the number and magnitude of these disasters were circulated in the camp, and the discontent and apprehensions grew every day more and more alarming. william resolved that he must put to sea at the very first possible opportunity. the favorable occasion was not long wanting. the wind changed. the storm appeared to cease. a breeze sprang up from the south, which headed back the surges from the french shore. william gave orders to embark. the tents were struck. the baggage of the soldiers was sent on board the transport vessels. the men themselves, crowded into great flat-bottomed boats, passed in masses to the ships from the shore. the spectators reappeared, and covered the cliffs and promontories near, to witness the final scene. the sails were hoisted, and the vast armament moved out upon the sea. the appearance of a favorable change in the weather proved fallacious after all, for the clouds and storm returned, and after being driven, in apprehension and danger, about a hundred miles to the northeast along the coast, the fleet was compelled to seek refuge again in a harbor. the port which received them was st. valery, near dieppe. the duke was greatly disappointed at being obliged thus again to take the land. still, the attempt to advance had not been a labor wholly lost; for as the french coast here trends to the northward, they had been gradually narrowing the channel as they proceeded, and were, in fact, so far on the way toward the english shores. then there were, besides, some reasons for touching here, before the final departure, to receive some last re-enforcements and supplies. william had also one more opportunity of communicating with his capital and with matilda. these delays, disastrous as they seemed to be, and ominous of evil, were nevertheless attended with one good effect, of which, however, william at the time was not aware. they led harold, in england, to imagine that the enterprise was abandoned, and so put him off his guard. there were in those days, as has already been remarked, no regular and public modes of intercommunication, by which intelligence of important movements and events was spread every where, as now, with promptness and certainty. governments were obliged, accordingly, to rely for information, in respect to what their enemies were doing, on rumors, or on the reports of spies. rumors had gone to england in august that william was meditating an invasion, and harold had made some extensive preparations to meet and oppose him; but, finding that he did not come--that week after week of september passed away, and no signs of an enemy appeared, and gaining no certain information of the causes of the delay, he concluded that the enterprise was abandoned, or else, perhaps, postponed to the ensuing spring. accordingly, as the winter was coming on, he deemed it best to commence his preparations for sending his troops to their winter quarters. he disbanded some of them, and sent others away, distributing them in various castles and fortified towns, where they would be sheltered from the rigors of the season, and saved from the exposure and hardships of the camp, and yet, at the same time, remain within reach of a summons in case of any sudden emergency which might call for them. they were soon summoned, though not, in the first instance, to meet harold, as will presently appear. while adopting these measures, however, which he thought the comfort and safety of his army required, harold did not relax his vigilance in watching, as well as he could, the designs and movements of his enemy. he kept his secret agents on the southern coast, ordering them to observe closely every thing that transpired, and to gather and send to him every item of intelligence which should find its way by any means across the channel. of course, william would do all in his power to intercept and cut off all communication, and he was, at this time, very much aided in these efforts by the prevalence of the storms, which made it almost impossible for the fishing and trading vessels of the coast to venture out to sea, or attempt to cross the channel. the agents of harold, therefore, on the southern coast of england, found that they could obtain but very little information. at length the king, unwilling to remain any longer so entirely in the dark, resolved on sending some messengers across the sea into normandy itself, to learn positively what the true state of the case might be. messengers going thus secretly into the enemy's territory, or into the enemy's camp, become, by so doing, in martial law, _spies_, and incur, if they are taken, the penalty of death. the undertaking, therefore, is extremely hazardous; and as the death which is inflicted in cases of detection is an ignominious one--spies being hung, not shot--most men are very averse to encountering the danger. still, desperate characters are always to be found in camps and armies, who are ready to undertake it on being promised very extraordinary pay. harold's spies contrived to make their way across the channel, probably at some point far to the east of normandy, where the passage is narrow. they then came along the shore, disguised as peasants of the country, and they arrived at st. valery while william's fleets were there. here they began to make their observations, scrutinizing every thing with close attention and care, and yet studiously endeavoring to conceal their interest in what they saw. notwithstanding all their vigilance, however, they were discovered, proved to be spies, and taken before william to receive their sentence. instead of condemning them to death, which they undoubtedly supposed would be their inevitable fate, william ordered them to be set at liberty. "go back," said he, "to king harold, and tell him he might have saved himself the expense of sending spies into normandy to learn what i am preparing for him. he will soon know by other means--much sooner, in fact, than he imagines. go and tell him from me that he may put himself, if he pleases, in the safest place he can find in all his dominions, and if he does not find my hand upon him before the year is out, he never need fear me again as long as he lives." nor was this expression of confidence in the success of the measures which he was taking a mere empty boast. william knew the power of harold, and he knew his own. the enterprise in which he had embarked was not a rash adventure. it was a cool, deliberate, well-considered plan. it appeared doubtful and dangerous in the eyes of mankind, for to mere superficial observers it seemed simply an aggressive war waged by a duke of normandy, the ruler of a comparatively small and insignificant province, against a king of england, the monarch of one of the greatest and most powerful realms in the world. william, on the other hand, regarded it as an effort on the part of the rightful heir to a throne to dispossess a usurper. he felt confident of having the sympathy and co-operation of a great part of the community, even in england, the moment he could show them that he was able to maintain his rights; and that he could show them that, by a very decisive demonstration, was evident, visibly, before him, in the vast fleet which was riding at anchor in the harbor, and in the long lines of tents, filled with soldiery, which covered the land. on one occasion, when some of his officers were expressing apprehensions of harold's power, and their fears in respect to their being able successfully to cope with it, william replied, that the more formidable harold's power should prove to be, the better he should be pleased, as the glory would be all the greater for them in having overcome it. "i have no objection," said he, "that you should entertain exalted ideas of his strength, though i wonder a little that you do not better appreciate our own. i need be under no concern lest he, at such a distance, should learn too much, by his spies, about the force which i am bringing against him, when you, who are so near me, seem to know so little about it. but do not give yourselves any concern. trust to the justice of your cause and to my foresight. perform your parts like men, and you will find that the result which i feel sure of, and you hope for, will certainly be attained." the storm at length entirely cleared away, and the army and the fleet commenced their preparations for the final departure. in the midst of this closing scene, the attention of all the vast crowds assembled on board the ships and on the shores was one morning attracted by a beautiful ship which came sailing into the harbor. it proved to be a large and splendid vessel which the duchess matilda had built, at her own expense, and was now bringing in, to offer to her husband as her parting gift. she was herself on board, with her officers and attendants, having come to witness her husband's departure, and to bid him farewell. her arrival, of course, under such circumstances, produced universal excitement and enthusiasm. the ships in harbor and the shores resounded with acclamations as the new arrival came gallantly in. matilda's vessel was finely built and splendidly decorated. the sails were of different colors, which gave it a very gay appearance. upon them were painted, in various places, the three lions, which was the device of the norman ensign. at the bows of the ship was an effigy, or figure-head, representing william and matilda's second son shooting with a bow. this was the accomplishment which, of all others, his father took most interest in seeing his little son acquire. the arrow was drawn nearly to its head, indicating great strength in the little arms which were guiding it, and it was just ready to fly. the name of this vessel was the mira. william made it his flag ship. he hoisted upon its mast head the consecrated banner which had been sent to him from rome, and went on board accompanied by his officers and guards, and with great ceremony and parade. at length the squadron was ready to put to sea. at a given signal the sails were hoisted, and the whole fleet began to move slowly out of the harbor. there were four hundred ships of large size, if we may believe the chronicles of the times, and more than a thousand transports. the decks of all these vessels were covered with men; banners were streaming from every mast and spar; and every salient point of the shore was crowded with spectators. the sea was calm, the air serene, and the mighty cloud of canvas which whitened the surface of the water moved slowly on over the gentle swell of the waves, forming a spectacle which, as a picture merely for the eye, was magnificent and grand, and, when regarded in connection with the vast results to the human race which were to flow from the success of the enterprise, must have been considered sublime. the splendidly decorated ship which matilda had presented to her husband proved itself, on trial, to be something more than a mere toy. it led the van at the commencement, of course; and as all eyes watched its progress, it soon became evident that it was slowly gaining upon the rest of the squadron, so as continually to increase its distance from those that were following it. william, pleased with the success of its performance, ordered the sailing master to keep on, without regard to those who were behind; and thus it happened that, when night came on, the fleet was at very considerable distance in rear of the flag ship. of course, under these circumstances, the fleet disappeared from sight when the sun went down, but all expected that it would come into view again in the morning. when the morning came, however, to the surprise and disappointment of every one on board the flag ship, no signs of the fleet were to be seen. the seamen, and the officers on the deck, gazed long and intently into the southern horizon as the increasing light of the morning brought it gradually into view, but there was not a speck to break its smooth and even line. they felt anxious and uneasy, but william seemed to experience no concern. he ordered the sails to be furled, and then sent a man to the mast head to look out there. nothing was to be seen. william, still apparently unconcerned, ordered breakfast to be prepared in a very sumptuous manner, loading the tables with wine and other delicacies, that the minds of all on board might be cheered by the exhilarating influence of a feast. at length the lookout was sent to the mast head again. "what do you see now?" said william. "i see," said the man, gazing very intently all the while toward the south, "four _very small specks_ just in the horizon." the intense interest which this announcement awakened on the deck was soon at the same time _heightened_ and _relieved_ by the cry, "i can see more and more--they are the ships--yes, the whole squadron is coming into view." the advancing fleet soon came up with the mira, when the latter spread her sails again, and all moved slowly on together toward the coast of england. the ships had directed their course so much to the eastward, that when they made the land they were not very far from the straits of dover. as they drew near to the english shore, they watched very narrowly for the appearance of harold's cruisers, which they naturally expected would have been stationed at various points, to guard the coast; but none were to be seen. there had been such cruisers, and there still were such off the other harbors; but it happened, very fortunately for william, that those which had been stationed to guard this part of the island had been withdrawn a few days before, on account of their provisions being exhausted. thus, when william's fleet arrived, there was no enemy to oppose their landing. there was a large and open bay, called the bay of pevensey, which lay smiling before them, extending its arms as if inviting them in. the fleet advanced to within the proper distance from the land, and there the seamen cast their anchors, and all began to prepare for the work of disembarkation. a strong body of soldiery is of course landed first on such occasions. in this instance the archers, william's favorite corps, were selected to take the lead. william accompanied them. in his eagerness to get to the shore, as he leaped from the boat, his foot slipped, and he fell. the officers and men around him would have considered this an evil omen; but he had presence of mind enough to extend his arms and grasp the ground, pretending that his prostration was designed, and saying at the same time, "thus i seize this land; from this moment it is mine." as he arose, one of his officers ran to a neighboring hut which stood near by upon the shore, and breaking off a little of the thatch, carried it to william, and, putting it into his hand, said that he thus gave him _seizin_ of his new possessions. this was a customary form, in those times, of putting a new owner into possession of lands which he had purchased or acquired in any other way. the new proprietor would repair to the ground, where the party whose province it was to deliver the property would detach something from it, such as a piece of turf from a bank, or a little of the thatch from a cottage, and offering it to him, would say, "thus i deliver thee _seizin_," that is, _possession_, "of this land." this ceremony was necessary to complete the conveyance of the estate. the soldiers, as soon as they were landed, began immediately to form an encampment, and to make such military arrangements as were necessary to guard against an attack, or the sudden appearance of an enemy. while this was going on, the boats continued to pass to and fro, accomplishing, as fast as possible, the work of disembarkation. in addition to those regularly attached to the army, there was a vast company of workmen of all kinds, engineers, pioneers, carpenters, masons, and laborers, to be landed; and there were three towers, or rather forts, built of timber, which had been framed and fashioned in normandy, ready to be put up on arriving: these had now to be landed, piece by piece, on the strand. these forts were to be erected as soon as the army should have chosen a position for a permanent encampment, and were intended as a means of protection for the provisions and stores. the circumstance shows that the plan of transporting buildings ready made, across the seas, has not been invented anew by our emigrants to california. while these operations were going on, william dispatched small squadrons of horse as reconnoitering parties, to explore the country around, to see if there were any indications that harold was near. these parties returned, one after another, after having gone some miles into the country in all directions, and reported that there were no signs of an enemy to be seen. things were now getting settled, too, in the camp, and william gave directions that the army should kindle their camp fires for the night, and prepare and eat their suppers. his own supper, or dinner, as perhaps it might be called, was also served, which he partook, with his officers, in his own tent. his mind was in a state of great contentment and satisfaction at the successful accomplishment of the landing, and at finding himself thus safely established, at the head of a vast force, within the realm of england. every circumstance of the transit had been favorable excepting one, and that was, that two of the ships belonging to the fleet were missing. william inquired at supper if any tidings of them had been received. they told him, in reply, that the missing vessels had been heard from; they had, in some way or other, been run upon the rocks and lost. there was a certain astrologer, who had made a great parade, before the expedition left normandy, of predicting its result. he had found, by consulting the stars, that william would be successful, and would meet with no opposition from harold. this astrologer had been on board one of the missing ships, and was drowned. william remarked, on receiving this information, "what an idiot a man must be, to think that he can predict, by means of the stars, the future fate of others, when it is so plain that he can not foresee his own!" it is said that william's dinner on this occasion was served on a large stone instead of a table. the stone still remains on the spot, and is called "the conqueror's stone" to this day. the next day after the landing, the army was put in motion, and advanced along the coast toward the eastward. there was no armed enemy to contend against them there or to oppose their march; the people of the country, through which the army moved, far from attempting to resist them, were filled with terror and dismay. this terror was heightened, in fact, by some excesses of which some parties of the soldiers were guilty. the inhabitants of the hamlets and villages, overwhelmed with consternation at the sudden descent upon their shores of such a vast horde of wild and desperate foreigners, fled in all directions. some made their escape into the interior; others, taking with them the helpless members of their households, and such valuables as they could carry, sought refuge in monasteries and churches, supposing that such sanctuaries as those, not even soldiers, unless they were pagans, would dare to violate. others, still, attempted to conceal themselves in thickets and fens till the vast throng which was sweeping onward like a tornado should have passed. though william afterward always evinced a decided disposition to protect the peaceful inhabitants of the country from all aggressions on the part of his troops, he had no time to attend to that subject now. he was intent on pressing forward to a place of safety. william reached at length a position which seemed to him suitable for a permanent encampment. it was an elevated land, near the sea. to the westward of it was a valley formed by a sort of recess opened in the range of chalky cliffs which here form the shore of england. in the bottom of this valley, down upon the beach, was a small town, then of no great consequence or power, but whose name, which was hastings, has since been immortalized by the battle which was fought in its vicinity a few days after william's arrival. the position which william selected for his encampment was on high land in the vicinity of the town. the lines of the encampment were marked out, and the forts or castles which had been brought from normandy were set up within the inclosures. vast multitudes of laborers were soon at work, throwing up embankments, and building redoubts and bastions, while others were transporting the arms, the provisions, and the munitions of war, and storing them in security within the lines. the encampment was soon completed, and the long line of tents were set up in streets and squares within it. by the time, however, that the work was done, some of william's agents and spies came into camp from the north, saying that in four days harold would be upon him at the head of a hundred thousand men. chapter x. the battle of hastings. a.d. tostig.--he is driven from england.--expedition of tostig.--he sails to norway.--tostig's alliance with the norwegians.--the norwegian fleet.--superstitions.--dreams of the soldiers.--the combined fleets.--attack on scarborough.--the rolling fire.--burning of scarborough.--tostig marches to york.--surrender of the city.--arrival of king harold.--movements of tostig.--surprise of tostig and his allies.--preparations for battle.--negotiations between tostig and his brother.--the battle.--death of tostig.--the norwegians retire.--harold attempts to surprise william.--his failure.--advice of harold's counselors.--he rejects it.--harold's encampment.--the country alarmed.--harold's brothers.--he proposes to visit william's camp.--harold's arrival at william's lines.--he reconnoiters the camp.--harold's despondency.--his spies.--their report.--william's embassadors.--their propositions.--william's propositions unreasonable.--harold declines them.--further proposals of william.--counter proposal of harold.--harold's forebodings.--proposals of his brothers.--night before the battle.--scenes in harold's camp.--scenes in william's camp.--religious ceremonies.--a martial bishop.--william's war-horse.--preliminary arrangements.--battle of hastings.--defeat of harold.--he is slain.--final subjugation of the island.--william crowned at westminster.--william's power.--his greatness. the reader will doubtless recollect that the tidings which william first received of the accession of king harold were brought to him by tostig, harold's brother, on the day when he was trying his bow and arrows in the park at rouen. tostig was his brother's most inveterate foe. he had been, during the reign of edward, a great chieftain, ruling over the north of england. the city of york was then his capital. he had been expelled from these his dominions, and had quarreled with his brother harold in respect to his right to be restored to them. in the course of this quarrel he was driven from the country altogether, and went to the continent, burning with rage and resentment against his brother; and when he came to inform william of harold's usurpation, his object was not merely to arouse _william_ to action--he wished to act himself. he told william that he himself had more influence in england still than his brother, and that if william would supply him with a small fleet and a moderate number of men, he would make a descent upon the coast and show what he could do. william acceded to his proposal, and furnished him with the force which he required, and tostig set sail. william had not, apparently, much confidence in the power of tostig to produce any great effect, but his efforts, he thought, might cause some alarm in england, and occasion sudden and fatiguing marches to the troops, and thus distract and weaken king harold's forces. william would not, therefore, accompany tostig himself, but, dismissing him with such force as he could readily raise on so sudden a call, he remained himself in normandy, and commenced in earnest his own grand preparations, as is described in the last chapter. tostig did not think it prudent to attempt a landing on english shores until he had obtained some accession to the force which william had given him. he accordingly passed through the straits of dover, and then turning northward, he sailed along the eastern shores of the german ocean in search of allies. he came, at length, to norway. he entered into negotiations there with the norwegian king, whose name, too, was harold. this northern harold was a wild and adventurous soldier and sailor, a sort of sea king, who had spent a considerable portion of his life in marauding excursions upon the seas. he readily entered into tostig's views. an arrangement was soon concluded, and tostig set sail again to cross the german ocean toward the british shores, while harold promised to collect and equip his own fleet as soon as possible, and follow him. all this took place early in september; so that, at the same time that william's threatened invasion was gathering strength and menacing harold's southern frontier, a cloud equally dark and gloomy, and quite as threatening in its aspect, was rising and swelling in the north; while king harold himself, though full of vague uneasiness and alarm, could gain no certain information in respect to either of these dangers. the norwegian fleet assembled at the port appointed for the rendezvous of it, but, as the season was advanced and the weather stormy, the soldiers there, like william's soldiers on the coast of france, were afraid to put to sea. some of them had dreams which they considered as bad omens; and so much superstitious importance was attached to such ideas in those times that these dreams were gravely recorded by the writers of the ancient chronicles, and have come down to us as part of the regular and sober history of the times. one soldier dreamed that the expedition had sailed and landed on the english coast, and that there the english army came out to meet them. before the front of the army rode a woman of gigantic stature, mounted on a wolf. the wolf had in his jaws a human body, dripping with blood, which he was engaged in devouring as he came along. the woman gave the wolf another victim after he had devoured the first. another of these ominous dreams was the following: just as the fleet was about setting sail, the dreamer saw a crowd of ravenous vultures and birds of prey come and alight every where upon the sails and rigging of the ships, as if they were going to accompany the expedition. upon the summit of a rock near the shore there sat the figure of a female, with a stern and ferocious countenance, and a drawn sword in her hand. she was busy counting the ships, pointing at them, as she counted, with her sword. she seemed a sort of fiend of destruction, and she called out to the birds, to encourage them to go. "go!" said she, "without fear; you shall have abundance of prey. i am going too." it is obvious that these dreams might as easily have been interpreted to portend death and destruction to their english foes as to the dreamers themselves. the soldiers were, however, inclined--in the state of mind which the season of the year, the threatening aspect of the skies, and the certain dangers of their distant expedition, produced--to apply the gloomy predictions which they imagined these dreams expressed, to themselves. their chief, however, was of too desperate and determined a character to pay any regard to such influences. he set sail. his armament crossed the german sea in safety, and joined tostig on the coast of scotland. the combined fleet moved slowly southward, along the shore, watching for an opportunity to land. [illustration: the norwegians at scarborough.] they reached, at length, the town of scarborough, and landed to attack it. the inhabitants retired within the walls, shut the gates, and bid the invaders defiance. the town was situated under a hill, which rose in a steep acclivity upon one side. the story is, that the norwegians went upon this hill, where they piled up an enormous heap of trunks and branches of trees, with the interstices filled with stubble, dried bark, and roots, and other such combustibles, and then setting the whole mass on fire, they rolled it down into the town--a vast ball of fire, roaring and crackling more and more, by the fanning of its flames in the wind, as it bounded along. the intelligent reader will, of course, pause and hesitate, in considering how far to credit such a story. it is obviously impossible that any mere _pile_, however closely packed, could be made to roll. but it is, perhaps, not absolutely impossible that trunks of trees might be framed together, or fastened with wet thongs or iron chains, after being made in the form of a rude cylinder or ball, and filled with combustibles within, so as to retain its integrity in such a descent. the account states that this strange method of bombardment was successful. the town was set on fire; the people surrendered. tostig and the norwegians plundered it, and then, embarking again in their ships, they continued their voyage. the intelligence of this descent upon his northern coasts reached harold in london toward the close of september, just as he was withdrawing his forces from the southern frontier, as was related in the last chapter, under the idea that the norman invasion would probably be postponed until the spring; so that, instead of sending his troops into their winter quarters, he had to concentrate them again with all dispatch, and march at the head of them to the north, to avert this new and unexpected danger. while king harold was thus advancing to meet them, tostig and his norwegian allies entered the river humber. their object was to reach the city of york, which had been tostig's former capital, and which was situated near the river ouse, a branch of the humber. they accordingly ascended the humber to the mouth of the ouse, and thence up the latter river to a suitable point of debarkation not far from york. here they landed and formed a great encampment. from this encampment they advanced to the siege of the city. the inhabitants made some resistance at first; but, finding that their cause was hopeless, they offered to surrender, and a treaty of surrender was finally concluded. this negotiation was closed toward the evening of the day, and tostig and his confederate forces were to be admitted on the morrow. they therefore, feeling that their prize was secure, withdrew to their encampment for the night, and left the city to its repose. it so happened that king harold arrived that very night, coming to the rescue of the city. he expected to have found an army of besiegers around the walls, but, instead of that, there was nothing to intercept his progress up to the very gates of the city. the inhabitants opened the gates to receive him, and the whole detachment which was marching under his command passed in, while tostig and his norwegian allies were sleeping quietly in their camp, wholly unconscious of the great change which had thus taken place in the situation of their affairs. the next morning tostig drew out a large portion of the army, and formed them in array, for the purpose of advancing to take possession of the city. although it was september, and the weather had been cold and stormy, it happened that, on that morning, the sun came out bright, and the air was calm, giving promise of a warm day; and as the movement into the city was to be a peaceful one--a procession, as it were, and not a hostile march--the men were ordered to leave their coats of mail and all their heavy armor in camp, that they might march the more unencumbered. while they were advancing in this unconcerned and almost defenseless condition, they saw before them, on the road leading to the city, a great cloud of dust arising. it was a strong body of king harold's troops coming out to attack them. at first, tostig and the norwegians were completely lost and bewildered at the appearance of so unexpected a spectacle. very soon they could see weapons glittering here and there, and banners flying. a cry of "the enemy! the enemy!" arose, and passed along their ranks, producing universal alarm. tostig and the norwegian harold halted their men, and marshaled them hastily in battle array. the english harold did the same, when he had drawn up near to the front of the enemy; both parties then paused, and stood surveying one another. presently there was seen advancing from the english side a squadron of twenty horsemen, splendidly armed, and bearing a flag of truce. they approached to within a short distance of the norwegian lines, when a herald, who was among them, called out aloud for tostig. tostig came forward in answer to the summons. the herald then proclaimed to tostig that his brother did not wish to contend with him, but desired, on the contrary, that they should live together in harmony. he offered him peace, therefore, if he would lay down his arms, and he promised to restore him his former possessions and honors. tostig seemed very much inclined to receive this proposition favorably. he paused and hesitated. at length he asked the messenger what terms king harold would make with his friend and ally, the norwegian harold. "he shall have," replied the messenger, "seven feet of english ground for a grave. he shall have a little more than that, for he is taller than common men." "then," replied tostig, "tell my brother to prepare for battle. it shall never be said that i abandoned and betrayed my ally and friend." the troop returned with tostig's answer to harold's lines, and the battle almost immediately began. of course the most eager and inveterate hostility of the english army would be directed against the norwegians and their king, whom they considered as foreign intruders, without any excuse or pretext for their aggression. it accordingly happened that, very soon after the commencement of the conflict, harold the norwegian fell, mortally wounded by an arrow in his throat. the english king then made new proposals to tostig to cease the combat, and come to some terms of accommodation. but, in the mean time, tostig had become himself incensed, and would listen to no overtures of peace. he continued the combat until he was himself killed. the remaining combatants in his army had now no longer any motive for resistance. harold offered them a free passage to their ships, that they might return home in peace, if they would lay down their arms. they accepted the offer, retired on board their ships, and set sail. harold then, having, in the mean time, heard of william's landing on the southern coast, set out on his return to the southward, to meet the more formidable enemy that menaced him there. his army, though victorious, was weakened by the fatigues of the march, and by the losses suffered in the battle. harold himself had been wounded, though not so severely as to prevent his continuing to exercise the command. he pressed on toward the south with great energy, sending messages on every side, into the surrounding country, on his line of march, calling upon the chieftains to arm themselves and their followers, and to come on with all possible dispatch, and join him. he hoped to advance so rapidly to the southern coast as to surprise william before he should have fully intrenched himself in his camp, and without his being aware of his enemy's approach. but william, in order to guard effectually against surprise, had sent out small reconnoitering parties of horsemen on all the roads leading northward, that they might bring him in intelligence of the first approach of the enemy. harold's advanced guard met these parties, and saw them as they drove rapidly back to the camp to give the alarm. thus the hope of surprising william was disappointed. harold found, too, by his spies, as he drew near, to his utter dismay, that william's forces were four times as numerous as his own. it would, of course, be madness for him to think of attacking an enemy in his intrenchments with such an inferior force. the only alternative left him was either to retreat, or else to take some strong position and fortify himself there, in the hope of being able to resist the invaders and arrest their advance, though he was not strong enough to attack them. some of his counselors advised him not to hazard a battle at all, but to fall back toward london, carrying with him or destroying every thing which could afford sustenance to william's army from the whole breadth of the land. this would soon, they said, reduce william's army to great distress for want of food, since it would be impossible for him to transport supplies across the channel for so vast a multitude. besides, they said, this plan would compel william, in the extremity to which he would be reduced, to make so many predatory excursions among the more distant villages and towns, as would exasperate the inhabitants, and induce them to join harold's army in great numbers to repel the invasion. harold listened to these counsels, but said, after consideration, that he could never adopt such a plan. he could not be so derelict to his duty as to lay waste a country which he was under obligations to protect and save, or compel his people to come to his aid by exposing them, designedly, to the excesses and cruelties of so ferocious an enemy. harold determined, therefore, on giving william battle. it was not necessary, however, for him to attack the invader. he perceived at once that if he should take a strong position and fortify himself in it, william must necessarily attack _him_, since a foreign army, just landed in the country, could not long remain inactive on the shore. harold accordingly chose a position six or seven miles from william's camp, and fortified himself strongly there. of course neither army was in sight of the other, or knew the numbers, disposition, or plans of the enemy. the country between them was, so far as the inhabitants were concerned, a scene of consternation and terror. no one knew at what point the two vast clouds of danger and destruction which were hovering near them would meet, or over what regions the terrible storm which was to burst forth when the hour of that meeting should come, would sweep in its destructive fury. the inhabitants, therefore, were every where flying in dismay, conveying away the aged and the helpless by any means which came most readily to hand; taking with them, too, such treasures as they could carry, and hiding, in rude and uncertain places of concealment, those which they were compelled to leave behind. the region, thus, which lay between the two encampments was rapidly becoming a solitude and a desolation, across which no communication was made, and no tidings passed to give the armies at the encampments intelligence of each other. harold had two brothers among the officers of his army, gurth and leofwin. their conduct toward the king seems to have been of a more fraternal character than that of tostig, who had acted the part of a rebel and an enemy. gurth and leofwin, on the contrary, adhered to his cause, and, as the hour of danger and the great crisis which was to decide their fate drew nigh, they kept close to his side, and evinced a truly fraternal solicitude for his safety. it was they, specially, who had recommended to harold to fall back on london, and not risk his life, and the fate of his kingdom, on the uncertain event of a battle. as soon as harold had completed his encampment, he expressed a desire to gurth to ride across the intermediate country and take a view of william's lines. such an undertaking was less dangerous then than it would be at the present day; for now, such a reconnoitering party would be discovered from the enemy's encampment, at a great distance, by means of spy-glasses, and a twenty-four-pound shot or a shell would be sent from a battery to blow the party to pieces or drive them away. the only danger _then_ was of being pursued by a detachment of horsemen from the camp, or surrounded by an ambuscade. to guard against these dangers, harold and gurth took the most powerful and fleetest horses in the camp, and they called out a small but strong guard of well-selected men to escort them. thus provided and attended, they rode over to the enemy's lines, and advanced so near that, from a small eminence to which they ascended, they could survey the whole scene of william's encampment: the palisades and embankments with which it was guarded, which extended for miles; the long lines of tents within; the vast multitude of soldiers; the knights and officers riding to and fro, glittering with steel; and the grand pavilion of the duke himself, with the consecrated banner of the cross floating above it. harold was very much impressed with the grandeur of the spectacle. after gazing on this scene for some time in silence, harold said to gurth that perhaps, after all, the policy of falling back would have been the wisest for them to adopt, rather than to risk a battle with so overwhelming a force as they saw before them. he did not know, he added, but that it would be best for them to change their plan, and adopt that policy now. gurth said that it was too late. they had taken their stand, and now for them to break up their encampment and retire would be considered a retreat and not a maneuver, and it would discourage and dishearten the whole realm. after surveying thus, as long as they desired to do so, the situation and extent of william's encampment, harold's party returned to their own lines, still determined to make a stand there against the invaders, but feeling great doubt and despondency in respect to the result. harold sent over, too, in the course of the day, some spies. the men whom he employed for this purpose were normans by birth, and they could speak the french language. there were many normans in england, who had come over in king edward's time. these norman spies could, of course, disguise themselves, and mingle, without attracting attention, among the thousands of workmen and camp followers that were going and coming continually around the grounds which william's army occupied. they did this so effectually, that they penetrated within the encampment without difficulty, examined every thing, and, in due time, returned to harold with their report. they gave a formidable account of the numbers and condition of william's troops. there was a large corps of bowmen in the army, which had adopted a fashion of being shaven and shorn in such a manner that the spies mistook them for priests. they told harold, accordingly, on their return, that there were more _priests_ in william's camp than there were soldiers in all his army. during this eventful day, william too sent a body of horsemen across the country which separated the two encampments, though his emissaries were not spies, but embassadors, with propositions for peace. william had no wish to fight a battle, if what he considered as rightfully his kingdom could be delivered to him without it; and he determined to make one final effort to obtain a peaceable surrender of it, before coming to the dreadful resort of an appeal to arms. he accordingly sent his embassy with _three_ propositions to make to the english king. the principal messenger in this company was a monk, whose name was maigrot. he rode, with a proper escort and a flag of truce, to harold's lines. the propositions were these, by accepting either of which the monk said that harold might avoid a battle. . that harold should surrender the kingdom to william, as he had solemnly sworn to do over the sacred relics in normandy. . that they should both agree to refer the whole subject of controversy between them to the pope, and abide by his decision. . that they should settle the dispute by single combat, the two claimants to the crown to fight a duel on the plain, in presence of their respective armies. it is obvious that harold could not accept either of these propositions. the first was to give up the whole point at issue. as for the second, the pope had already prejudged the case, and if it were to be referred to him, there could be no doubt that he would simply reaffirm his former decision. and in respect to single combat, the disadvantage on harold's part would be as great in such a contest as it would be in the proposed arbitration. he was himself a man of comparatively slender form and of little bodily strength. william, on the other hand, was distinguished for his size, and for his extraordinary muscular energy. in a modern combat with fire-arms these personal advantages would be of no avail, but in those days, when the weapons were battle-axes, lances, and swords, they were almost decisive of the result. harold therefore declined all william's propositions, and the monk returned. william seems not to have been wholly discouraged by this failure of his first attempt at negotiation, for he sent his embassage a second time to make one more proposal. it was, that if harold would consent to acknowledge william as king of england, william would assign the whole territory to him and to his brother gurth, to hold _as provinces_, under william's general sway. under this arrangement william would himself return to normandy, making the city of rouen, which was his capital there, the capital of the whole united realm. to this proposal harold replied, that he could not, on any terms, give up his rights as sovereign of england. he therefore declined this proposal also. he, however, now made a proposition in his turn. he was willing, he said, to compromise the dispute, so far as it could be done by _the payment of money_. if william would abandon his invasion and return to normandy, giving up his claims to the english crown, he would pay him, he said, any sum of money that he would name. william could not accept this proposal. he was, as he believed, the true and rightful heir to the throne of england, and there was a point of honor involved, as well as a dictate of ambition to be obeyed, in insisting on the claim. in the mean time, the day had passed, while these fruitless negotiations had been pending. night was coming on. william's officers and counselors began to be uneasy at the delay. they said that every hour new re-enforcements were coming into harold's camp, while they themselves were gaining no advantage, and, consequently, the longer the battle was delayed, the less was the certainty of victory. so william promised them that he would attack king harold in his camp the very next morning. as the time for the great final struggle drew near, harold's mind was oppressed more and more with a sense of anxiety and with foreboding fears. his brothers, too, were ill at ease. their solicitude was increased by the recollection of harold's oath, and of the awful sanctions with which they feared the sacred relics might have invested it. they were not sure that their brother's excuse for setting it aside would save him from the guilt and curse of perjury in the sight of heaven. so they proposed, on the eve of the battle, that harold himself should retire, and leave them to conduct the defense. "we can not deny," they said, "that you did take the oath; and, notwithstanding the circumstances which seem to absolve you from the obligation, it is best to avoid, if possible, the open violation of it. it will be better, on the whole, for you to leave the army and go to london. you can aid very effectually in the defense of the kingdom by raising re-enforcements there. we will stay and encounter the actual battle. heaven can not be displeased with us for so doing, for we shall be only discharging the duty incumbent on all, of defending their native land from foreign invasion." harold would not consent to adopt this plan. he could not retire himself, he said, at the hour of approaching danger, and leave his brothers and his friends exposed, when it was _his_ crown for which they were contending. such were the circumstances of the two armies on the evening before the battle; and, of course, in such a state of things, the tendency of the minds of men would be, in harold's camp, to gloom and despondency, and in william's, to confidence and exultation. harold undertook, as men in his circumstances often do, to lighten the load which weighed upon his own heart and oppressed the spirits of his men, by feasting and wine. he ordered a plentiful supper to be served, and supplied his soldiers with abundance of drink; and it is said that his whole camp exhibited, during the whole night, one wide-spread scene of carousing and revelry, the troops being gathered every where in groups around their camp fires, some half stupefied, others quarreling, and others still singing national songs, and dancing with wild excitement, according to the various effects produced upon different constitutions by the intoxicating influence of beer and wine. in william's camp there were witnessed very different scenes. there were a great many monks and ecclesiastics in the train of his army, and, on the night before the battle, they spent the time in saying masses, reading litanies and prayers, chanting anthems, and in other similar acts of worship, assisted by the soldiers, who gathered, in great congregations, for this wild worship, in the open spaces among the tents and around the camp fires. at length they all retired to rest, feeling an additional sense of safety in respect to the work of the morrow by having, as they supposed, entitled themselves, by their piety, to the protection of heaven. in the morning, too, in william's camp, the first thing done was to convene the army for a grand celebration of mass. it is a curious illustration of the mingling of the religious, or, perhaps, we ought rather to say, the superstitious sentiment of the times, with the spirit of war, that the bishop who officiated in this solemn service of the mass wore a coat of mail under his pontifical attire, and an attendant stood by his side, while he was offering his prayers, with a steel-pointed spear in his hand, ready for the martial prelate to assume as soon as the service should be ended. accordingly, when the religious duty was performed, the bishop threw off his surplice, took his spear, and mounting his white charger, which was also all saddled and bridled beside him, he headed a brigade of horse, and rode on to the assault of the enemy. william himself mounted a very magnificent war-horse from spain, a present which he had formerly received from one of his wealthy barons. the name of the horse was bayard. from william's neck were suspended some of the most sacred of the relics over which harold had taken his false oath. he imagined that there would be some sort of charm in them, to protect his life, and to make the judgment of heaven more sure against the perjurer. the standard which the pope had blessed was borne by his side by a young standard bearer, who was very proud of the honor. an older soldier, however, on whom the care of this standard officially devolved, had asked to be excused from carrying it. he wished, he said, to do his work that day with the _sword_. while making these preliminary arrangements for going into battle, william, with the party around him, stood upon a gentle eminence in the middle of the camp, and in sight of the whole army. every one was struck with admiration at the splendid figure which their commander made--his large and well-formed limbs covered with steel, and his horse, whose form was as noble as that of his master, prancing restlessly, as if impatient for the battle to begin. when all were ready, the norman army advanced gayly and joyously to attack the english lines; but the gayety and joyousness of the scene soon disappeared, as corps after corps got fairly engaged in the awful work of the day. for ten long hours there reigned over the whole field one wide-spread scene of havoc and death--every soul among all those countless thousands delivered up to the supreme dominion of the most dreadful passions, excited to a perfect phrensy of hatred, rage, and revenge, and all either mercilessly killing others, or dying themselves in agony and despair. when night came, the normans were every where victorious. they were in full possession of the field, and they rode triumphantly to and fro through harold's camp, leaping their horses over the bodies of the dead and dying which covered the ground. those of king harold's followers that had escaped the slaughter of the day fled in hopeless confusion toward the north, where the flying masses strewed the roads for miles with the bodies of men who sank down on the way, spent with wounds or exhausted by fatigue. in the morning, william marshaled his men on the field, and called over the names of the officers and men, as they had been registered in normandy, for the purpose of ascertaining who were killed. while this melancholy ceremony was going on, two monks came in, sent from the remains of the english army, and saying that king harold was missing, and that it was rumored that he had been slain. if so, his body must be lying somewhere, they said, upon the field, and they wished for permission to make search for it. the permission was granted. with the aid of some soldiers they began to explore the ground, turning over and examining every lifeless form which, by the dress or the armor, might seem to be possibly the king's. their search was for a long time vain; the ghastly faces of the dead were so mutilated and changed that nobody could be identified. at length, however, a woman who had been in harold's family, and knew his person more intimately than they, found and recognized the body, and the monks and the soldiers carried it away. * * * * * the battle of hastings sealed and settled the controversy in respect to the english crown. it is true that the adherents of harold, and also those of edgar atheling, made afterward various efforts to rally their forces and recover the kingdom, but in vain. william advanced to london, fortified himself there, and made excursions from that city as a centre until he reduced the island to his sway. he was crowned at length, at westminster abbey, with great pomp and parade. he sent for matilda to come and join him, and instated her in his palace as queen of england. he confiscated the property of all the english nobles who had fought against him, and divided it among the norman chieftains who had aided him in the invasion. he made various excursions to and from normandy himself, being received every where throughout his dominions, on both sides the channel, with the most distinguished honors. in a word, he became, in the course of a few years after he landed, one of the greatest and most powerful potentates on the globe. how far all his riches and grandeur were from making him happy, will appear in the following chapter. chapter xi. prince robert's rebellion. a.d. - william's oldest son.--his character.--william's conflicts with his son robert.--william rufus.--william's son henry.--robert nicknamed short boots.--robert's betrothment.--william's motives.--death of margaret.--more trouble.--robert's political power.--his ambition.--robert claims normandy.--william refuses it.--castle at l'aigle.--quarrel between robert and william rufus.--the combatants parted.--robert's rage.--robert's rebellion.--anxiety and distress of matilda.--measures of matilda.--advantages of william.--robert lays down his arms.--interview with his father.--recriminations.--the interview fruitless.--robert goes to flanders.--his treasonable correspondence.--action of philip.--he sides with robert.--robert's dissipation.--matilda sends him supplies.--matilda's secret supplies.--she is discovered.--matilda's messenger seized.--william's reproaches.--matilda's reply.--william's anger.--sampson's escape.--things grow worse.--preparations for war.--matilda's distress.--william wounded by his son.--the battle goes against him.--matilda's anguish.--the reconciliation. ambitious men, who devote their time and attention, through all the early years of life, to their personal and political aggrandizement, have little time to appropriate to the government and education of their children, and their later years are often embittered by the dissipation and vice, or by the unreasonable exactions of their sons. at least it was so in william's case. by the time that his public enemies were subdued, and he found himself undisputed master both of his kingdom and his duchy, his peace and happiness were destroyed, and the tranquillity of his whole realm was disturbed by a terrible family quarrel. the name of his oldest son was robert. he was fourteen years old when his father set off on his invasion of england. at that time he was a sort of spoiled child, having been his mother's favorite, and, as such, always greatly indulged by her. when william went away, it will be recollected that he appointed matilda regent, to govern normandy during his absence. this boy was also named in the regency, so that he was nominally associated with his mother, and he considered himself, doubtless, as the more important personage of the two. in a word, while william was engaged in england, prosecuting his conquests there, robert was growing up in normandy a vain, self-conceited, and ungovernable young man. his father, in going back and forth between england and normandy, often came into conflict with his son, as usual in such cases. in these contests matilda took sides with the son. william's second son, whose name was william rufus, was jealous of his older brother, and was often provoked by the overbearing and imperious spirit which robert displayed. william rufus thus naturally adhered to the father's part in the family feud. william rufus was as rough and turbulent in spirit as robert, but he had not been so indulged. he possessed, therefore, more self-control; he knew very well how to suppress his propensities, and conceal the unfavorable aspects of his character when in the presence of his father. there was a third brother, named henry. he was of a more quiet and inoffensive character, and avoided taking an active part in the quarrel, except so far as william rufus led him on. he was william rufus's friend and companion, and, as such, robert considered him as his enemy. all, in fact, except matilda, were against robert, who looked down, in a haughty and domineering manner--as the oldest son and heir is very apt to do in rich and powerful families--upon the comparative insignificance of his younger brethren. the king, instead of restraining this imperious spirit in his son, as he might, perhaps, have done by a considerate and kind, and, at the same time, decisive exercise of authority, teased and tormented him by sarcasms and petty vexations. among other instances of this, he gave him the nickname of _short boots_, because he was of inferior stature. as robert was, however, at this time of full age, he was stung to the quick at having such a stigma attached to him by his father, and his bosom burned with secret sentiments of resentment and revenge. he had, besides, other causes of complaint against his father, more serious still. when he was a very young child, his father, according to the custom of the times, had espoused him to the daughter and heiress of a neighboring earl, a child like himself. her name was margaret. the earldom which this little margaret was to inherit was maine. it was on the frontiers of normandy, and it was a rich and valuable possession. it was a part of the stipulation of the marriage contract that the young bride's domain was to be delivered to the father of the bridegroom, to be held by him until the bridegroom should become of age, and the marriage should be fully consummated. in fact, the getting possession of this rich inheritance, with a prospect of holding it so many years, was very probably the principal end which william had in view in contracting for a matrimonial union so very premature. if this was, in reality, william's plan, it resulted, in the end, even more favorably than he had anticipated; for the little heiress died a short time after her inheritance was put into the possession of her father-in-law. there was nobody to demand a restoration of it, and so william continued to hold it until his son, the bridegroom, became of age. robert then demanded it, contending that it was justly his. william refused to surrender it. he maintained that what had passed between his son in his infancy, and the little margaret, was not a marriage, but only a betrothment--a contract for a future marriage, which was to take place when the parties were of age--that, since margaret's death prevented the consummation of the union, robert was never her husband, and could not, consequently, acquire the rights of a husband. the lands, therefore, ought manifestly, he said, to remain in the hands of her guardian, and whatever rights any other persons might have, claiming to succeed margaret as her natural heirs, it was plain that his son could have no title whatever. however satisfactory this reasoning might be to the mind of william, robert was only exasperated by it. he looked upon the case as one of extreme injustice and oppression on the part of his father, who, not content, he said, with his own enormous possessions, must add to them by robbing his own son. in this opinion robert's mother, matilda, agreed with him. as for william rufus and henry, they paid little attention to the argument, but were pleased with the result of it, and highly enjoyed their brother's vexation and chagrin in not being able to get possession of his earldom. there was another very serious subject of dispute between robert and his father. it has already been stated, that when the duke set out on his expedition for the invasion of england, he left matilda and robert together in charge of the duchy. at the commencement of the period of his absence robert was very young, and the actual power rested mainly in his mother's hands. as he grew older, however, he began to exercise an increasing influence and control. in fact, as he was himself ambitious and aspiring, and his mother indulgent, the power passed very rapidly into his hands. it was eight years from the time that william left normandy before his power was so far settled and established in england that he could again take the affairs of his original realm into his hands. he had left robert, at that time, a mere boy of fourteen, who, though rude and turbulent in character, was still politically powerless. he found him, on his return, a man of twenty-two, ruder and more turbulent than before, and in the full possession of political power. this power, too, he found him very unwilling to surrender. in fact, when william came to receive back the province of normandy again, robert almost refused to surrender it. he said that his father had always promised him the duchy of normandy as his domain so soon as he should become of age, and he claimed now the fulfillment of this promise. besides, he said that, now that his father was king of england, his former realm was of no consequence to him. it did not add sensibly to his influence or his power, and he might, therefore, without suffering any sensible loss himself, grant it to his son. william, on his part, did not acknowledge the force of either of these arguments. he would not admit that he had ever promised normandy to his son; and as to voluntarily relinquishing any part of his possessions, he had no faith in the policy of a man's giving up his power or his property to his children until they were justly entitled to inherit it by his death; at any rate, he should not do it. he had no idea, as he expressed it, "of putting off his clothes before he was going to bed." the irritation and ill-will which these dissensions produced grew deeper and more inveterate every day, though the disagreement had been thus far a private and domestic dispute, confined, in its influence, to the king's immediate household. an occasion, however, now occurred, on which the private family feud broke out into an open public quarrel. the circumstances were these: king william had a castle in normandy, at a place called l'aigle. he was spending some time there, in the year , with his court and family. one day william rufus and henry were in one of the upper apartments of the castle, playing with dice, and amusing themselves, in company with other young men of the court, in various ways. there was a window in the apartment leading out upon a balcony, from which one might look down upon the court-yard of the castle below. robert was in this court-yard with some of _his_ companions, walking there in an irritated state of mind, which had been produced by some previous disputes with his brothers. william rufus looked down from the balcony and saw him, and by way, perhaps, of quenching his anger, poured some water down upon him. the deed changed the suppressed and silent irritation in robert's heart to a perfect phrensy of rage and revenge. he drew his sword and sprang to the stair-case. he uttered loud and terrible imprecations as he went, declaring that he would kill the author of such an insult, even if he _was_ his brother. the court-yard was, of course, immediately filled with shouts and exclamations of alarm, and every body pressed forward toward the room from which the water had been thrown, some to witness, and some to prevent the affray. the king himself, who happened to be in that part of the castle at the time, was one of the number. he reached the apartment just in time to interpose between his sons, and prevent the commission of the awful crime of fratricide. as it was, he found it extremely difficult to part the ferocious combatants. it required all his paternal authority, and not a little actual force, to arrest the affray. he succeeded, however, at length, with the help of the by-standers, in parting his sons, and robert, out of breath, and pale with impotent rage, was led away. robert considered his father as taking sides against him in this quarrel, and he declared that he could not, and would not, endure such treatment any longer. he found some sympathy in the conversation of his mother, to whom he went immediately with bitter complainings. she tried to soothe and quiet his wounded spirit, but he would not be pacified. he spent the afternoon and evening in organizing a party of wild and desperate young men from among the nobles of the court, with a view of raising a rebellion against his father, and getting possession of normandy by force. they kept their designs profoundly secret, but prepared to leave l'aigle that night, to go and seize rouen, the capital, which they hoped to surprise into a surrender. accordingly, in the middle of the night, the desperate troop mounted their horses and rode away. in the morning the king found that they were gone, and he sent an armed force after them. their plan of surprising rouen failed. the king's detachment overtook them, and, after a sharp contest, succeeded in capturing a few of the rebels, though robert himself, accompanied by some of the more desperate of his followers, escaped over the frontier into a neighboring province, where he sought refuge in the castle of one of his father's enemies. this result, as might have been expected, filled the mind of matilda with anxiety and distress. a civil war between her husband and her son was now inevitable; and while every consideration of prudence and of duty required her to espouse the father's cause, her maternal love, a principle stronger far, in most cases, than prudence and duty combined, drew her irresistibly toward her son. robert collected around him all the discontented and desperate spirits of the realm, and for a long time continued to make his father infinite trouble. matilda, while she forbore to advocate his cause openly in the presence of the king, kept up a secret communication with him. she sent him information and advice from time to time, and sometimes supplies, and was thus, technically, guilty of a great crime--the crime of maintaining a treasonable correspondence with a rebel. in a moral point of view, however, her conduct may have been entirely right; at any rate, its influence was very salutary, for she did all in her power to restrain both the father and the son; and by the influence which she thus exerted, she doubtless mitigated very much the fierceness of the struggle. of course, the advantage, in such a civil war as this, would be wholly on the side of the sovereign. william had all the power and resources of the kingdom in his own hands--the army, the towns, the castles, the treasures. robert had a troop of wild, desperate, and unmanageable outlaws, without authority, without money, without a sense of justice on their side. he gradually became satisfied that the contest was vain. in proportion as the activity of the hostilities diminished, matilda became more and more open in her efforts to restrain it, and to allay the animosity on either side. she succeeded, finally, in inducing robert to lay down his arms, and then brought about an interview between the parties, in hopes of a peaceful settlement of the quarrel. it appeared very soon, however, at this interview, that there was no hope of any thing like a real and cordial reconciliation. though both the father and son had become weary of the unnatural war which they had waged against each other, yet the ambitious and selfish desires on both sides, in which the contest had originated, remained unchanged. robert began the conference by imperiously demanding of his father the fulfillment of his promise to give him the government of normandy. his father replied by reproaching him with his unnatural and wicked rebellion, and warned him of the danger he incurred, in imitating the example of absalom, of sharing that wretched rebel's fate. robert rejoined that he did not come to meet his father for the sake of hearing a sermon preached. he had had enough of sermons, he said, when he was a boy, studying grammar. he wanted his father to do him justice, not preach to him. the king said that he should never divide his dominions, while he lived, with any one; and added, notwithstanding what robert had contemptuously said about sermons, that the scripture declared that a house divided against itself could not stand. he then proceeded to reproach and incriminate the prince in the severest manner for his disloyalty as a subject, and his undutifulness and ingratitude as a son. it was intolerable, he said, that a son should become the rival and bitterest enemy of his father, when it was to him that he owed, not merely all that he enjoyed, but his very existence itself. these reproaches were probably uttered in an imperious and angry manner, and with that spirit of denunciation which only irritates the accused and arouses his resentment, instead of awakening feelings of penitence and contrition. at any rate, the thought of his filial ingratitude, as his father presented it, produced no relenting in robert's mind. he abruptly terminated the interview, and went out of his father's presence in a rage. in spite of all his mother's exertions and entreaties, he resolved to leave the country once more. he said he would rather be an exile, and wander homeless in foreign lands, than to remain in his father's court, and be treated in so unjust and ignominious a manner, by one who was bound by the strongest possible obligations to be his best and truest friend. matilda could not induce him to change this determination; and, accordingly, taking with him a few of the most desperate and dissolute of his companions, he went northward, crossed the frontier, and sought refuge in flanders. flanders, it will be recollected, was matilda's native land. her brother was the earl of flanders at this time. the earl received young robert very cordially, both for his sister's sake, and also, probably, in some degree, as a means of petty hostility against king william, his powerful neighbor, whose glory and good fortune he envied. robert had not the means or the resources necessary for renewing an open war with his father, but his disposition to do this was as strong as ever, and he began immediately to open secret communications and correspondence with all the nobles and barons in normandy whom he thought disposed to espouse his cause. he succeeded in inducing them to make secret contributions of funds to supply his pecuniary wants, of course promising to repay them with ample grants and rewards so soon as he should obtain his rights. he maintained similar communications, too, with matilda, though she kept them very profoundly secret from her husband. robert had other friends besides those whom he found thus furtively in normandy. the king of france himself was much pleased at the breaking out of this terrible feud in the family of his neighbor, who, from being his dependent and vassal, had become, by his conquest of england, his great competitor and rival in the estimation of mankind. philip was disposed to rejoice at any occurrences which tended to tarnish william's glory, or which threatened a division and diminution of his power. he directed his agents, therefore, both in normandy and in flanders, to encourage and promote the dissension by every means in their power. he took great care not to commit himself by any open and positive promises of aid, and yet still he contrived, by a thousand indirect means, to encourage robert to expect it. thus the mischief was widened and extended, while yet nothing effectual was done toward organizing an insurrection. in fact, robert had neither the means nor the mental capacity necessary for maturing and carrying into effect any actual plan of rebellion. in the mean time, months passed away, and as nothing effectual was done, robert's adherents in normandy became gradually discouraged. they ceased their contributions, and gradually forgot their absent and incompetent leader. robert spent his time in dissipation and vice, squandering in feasts and in the company of abandoned men and women the means which his followers sent him to enable him to prepare for the war; and when, at last, these supplies failed him, he would have been reduced gradually to great distress and destitution, were it not that one faithful and devoted friend still adhered to him. that friend was his mother. matilda knew very well that whatever she did for her absent son must be done in the most clandestine manner, and this required much stratagem and contrivance on her part. she was aided, however, in her efforts at concealment by her husband's absence. he was now for a time in england, having been called there by some pressing demands of public duty. he left a great minister of state in charge of normandy, whose vigilance matilda thought it would be comparatively easy to elude. she sent to robert, in flanders, first her own private funds. then she employed for this purpose a portion of such public funds as came into her hands. the more she sent, however, the more frequent and imperious were robert's demands for fresh supplies. the resources of a mother, whether great or small, are always soon exhausted by the insatiable requirements of a dissolute and profligate son. when matilda's money was gone, she sold her jewels, then her more expensive clothes, and, finally, such objects of value, belonging to herself or to her husband, as could be most easily and privately disposed of. the minister, who was very faithful and watchful in the discharge of his duties, observed indications that something mysterious was going on. his suspicions were aroused. he watched matilda's movements, and soon discovered the truth. he sent information to william. william could not believe it possible that his minister's surmises could be true; for william was simply a statesman and a soldier, and had very inadequate ideas of the absorbing and uncontrollable power which is exercised by the principle of maternal love. he, however, determined immediately to take most efficient measures to ascertain the truth. he returned to normandy, and there he succeeded in intercepting one of matilda's messengers on his way to flanders, with communications and money for robert. the name of this messenger was sampson. william seized the money and the letters, and sent the messenger to one of his castles, to be shut up in a dungeon. then, with the proofs of guilt which he had thus obtained, he went, full of astonishment and anger, to find matilda, and to upbraid her, as he thought she deserved, for her base and ungrateful betrayal of her husband. the reproaches which he addressed to her were bitter and stern, though they seem to have been spoken in a tone of sorrow rather than of anger. "i am sure," he said, "i have ever been to you a faithful and devoted husband. i do not know what more you could have desired than i have done. i have loved you with a sincere and true affection. i have honored you. i have placed you in the highest positions, intrusting you repeatedly with large shares of my own sovereign power. i have confided in you--committing my most essential and vital interests to your charge. and now this is the return. you employ the very position, and power, and means which your confiding husband has put into your hands, to betray him in the most cruel way, and to aid and encourage his worst and most dangerous enemy." to these reproaches matilda attempted no reply, except to plead the irresistible impetuosity and strength of her maternal love. "i could not bear," she said, "to leave robert in distress and suffering while i had any possible means of relieving him. he is my child. i think of him all the time. i love him more than my life. i solemnly declare to you, that if he were now dead, and i could restore him to life by dying for him, i would most gladly do it. how, then, do you suppose that i could possibly live here in abundance and luxury, while he was wandering homeless, in destitution and want, and not try to relieve him? whether it is right or wrong for me to feel so, i do not know; but this i know, i _must_ feel so: i can not help it. he is our first-born son; i can not abandon him." william went away from the presence of matilda full of resentment and anger. of course he could do nothing in respect to her but reproach her, but he determined that the unlucky sampson should suffer severely for the crime. he sent orders to the castle where he lay immured, requiring that his eyes should be put out. matilda, however, discovered the danger which threatened her messenger in time to send him warning. he contrived to make his escape, and fled to a certain monastery which was under matilda's special patronage and charge. a monastery was, in those days, a sanctuary into which the arm even of the most despotic authority scarcely dared to intrude in pursuit of its victim. to make the safety doubly sure, the abbot proposed that the trembling fugitive should join their order and become a monk. sampson was willing to do any thing to save his life. the operation of putting out the eyes was very generally fatal, so that he considered his life at stake. he was, accordingly, shaven and shorn, and clothed in the monastic garb. he assumed the vows of the order, and entered, with his brother monks, upon the course of fastings, penances, and prayers which pertained to his new vocation; and william left him to pursue it in peace. things went on worse instead of better after this discovery of the mother's participation in the councils of the son. either through the aid which his mother had rendered, or by other means, there seemed to be a strong party in and out of normandy who were inclined to espouse robert's cause. his friends, at length, raised a very considerable army, and putting him at the head of it, they advanced to attack rouen. the king, greatly alarmed at this danger, collected all the forces that he could command, and went to meet his rebel son. william rufus accompanied his father, intending to fight by his side; while matilda, in an agony of terror and distress, remained, half distracted, within her castle walls--as a wife and mother might be expected to be, on the approach of a murderous conflict between her husband and her son. the thought that one of them might, perhaps, be actually killed by the other, filled her with dismay. and, in fact, this dreadful result came very near being realized. robert, in the castle at l'aigle, had barely been prevented from destroying his brother, and now, on the plain of archembraye, where this battle was fought, his father _fell_, and was very near being killed, by his hand. in the midst of the fight, while the horsemen were impetuously charging each other in various parts of the field, all so disguised by their armor that no one could know the individual with whom he was contending, robert encountered a large and powerful knight, and drove his lance through his armor into his arm. through the shock of the encounter and the faintness produced by the agony of the wound, the horseman fell to the ground, and robert perceived, by the voice with which his fallen enemy cried out in his pain and terror, that it was his father that he had thus pierced with his steel. at the same moment, the wounded father, in looking at his victorious antagonist, recognized his son. he cursed his unnatural enemy with a bitter and terrible malediction. robert was shocked and terrified at what he had done. he leaped from his horse, knelt down by the side of his father, and called for aid. the king, distracted by the anguish of his wound, and by the burning indignation and resentment which raged in his bosom against the unnatural hostility which inflicted it, turned away from his son, and refused to receive any succor from him. besides the misfortune of being unhorsed and wounded, the battle itself went that day against the king. robert's army remained masters of the field. william rufus was wounded too, as well as his father. matilda was overwhelmed with distress and mental anguish at the result. she could not endure the idea of allowing so unnatural and dreadful a struggle to go on. she begged her husband, with the most earnest importunities and with many tears, to find some way of accommodating the dispute. her nights were sleepless, her days were spent in weeping, and her health and strength were soon found to be wasting very rapidly away. she was emaciated, wan, and pale, and it was plain that such distress, if long continued, would soon bring her to the grave. matilda's intercessions at length prevailed. the king sent for his son, and, after various negotiations, some sort of compromise was effected. the armies were disbanded, peace was restored, and robert and his father once more seemed to be friends. soon after this, william, having a campaign to make in the north of england, took robert with him as one of the generals in his army. chapter xii. the conclusion. a.d. - william's reign in england.--his difficulties.--feelings of the english people.--rebellions.--amalgamation of the english and normans.--william's labors.--necessity of bringing a large norman force.--providing for them.--the british realm normanized.--o yes! o yes! o yes!--relics of the past.--their future preservation.--point of view in which the norman conquest is regarded.--domesday book.--its great obscurity.--specimen of the domesday book.--translation.--matilda's health declines.--death of her daughter.--matilda retires to her palace at caen.--her distress of mind.--matilda's health.--memorials of her.--william's declining years.--his fitfulness and discontent.--philip ridicules william.--william's rage.--william's threats.--conflagration of mantes.--william's injury.--his great danger.--william's remorse.--his last acts.--robert absent.--he receives normandy.--william rufus and henry.--the king's will.--william's death.--abandonment of the body.--apprehensions of the people.--the body removed to caen.--extraordinary scenes.--the body conveyed to the monastery on a cart.--the procession broken up.--scene at the interment.--the sarcophagus too small.--the body burst.--william rufus obtains possession of the english throne. from the time of the battle of hastings, which took place in , to that of william's death, which occurred in , there intervened a period of about twenty years, during which the great monarch reigned over his extended dominions with a very despotic sway, though not without a large share of the usual dangers, difficulties, and struggles attending such a rule. he brought over immense numbers of normans from normandy into england, and placed all the military and civil power of the empire in their hands; and he relied almost entirely upon the superiority of his physical force for keeping the country in subjugation to his sway. it is true, he maintained that he was the rightful heir to the english crown, and that, consequently, the tenure by which he held it was the right of inheritance, and not the right of conquest; and he professed to believe that the people of england generally admitted his claim. this was, in fact, to a considerable extent, true. at least there was probably a large part of the population who believed william's right to the crown superior to that of harold, whom he had deposed. still, as william was by birth, and education, and language a foreigner, and as all the friends and followers who attended him, and, in fact, almost the whole of the army, on which he mainly relied for the preservation of his power, were foreigners too--wearing a strange dress, and speaking in an unknown tongue--the great mass of the english people could not but feel that they were under a species of foreign subjugation. quarrels were therefore continually breaking out between them and their norman masters, resulting in fierce and bloody struggles, on their part, to get free. these rebellions were always effectually put down; but when quelled in one quarter they soon broke out in another, and they kept william and his forces almost always employed. but william was not a mere warrior. he was well aware that the permanence and stability of his own and his successor's sway in england would depend finally upon the kind of basis on which the civil institutions of the country should rest, and on the proper consolidation and adjustment of the administrative and judicial functions of the realm. in the intervals of his campaigns, therefore, william devoted a great deal of time and attention to this subject, and he evinced a most profound and statesmanlike wisdom and sagacity in his manner of treating it. he had, in fact, a herculean task to perform--a double task--viz., to amalgamate two _nations_, and also to fuse and merge two _languages_ into one. he was absolutely compelled, by the circumstances under which he was placed, to grapple with both these vast undertakings. if, at the time when, in his park at rouen, he first heard of harold's accession, he had supposed that there was a party in england in his favor strong enough to allow of his proceeding there alone, or with a small norman attendance, so that he might rely mainly on the english themselves for his accession to the throne, the formidable difficulties which, as it was, he had subsequently to encounter, would all have been saved. but there was no such party--at least there was no evidence that there was one of sufficient strength to justify him in trusting himself to it. it seemed to him, then, that if he undertook to gain possession of the english throne at all, he must rely entirely on the force which he could take with him from normandy. to make this reliance effectual, the force so taken must be an overwhelming one. then, if normans in great numbers were to go to england for the purpose of putting him upon the english throne, they must be rewarded, and so vast a number of candidates for the prizes of honor and wealth could be satisfied only in england, and by confiscations there. his possessions in normandy would obviously be insufficient for such a purpose. it was evident, moreover, that if a large number of norman adventurers were placed in stations of trust and honor, and charged with civil offices and administrative functions all over england, they would form a sort of class by themselves, and would be looked upon with jealousy and envy by the original inhabitants, and that there was no hope of maintaining them safely in their position except by making the class as numerous and as strong as possible. in a word, william saw very clearly that, while it would have been very well, if it had been possible, for him to have brought _no_ normans to england, it was clearly best, since so many must go, to contrive every means to swell and increase the number. it was one of those cases where, being obliged to go far, it is best to go farther; and william resolved on thoroughly _normanizing_, so to speak, the whole british realm. this enormous undertaking he accomplished fully and permanently; and the institutions of england, the lines of family descent, the routine of judicial and administrative business, and the very language of the realm, retain the norman characteristics which he ingrafted into them to the present day. it gives us a feeling akin to that of sublimity to find, even in our own land, and in the most remote situations of it, the lingering relics of the revolutions and deeds of these early ages, still remaining, like a faint ripple rolling gently upon a beach in a deep and secluded bay, which was set in motion, perhaps, at first, as one of the mountainous surges of a wintery storm in the most distant seas. for example, if we enter the most humble court in any remote and newly-settled country in the american forests, a plain and rustic-looking man will call the equally rustic-looking assembly to order by rapping his baton, the only symbol of his office, on the floor, and calling out, in words mystic and meaningless to him, "o yes! o yes! o yes!"[k] he little thinks that he is obeying a behest of william the conqueror, issued eight hundred years ago, ordaining that his native tongue should be employed in the courts of england. the irresistible progress of improvement and reform have gradually displaced the intruding language again--except so far as it has become merged and incorporated with the common language of the country--from all the ordinary forms of legal proceedings. it lingers still, however, as it were, on the threshold, in this call to order; and as it is harmless there, the spirit of conservatism will, perhaps, preserve for it this last place of refuge for a thousand years to come, and "_o yes_" will be the phrase for ordaining silence by many generations of officers, who will, perhaps, never have heard of the authority whose orders they unwittingly obey. [footnote k: oyez! oyez! oyez! norman french for hearken! hearken! hearken!] the work of incorporating the norman and english families with one another, and fusing the two languages into one, required about a century for its full accomplishment; and when at last it was accomplished, the people of england were somewhat puzzled to know whether they ought to feel proud of william's exploits in the conquest of england, or humiliated by them. so far as they were themselves descended from the normans, the conquest was one of the glorious deeds of their ancestors. so far as they were of english parentage, it would seem to be incumbent on them to mourn over their fathers' defeat. it is obvious that from such a species of perplexity as this there was no escape, and it has accordingly continued to embarrass the successive generations of englishmen down to the present day. the norman conquest occupies, therefore, a very uncertain and equivocal position in english history, the various modern writers who look back to it now being hardly able to determine whether they are to regard it as a mortifying subjugation which their ancestors suffered, or a glorious victory which they gained. one of the great measures of william's reign, and one, in fact, for which it has been particularly famous in modern times, was a grand census or registration of the kingdom, which the conqueror ordered with a view of having on record a perfect enumeration and description of all the real and personal property in the kingdom. this grand national survey was made in . the result was recorded in two volumes of different sizes, which were called the great and the little domesday book. these books are still preserved, and are to this day of the very highest authority in respect to all questions touching ancient rights of property. one is a folio, and the other a quarto volume. the records are written on vellum, in a close, abridged, and, to ordinary readers, a perfectly unintelligible character. the language is latin; but a modern latin scholar, without any means other than an inspection of the work, would be utterly unable to decipher it. in fact, though the character is highly wrought, and in some respects elegant, the whole style and arrangement of the work is pretty nearly on a par, in respect to scientific skill, with queen emma's designs upon the bayeux tapestry. about half a century ago, copies of these works were printed, by means of type made to represent the original character. but these printed editions were found unintelligible and useless until copious indexes were prepared, and published to accompany them, at great expense of time and labor. some little idea of the character and style of this celebrated record may be obtained from the following specimen, which is as faithful an imitation of the original as any ordinary typography will allow: [illustration] the passage, deciphered and expressed in full, stands thus--the letters omitted in the original, above, being supplied in italics: in brixistan hund_redo_. rex ten_et_ bermundesye. herald_us_ com_es_ tenuit. t_unc_ se def_en_d_ebat_ p_ro_ xiii. hid_is_, m_od_o pro xii. hid_is_. t_er_ra e_st_ viii. car_rucatarum_. in d_omi_nio e_st_ una car_rucata_ et xxv. vill_ani_ et xxxiii. bord_arii_ cu_m_ un_a_ car_rucata_. ibi nova et pulchra eccl_esia_, et xx. ac_ræ_ p_ra_ti. silva v. porc_is_ de pasnag_io_. the english translation is as follows: in brixistan hundred. the king holds bermundesye. earl herald held it [before]. at that time it was rated at thirteen hides; now, at twelve. the arable land is eight carrucates [_or_ plow-lands]. there is one carrucate in demesne, and twenty-five villans, and thirty-three bordars, with one carrucate. there is a new and handsome church, with twenty acres of meadow, and woodland for five hogs in pasnage [pasturage] time. but we must pass on to the conclusion of the story. about the year , queen matilda's health began seriously to decline. she was harassed by a great many anxieties and cares connected with the affairs of state which devolved upon her, and arising from the situation of her family: these anxieties produced great dejection of spirits, and aggravated, if they did not wholly cause, her bodily disease. she was at this time in normandy. one great source of her mental suffering was her anxiety in respect to one of her daughters, who, as well as herself, was declining in health. forgetting her own danger in her earnest desires for the welfare of her child, she made a sort of pilgrimage to a monastery which contained the shrine of a certain saint, who, as she imagined, had power to save her daughter. she laid a rich present on the shrine; she offered before it most earnest prayers, imploring, with tears of bitter grief, the intercession of the saint, and manifesting every outward symbol of humility and faith. she took her place in the religious services of the monastery, and conformed to its usages, as if she had been in the humblest private station. but all was in vain. the health of her beloved daughter continued to fail, until at length she died; and matilda, growing herself more feeble, and almost broken hearted through grief, shut herself up in the palace at caen. it was in the same palace which william had built, within his monastery, many long years before, at the time of their marriage. matilda looked back to that period, and to the buoyant hopes and bright anticipations of power, glory, and happiness which then filled her heart, with sadness and sorrow. the power and the glory had been attained, and in a measure tenfold greater than she had imagined, but the happiness had never come. ambition had been contending unceasingly for twenty years, among all the branches of her family, against domestic peace and love. she possessed, herself, an aspiring mind, but the principles of maternal and conjugal love were stronger in her heart than those of ambition; and yet she was compelled to see ambition bearing down and destroying love in all its forms every where around her. her last days were embittered by the breaking out of new contests between her husband and her son. matilda sought for peace and comfort in multiplying her religious services and observances. she fasted, she prayed, she interceded for the forgiveness of her sins with many tears. the monks celebrated mass at her bed-side, and made, as she thought, by renewing the sacrifice of christ, a fresh propitiation for her sins. william, who was then in normandy, hearing of her forlorn and unhappy condition, came to see her. he arrived just in time to see her die. they conveyed her body from the palace in her husband's monastery at caen to the convent which she had built. it was received there in solemn state, and deposited in the tomb. for centuries afterward, there remained many memorials of her existence and her greatness there, in paintings, embroideries, sacred gifts, and records, which have been gradually wasted away by the hand of time. they have not, however, wholly disappeared, for travelers who visit the spot find that many memorials and traditions of matilda linger there still. william himself did not live many years after the death of his wife. he was several years older than she. in fact, he was now considerably advanced in age. he became extremely corpulent as he grew old, which, as he was originally of a large frame, made him excessively unwieldy. the inconvenience resulting from this habit of body was not the only evil that attended it. it affected his health, and even threatened to end in serious if not fatal disease. while he was thus made comparatively helpless in body by the infirmities of his advancing age, he was nevertheless as active and restless in spirit as ever. it was, however, no longer the activity of youth, and hope, and progress which animated him, but rather the fitful uneasiness with which age agitates itself under the vexations which it sometimes has to endure, or struggles convulsively at the approach of real or imaginary dangers, threatening the possessions which it has been the work of life to gain. the dangers in william's case were real, not imaginary. he was continually threatened on every side. in fact, the very year before he died, the dissensions between himself and robert broke out anew, and he was obliged, unwieldy and helpless as he was, to repair to normandy, at the head of an armed force, to quell the disturbances which robert and his partisans had raised. robert was countenanced and aided at this time by philip, the king of france, who had always been king william's jealous and implacable rival. philip, who, as will be recollected, was very young when william asked his aid at the time of his invasion of england, was now in middle life, and at the height of his power. as he had refused william his aid, he was naturally somewhat envious and jealous of his success, and he was always ready to take part against him. he now aided and abetted robert in his turbulence and insubordination, and ridiculed the helpless infirmities of the aged king. while william was in normandy, he submitted to a course of medical treatment, in the hope of diminishing his excessive corpulency, and relieving the disagreeable and dangerous symptoms which attended it. while thus in his physician's hands, he was, of course, confined to his chamber. philip, in ridicule, called it "being in the straw." he asked some one who appeared at his court, having recently arrived from normandy, whether the old woman of england was still in the straw. some miserable tale-bearer, such as every where infest society at the present day, who delight in quoting to one friend what they think will excite their anger against another, repeated these words to william. sick as he was, the sarcasm aroused him to a furious paroxysm of rage. he swore by "god's brightness and resurrection" that, when he got out again, he would kindle such fires in philip's dominions, in commemoration of his delivery, as should make his realms too hot to hold him. he kept his word--at least so far as respects the kindling of the fires; but the fires, instead of making philip's realms too hot to hold him, by a strange yet just retribution, were simply the means of closing forever the mortal career of the hand that kindled them. the circumstances of this final scene of the great conqueror's earthly history were these: in the execution of his threat to make philip's dominions too hot to hold him, william, as soon as he was able to mount his horse, headed an expedition, and crossed the frontiers of normandy, and moved forward into the heart of france, laying waste the country, as he advanced, with fire and sword. he came soon to the town of mantes, a town upon the seine, directly on the road to paris. william's soldiers attacked the town with furious impetuosity, carried it by assault, and set it on fire. william followed them in, through the gates, glorying in the fulfillment of his threats of vengeance. some timbers from a burning house had fallen into the street, and, burning there, had left a smoldering bed of embers, in which the fire was still remaining. william, excited with the feeling of exultation and victory, was riding unguardedly on through the scene of ruin he had made, issuing orders, and shouting in a frantic manner as he went, when he was suddenly stopped by a violent recoil of his horse from the burning embers, on which he had stepped, and which had been concealed from view by the ashes which covered them. william, unwieldy and comparatively helpless as he was, was thrown with great force upon the pommel of the saddle. he saved himself from falling from the horse, but he immediately found that he had sustained some serious internal injury. he was obliged to dismount, and to be conveyed away, by a very sudden transition, from the dreadful scene of conflagration and vengeance which he had been enacting, to the solemn chamber of death. they made a litter for him, and a corps of strong men was designated to bear the heavy and now helpless burden back to normandy. [illustration: william's horse stepping on the embers.] they took the suffering monarch to rouen. the ablest physicians were summoned to his bed-side. after examining his case, they concluded that he must die. the tidings threw the unhappy patient into a state of extreme anxiety and terror. the recollection of the thousand deeds of selfish ambition and cruelty which he had been perpetrating, he said, all his days, filled him with remorse. he shrunk back with invincible dread from the hour, now so rapidly approaching, when he was to appear in judgment before god, and answer, like any common mortal, for his crimes. he had been accustomed all his life to consider himself as above all law, superior to all power, and beyond the reach of all judicial question. but now his time had come. he who had so often made others tremble, trembled now in his turn, with an acuteness of terror and distress which only the boldest and most high-handed offenders ever feel. he cried bitterly to god for forgiveness, and brought the monks around him to help him with incessant prayers. he ordered all the money that he had on hand to be given to the poor. he sent commands to have the churches which he had burned at mantes rebuilt, and the other injuries which he had effected in his anger repaired. in a word, he gave himself very earnestly to the work of attempting, by all the means considered most efficacious in those days, to avert and appease the dreaded anger of heaven. of his three oldest sons, robert was away; the quarrel between him and his father had become irreconcilable, and he would not come to visit him, even in his dying hours. william rufus and henry were there, and they remained very constantly at their father's bed-side--not, however, from a principle of filial affection, but because they wanted to be present when he should express his last wishes in respect to the disposal of his dominions. such an expression, though oral, would be binding as a will. when, at length, the king gave his dying directions in respect to the succession, it appeared that, after all, he considered his right to the english throne as very doubtful in the sight of god. he had, in a former part of his life, promised normandy to robert, as his inheritance, when he himself should die; and though he had so often refused to surrender it to him while he himself continued to live, he confirmed his title to the succession now. "i have promised it to him," he said, "and i keep my promise; and yet i know that that will be a miserable country which is subject to his government. he is a proud and foolish knave, and can never prosper. as for my kingdom of england," he continued, "i bequeath it to no one, for it was not bequeathed to me. i acquired it by force, and at the price of blood. i leave it in the hands of god, only wishing that my son william rufus may have it, for he has been submissive to me in all things." "and what do you give _me_, father?" asked henry, eagerly, at this point. "i give you," said the king, "five thousand pounds from my treasury." "but what shall i do with my five thousand pounds," asked henry, "if you do not give me either house or land?" "be quiet, my son," rejoined the king, "and trust in god. let your brothers go before you; your turn will come after theirs." the object which had kept the young men at their father's bed-side having been now attained, they both withdrew. henry went to get his money, and william rufus set off immediately for england, to prepare the way for his own accession to the throne, as soon as his father should be no more. the king determined to be removed from his castle in rouen to a monastery which was situated at a short distance from the city, without the walls. the noise of the city disturbed him, and, besides, he thought he should feel safer to die on sacred ground. he was accordingly removed to the monastery. there, on the tenth of september, he was awakened in the morning by hearing the city bells ringing. he asked what it meant. he was told that the bells were ringing for the morning service at the church of st. mary. he lifted up his hands, looked to heaven, and said, "i commend myself to my lady mary, the holy mother of god," and almost immediately expired. the readers of history have frequent occasion to be surprised at the sudden and total change which often takes place at the moment of the death of a mighty sovereign, and even sometimes before his death, in the indications of the respect and consideration with which his attendants and followers regard him. in william's case, as has happened in many other cases since, the moment he ceased to breathe he was utterly abandoned. every body fled, carrying with them, as they went, whatever they could seize from the chamber--the arms, the furniture, the dresses, and the plate; for all these articles became their perquisites on the decease of their master. the almost incredible statement is made that the heartless monsters actually stripped the dead body of their sovereign, to make sure of all their dues, and left it naked on the stone floor, while they bore their prizes to a place of safety. the body lay in this neglected state for many hours; for the tidings of the great monarch's death, which was so sudden at last, produced, as it spread, universal excitement and apprehension. no one knew to what changes the event would lead, what wars would follow between the sons, or what insurrections or rebellions might have been secretly formed, to break out suddenly when this crisis should have arrived. thus the whole community were thrown into a state of excitement and confusion. the monk and lay brethren of the monastery at length came in, took up the body, and prepared it for burial. they then brought crosses, tapers, and censers, and began to offer prayers and to chant requiems for the repose of the soul of the deceased. they sent also the archbishop of rouen, to know what was to be done with the body. the archbishop gave orders that it should be taken to caen, and be deposited there in the monastery which william had erected at the time of his marriage. the tale which the ancient historians have told in respect to the interment is still more extraordinary, and more inconsistent with all the ideas we naturally form of the kind of consideration and honor which the remains of so great a potentate would receive at the hands of his household and his officers of state, than the account of his death. it is said that all the members of his household, and all his officers, immediately after his decease, abandoned the town--all eagerly occupied in plans and maneuvers to secure their positions under the new reign. some went in pursuit of robert, and some to follow william rufus. henry locked up his money in a strong box, well ironed, and went off with it to find some place of security. there was nobody left to take the neglected body to the grave. at last a countryman was found who undertook to transport the heavy burden from rouen to caen. he procured a cart, and conveyed it from the monastery to the river, where it was put on board a vessel, and taken down the seine to its mouth, and thence by sea to caen. the abbot of st. stephen's, which was the name of william's monastery there, came, with some monks and a procession of the people, to accompany the body to the abbey. as this procession was moving along, however, a fire broke out in the town, and the attendants, actuated either by a sense of duty requiring them to aid in extinguishing the flames, or by curiosity to witness the conflagration, abandoned the funeral cortège. the procession was broken up, and the whole multitude, clergy and laity, went off to the fire, leaving the coffin, with its bearers, alone. the bearers, however, went on, and conveyed their charge to the church within the abbey walls. when the time arrived for the interment, a great company assembled to witness the ceremonies. stones had been taken up in the church floor, and a grave dug. a stone coffin, a sort of sarcophagus, had been prepared, and placed in the grave as a receptacle for the body. when all was ready, and the body was about to be let down, a man suddenly came forward from the crowd and arrested the proceedings. he said that the land on which the abbey stood belonged to him; that william had taken forcible possession of it, for the abbey, at the time of his marriage; that he, the owner, had been compelled thus far to submit to this wrong, inasmuch as he had, during william's life-time, no means of redress, but now he protested against a spoliation. "the land," he said, "is mine; it belonged to my father. i have not sold it, or forfeited it, nor pledged it, nor given it. it is my right. i claim it. in the name of god, i forbid you to put the body of the spoiler there, or to cover him with my ground." when the excitement and surprise which this denunciation had awakened had subsided a little, the bishops called this sudden claimant aside, examined the proofs of his allegations, and, finding that the case was truly as he stated it, they paid him, on the spot, a sum equal to the value of ground enough for a grave, and promised to take immediate measures for the payment of the rest. the remonstrant then consented that the interment might proceed. in attempting to let the body down into the place prepared for it, they found that the sarcophagus was too small. they undertook to force the body in. in attempting this, the coffin was broken, and the body, already, through the long delays, advanced in decomposition, was burst. the monks brought incense and perfumes, and burned and sprinkled them around the place, but in vain. the church was so offensive that every body abandoned it at once, except the workmen who remained to fill the grave. * * * * * while these things were transpiring in normandy, william rufus had hastened to england, taking with him the evidences of his father's dying wish that he should succeed him on the english throne. before he reached head-quarters there, he heard of his father's death, and he succeeded in inducing the norman chieftains to proclaim him king. robert's friends made an effort to advance his claims, but they could do nothing effectual for him, and so it was soon settled, by a treaty between the brothers, that william rufus should reign in england, while robert was to content himself with his father's ancient domain of normandy. the end. transcriber's notes . minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors, and to ensure consistent spelling and punctuation in this etext; otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the original book. . the chapter summaries in this text were originally published as banners in the page headers, and have been moved to beginning of the chapter for the reader's convenience. . page numbering in the list of engravings for the "map of normandy" has been changed from to , to be consistent with the change needed in the html version of this book. [illustration: how the conqueror deals with rebels.] the siege of norwich castle _a story of the last struggle against the conqueror_ by m. m. blake _with illustrations by the author_ london seeley and co. limited essex street, strand to my father this story is affectionately inscribed contents. chap. page i. the suzerain's 'nay,' ii. love or loyalty, iii. jest and earnest, iv. horse, hawk, and hound, v. norman and saxon, vi. the bride-ale, vii. delilah shears samson, viii. knight-errant and mercenary, ix. norwich, x. lanfranc, xi. the castellan of blauncheflour, xii. the standard of revolt, xiii. st. nicholas for guader! xiv. how the conqueror deals with rebels, xv. 'o high ambition lowly laid!' xvi. wife or widow? xvii. how ralph came home, xviii. besieged, xix. 'stone walls do not a prison make,' xx. À outrance, xxi. the ordeal by fire, xxii. a subterranean conflict, xxiii. how oliver died, xxiv. famine, xxv. bretagne, xxvi. conclusion, appendix, list of illustrations. page how the conqueror deals with rebels, _frontispiece_ emma fitzosbern accepts the tassel-gentle, judith watches her sleeping spouse, lanfranc jests with the conqueror, waltheof's humiliation, bishop odo meets de guader, the tower stairs, the rescue of the earl, emma's first sight of the foe, the big rat has gone into his hole, a warrenne! a warrenne! for william the norman! de guader dons the cross, the siege of norwich castle chapter i. the suzerain's 'nay.' it was towards the close of the year of our lord . as we now reckon, it would have been some way into , but in those old times they began their twelve-month on march th. so, notwithstanding that the daffy-down-dillies were pushing their grey-green blades through the softening earth, and that the partridges had chosen their mates for the season, it was the end of , and just before easter. the fair emma fitzosbern, sister and ward of roger, earl of hereford, a young damsel of splendid beauty, in whose honour the chivalric champions of normandy and bretagne were busy cracking each other's heads, according to the fashion of the times, had followed the example of the partridges, and promised her hand in marriage. the mate she had chosen was splendid and brave, and, after the king, was equalled in power and wealth but by two other men in all england. ralph de guader or wader had received the earldom of norfolk and suffolk, and the post of constable of norwich castle, from the conqueror, in return for his services at hastings and his prowess in beating back the danes from the eastern coast. his father and grandfather had held lands in england, and he claimed english blood when it suited his purpose, being the only englishman who bore the rank of earl, save waltheof siwardsson, earl of huntingdon, northampton, and northumberland; but, to his shame be it spoken, he was also the only englishman against whom it could be told that he fought on william's side at hastings. he had been deprived of the lands of his father, ralph the staller, the chronicles record not wherefore, but it might well be that the house of godwin, when they wrought on king eadward the confessor, of sainted memory, to drive his norman favourites from the land, included ralph amongst them on account of his breton mother, whose influence, doubtless, inclined the lad to love the folks from over the sea, and who would have taught him to speak french and demean himself in french ways, and, that so, a very bitter and personal feud lay between him and harold godwinsson. he had retired to his mother's estates of guader and montfort, in bretagne, and had returned thence with a proud following of breton knights and fighting men, under william of normandy's banner, making the norman invasion his opportunity to win back his lands at the sword's point, and to gain other broad acres with them. in , he, and the man whose brother-in-law he wished to become, young roger fitzosbern, earl of hereford, and earl waltheof, nephew-in-law to the king, were the three most powerful nobles in the country. their estates almost met across england, and, united together, they might have done much as they wished with the kingdom. the conqueror by no means desired their closer alliance, as we shall see. but to ralph de guader and roger of hereford nothing seemed more reasonable and in every way satisfactory than the union of their houses by marriage. the former especially was wildly eager to cement their friendship by this solid bond, for the very good reason that he was deeply in love with the beautiful and high-spirited emma, and had carried her favour in tilt and tourney with such determination and fury, that champions were shy of accepting his challenge when he took his place in the lists. a slight hindrance had marred the progress of the _fiançailles_. william, the conqueror of england, was also duke of normandy, and his restless vassals across the straits were apt to get weary of his continued absence in his new kingdom. robert of flanders, his ancient enemy, in battle with whom emma's father, the famous william fitzosbern, whom holingshed calls the king's _coosine_, had lost his life, was always ready to foment any little disputes that might arise amongst them, and king philip of france had now joined the troublesome frisian hand and glove. so william thought it wise to go in person to normandy, to keep guard over the movements of the twain. of course the marriage could not take place until the king's consent was obtained, and messengers had been despatched to normandy by the two earls, praying his consent. their return was more than due, and was awaited with some anxiety, as lent was so near at hand, during which, according to the roman church, no marriage could take place. however, travelling in those days was very different to what it is in ours. the channel could not be crossed in all weathers and all winds, and it was supposed that unfavourable breezes detained the messengers. not for a moment was there any doubt that the answer, when it did come, would be in the affirmative. permission had been asked merely as a matter of form. meanwhile, every effort was made to entertain the guests at hereford castle, and to prevent the time of their prolonged sojourn from hanging heavy on their hands. in domesday book there figures a certain adelina, a female juggler, as having received lands in the county of hants, having previously enjoyed fee and salary from one roger, a norman earl. the talents of this lady were in requisition, and, a heavy downpour of rain and sleet having rendered outdoor sports unpleasant, a large company of knights and ladies were watching her agile movements and ingenious deceptions; shouts and ripples of laughter testifying to their appreciation of her cleverness. she performed at one end of the great banqueting-hall, and was clad in a scarlet dress made eastern fashion, having a gold-broidered jacket of the shape we are accustomed to call zouave, with loose trousers, and slippers turned up at the toes; she wore a turban upon her head, from beneath which her long black hair streamed unconfined to her waist, around which she wore a girdle of snake-skins; her bare arms were covered with bangles, and in her hand she held a wand on which a child's skull took the place of the punch's head which adorns the staff of a polichinello. she had for assistants two brown-skinned, almond-eyed, white-toothed boys, evidently of moorish origin, and active as the leopards, whose skins they wore, had been when alive in their native jungle; and the bowls, spheres, and other appliances she used were marked with cabalistic signs in the arabian alphabet. evidently, whether or no she was herself of moorish blood, she had learned her trade from the jugglers of the east, whose skill therein still surpasses all others. in those days the dark-skinned races were identified with antichrist, and the entertainment therefore afforded that flavour of the forbidden which seems so necessary to the enjoyment of some folks. a gibbering monkey, which perched on her shoulder, and performed strange antics at her bidding, alternately with wild freaks of mischief of its own invention, added to the air of _diablerie_ which made the exhibition attractive. the young earl of hereford, his countess, and their two little sons, were foremost among the spectators, the earl laughing heartily at the tricks of his favourite, and rewarding her skill with praise and _largesse_ when any special feat called forth the applause of the guests. tall and commanding in figure, his face, clean-shaven after the norman fashion, was both proud and weak, the features handsome, clear-cut, aquiline, but the chin receding too greatly to betoken a strong character. his dress was of the richest, his tunic of tawny samite, sewn thickly with gems, and his long cloak lined with costly furs, his earl's coronet on his brow. beside him sat his beautiful sister, in whose honour all the guests were assembled;--like him, yet showing, in spite of all feminine grace and softness, signs of that strength of will in which he was deficient. her features, like his, were clear-cut and aquiline, but the full round chin stood out boldly from the white, flawless throat, unadorned by any necklace save the delicate crease which nature had marked on it, and which some folks call venus' necklace. her auburn hair was simply braided in two long plaits, and hung below her waist, and was bound by a fillet of goldsmiths' work. her arched brows were almost black, and the dark-blue eyes beneath them were full of gentleness and fire. her tightly-fitting green kirtle was rounded at the base of the slender neck and edged with drawn lawn, and showed the graceful contour of her young figure; and her embroidered skirt, which had been 'looted' by her noble father from the house of some rich saxon in his hastings campaign, bore witness to the artistic powers of the saxon ladies, and also to their industry, for its subtly blended hues had taken years of labour to produce, and such skill as was possessed only by the women of their nation. standing near her, with his hand upon her chair, was the hero of the occasion. ralph de guader's breton mother had southern blood in her veins, and he had inherited from her a swart complexion, coal-black hair which curled crisply on his well-formed head, and the hawk nose and pointed chin which is common in brittany now, though the bretons of that day had for the most part the characteristics of the red-haired, blue-eyed celts, who had left wales but a short time before. from his english father he had inherited a pair of keen grey eyes, hawk-like as the nose between them, and deep set under cavernous brows, black, and somewhat given to frowning. his figure was firmly knit, broad-shouldered, but not very tall, and his apparel was as brave as that of his brother earl, his tunic being of ivory silk edged with sable and wrought with gold thread, and the baldric blazed with jewels which supported his _miséricorde_, or dagger of mercy,--a weapon always worn by a norman noble, and serving to put his wounded enemies out of misery--whence its name,--to protect him from treachery, and to carve his meat and that of the lady he 'took in' to dinner withal. the deft adelina had swallowed swords, and made snakes dance to her piping, and produced intact bracelets which had seemed to be utterly crushed to powder before the spectators' eyes, and had danced herself with marvellous agility and grace, and, in short, had performed many feats which have been rivalled before and since by jugglers ancient and modern, when a young baron stood forth and said to earl roger,-- 'i have heard, my lord, that yonder paynim witch hath shrewd skill to read the stars. i prithee, command her that she may tell the fates of those who list to know what shall befall them.' then adelina turned round swiftly, so that the gibbering monkey, which sat on her shoulder, sprang down with a screech. 'i prithee, sir earl,' she cried, 'give me no such order, for the spirits i summon have a knack of telling the truth, and there are fates in store for some folks they would ill brook to hear. "enough for the day is the evil thereof."' 'nay, take not to quoting scripture, witch; it hath an awkward sound from thy graceless lips,' returned the earl banteringly. ''tis a left-handed compliment to pay to the valour of any noble gentleman here, that he should shrink to know the worst the devil can do to him. summon thy spirits! i wager we will face them.' adelina's brown face turned yellow as parchment, her knees shook together for fear. 'i beg thee, spare me, sir earl!' she entreated in a low voice. but her opposition only raised the earl's obstinacy, of which, like most weak people, he had a large share, and he insisted. so adelina gave orders to her attendant sprites, who fetched her a big box, and a tripod with a metal mirror above it, and a brazier hung from chains like a censer, and a skull, and a tame raven. and out of the box she dragged a huge, sluggish snake. the creature rolled and writhed upon the floor in a fashion that caused the ladies to scream and the knights to lay hold of the hilts of their daggers; but after a while it rolled itself in a ring round the tripod, with its tail to its head, and so lay still. 'whoever hath courage to step within my magic circle may learn the secrets of the future!' cried the sorceress. but the young baron who had been so eager to learn his fate did not relish the conditions, and made no move. ralph de guader, seeing his hesitation, stepped forward out of sheer bravado, without having any particular desire to know his fate, or belief in adelina's power to tell it, for he was happy, and all the future appeared to him steeped in rosy hues of hope. 'oh, ralph, deal not with the evil one!' cried emma, laying a restraining hand on his arm. 'trust not that horrible beast, i pray thee!' ralph gave some careless excuse, and emma accepted it; for, to say truth, her young head was full of fiery ambition, and her curiosity was great to know what honours her splendid lover would win for her in the days to come. william of normandy had carved a throne with his sword for matilda of flanders; who knew what ralph de guader's good blade might carve for her? everything seemed possible in those days. so the earl of the east angles stepped down from the daïs to the end of the great hall, where the sorceress stood, and stepped across the spotted body of the snake into the charmed circle it enclosed, bidding adelina summon her allies, be they fair or foul. but not without remonstrance from the fortune-teller. 'pause, de guader and montfort, earl of norfolk and suffolk! thy head is heaped with honours, and thy hands are full of fat manors, and--best of all gifts!--the heart of the fairest lady in the hall is openly bestowed on thee! what more canst thou ask of the future? take what thou hast, and go barefoot to the chapel and thank the white christ for his bounty! stay thy questioning, lest what thou hast shall be reft from thee!' 'a brave man defies fortune,' answered de guader, tossing back his dark head proudly. 'then if the prophecy be not to thy liking,' returned adelina, 'if the spirits foretell evil days, i pray thee blame not their mouthpiece.' her agitation was extreme, which was not surprising, as the fierce nobles of those days were apt to deal harshly with the messengers of unpleasing news. she chanted a wild incantation, dancing round the tripod and the earl, and swung her censer to and fro till it gave forth strange fumes and clouds of smoke, by which her face and the earl's were veiled from the spectators. now and again her turbaned head was seen through the vapours, her eyes intently fixed on her mirror, but none could tell what was passing. presently the earl returned to the daïs with a somewhat white face. emma's eyes were bent upon him with anxious inquiry. 'she has promised me that which i covet most, dear lady,' whispered de guader in answer to her look: 'my bridal with thee is to come to fulfilment. i am to pass my life with thee, and die with thee, near the blessed city of jerusalem.' 'the holy virgin be praised!' answered emma devoutly; 'and pardon thee for asking the future, if sin be in it.' then, recognising the admission she had made by acknowledging her joy in the prophecy, she blushed and turned away from de guader's happy eyes. 'aha! sister of mine, it seems my sorceress has pleasured thee with her prophecies,' remarked earl roger. 'i will see if she can be equally gracious to me.' 'thou hadst best brace thy nerves for a shock, man,' cried de guader after him as he left the daïs. 'those spirits have verily a knack of telling home truths without mincing matters.' adelina's agitation increased when she saw her master appearing as the next candidate. she trembled from head to foot. 'i prithee spare me this, roger fitzosbern,' she said in a scarce audible voice. but the earl insisted. then followed the same preliminaries as before,--the dance, and the chant, and the smoke-wreaths, then the whispered mysteries. but this time sharp, angry interjections and round norman oaths were mingled with the murmurings of adelina's voice, and all at once the unhappy fortune-teller threw up her bangled arms and fell backwards fainting, while the earl of hereford, with an angry stamp, broke out of the charmed circle and rushed back to his seat. adelina's neophytes ran forward to the rescue, for her garments had caught fire from the censer, and all was bustle and confusion. the huge snake lay calmly through it, however, for, to say truth, it was stuffed, and worked with wires. the countess of hereford sprang up to greet her lord, and the two little boys burst out a-wailing, sore frightened at their father's altered face, while emma also rose to greet her brother with terror in her eyes, trembling at the evidence he gave that evil had been foretold him. but he soon regained his calmness, and laughed as he saw the reflection of his mood in their agonised faces. 'pah! it is all nonsense!' he said, wiping the sweat from his brow. 'i believe the witch must be in league with the devil to have so wrought on me.' he looked round the hall, and gave another forced laugh. 'i am to lose all my lands, to be despoiled of my earldom, and die in prison, she says.' the ladies exclaimed in horror, and the men laughed derisively; but earl ralph's jester, grillonne, whispered sagely to his neighbour, 'good nuncle! when they promised me a swishing at school, i made effort to keep it to myself. but i am a fool.' no one seemed inclined to consult such a fortune-teller for his own part, and the earl of hereford ordered a welsh minstrel, who had been sent him in compliment by one of the welsh chiefs on the marches, whom hereford had lately beaten and made terms with, to regale the company with some of his ballads. at this juncture a great shout was heard from the castle-yard, and a moment later a servitor announced the return of the messenger who had been sent to the king; and, the earl of hereford bidding him enter, a knight and squire, travel-stained and showing signs of a hasty journey, advanced up the hall and bowed before the daïs. the knight dropped on his knee, and presented the earl with a missive tied with purple silk and sealed with the royal seal. 'how now, sir neel! how comest thou so tardily?' demanded the earl, taking the letter from the knight with eager hands and severing the silk with his dagger. 'i was detained, my lord, at rouen to wait the king's good pleasure.' the faces of the two earls darkened, and roger fitzosbern tore open the king's missive. scarce reading it, he flung it to de guader with a savage oath, stamping his foot upon the ground. 'william shall rue this insult!' he hissed between his shut teeth, his face scarlet and convulsed with rage; 'and to my father's son.' de guader, not less moved, held the parchment with hands that so shook with anger that the dangling seals clattered against each other. his broad chest heaved, and his steel-grey eyes flashed fire as sword strikes fire on helm. emma, with pale cheeks and wide eyes, turned from her brother to her lover, and the east anglian earl, exercising a huge command over himself, kept silence, and returned the letter to roger fitzosbern. hereford shook it in the air, clenching his fingers, while all the guests hung wonderingly on his actions. suddenly he tore the king's letter into fragments. 'thus has william rent in sunder the ties that bound me to him!' he shouted furiously. osbern, bishop of exeter, the earl of hereford's uncle, who, though he had refused the sanction of his presence to the performances of adelina, had entered the hall when the king's messenger arrived, made his way through the noble crowd that surrounded his nephew. 'hist, my roger! anger is short madness. keep a hold over the unruly member, lest words spoken in wrath be thy bane in time of peace. i know not the contents of the missive that hath moved thee so greatly, but i prithee be calm.' 'calm!' cried roger. 'calm! de guader, art thou calm?' 'yes,' answered de guader shortly, his breath breaking in quick pants, and a strange green light not pleasant to witness gleaming in his eyes, so that all who saw him felt that his calmness was more terrible than roger's fury. 'then, by the rood! if thou art so calm,' retorted hereford, 'tell my guests how they have been befooled. tell my sister she has bestowed her hand on one who can resign it "calmly."' 'my son, my son,' remonstrated the bishop, 'thou art unjust to thy noble brother, whose stake in this matter is even greater than thine.' 'nay, my brother he is forbid to be!' stormed roger, with another terrific curse. de guader turned to the beautiful girl to whom he had come to bind himself in solemn betrothal, and who, having accepted his wooing, had made no secret of her love. his face was pallid almost as his ivory robe, his lips trembled as he held out his hands to her, but for some moments he was dumb. when at last he compelled speech, his voice was dull with pain and quivering with measureless indignation. 'my lady,' he said, holding one of her hands in each of his, but not trusting himself to look in her face, 'i must bid thee farewell. i have no right to remain longer in this castle. the king has forbidden our marriage. i had hoped to make thee my bride. bride of my heart thou wilt always be!' before the startled, frightened girl could frame a reply, he had stooped and kissed her, sprung from the daïs, and was striding down the hall, with the many barons and bannerets, knights and squires, who formed his _meinie_, following behind him. the countess of hereford led her young sister-in-law from the hall; while the remainder of the noble company, feeling their presence somewhat awkward, as guests at a betrothal which could not be consummated, found excuses to depart, and gathered into clusters, each lord summoning his following and the ladies of his household. so that goodly company broke up in hurry and confusion and dismay, and the insult the king had inflicted on his two powerful earls was the talk of every mouth. chapter ii. love or loyalty. shortly after easter, on the day that would have been her wedding-day, emma fitzosbern sat in her bower in hereford castle, looking dreamily at the misty outlines of the distant welsh hills, behind which the sun was setting in golden splendour. her favourite bower-maiden sat on a low stool at her feet, and the glory of the sunset poured over the graceful figures of the two girls, and gilded the maundry work of rushes at their feet and the rich tapestry which covered the walls around them, while the gorgeous clouds were piled into battlemented towers, mocking with their vapoury illusion the solid masonry below them. emma's companion was looking up at her face with an expression of tender love and sympathy. she was a girl of seventeen, some four years younger than her lady, and wore the saxon headrail; the little rings of hair which escaped from its close cover were of saxon gold, while her pale blue robe was made in the fashion of that nation, full and flowing, with large, hanging sleeves. the girdle with which it was bound was ornamented with jewels, and the hems were edged with fur. her face was less animated and striking than that of the noble norman, but had a winsome beauty of its own, the blue eyes frank and affectionate, and the rounded features not wanting in character. an embroidery frame stood before them; for though eadgyth of norwich had lived in a norman household since she was ten, she had perseveringly acquired the special accomplishment of her countrywomen in spite of difficulties, and emma fitfully worked at it also under her guidance. eadgyth was a cousin in some sort, second or third, perhaps, to harold godwinsson, and made it a point of honour to keep his memory green, though she had grown to love dearly the generous norman maiden, who treated her more as a sister than a dependent. many relatives of harold had property in norwich, and when ralph de guader had received his earldom of norfolk and suffolk, which harold's death on the field of senlac had rendered vacant, he had taken pity on the forlorn condition of the little damsel, whose male relatives had been slain in the contest, and who was thus left without protection from the insolent conquerors. de guader had been amused by the patriotic defiance the bereaved maiden of ten had flung at him, rating him as a renegade and a murderer, with other terms of equal politeness which had sounded oddly from her flower-like mouth, and perhaps his conscience smote him, and told him they were not untrue. her courage moved his admiration and generosity, and, having no women-folk of his own to whom he could confide her, he had induced william fitzosbern the norman earl of hereford, to take her into his castle as a playmate and lady-in-waiting for his daughter emma. so began a companionship which was to endure for their lives. the tide of sad reflection was flooding emma's heart to the brim. since the cruel day on which the king's mandate had been received, the subject of her interrupted betrothal had been buried in dead silence. her brother and guardian, the young earl of hereford, had set out on a journey a day or two later, but had left even his wife in ignorance of its aim and direction. emma, on her own part, had shrunk from speech. her wounds were too sore to bear the probing even of those who loved her. but at length, on this bright may evening, she spoke. 'this was to have been my wedding-day, eadgyth,' she said. a cloud of scornful anger passed over the face of the saxon girl, and her blue eyes flashed. 'so william of normandy has ruined both our lives!' she said hotly, her young voice quivering with passion. 'i would that the earth had opened and swallowed him up when he first set foot on english ground, instead of only catching him by the ankle, to enable him to make a jest and find a good omen!' emma bent down, laughing, that she might not cry. 'hush!' she said; 'little rebel, thou art talking treason!' 'nay,' returned eadgyth, 'for i have never vowed fealty.' 'ah, well,' answered emma, sighing, 'my forbears have fought for william's forbears for generations! it is bred in my blood to be obedient to him. he would never have been king of england, had not my father lavished wealth and activity, and roused the barons and the burghers by example and ruse.' 'a fine reason, truly, for making thy father's daughter miserable,' quoth eadgyth. 'nevertheless, if thou art bred to obedience, it seemeth not less irksome to thee! perhaps it is because he owes the keeping of the english crown to the valour with which ralph de guader beat back the danes, that he thwarts _him_! not that i can spare any pity for ralph. if he had not played my cousin harold false, how different all things might have been. he, the grand-nephew of the sainted king eadward! it seems a just retribution that william should thwart him.' 'on my part, i cannot account it a crime in ralph to have sided with my countrymen,' emma said, with a gentle smile; 'but we cannot look on those things with the same eyes.' 'no; i think it is perhaps a good thing that thou sittest here, instead of being ralph de guader's bride, though i had lief have gone with thee to my dear old norwich,' said eadgyth. 'my dear old norwich!' she repeated, with a sigh. 'i should scarce know it again, with its fine new castle, and its streets full of normans and bretons, and foul, greedy jews.' 'oh, eadgyth! eadgyth! i will have no more to say to thee, if thou takest part against my knight!' said emma, withdrawing her hands and folding them on her lap. 'i did not mean to wound thee, emma!' exclaimed the saxon, clasping both hands affectionately round emma's right arm. 'i must needs be grateful to the earl, since i owe to him my happy home with thee. yet,' she added sadly, 'forgive me if i cannot quite forget that such a refuge would not have been needful to me, if he had been firm to the dragon standard. disguise it as thou wilt, i am but thy serving-maiden.' 'when i strive so carefully to disguise it, dost thou think it generous thus to pull it forth to the light of day?' asked emma, and the tears, which she had till then kept back with difficulty, would no longer be restrained, and rolled rapidly down her cheeks. 'no, it is not generous!' cried eadgyth, full of ruth. 'and i am not worthy to lace thy shoe latchet! forgive me, dear emma!' as she spoke, the ring of a mailed footstep sounded in the corridor without, and the door was unceremoniously opened, and gave entrance to the young earl of hereford, clad in a whole suit of mail, but unhelmed. 'what! sitting in darkness, maidens?' and, turning to a varlet with a torch, who had accompanied him to the door, he took it from the lad's hold, and placed it with his own hands in a sconce beside the hearth. 'i love the light,' he said, laughing. 'leave darkness to the bats and owls.' emma had risen, and ran to him gladly, kissing him on the cheek. 'oh, roger!' she said, 'i am so glad of thy return!' but the joy that had come into her face at his unexpected appearance did not dry the tears which she had forgotten to wipe away in her surprise, and he saw them. 'tears, emma, tears? what! is my little sister weeping?' he asked in a tone that was half banter, half tenderness. 'this is a thing that must be inquired into. i can have no weeping damsels in castle of mine.' 'eadgyth and i were quarrelling,' said emma gaily, 'because we were so lonely in thine absence, and could find nothing better to do.' 'by the mass! that won't serve thee for an excuse, emma,' answered the earl; then, taking her hands and looking searchingly in her face, he said somewhat sternly, as if to compel an answer, 'art thou fretting at the breaking of thy troth with ralph de guader?' emma turned away blushing from his scrutiny. 'the wound is fresh yet, roger!' she said. 'it will bleed. time will perchance heal it.' 'and by all the saints! a very short time too!' said hereford triumphantly. 'thou shalt plight a new troth to-night.' emma started with apprehension. in those days, damsels of rank were often disposed of in marriage by their male relatives with very little regard to their prejudices or affections, a girl's whimsies appearing of small consequence in their eyes beside the importance of a good political alliance, and emma feared lest her brother might intend to demand a summary transference of her affections. hitherto, it was true that the young earl had been tender and indulgent, and had regarded her wishes the more readily perhaps in this matter, that ralph de guader, the powerful earl of east anglia, was the very man of all others to suit his views of a desirable brother-in-law. but emma knew him to be both impulsive and obstinate, and visions of a fierce struggle with him, ending in the cloister, the haven of refuge for women in those days, passed through her mind. the earl, however, took no notice of her trepidation. 'come,' he said, and led the way down the wide stone staircase. emma followed trembling, and wondering what ordeal was before her. they entered a small room set apart near the great banqueting-hall, which was the earl's special sanctum. the next moment she found herself with her two hands clasped in those of ralph de guader, while he was looking down at her with a hunger of entreaty in his eyes; and in the minds of both was the unspoken thought, that if all had gone well they would have been husband and wife that day. the revulsion from apprehension to joy was so great as to be almost a pain. 'is it thou indeed, ralph?' she faltered; and the young earl of hereford laughed. 'didst think i had brought home an ogre to be my _beau-frère_,' he asked, 'that thou wast so sore afraid?' emma turned anxiously to de guader. 'the king, then, has relented?' she said quickly. 'in sooth, i doubted not his heart would soften. he could not be so cruel as to part us!' de guader shot a questioning glance at hereford. 'plead thine own cause, valiant knight!' said roger a little sarcastically. 'i was never a maker of speeches, and, by the holy virgin! thy eloquence has twisted me round thy little finger. see if thou canst vie with a woman's sharp wits. to say truth, i care not to breathe thy plan to the vagrant air, it has such a treasonable savour.' emma looked from one to the other for a solution of the mystery, but she did not see much in de guader's dark, handsome face to help her to read riddles. 'thy brother bids me proffer my own petition, dear lady,' he said. 'if i hesitate, be merciful to my unreadiness, for it is no easy boon i come to ask of thee.' he led her to a carved settle which stood beside the fireplace, and when she was seated, he stood before her silently a moment or two, the firelight scintillating on the rings of the mail in which he was sheathed from head to foot, and sparkling on the jewels of his baldric and the golden hilt of his great two-handed sword, for, like her brother, he was still in his harness. 'noble emma, i have come to ask thee to share with me danger and difficulty,' he said. 'the king has not relented. but his mandate is unjust, and i beg thee to disregard it, and to give me once more the sweet promise that thou wilt be my bride.' 'dost thou mean that thou wouldst ask me to defy the king?' faltered emma, a great terror chasing away the short-lived joy which had flooded her heart. she turned wide, anxious eyes upon her brother. 'dost thou not see, emma, we are sick of spending our lives for william, and getting nothing but kicks and curses from him?' explained the prosaic roger. 'by the mass! it is hard on ralph and on me, after so much faithful service, and so maint hard blows given and taken in william's business, that he should mar all our plans and spoil all our pleasure by putting his veto on your marriage. a curse on loyalty! if this is all it brings, we may as well be a little disloyal.' roger had better have allowed his friend to plead his own cause as he had bidden him to do. ralph's appeal to emma to share danger with him had touched her generous spirit. her brother's outburst against his sovereign roused all her loyalty. 'i know not what to reply to such converse,' said emma indignantly; then added, between jest and earnest, the tears trembling on her lashes as she looked at her brother, 'i would fain let it pass as a bad joke, or to think that perchance ye twain have been drinking a little copiously at the wine-cup.' 'nay, emma, that is an injustice!' cried hereford, bursting into laughter, and clapping his hand down upon de guader's mailed shoulder; 'when this poor love-lorn galliard would not break fast till he had seen thee, albeit he had been in selle all day, so fire-hot was he to mend his broken troth.' 'it may well seem strange converse to the gentle damsel,' said ralph gravely. 'the earl your father almost worshipped william of normandy, who, in good sooth, would never have been king of england but for his stalwart aid, and she has never heard whisper of aught against the king. we who have writhed under his imperious tyranny, and groaned in spirit so fiercely,'--here the level brows were knitted and the entreating face grew stern, while the green light shone in the deep-set eyes,--'can scarce conceive the shock she feels at our sudden speech.' 'she will have to get used to it,' said earl roger dryly, 'for my patience is at an end. beshrew me! she will hear a good deal of such talk. william has ever popped upon me like a cat on a mouse whenever any scheme which promised me well was in hand. and what has he given me but ravaged land that the welsh run over and harry at will? i say he only gives away what he must needs pay a garrison to defend if he kept it himself. what is your earldom of norwich, ralph, but sea-washed dunes or waste corn lands? he is ever nibbling at our power. earls, indeed! poor earls are we beside godwin, leofric, and siward! but i tell thee he has gone too far this time. i'll not be thwarted in my plan to be thy brother-in-law; no, neither by king-lord or foolish damsel!' he turned to emma somewhat fiercely. 'hark ye, sister of mine, by the little finger of st. nicholas, to whom de guader has dedicated his castle of blauncheflour, thou hadst better make no mincing about accepting a man thou hast already pleaded guilty to loving, or i shall have a crow to pluck with thee!' 'nay, nay!' exclaimed the courteous de guader, smiling affectionately at the bewildered and somewhat frightened emma, and not a little pleased by this crude revelation of his lady's favour. 'thy noble sister must take me of her own free will or not at all. holy virgin! her will is my law.' emma raised her head with a proud and splendid gesture. 'ay,' she cried, 'sir earl of norwich! i will have neither thee nor any man else but of my own free will! did they stretch me on the rack, or persuade me ever so by such-like loving persuasions, i would have none i did not choose!' the two earls laughed. 'well crowed, fair hen!' cried her brother, and ralph regarded her with admiring eyes. 'there spoke the true daughter of william fitzosbern, eh, roger?' he exclaimed. 'methinks if the lady emma had felt the conqueror's heel as heavy as we, her blood would boil as easily. but in sooth, dear lady, the minstrels and romaunt writers fill damsels' heads with fine notions which we poor knights find it hard to carry out in the vulgar battle of everyday life. thy hero william, our lord-king himself, rebelled when he was ordered to give up the chosen of his heart, the beautiful matilda of flanders; and--saints defend us!--it was the holy father himself that he disobeyed!' here the earl crossed himself. 'thou hast a noble example, emma; make haste to follow it,' said her brother jestingly. 'oh,' said emma, 'your converse brings me to perplexity. give me till the morning, and let me ponder on your words. they are sudden.' ralph raised her hand respectfully to his lips. 'we can do no less, dear lady,' he said. chapter iii. jest and earnest. 'that means,' said ralph de guader thoughtfully, when emma had left the room, '"let me consult my ghostly counsellor." who is the lady emma's director, fitzosbern? is not father theodred of crowland thine almoner?--he who was the pet of our east anglian bishop Æthelmær, and who was recommended to thee by thine english-loving uncle of exeter?' 'that is so,' assented hereford; but added impatiently, 'i prithee truce to thy plans and plottings. i am no moonstruck lover, and cannot subsist on air, however well such unsubstantial fare may suit thy humour. here we have ridden a good thirty miles, and talked a candle to the sconce, and i vow to thee, i had liefer satisfy my hunger than my ambition. what boots a fat earldom to a man if he is to die of starvation before he gets it?' de guader glanced rather contemptuously at his companion, but prepared to follow him. 'let me have speech with thine almoner this night, nevertheless,' he said, 'in my chamber when i retire from the hall. it may make or mar our undertaking.' 'as thou wilt,' answered roger carelessly; 'but thou canst scarce expect to find the good man in the best of humours if thou hast so little grace as to waken him up in the dead of night. i warrant me he has been snug under his coverlet this two hours.' 'i have that to say which will wake him,' said ralph grimly. 'but of a truth the hours have sped. it would be better, perhaps, to pray the good father to give me audience with him in the morning, before he sees any other. wilt thou have such message delivered?' earl roger called a menial and gave the necessary order, and summoned his armourer, whom he bade to attend his guest, and then wait on himself; and they retired to their chambers to be unharnessed of their armour,--a process requiring aid of hammer and tongs,--and to indulge in the refreshment of the bath, a luxury the normans loved as dearly as the romans. the hour was not far past nine, and, to our way of thinking, would not have been late; but the norman fashion was to begin the day early, dinner being served at nine in the morning, and a second meal only being usual. when a third meal was desired, as on this occasion, it was informal, and consisted usually of cold meats, being called _liverie_. accordingly, when the two earls met again, clad in the flowing robes which replaced their military accoutrements, they had no companions at the table save a couple of fine bloodhounds, which were pets of the earl of hereford, and had invited themselves when they smelt the good cheer; the countess of hereford remaining in her bower, where her husband had visited her, and delighted her by his unexpected return. the table was covered with fine linen; tall candles, in golden candlesticks handsomely wrought, gave light to the scene; and the dishes of gold and silver containing the meats were presented on the knee by pages, whose tunics were embroidered with the hereford cognisance, gules, a bend azure and a fesse or. before commencing their meal, a silver basin containing scented water was offered to the earls in which to wash their hands. de guader called for a napkin on which to dry the fingers he had daintily dipped into the scent, whereat the page opened wide eyes, though he obeyed the order, for the norman fashion was to wave the hands in the air till they were dry, so that the scent might not be lost, and to wipe them on a cloth was considered saxon and barbaric. 'i am cultivating english ways, thou seest,' observed the earl of the east angles. 'it is well to begin at once.' whereat hereford laughed. the fare was dainty rather than bountiful. a cold venison pasty, and a young heron, larded, roasted, and eaten with ginger, forming the most important dishes; with simnel and wastel cakes, and sundry sweetmeats, and wines rejoicing in the strange names of pigment and moral. the earls carved for themselves with their daggers, and used neither forks nor spoons. hereford, although he had declared himself in such a famished condition, showed no great prowess as a trencherman, but seemed more inclined to help himself from the wine-cup. he was obviously in an unsettled and irritable mood, while his companion inclined to the taciturn. suddenly earl roger exclaimed,-- 'by the mass! this meal is not sprightly. did i not see thy jester grillonne amongst thy _meinie_? send for the rogue and for my marlette, and let the twain hold a tourney of wit. though i wager thy knave will win.' 'if thy sleepy almoner might not be summoned from his slumber to hold converse on a weighty matter, methinks it is somewhat hard that my poor jester should be called upon to cudgel his wits!' said ralph. 'but as thou wilt.' 'i'll waken the varlet up with a cup of moral,' answered hereford; and a few moments later the two fools were introduced, in obedience to his order,--marlette rubbing his eyes and yawning; grillonne awake and eager-eyed. marlette was a poor imbecile, with a heavy face and clumsy figure, who caused laughter more by the incongruity of his short, puzzle-headed interjections, than by any real humour in his sayings. but the earl of east anglia's jester was a born buffoon, who would have made a comfortable living, if not a fortune, in the circus in these days. little, alert, wiry, his lithe body seemed to be always in motion, and the bells on his peaked cap rarely ceased to jingle. he was nearly sixty, and his scant white hair, straggling from under his whimsical headgear, gave him an elfish look, enhanced by the wizened, wrinkled countenance beneath it, and his oblique, twinkling eyes. he was a breton, who had come over in the train of ralph the staller's breton bride in good king eadward's days, and he had loved the gentle lady, who was always kind to him, and well pleased to hear him troll french ballads when she grew weary of hearing the strange saxon tongue, and felt forlorn and homesick. and he had loved her handsome boy, who inherited her dark face and eagle nose, though not her bright dark eyes, and had followed him back to brittany, when, for some reason the chroniclers do not report, he had suffered banishment and confiscation of his estates. and he had returned with him when he helped the conqueror to win england. de guader knew and valued his fidelity, and took him with him whithersoever he went. 'how now, fool grillonne!' was the earl of hereford's greeting. 'i promised to pour out a full cup of moral to wake thee up withal, but it seems thou art by far too much awake already. i had best give two cups to marlette here.' 'nay, good uncle,' cried the jester, 'that would be but sorry sport! i do but walk in my sleep. give me the wine, and thou wilt see me in my waking state.' the earl signed to a page to pour out a cup of wine, and handed it to him. he drank it, not hastily, but sipping it, and smacking his lips with the air of a judge; and when he had drained the cup he turned it bottom upwards. he then performed a series of somersaults from one end of the long banqueting-hall to the other, and finished by springing upon the shoulders of marlette, standing erect with one foot upon the table, and the other on his brother fool's neck. 'ha! good nuncles, i am like our lord king william astride of two kingdoms!' he cried, waving his bauble as if it were a sceptre, and aping an air of majesty, rendered most ridiculous by his effort to keep his balance on his unequal and, on one side, unsteady footing. marlette, astonished and quite at a nonplus, sought only to free himself from the weight on his shoulder, and with a yell dropped his half-empty goblet of wine, and dashed away, leaving the saucy grillonne sprawling on his back on the table, while the pages sprang forward to rescue the dishes, and the bloodhounds snarled in fierce surprise. 'help, help, good nuncles!' cried the jester. 'mine island gives me the slip. ah, well, i'll content myself with the continent! it hath good cheer upon it.' so saying, he began to help himself to the dainties in his reach. the earl of hereford burst into a roar of laughter, but the jester's master, smiling grimly, bade him beware of unseemly subjects. 'crowned heads are no fit themes for thy cracks, sir fool!' he said. 'chide me not, my earl of earls!' replied the jester, who saw that his lord was not seriously displeased. 'i meant no damage or irreverence. i have too great a respect for my hide, and would fain save it a tanning!' wherewith he descended from the table with an air of the most sage gravity, calmly filling his pockets the while with simnels. 'go to! thou art an impudent knave!' cried de guader; and earl roger, laughing more heartily than before, pulled out a penny (equal to about seventeen shillings and sixpence of our money) and tossed it to him. 'thou art the prince of fools!' he exclaimed. 'would i had thee in my following. thou art of some worth to drive dull care away.' in explanation of the fool's dangerous jest, we may relate how william of normandy dealt with the angevins when they dared to remind him that his mother was the daughter of a tanner, by ornamenting the walls of alençon with hides, and shouting '_la pel! à la pel!_' in ridicule, when he came to besiege their town. they had formed a _tête-du-pont_ to cover the passage of the river, from which william dislodged them by filling up the moat with wood and firing it, so that the unfortunate angevins were surrounded by flames, through which gleamed the swords of the mocking normans, barring their passage to the river beyond. the half-roasted garrison fought with unavailing valour, but twenty surviving for a still worse fate from their relentless foe. william ordered their hands and feet to be cut off and their eyes to be put out, and despatched an angevin soldier, who had previously been made prisoner, and who had witnessed the punishment, to tell the garrison how their comrades had fared, and to promise them a similar fate unless they surrendered before night. that they might not doubt the veracity of the messenger, he had the hands and feet which had been struck from the prisoners put into his mangonels, and shot them on to the walls, which so impressed the townsmen that they surrendered at once. when the two earls had finished their repast, they retired to their sleeping chambers; but as ralph de guader reached his apartment, he was met by the earl of hereford's almoner. 'i am come, noble earl, in obedience to thy summons,' he said, 'understanding that thy wish was to have speech of me before any other; and i venture to intrude on thee to-night, because the lady emma has desired me to attend her at daybreak.' 'ha! just as i expected,' said the earl to himself. 'i thank thee, reverend father,' he replied. 'it is courteous and kind, and my wish was to have speech with thee to-night, but that i feared to break in upon thy rest. take me, i pray thee, to thy sanctum, where we may be together without audience.' theodred bowed his assent, and the earl, having dismissed his attendants, followed the almoner to his private apartment, a small but snug room in a recess in one of the towers of the castle. in the centre stood a small table bearing a silver crucifix, covered with parchments and materials for writing and illuminating, a page of an unfinished missal lying on the writing-desk, and showing what the occupant's last business had been. father theodred offered to the earl the carved settle which stood before his writing-desk, and de guader sank into it with a sigh, and for a time was silent. theodred, meanwhile, acceding with rare delicacy to his guest's mood, turned to a corner of the room in which was fitted up a small shrine of the virgin, and busied himself by trimming the little lamp of oil which burned before it perpetually. he was a man of about fifty years of age, strongly built, and of the very fair complexion characteristic of the anglo-danes, the ring of hair upon his tonsured head being lighter in colour than the shaven crown, with a ruddy, healthy face, and kind, frank blue eyes. 'thine occupation, father, reminds me that i am the guest of a holy man,' said the earl, as the almoner turned to him again. 'i prithee give me thy blessing.' 'thou hast it, my son,' answered the priest, extending his hands and making the sign of the cross over ralph's bent head, and murmuring a benediction. 'thou sayest,' ralph began, after a time, 'that the lady emma has expressed her desire to consult thee. the matter on which she desires thy guidance is one of some weight.' theodred seated himself on a wooden stool at a short distance from the earl. 'doubtless the matter on which the noble earl of east anglia would consult me is one of importance also?' he said. 'the matter on which we twain seek thee, father, is one and the same,' said ralph, with a smile, 'as thy shrewd wits have doubtless already opined.' 'i had some such notion,' answered the almoner gravely. 'father theodred,' said ralph, grave in his turn, 'thou hast the reputation of an honourable man, and i am about to repose in thee a trust that will put the fortunes, and even the lives, of more than one noble personage, including myself, in thy hands.' theodred sprang up hastily. 'stay thy tongue, noble earl!' said he; 'trust neither thy fortune nor thy life in my hands. thou knowest my english sympathies, and how thou hast outraged them. how can i bear goodwill to the only english noble who fought beside the norman on the fatal field where harold godwinsson--whom god assoilzie!--lost his precious life?' the powerful de guader, famed for his pride and haughtiness, and his impatience of all rebuke, even from his royal master, bore this bold speech from the earl of hereford's almoner with bent head and dejected mien. 'what if i repent?' he asked softly, his rich voice quavering as he spoke. theodred gazed at him with astonished and doubtful eyes, and came back to his stool and sat down again opposite to him. the earl raised his head and looked the almoner in the face with a keen, appealing glance. 'what if it is to those very english sympathies that i appeal?' he asked. theodred, considerably affected, answered, 'nay then, speak out.' 'and if thou canst not support me, what i say shall be as unspoken?' 'even so.' 'swear thou that on the bones of st. guthlac!' 'the son of ralph the staller should know that an englishman's word is as good as his oath.' 'i will trust thy good faith. a half confidence is but a fool's wisdom. the point on which the lady emma will ask thy guidance is as to whether she shall yet deign to be my wife.' 'ah!' said theodred, almost involuntarily, in a low tone; 'hast thou ventured so far? against the king's veto?' 'by st. eadward, yes!' theodred's face darkened. 'take not the name of that holy saint, who was world-king and heaven-king also, to witness to thy sin! thinkest thou i will aid thee in treachery to thy liege lord?' 'sin or no sin, there are those high in the church who will aid me. dost thou esteem thyself holier than these?' the earl leaned forward and whispered in theodred's ear the names of several high dignitaries of the english church, including several abbots and bishops. theodred betrayed great astonishment. 'what meanest thou?' he asked. 'i mean that there is more in this matter than is at present understanded of thee,' said de guader. 'perhaps some insight into my own standpoint would best help thee to the whole question.' the almoner assumed an attitude of respectful attention. 'thou dost me great honour, noble earl,' he said. 'nevertheless i must protest that as a simple priest i had rather keep to matters more within my province.' 'these matters must be within thy province, since thy guidance will be asked by the noble demoiselle whose part in them is of such import,' urged de guader; and the priest sighed deeply, for he had a great love for the gentle girl whose adviser he must needs be in this the chief step of her young life. he saw nothing but strife before her, and was sorely perplexed as to whether he should forward her happiness, or, still more, her spiritual welfare, by aiding or hindering the suit of the turbulent man who was thus seeking to win him to his side, and whom he scarcely knew whether to abhor for his part at senlac, or to love as the son of ralph the staller. certes de guader's show of contrition had strangely moved him, and the bruised and bleeding patriotism which was his strongest passion waked into painful life at the sight. 'thou knowest,' said earl ralph, 'how, when my noble father, ralph the staller, died, earl godwin, in his hate of the normans, or any from across the straits, worked with the blessed king eadward against my breton mother and myself, her stripling son, or rather, i should say, so wearied him out with complaints against us, made by his daughter eadgyth, the king's wife, that at last the good king gave ear to a trumped-up story of treasonable practices on our innocent parts, and took my father's lands from his widow and orphan, so that we had to go beyond the sea to my mother's estates in bretagne.' 'i have heard a version of the matter,' said theodred--'somewhat differing!' he added, under his breath. 'canst thou wonder, then, that my love for harold godwinsson was not overflowing? the more so as he claimed for himself those dear lands of norfolk and suffolk, where my boyhood had been passed. canst thou wonder that, when he broke his oath to william of normandy, whom he had sworn not to hinder in his claims to the english throne,--sworn, as thou knowest, on the most sacred relics'-- theodred groaned. 'harold knew not that the relics were there till after he had sworn,' he murmured. 'an englishman's word should be as good as his oath, thou hast said it,' rejoined the earl. 'canst thou wonder, i ask, that i ranged myself under the banner of the leader whose accolade had given me knighthood to win back those lands of my father's?' 'how couldst thou? how couldst thou fight thy father's countrymen, even to win back thy father's lands?' cried the priest, with irrepressible emotion. ralph sprang up and paced about the room. 'nay, i would give my right hand i had not done it,' he said; 'but,' he added bitterly, 'i am sufficiently punished! after all my valour and manifold services, the haughty bastard deems me not good enough to become his kinsman, and insults me by forbidding me the hand of his kinswoman.' his face was dark with scorn, and the peculiar gleam of green was in his eyes which gave so strange an expression to his anger, while the level brows met above them. evidently wounded pride had more to do with his repentance than patriotic contrition. but it was not convenient to admit so much even to himself. 'blood is stronger than water, in good sooth,' he continued, 'and my father's blood rebels in my veins when i see the hungry normans ousting staunch english families from their holdings, and revelling in the fat of the land. i had not thought of all that must follow the setting of william on the throne, for i dreamt not that harold's following had been so strong, or that the tussle would be so bitter. and now that william is away, the curs snuffle and snarl and tear the quarry like hounds without a huntsman, while hereford and i, through his silly jealousy, have our hands tied, and are powerless to keep order in the land. i tell thee it is galling beyond endurance to see the base churls, whom never a knight would have spoken to in normandy but to give them an order, ruffling it with the best, and strutting as they had been born nobles, lording it over high-born english dames and damsels, whose fathers and husbands they have slain, and whose fortunes they are wasting in riot!' 'galling beyond endurance!' repeated theodred, springing up with a gesture of anguish. 'christ grant me pardon for the hate that springeth in my heart for the doers of such wrong, for it bids fair to overflow the barriers of my control whenever i let my thoughts wander from the comfort of heavenly things to earthly miseries!' de guader's eyes gleamed with triumph as he saw his companion so deeply moved. stopping in his tiger walk up and down the room, he laid his strong hand upon theodred's arm. 'then help me to redress the wrong and repair the mistake!' he said. theodred turned on him fiercely. 'repair the mistake! canst thou bring then the dead to life, or gather from the soil one drop of the noble blood that has been poured forth upon it like water, the dark stains of which still scare the traveller, and call to heaven for vengeance?' 'nay, st. nicholas defend me!' answered the earl, 'i can do neither of these things. there is that which cannot be undone, and can only be atoned by bitter penance and humble contrition. but there is that which may be restored. ruined men may have their own again. prisoners can be set free. doth not archbishop stigand still languish in durance? is not thine own beloved bishop and stigand's brother, Æthelmær, living in poverty and shame, since william's tyrannical deprivation of his see on false and scandalous charges?' 'alas, yes!' admitted the priest. then the earl, bending towards him, and fixing his piercing eyes on the good-humoured and yielding eyes of theodred, said in a low, clear voice, every syllable of every word thrilling the silent night,-- 'an english king may yet fill the throne. waltheof siwardsson lives!' theodred covered his face with his hands, and staggered into his chair. after a while he murmured, 'and doth the holy frithic, abbot of st. albans, favour this, and thurstan, abbot of ely?' 'ay; nor is fitzosbern, bishop of exeter, opposed. he groans for the woes of the english people, whose ways he has always loved, and whose manners he has adopted; neither brooks he tamely this insult of william's to his nephew. when such favour me, wilt not thou?' theodred extended his palm without uncovering his face. 'i cannot answer thee thus at a moment's notice. the issues are too great.' 'waltheof, hereford, and i,' the earl continued, his face lighted with a lofty pride, and his gesture such as might have befitted the conqueror himself, 'william absent. who could withstand our combination?' 'i pray thee mercy! this matter needeth meditation and prayer. leave me. whether i help or hinder thee, be sure i will not betray thee. the holy virgin have both thee and me in her keeping!' 'amen,' said the earl, and left the apartment. as he walked down the passage, stepping softly lest he should disturb those who had slumbered while he plotted, he heard the strokes of the flagellum with which father theodred was lacerating his shoulders. chapter iv. horse, hawk, and hound. on the morrow, a goodly company rode forth over the drawbridges of hereford castle, with clatter of prancing horses and barking of dogs and jingle of hawks' jesses; falconers carrying the birds, and huntsmen leading the well-trained dogs, spaniels, cockers, and here and there a wolf or boar hound, in case larger game should be started; a party of men-at-arms to protect them from wild beasts, outlaws, and welsh, with a few knights in harness to head them, and the ladies and gentlemen of the hunt themselves. in the place of honour amongst these rode the earl of east anglia, mounted on his splendid spanish barb oliver, whose fine points had drawn forth praise from that lover of good horse-flesh, william the conqueror himself, when de guader had ridden the steed in his presence; a bright red-roan with fox-coloured mane and tail, fine of limb, but of greater strength and endurance than the heavier norman warhorse, and full of spirit and docility. by his side ambled emma fitzosbern, on a white palfrey, bearing on her wrist a noble 'tassel-gentle,' whose broad shoulders and large nares and long black spurs proclaimed him of the bluest blood of hawk aristocracy. 'certes, he is a glorious tierce,' said emma, looking with admiration at the hawk, 'and seemeth well re-claimed, though, knowing me not, he is by nature shy.' 'i hope well he may sustain the reputation accorded him by those from whom i had him,' said the earl, 'and prove his worth by deeds when we reach the waters. he comes straight from denmark, and is accounted equal to any king sweyn at present hath in his mews. he will bind a mallard with his beak, nor needeth he any lure save the voice of the falconer. none exceed the danes for skill in training a hawk.' the earl of hereford, who had been riding ahead with his countess, fell back and reined his horse beside his sister's palfrey, that he might examine and criticise this much-extolled bird. but his criticism also took the form of admiration. 'if he performs as well as he looks,' quoth he, 'i would think him cheap at a hundred marks.' when they reached the marshy ground to north-west the castle, at which they had been aiming, the spaniels soon put up a heronshaw, and emma, who had no mean skill at falconry, slipped off the hood from the danish hawk, and cast him deftly from her little fist into the air at what was called the _jette serré_, that is to say, as quickly after the quarry had taken flight as possible. the heron soared into the air on his strong wings, with his slender legs stretched straight behind him, till he was almost lost in the clouds, but the tassel-gentle pursued him swiftly, scaling the air by small circles ascending higher and higher like the steps of a spiral staircase. emma clapped her hands in delight. 'by the mass! a magnificent mount!' exclaimed hereford, and his praise was echoed amongst the ladies and gentlemen round, nor did the falconers refuse their meed of honour to the foreign bird, jealous though they might be for the fame of their own particular pets, whom they had tended since they took them from the eyrie at the stage of eyass-down, and lured and re-claimed with daily care and patient skill. 'the tassel-gentle hath the uppermost,' cried emma, after a few seconds of eager watching. 'thine eyes are as keen as the hawk's!' cried de guader. 'at that height i could not tell one from the other.' but emma saw truly. in a moment more the tassel-gentle stooped upon his quarry, and the struggling birds came tumbling from the sky together, leaving a long trail of fluttering feathers to mark the course of their passage through the air. hereford pressed forward to the spot at which they promised to touch earth, and was ready to despatch the heron ere he could do mischief with his long wings, measuring upwards of five feet from tip to tip. he shook the hawk's hood, and the well-trained bird flew at once upon his wrist. bravely had he maintained his reputation by deeds. other hawks were then flown at various game, mallard and crane and bittern. sometimes the quarry escaped; on one occasion a falcon failed to win the upper hand, and the heron at which she was cast transfixed her on his long beak and killed her, at which misfortune there was much ado. others acquitted themselves well, but none rivalled the prowess of the danish hawk, and when the gay company had turned their horses' heads homewards, and had leisure to discuss the matter, he was acclaimed by all the hero of the day in falcon-world. 'since thou hast a good opinion of the tassel-gentle,' said de guader, who had reined his horse again to the side of emma's palfrey, 'and art pleased to say that i gave no overdrawn picture of his high qualities, i pray thee, noble demoiselle, to pleasure me by taking him for thine own from this day forward; for, in sooth, i obtained him from denmark for no other purpose, having heard of the death of thy favourite falcon. see, he takes to thee by instinct, and sits thy slender wrist as if he knew it as that of his own lady.' 'thou art too generous, sir earl,' replied emma, the quick blood flushing cheek and forehead,--partly through delight, for she was a keen huntress, and appreciated fully the joys of possessing such a bird; but more through confusion, for she felt that she could not accept such a gift from a suitor whom she intended to reject, and that virtually to take the beautiful creature would be to answer ralph's weighty question of the night before--for in those days a good hawk was of more value than diamonds. to make matters worse, her brother was watching her pitilessly, with a quizzical smile in his eyes, and evident curiosity as to what she would say. but fortune was kinder than her friends. the company was riding at the moment through a belt of woodland, and, just as emma was casting about in her mind for an answer to ralph's speech that might postpone her difficulty, and toying somewhat lovingly with the bird, a lank grey beast trotted silently across the pathway a few yards ahead of the foremost horseman. the dogs gave tongue and the men also. 'wolf! wolf!' cried the huntsmen, and half-a-dozen knights of the _meinie_ who carried hauberk and lance dashed forward in pursuit. all was excitement and commotion. steeds chafed and curveted, and kept their riders from requiring answers to inconvenient questions, and emma fitzosbern felt grateful exceedingly to the fiery oliver for the trouble he gave his master, and the excuse which his antics afforded her to slip behind to the side of her bower-maiden, eadgyth of norwich, who was following on a sober-minded brown palfrey, being but an indifferent horsewoman, and always desirous of a quiet mount. de guader gave oliver the rein and galloped forward. 'i am in sore distress, emma,' said eadgyth, as she joined her, 'for my foolish freya has rushed off after the rest of them, as if a gazehound could pull down a wolf, forsooth! i much fear me she will be hurt.' almost as she spoke, the knights returned, one holding aloft the wolfs head as a trophy; but another, a young norman in de guader's following, sir aimand de sourdeval by name, carried a wounded hound in his arms. 'it is freya!' exclaimed eadgyth, and, riding forward towards the knight, she asked if her favourite was much wounded. 'nothing dangerously, sweet donzelle,' replied sir aimand, looking up with a bright smile, and evidently pleased to have so cheerful an answer to give, both for the hound's sake and the lady's. 'a bite in the forearm, nothing worse, though it lames her. i will bind it, with your permission, when we reach the castle; i have a salve reckoned most healing for the wounds of hounds, and i hope it may prove its worth in the healing of thine.' eadgyth thanked the young knight for his courtesy with much sincerity, for she had brought up the greyhound to her own hand, and the creature was full of gentle ways and pretty tricks, which her mistress had taught her, besides being exceptionally beautiful, with a satin skin as white as milk and a body as lithe as any eel's. it was a great relief to eadgyth also to note how tenderly sir aimand handled her favourite, so that the hound lay quite passive in his hold, and she felt content to leave her to the knight's tender mercies. when they reached the castle, emma fitzosbern found herself still carrying the tassel-gentle on her wrist, and thought with a half sigh that it would be hard to relinquish him, even if she were quite prepared to renounce all that she must take with him. nor did de guader give her opportunity to restore the bird to his keeping. later in the day, when the may sun was drawing nigh to the summits of the welsh hills, emma, her riding garb exchanged for a silken robe of pale blue, embroidered with pearls and silver and edged with vair, very brave to look upon, swept down the long alleys that led from the ladies' bower to the orchard, in company with her young sister-in-law, the countess of hereford, and dame amicia de reviers, a venerable lady, who had been emma's 'guide, philosopher, and governante' since the daughter of fitzosbern had first opened her grey-blue eyes upon this wicked world, and who now found her aged infirmity soothed by the love and trust of her whilom pupil. hereford is, and was, a famous apple country, and in those days it was celebrated for both cider and grape wine. just then, in the sweet spring weather, the orchard was a pleasant place in which to while away an hour. the insecurity of life making the protection of stone walls imperative, prevented any extensive cultivation of garden flowers, and gardens within castle precincts were necessarily circumscribed. but the orchard was somewhat more free, though lofty walls surrounded it, over which the trained branches of the vines spread in orderly growth, and were putting forth tufts of tender bronze-green leaves at every spur. gillyflowers bloomed between their roots, and their wild yellow brothers found space for their impudent needs on the crown of the walls. across the centre of the orchard ran a chattering brook, along the banks of which kingcups made a golden line, and over which a little bridge with toy battlements was built. the pear trees were covered with snow-white flowers and the apples with rosy buds, and under the netted shadows of their straggling boughs the rich green turf was gemmed with primroses and daisies and buttercups; while merles and mavises sat amongst the blossoms, striving which should sing the sweetest songs. from the meadows and pastures beyond the walls came the lowing of cows and the mellow voice of the cuckoo. emma carried the tassel-gentle on her wrist, and a page followed her with a lure and dainty morsels wherewith to tempt the proud bird's appetite; and when the countess and dame amicia sat down upon a bench in a small arbour near the stream, she went forward to the bridge, and bade the page set down his burden upon the wall. then, leaning on the parapet, she amused herself by casting off the bird for short flights, and luring him back, teaching him to recognise the sound of her voice. the other ladies, who were in view of the performance, applauded when he obeyed her quickly. yet emma had not fully accepted the gift of the bird, or decided what her course should be. she was in great perplexity. in the morning, jubilant with exercise, the glow and excitement of the chase upon her, all difficulties had seemed light save that of renunciation, and the qualified permission which father theodred had given her, to follow her own heart in the matter, seemed to move all obstacles from her path. now, in cooler mood, her anxious spirit conjured up visions of distress. to defy the king was both sinful and dangerous. if she dwelt more on the danger than the sin, she must not be judged by the standard of later days. the idea of kingly divinity had scarcely blossomed into flower in the chaos of those dark ages. every powerful noble was a sovereign on his own estate, and his followers fought his battles with little scruple whether against king or peer. the feudal king-lord was but first among peers, and very few noble houses could display a scutcheon free from the blot of treason. vows of fealty and the sanctity of knightly honour notwithstanding, the turbulent barons thought less of it than a modern politician of changing his party. indeed, they watched all kingly encroachments on the power of their order with jealous eyes, and deemed it a duty to stand by each other. not till warwick, 'the kingmaker,' was laid low on barnet field, did the kingly ideal become paramount. so emma thought more of the blood that would flow if william were defied, than of the heinousness of the defiance. earl ralph and her brother would both be involved in trouble and sorrow. and all for her foolish face! oh, why had she not been born some plain, poor damsel, over whose fate none would concern themselves? she would not be a centre of strife and confusion! no, she would retire into a convent and lead a life of penitence and prayer; and ralph would find another bride whom william would not grudge him. but this pious resolution was accompanied by a deep sigh, and a look of wistful longing at the hawk, as he came fluttering his strong, sharp-pointed wings to her call. perhaps he typified worldly joys to her at the moment. just then two goodly gentlemen came striding across the greensward to the arbour by the bridge, and emma's heart gave a great leap, for she felt that the time had come when, for weal or woe, she must make her choice. and the earl of hereford went into the arbour and sat down by his wife, but the earl of east anglia came straight on to the bridge where emma stood. 'the tassel-gentle acknowledges the authority of his own liege lady,' ralph said, with a meaning smile, as he stopped beside her and leaned his arm on the low parapet of the little bridge. 'i fear he learned not his loyalty from his master,' emma replied, looking in his face with earnest eyes. 'nay, flout me not, dear lady,' pleaded de guader. 'give me an answer to my question of yesternight. it is not like thee to prolong my torture.' [illustration: emma fitzosbern accepts the tassel-gentle.] 'indeed, i know not what to answer thee,' said emma in sad seriousness. 'my heart is torn with doubt. i cannot bear,' she said, laying her hand upon his arm, as if to restrain his eagerness for combat, 'to be the cause of strife. and strife it must mean, if thou shouldst marry me against the king's will. william is not the man to take such defiance smoothly.' 'nor am i, nor is hereford, the man to take his insult smoothly,' answered ralph, with blazing eyes. 'see'st thou not, the strife must be? the insult is given, and can only be wiped out with blood!' 'ah!' 'see'st thou not, my dove,' asked de guader, taking the hand she had laid upon his arm in both his own, 'thy decision has nought to do with the strife? indeed, thy refusal to have me now would but make mine anger against william the more bitter, as i shall in that case owe him the loss of my happiness as well as the affront to mine honour. no, the point is this: i cannot urge thee to share strife and sorrow with me, though,' and his eyes flashed fresh fires, 'the saints might favour me that i won thee but higher honours in the end. if thy heart fails thee, hereford will send thee over-sea to thy brother in normandy, where thou canst dwell in peace and safety, while we fight our quarrel out. fight it out we must! 'tis not william's first insult, but it shall be his last.' 'nay, if i cannot stay the strife, i will share it!' cried emma, touched to the quick. 'thou dost me wrong to deem, even for an instant, that i shrink for my own welfare's sake! 'tis not in the nature of a fitzosbern!' then, turning to the hawk, she said, 'thou may'st know me for thy liege lady, my brave tassel-gentle! i take thee, and thy master with thee, but i fear he is by far less well reclaimed than thee!' chapter v. saxon and norman. the little village of exning in suffolk was once an important place, the seat of the royal palace of the kings and queens of east anglia, wherein was born the celebrated st. etheldreda, who was the foundress of the monastery of ely; and its state did not entirely disappear till a.d. , when a plague broke out which desolated the population, and a new market was set up a few miles from it, which still bears that name, and is the well-known racing centre. ralph de guader, as earl of east anglia, became the lord of this ancient palace of the east anglian royal family, and, as it was in his day the fashion for weddings to take place at the house of the bridegroom, it was here that preparations were made for his union with emma fitzosbern. it was in every way convenient for ralph's purposes. situated on the extreme verge of his estates, jutting out towards the west, whence his bride must come, it was the very nearest point at which she could enter his domain; near also to northampton and huntingdon, over which waltheof siwardsson was earl, regarding whom, as we know, de guader had deep-laid schemes. the celebrity it bore as the time-honoured residence of the east anglian royalty, and the birthplace of one of the best-beloved of saxon saints, endeared it to the hearts of the saxon nobles and thegns, whom it was ralph's policy to conciliate, and of whom he had invited to the banquet all who still possessed any remnant of their former wealth, and many who had little left but names to conjure with. divers breton nobles and knights also held manors in the neighbourhood, and de guader had in his own following a strong body of breton mercenaries, and took care to bid the leading men amongst them, and all he could gather of his mother's countrymen having settlements in england, to the feast. many normans also were invited, men who were known to be discontented with their share of the spoil of fair lands and deer forests and riches of various kinds distributed after the conquest, or who, like de guader and hereford, were smarting under william's tyrannous whims. last, but most important amongst the guests, were the members of the saxon church, many of whom came to the bridal, including several of the high positions of bishop and abbot. only the highest in rank of such a large assembly could be sheltered under the roof of the palace, built though it had been to suit anglo-saxon notions of hospitality, which were on a bounteous scale. the knights and thegns of humbler degree were encamped in the neighbourhood in every variety of tent and hut that would serve for temporary shelter, while each noble or chief brought with him a goodly train of house-carles, squires, and pages, and a motley following of attendants and grooms, with horses and hounds and sumpter mules laden with baggage. for miles around the air was rent with the neighing of horses and shouting of men, the barking of dogs and clashing of arms, and the braying of trumpets, while above each gay tent floated a silken banner bearing the arms of the occupant, or, at least, tall lances stuck in the ground beside it fluttered their pennoncelles around it. all was merry clamour and confusion, and doubtless newmarket heath itself was as gay as it now is on the morning of the two thousand guineas. the east anglian earl had elected to have the festivities arranged according to saxon fashions. nevertheless, he had endeavoured to satisfy the tastes of all his guests, and a variety of entertainments was provided. a magnificent pavilion had been erected for the many who could not be accommodated with seats in the banqueting-hall of the palace, over which waved richly-coloured flags embroidered with the arms of the three great earls,--the azure lion rampant which waltheof had assumed as his emblem, the red, blue, and golden arms of hereford, and de guader's own cognisance, party per pale or and sable, with a bend vairy. to one side of it were spacious lists hung with scarlet cloth, one hundred yards long by forty broad, having benches for spectators in tiers along the length of the barriers, and in the centre, on each side, a canopy, one destined for the three earls, who were to be judges of the combat, the other for emma fitzosbern,--from whose hands as queen of beauty the victors were to receive their prizes,--the noble ladies who were her guests, and the maidens of her train. the tourney was to take place a full day before the wedding, so that the combatants might be rested, and fit for the labour of feasting. the combats were in no case to be _à outrance_, but merely a trial of strength and skill. on the opposite side of the pavilion a large space of ground was marked out for sports of a less aristocratic character, and set with targets for archery, a quintain,--not the knightly quintain supplied with a full suit of good armour, such as chivalric aspirants tried their skill on, the providing of which was a serious item in the expenses of a feudal castle, but a mere ring and sand-bag,--leaping bars, racecourses both for horse and foot racing, a bear-pit, and other sports to please the various tastes of the soldiery,--the socmen or tenants holding land by service other than knightly,--the bordars or cottagers holding portions of land on condition of supplying the lord of the manor with poultry, eggs, and other small provisions,--and such other freemen as de guader deemed it well to conciliate. a richly-decked bower had been prepared for emma fitzosbern in the old anglo-saxon palace, and in this she sat with her favourite, eadgyth of norwich, on the evening of their arrival at exning. eadgyth was to be her chief bridemaid, and the policy of the bridegroom was not ill-served by this honour paid to the relative of the great english earl. emma's face was radiant with happiness, for she loved ralph de guader deeply, and her buoyant disposition did not tempt her to meet difficulties half way; so she was able to throw to the winds all foreboding as to sinister results from the bold step she and her bridegroom were about to take in opposing the conqueror's will. eadgyth, however, though evidently trying to be as gay as beseemed the occasion, was unable to hide from emma's quick eyes the fact that she was herself in low spirits, betrayed by a tinge of sadness in her tone, and half-stifled sighs that would make way between her merry speeches. 'eadgyth, something hath vexed thee,' said emma earnestly. 'be frank with me, and tell me thy sorrow, by the memory of the freedom with which i have reposed my woes with thee.' 'nay,' replied eadgyth, with a forced smile, a faint one, it must be said, like december sunshine, 'it would be a sin to talk to thee of sorrow on thy bridal eve.' 'thou canst not hide it, eadgyth; thou wouldst do more kindly to tell me all.' 'thou knowest the young knight, sir aimand de sourdeval, who rides in thy bridegroom's _meinie_?' said eadgyth in a low hesitating tone. she had taken emma's hand in her own, and was twisting the betrothal ring which circled the slender third finger round and round, but, though her face was averted, her white neck and forehead grew pink under emma's gaze. 'a gallant knight and of good lineage,' said emma quietly. 'my brother said but the other day that he counted him amongst the best lances he knows.' 'thou wilt remember he rescued my poor gazehound freya from the fangs of the wolf the day thy danish hawk was first flown, and leeched her tenderly after, even using on her a talisman which had been given to him by a holy palmer from the east, nursing the poor beast as gently as if she had been a human child.' ''tis a good sign in a man to show tenderness to the poor beasts who cannot make their wrongs public,' said emma. 'he who will suffer inconvenience to save a beast pain, will not do less for weak women or feeble children that come under his charge.' eadgyth looked up with sparkling agreement in her eyes, but bent her head again as she continued,-- 'this evening, as we drew near the goal of our journey, he took advantage of his duty as escort to ride his destrier close to the side of my palfrey, and asked me what colours i meant to wear at the tourney, and to give him a favour to wear in his helm, with many compliments, saying my good renown was such that the noble godfrey de bouillon himself would not disdain to break a lance in my honour.' 'and what was thine answer, sweet friend?' asked emma. 'i know not what in this can find thee food for grief.' eadgyth continued in a grave and measured voice,-- 'i thanked him that he should do me such compliment, and said i doubted not his lance and sword would well defend my favour, being plied by a god-fearing knight, and in the cause of a maiden who hath nought to conceal; but i could give no favour, for i had ever held that she who lets a good man risk life and limb in her service, should be ready to guerdon the victor, and that i could not do.' 'now, eadgyth, why shouldst thou have given such an answer?' asked emma vehemently. 'read me thy riddle, i pray thee, for, in good sooth, i deem not thou hast the knight in ill-favour.' 'surely the riddle is plain to read,' answered eadgyth, 'and thou shouldest know enough of my mind to answer it. is not sir aimand a norman, and am i not the cousin of harold godwinsson?' 'i tell thee truly i am sick of thy eternal harold godwinsson!' cried emma, springing up and pacing the room. 'his name is dragged forth in season or out of season. it must be hard for the poor man to rest in his grave! here are eight years the normans and the saxons--if saxon thou wilt own thyself, sometimes thou wilt correct me that thou art an anglo-dane!--have been living in peace, and marrying and giving in marriage, and thou wouldst wake up old quarrels, and part them in sunder again. as well might i refuse to marry ralph de guader because of his english blood.' 'but the earl fought with thy people. how know i but that my kinsfolk fell by sir aimand's hand? he was at senlac, though but a young squire. the gulf that yawns between us is impassable!' and eadgyth's shoulders shook with an irrepressible shudder. 'even so,' said emma, 'it was in fair fight on a hardly-contested field, and sir aimand would be in no way blood-guilty therefor. when a quarrel is ended, generous foes shake hands.' 'so said sir aimand. for he asked me if any reason were behind my answer that he might know, and i told him frankly that my heart still bled for my country's wounds, and that i could not forget that the lance he offered to ply in mine honour had tilted against my countrymen, had perhaps been dyed with the blood of those dear to me. he answered and said, that it had been a fair fight, with no ill blood between the combatants; that god had made the norman arms prevail, and that i ought to accede to his holy will. but i cannot feel it so,' eadgyth ended, with a sigh. 'then i must try to comfort thee some other way,' said emma, resuming her seat, and taking the face of her friend in both her hands, and turning it up and kissing it, for eadgyth was sitting on a low stool at her feet, as was her wont. 'remember thou art on thy way to thy dear norwich, where some of thy kin may still be found; nay, some may be amongst the invited guests to the banquet, and encamped near thee even now. we know, at least, that more than one noble thegn will be present. who can say what fate may have in store for thee?' eadgyth shook her head. 'alas, emma! i shall not find comfort so. there was that in the face of the poor knight as he turned away that i fear me will haunt my memory to my dying day.' 'nay then, if that be thy mood, i will waste no pity on thee,' said emma. 'shame on thee, that thou shouldst send my countryman away with a sad face, and doubtless an aching heart, for such a fantastic whim!' but the soft tones of her voice somewhat belied her declaration that she would bestow no pity on her wayward friend. chapter vi. the bride-ale. the festivities of the days preceding the wedding had no special incidents to mark them as more worthy of note than a hundred such which have been described in history and romance, but the wedding-day itself left its mark on time, and has been recorded as of woeful bearing on the destinies of the many who partook of its good cheer, by chroniclers contemporary and modern. the ceremonies observed at the marriage were after the anglo-saxon fashions, and ralph de guader himself wore the saxon garb: a tunic of saffron silk reaching to the knee, with a border round the neck and hem of embroidery in gold thread, edged with ermine, and fastened at the waist with a wide belt of highly-wrought goldsmith's work set with jewels; suspended from this a short sword, hilted with gold-inlaid ivory, and a fierce-looking hunting-knife no less richly embellished. on his shoulders a short scarlet cloak lined with ermine, and fastened by a band across the chest of similar work and design to the baldric, having at each extremity a round clasp of danish filigree, much raised in the centre, where a splendid ruby repeated the red of the cloak. stockings of scarlet cloth, cross-gartered with golden braid, and short brown leather boots, the heels armed with the golden spurs of knighthood, completed his apparel. his earl's coronet was embedded in the crisp dark curls of his close-cropped hair, which, to have been in keeping with his dress, should have been long enough to lie upon his shoulders, and the colour of tow; and, to say truth, his swart countenance was still less in character. yet from an æsthetic point of view the costume was sufficiently becoming, and the personal appearance of the bridegroom drew forth a full share of praise from the noble dames and damsels who graced the day with their presence, for he looked strikingly handsome, flushed as he was with excitement, his face animated, and his keen eyes flashing. the policy of adopting it was another question. many of the english nobles and knights, whom it was intended to flatter, rather resented his assumption of their national garb as a mockery and insult, after the part he had borne in helping to crush their cause and help the conqueror to the throne, while the normans and bretons were offended by it. the guest in whose honour he had chiefly assumed it, waltheof, earl of northumberland, northampton, and huntingdon, wore a similar garb with all the ease of custom and grace of habit, and looked in very truth an english prince. tall, broad-chested, brawny-armed, his long light hair hanging in shining curls upon his shoulders, his strong wrists circled with many bracelets, hands, arms, and neck covered with blue tattoo-marks, he stood by the east anglian earl with a pleasant smile on his ruddy face and in his sleepy blue eyes. 'this earle walteof or waldene,' says holinshed, 'was sonne (as ye haue heard) to siward the noble earle of northumberland, of whose valure in the time of k. edward the confessor ye haue heard. his son, the aforesaid walteof, in strength of bodie and hardinesse did not degenerate from his father, for he was tall of personage, in sinews and musculs verie strong and mighty. in the slaughter of the normans at yorke, he showed proofe of his prowesse in striking off the heads of manie of them with his owne hands, as they came forth of the gates singlie one by one.' but this doughty hero, this son of siward and Æthelflæd, whom the northern scalds celebrated in their sagas, and who claimed relationship to the kings of denmark and descent from the fairy bear,--the great white bear, the hound of hrymir, who was credited with twelve men's strength and eleven men's wit by the norsemen,--was not so strong of mind as of body; the 'eleven men's wit' of his ursine ancestor had not come down to him. he had not the indomitable spirit of harold godwinsson or hereward leofricsson, and he succumbed to the finer brain of the norman general. he had done homage to william, and had accepted the hand of william's niece judith, daughter of the conqueror's own sister adelaide, and grand-daughter of robert the devil and arlète of falaise, and, in return, the earldom which had been wrested from him was restored--the northumbrian portion of it, at least, a barren waste by fire and sword. it was whispered that he hated his foreign wife, that she henpecked him cruelly, and was but a spy set to watch all his actions. some thought the marriage, instead of binding him to william's interest, would prove his strongest incentive to revolt. however that might be, judith appeared at exning with an almost royal following, and was to fill the honourable position of 'bride-woman,' as the matron who in those days gave the bride away was then styled, and whose place is now held by the nearest male relative. another change has taken place in marriage ceremonial. then it was the duty of the bridemaids to lead the bridegroom to the altar instead of following the bride, and ralph de guader was preceded by a bevy of fair damsels, of whom eadgyth of norwich was the chief, while the bride was conducted by a party of handsome young bride-knights, almost as bravely attired as the groom himself. emma fitzosbern still clung to the norman fashions, and wore a tight-fitting kirtle of pale green samite, embroidered all over with silver thread and pearls; a silver girdle passing diagonally round the hips, richly gemmed with emeralds, from which hung a gipsire of like material. a long underskirt of salmon silk fell to her feet and trailed upon the ground behind her. her little pointed boots were of green samite, wrought with silver, and a splendid embroidered mantle, in which the colours of the kirtle and skirt were subtly blended, hung from her shoulders, and was held up by two little page boys. her auburn hair flowed over the mantle, and was bound by a silver fillet, fastened in front with one large emerald. over face and figure fell a veil of delicate cyprian crape, flowered with silver thread. green signified youth, and salmon or flesh colour typified earthly joy. her beautiful costume had been designed for her by no less a person than her uncle, the bishop of exeter, who was pleased to emulate st. dunstan by designing a lady's dress. judith, her bride-woman, on whose arm she leant, wore a robe of rich red samite heavy with gold, and ostentatiously norman in style. her tall, stately figure was as straight as an arrow, and made a splendid foil to the shrinking form of the bride. her clear-cut, cold features and sparkling steel-blue eyes wore a sarcastic and critical expression, but she acted her part with a grace and courtesy which the many who longed to pass adverse criticisms on _her_ could not but admit to be perfect. emma felt a strong repugnance to her kinswoman, the more so perhaps that judith's features and eyes reminded her of the king she was defying, and every time she met their glance, a thrill of dread and foreboding passed through her heart. the wedding procession was preceded to the church by a dozen saxon scops or bards, who sung each to the sound of his cruit, a harp having five strings, yet affording a very sweet music, and by esquires and pages strewing flowers; and the guests were led by earls waltheof and hereford, the latter with his young countess on his arm. the little church at exning would not have contained so great a company, but the fashion in those days was for the bride and bridegroom to stand on the threshold till the ceremony was almost concluded. after the wedding ring had been bestowed with due ceremony,--being placed first on the thumb and successively upon the second and fourth finger, where it was allowed to remain, that finger being supposed by the most scientific authorities of the time to be joined to the heart by a small artery,--the couple entered the sacred portal, and advanced to the altar, before which the nuptial benediction was given by the bridegroom, under cover of a square veil, held aloft by four tall knights, and termed a 'care-cloth.' wine, blessed by the officiating priest, was then poured into a splendid golden bride-cup, in which was placed a sprig of gilded rosemary, supposed to have the gift of strengthening memory and increasing tenderness, and many other good qualities. in this the bride and bridegroom pledged each other, and it was then handed round to all the guests. a wheaten cake, in token of plenty and fruitfulness, was then broken between them, from whence we derive our bride-cake. on leaving the church, the newly-made husband and wife were crowned with garlands of flowers, and the earl of hereford presented his sister with her dower. the word bridal comes from the saxon _bryd-eala_, from a custom among that people of the bride selling to each guest a tankard of foaming ale drawn from the tun by her own fair hands, the price being at first paid in kind, and consisting of a contribution to the banquet, by which means the expense of entertaining a great company was lessened for the young couple. for this simple exchange, more costly presents were substituted after a while, a part of the custom which still survives, though the bride no longer offers an equivalent. this ceremony was magnificently observed at the east anglian earl's wedding, and emma de guader dispensed the favourite saxon drink in a glorious golden beaker, which was of depth sufficient to try the wind and capacity of the gallants, as they strove to empty it without drawing breath, particularly of the normans, who were not adepts at the art of copious drinking. many and rich were the presents offered in payment, with fitting good wishes and compliments, waltheof bestowing the most superb of all, a pair of danish torcs of that beautiful gold filigree, the working of which was the special glory of the danish goldsmiths of that day, and a white bear's skin of rare beauty and value. a bountiful feast followed, pages and esquires, clad in the colours of the nobles and knights they served, presenting the dishes on the knee, one golden plate being set between each lady and gentleman; it being the duty of the latter to carve choice morsels for his fair charge with his dagger. peacocks in their feathers, crane, heron, and swan, porpoise, seal, venison, and boar's head, were amongst the delicacies offered, and the united science of saxon and norman cooks achieved some triumphs of culinary skill, we may be sure. a receipt for forcemeat which has come down to us from those days, will show they were no novices in the matter. it is to be compounded of pork, figs, and cheese, moistened with ale, seasoned with pepper and salt, and baked in a crust, garnished with powderings of sugar and comfits. all these good things were washed down with rare wines, gascon and rhenish, with hippocras and pigment spiced to suit the saxon palate, with moral and mead, cider, perry, and ale. in all, saxon profusion was united to the dainty norman cookery, and, under the influence of this heavy hospitality, the male portion of the guests grew somewhat boisterous. when the attendants brought in large saxon drinking-horns, filled with hydromel and beer, and marked with knobs of brass to indicate to what depth the guests might quaff without fear of intoxication, with cups of spiced wine for those who preferred it, the bride arose from her seat, her norman delicacy already offended by the copiousness of the potations. nevertheless, before she left, she touched her lips to one of the hugest drinking-horns and pledged the guests. then she withdrew with the ladies of the company, the countess judith casting a strange glance of contemptuous malice as she went. the bride's challenge was, as may be imagined, received with ready enthusiasm, and called forth such lusty cheering, that she had reached her bower ere it died away. before it had well ceased, the earl of hereford rose to his feet, his proud young face full of wayward triumph. 'noble earls, barons, and knights,' he said, 'who honour this board with your presence, ye have this day pledged the health of the bridegroom, my noble brother-in-law, the earl of east anglia, and ye have but now with a noble enthusiasm pledged the bride, my fair sister. i ask of you yet another pledge. drink to the marriage itself, in token that you, one and all, justify my noble brother and myself in our defiance of the mandate of the tyrant, william the bastard, who strove to hinder their union!' many a jewelled hunting-knife and _miséricorde_ flashed in the air to show that their owners accepted the bold pledge; for in those wild days, when every man's hand was against every man, it was the fashion that when two drank together, each should hold up his dagger while the other was in the defenceless position necessitated by the act of drinking. 'by the bones of king offa, the founder of st. albans, whose holy abbot frithric sits amongst us to-day, ye do well to support me!' said hereford. 'but i would have your hearts even more closely with me! to that end i ask ye to answer me a question or two, ere ye drain the cup to pledge me. shall i ask them?' 'ask them!' shouted every lusty throat around the board. 'i ask ye, then, my countrymen, you norman barons and knights, and you noble bretons, who have fought with us shoulder to shoulder, ay, and you valiant saxons, who were foemen worthy of his steel, was not my father, william fitzosbern, a good man and true?' '_oui!_' shouted the men of langued'oui, nor did the bretons or saxons gainsay them. 'did he shed his blood like water in william's cause? did he fight beside him in the thickest of the fray at hastings?' '_oui!_' shouted normans and bretons, and the saxons assented with muttered curses. 'could william have conquered his kingdom without my father's aid?' '_non!_' cried the normans. 'then, i ask, is it fitting and just that william the bastard should refuse his sanction, when william fitzosbern's son pleads for it, to the marriage of william fitzosbern's daughter with a noble english earl?' here he bowed to ralph de guader, who had risen and stood beside him. 'is it not a threefold affront to the memory of my father, to me his son, and to my noble brother-in-law, the earl of east anglia?' normans, bretons, and saxons joined in a howl of reprobation of william of normandy's conduct, the saxons delighting to find fault with the conqueror of their woeful land on any pretext, and boiling with wrath at wrongs of their own. if any dissented, their feeble voices were drowned in the outcry of indignation that stormed round the board. the cups were drained to the last drop. 'william is no rightful duke of normandy, still less doth it befit him to style himself a king,' cried a norman noble. 'he was born in adultery, and god favours not the children of sinful parents.' 'and born of mean blood!' shouted another. 'who was arlète of falaise, the tanner's daughter, that her son should be anointed king, even if he had been born in wedlock?' 'if a natural son might succeed to his father's honours,' said the earl of hereford, his face flushed with the success of his appeal, 'nicholas, abbé of st. ouen, had been duke of normandy, for he was the son of duke robert's elder brother. as nicholas was set aside on account of his birth, so should william be. guy of burgundy is the rightful heir!' 'nobles and knights of bretagne!' cried the bridegroom, less fiery than his norman brother-in-law, but speaking with a calm impressive voice, and flinging out each syllable as if it were a challenge in itself, 'ye who have so faithfully supported me in this land, which is the land of my birth, but not of yours! men of guader and montfort! ye too have shed your blood like water for the sake of this ill-born norman, who had god's own laws against him, and what reward hath he given you? lands wasted by the ravages of war, which when you have tilled he hath taken away again to bestow on those who were higher in his favour! some of your number he hath put to death! nay more! bretagne still mourns her glorious count conan, whom he slew with the coward's weapon--poison!--as he poisoned conan's father alain before him!' a low growl of wrath, terrible to hear, answered this appeal. many of the bretons sprang from their seats and bent over the table, shouting accusations against william of normandy; for ralph's cool determination was inherited from his english father; the men of lower britain were characterised generally by the hot-headedness of their welsh ancestors, which they inherited with their red hair and fiery blue eyes, and ralph had roused them. 'ay! he used that coward's weapon too on walter and his wife biota in falaise!' cried a voice above the tumult. 'remember how he banished william of mortmain for a single word, and gave his lands to arlète's son robert!' cried another. 'he is hateful to all men! his death would give joy to many!' roger of hereford whispered in the ear of the abbot of st. albans. the venerable abbot was dearly loved by the english on account of his vigorous opposition to the norman churchmen, and, in particular, to lanfranc, the italian to whom william had given the primacy, and whose untiring adversary he had been. they loved him also for his share in the heroic attempt made by hereward leofricsson to beat back the invader. the turbulent soldiers hushed their outcry as the abbot rose to his feet, and stood waiting to address them, his face seamed and furrowed by age and sorrow, and his sunken eyes gleaming with a lustre that seemed almost supernatural from beneath his snow-white brows. truly a dignified figure, in his splendid vestments, and a pathetic one also, so worn was he by suffering, so trembling was the thin right hand in which he held out the cross. 'earls, barons, and knights!' cried the old man in his eloquent preacher's voice, 'the earl of hereford, whose health ye have just pledged, has told me grievous news. know, all present, that he is an excommunicated man!' many a cheek that had hitherto been flushed with excitement blanched at that awful word; and a silence that might have been felt succeeded the passionate uproar. men cast questioning glances at their neighbours, wondering each if the other would have strength of mind either to retract or fulfil his pledges to a man under the anathema of the church, and which alternative he would choose. 'yes!' cried frithric, his voice rising clear as a bell into the silence. 'the norman church has cursed him by the mouth of that tool of william the bastard, that despoiler of saints and robber of sanctuaries, lanfranc, by the grace of that same william the bastard, archbishop of canterbury! but the english church blesses him!--the church of st. dunstan, st. eadmund, and st. cuthberht,--of the blessed martyrs Æthelric and Æthelwine,--whose holy members, archbishop stigand, bishop Æthelmær, and abbot wulfric, now languish in the dungeons of the tyrant! in the name of the english church, i here pronounce that curse invalid, and give my benediction to the man who has pity on the sufferings of a luckless race, who will help to make its oppressor bite the dust!' here he extended his thin hands over roger's bent head, and repeated the benediction. the other bishops and abbots present ratified his action, and the tension of the crisis gave way before a fresh burst of cheering, louder than any previous. then ralph de guader turned to waltheof, who had sat very quietly through all the tumult, but had shown during abbot frithric's speech evidence of rising emotion. 'valiant hero!' he said, 'hast thou no wrongs to complain of at the hands of the man who has conquered thy country, and robbed its princes and nobles of their birthrights? who has murdered or driven into exile the lawful heirs of its broad acres? hast thou no revenge to take on him who harried thy patrimony, and made it a barren waste, where even the wild beasts starve? art thou appeased because he gave thee back thy father's lands in such sorry plight?' waltheof rose to his feet like a giant newly awakened, magnificent in his slowly aroused wrath, his sinewy chest expanded, the muscles in his splendid neck knotted like whipcord, and his blue eyes sparkling with anger, so that he looked as if he were verily that thor, god of battles, whom his danish forefathers worshipped, come down to earth. he tossed his mantle back from his brawny arms, and his hands worked involuntarily, till the left sought the hilt of the jewelled hunting-knife in his baldric, and the right was extended towards the sky. his long golden moustache bristled till it stood almost straightly from either cheek, and he shook his yellow mane like a lion. 'by st. john of beverley, no!' he cried. 'the blood of starved women and children cries for justice! the spirits of men whose flesh was eaten by their fellows, after every horse and dog and cat had been devoured, call for vengeance on the harrier of northumberland! slaves rattle their chains who through him sold their freedom for food! the sated crows and ravens alone croak his praises from full maws, for they grew fat on the unburied corses of those whose dwellings he had burned and whose homesteads he had laid waste! it would be a sin to hold myself under bond to the tyrant!' the saxon thegns received this speech with wild acclaim. 'ay,' cried one from hampshire, 'and as in the north so in the south! other kings have hunted wild beasts that their subjects might not be torn with them. this scourge of god maims and slaughters his subjects that the wild beasts may live for his hunting! may his new forest prove a bane to him and his children!' 'noble waltheof,' cried ralph, 'the time is come to avenge our wrongs. william is beyond the sea with the flower of his chivalry, and hard beset by rebellions and feuds in the bosom of his family, for such a tyrant is he that his own kinsfolk hate him! it is little likely that he will come back, but if he does, it will be at a disadvantage. join us, thou whose stalwart arm struck one norman head after another from its shoulders at the gates of york!--thou who firedst the wood wherein one hundred normans sheltered, and slew them as they ventured forth like rats from a burning house! join thy twelve men's strength to ours! we three earls might be again as siward, leofric, and godwin. as if the norman had not conquered, godwin's son would have held the throne, so shall siward's son be king when we in turn have laid the norman low!' 'waltheof cyning! waes hael! waes hael!' cried the thegns. 'call not the bastard a norman!' shouted the earl of hereford. 'the normans disown him!' then said frithfic, fixing his shining, mournful eyes upon the earl of northumberland,-- 'waltheof, son of siward, let thy words be upheld by deeds! thy hand was on the plough, and thou didst turn in the furrow and make terms with the spoiler of thy land. see to it, thou failest not thy countrymen again!' turning to the earl of east anglia, he continued: 'thou also, son of ralph the staller, forget the evil teaching of thy young days, when thy heart was weaned from thy father's land. give thy manhood in amend for thy youth, and jesu pardon thee! join hands, ye two, and tender each a hand to this brave norman, whose soul revolts at the cruelties of the man whom his father served, alas! for evil as well as good! swear a solemn oath, ye three noble earls, to be true to each other, and to right this much-wronged land!' a huge cheer of assent burst from the followers of the three earls, and they joined hands and swore a great oath that they would unite to oust the tyrant from the throne, and seat thereon in his stead waltheof siwardsson. and they settled it that waltheof should bring his men from the north, and seek assistance from his old friend sweyn, king of denmark, to strengthen his hands; that hereford should arm the west, and east anglia the east, and so enclose the forces of william in a deadly triangle of hostile steel. so ended the fatal bride-ale.[ ] [ ] see appendix, note a. chapter vii. delilah shears samson. on the morning following the bride-ale, waltheof should have been early astir, to the end that he might be present at the bride-chamber to witness the presentation of the 'morning gift' from the bridegroom to the bride, according to the fashion of the times. but alas! the recreant hero lay stretched upon his cushions in the oblivion of slumber, his gigantic limbs outspread in the most complete repose, and his heavy breathing witnessing to the depth of the potations of the night before. by his couch watched judith, niece to the man against whom the english hero had raged so potently, when the generous wine had stolen away the caution that was wont to ward his speech. her magnificent attire of the previous day was laid aside, and she was dressed in a simple travelling gown of grey cloth. her face wore a strange expression of triumphant malice, as she stooped over the sleeping giant, and whenever he stirred or showed any signs of waking, she passed her cool and slender fingers over his heated forehead, and stroked back the thick golden curls that clustered on his brow, mesmerising him to sleep again with her gentle touches. the day wore on, and the sun was high in the heavens, and judith's sharp, cold face grew more and more triumphant. a time came at last, however, when even her deft fingers could no longer bind the wings of sleep, and the earl opened his blue eyes with a mighty yawn, springing into consciousness with an uneasy sense of having undertaken heavy responsibilities. for waltheof, like most giants, was lazy, and though terrible when roused, had a strong preference for quietness and peace. therefore he gave a great sigh when he remembered the vows of the night before, and wished he were well out of his hazardous undertaking. ambition had small hold of his nature, and he had far rather be an earl in peace, than a monarch who had to fight for his throne. moreover, his religious sentiments were strong, and inclined to an ascetic renunciation. judith swept back the curtain from the lattice, and let a flood of noonday light into the hitherto carefully darkened chamber. waltheof started. 'it is noon!' he said. 'why didst thou not wake me? by st. john of beverley! it was meet that i should have attended the presentation of the morning gift.' [illustration: judith watches her sleeping spouse.] judith knew that her lord was deeply moved, by his invocation of the northumbrian saint, whose name was connected with all the wrongs that he preferred to forget when he was in an amiable mood. yet she answered calmly, and with scorn in her voice, 'who can wake a drunken man?' and the champion who had struck off the heads of the norman warriors, one after another, with a single blow of his terrible seax, at the gates of york, was so ignominiously under the rule of his norman wife, that he swallowed his wrath and made no reply. judith made haste to improve her advantage, and to carry the war into the enemy's camp. 'how i hate these saxon excesses!' she continued; 'only befitting barbarians, lowering men below the level of the brutes, who eat when they are hungry, and drink when they are thirsty, and abstain when want is satisfied. thou madest not a fair picture, waltheof, lying sprawled out and insensible in thy tipsy sleep, a prey to any evil creature who had chanced to come thy way. cyning of the saxons, indeed! learn first to be king of thine own appetites!' waltheof started, and his brows knitted over his still heavy eyes. 'how knewest thou that, witch of endor?' he demanded. 'nay, thou hast experience that the spirits of the air are at my beck, and that my power serves me to gain knowledge of all that concerns my dearly-beloved spouse,' returned judith, with a sneer. 'sorceress! i believe, in sooth, thou art leagued with the devil!' quoth waltheof furiously, and his expression was no metaphor. he was superstitious by nature, and his sharp-witted wife had done her utmost to impress him with the notion that her intellectual gifts were replenished from supernatural sources. hence her power over him. 'but i tell thee, thou hadst better never have been born than meddle in this concern of thy husband's. for this concern, is the concern not of my poor unworthy self, but of my country, of my people! and i tell thee, foreign harridan, i had liefer strangle thee with mine own hands than be frustrated!' ''tis pity,' quoth judith calmly, 'since the matter is marred already.' 'what meanest thou, viper?' shouted waltheof, fully aroused and springing to his feet, and advancing towards judith with a threatening gesture, his mighty fist, which could have struck the life from her frail body at a blow, clenched into an iron ball, and the knots in his massive throat working with nervous excitement. but judith faced him unmoved, her proud face flashing with scorn. for the blood of robert the devil and arlète of falaise was hot in her veins, and perhaps she opined, also, that even in his wrath her heroic lord was too generous to hurt her. she did not quail before him but stood looking at him with her defiant, steadfast eyes. 'slay me if thou wilt,' she said, without a falter in her tone. 'that which is done cannot be undone. my death will not hinder the stout messenger that sped through the night, ere thou hadst reeled from the banquet to thy chamber, from bearing the news of thy treason to lanfranc. in vain wilt thou seek to overtake him, for he hath nigh a twelve hours' start, and he is mounted on thine own spanish destrier, the swiftest steed in england--william's gift!' the oath with which waltheof answered was too terrible for repetition. he sprang at his wife, and clutched her slender throat with his strong fingers, as if he were in very truth about to execute his threat and strangle her. she stood like a statue, though the weight of his hands upon her shoulders almost bore her to the ground. 'my people are as dear to me as thine to thee,' she said, expecting the death-grip to follow her bold speech. 'thou hast sworn fealty to william, nay, thou hast done him homage, and put thy hands between his and vowed to be his man; thou hast married me, his niece! the struggle and the bloodshed are over, the normans and saxons should be one, and thou wouldst renew the strife and divide them again!' with a moan like that of a wounded bull, the son of siward cast the grand-daughter of robert the devil from him, and, covering his face with his hands, threw himself back on his couch in an agony of thwarted and impotent rage. 'hadst thou been a man!' he muttered,--'hadst thou been a man, that i could do battle with thee hand to hand!' 'had i been a man, waltheof,' said judith softly kneeling on one knee beside her prostrate warrior,--'had i been a man, waltheof, i had not been here to save thee, and thy country, and thy people from the consequences of thy drunken folly. holy mary be praised that made me a woman! waltheof, what is thy love for thy people, if thou wouldst plunge them again in blood and fire for the vain hope of satisfying an impossible ambition? was not the harrying of northumberland enough, that thou wouldst have the whole country ravaged from north to south?' no man of many words was the hero of york, and his only reply to this eloquent appeal was to mutter an occasional curse in his beard, nor did he raise his face from the pillows among which he had plunged it. 'i tell thee,' judith went on, 'william would harry the land from york to hastings, as he harried it from durham to york, rather than lose it from his grip. and thinkest thou that he whom harold godwinsson could not baulk nor drive from the land ere one norman castle or stronghold was built in it, though he had the full force of the saxon chivalry at his back, could be so easily ousted from the saddle into which he has climbed, now the most part of the nation are dead, or ruined and torn by dissensions and rivalry? thinkest thou i would not gladly be a queen if there were any hope of such an ending to thine exploit? but seeing it not, i have chosen rather to endeavour to save thy life.' 'save my life? thou hast rather lost it! say'st thou not that thou hast betrayed me to lanfranc?' he raised his head at last, and looked her in the face. 'nay, waltheof!' answered judith, softly laying her slender hand upon his huge shoulder. 'the foreign harridan loves her husband! i would save thee, not destroy thee. the letter was couched in thy name and sealed with thy seal, and so writ as though thou hadst but seemed to join the plot the better to discomfit the king's enemies.' 'thou fiend infernal!' cried waltheof, starting up again in an agony. 'hast thou so dared to sully my good name?--to paint me so black a traitor?' 'softly, my husband! the vow that is first made counts most binding. i would save thy name from the foul stain of treachery to thy generous liege-lord, william of normandy, to whom thou didst homage in person on the banks of the tees, coming of thine own free will to tender it, and accepting his forgiveness, his friendship, and the hand of his kinswoman. yes--the hand of thy poor wife judith, who would fain lead thee back to thy nobler self.' the logic of this speech bore heavily on waltheof, who threw himself down again upon the couch with a curse and a moan. 'would that the sun had never risen on the day i first saw light!' he muttered. judith stretched out her hand and raised the golden crucifix which was suspended by a chain from her husband's neck, so that it was on a level with his eyes. 'though we be of two nations, waltheof,' she said gently, 'we are servants of one lord. the abbot who bade thee plunge thy country afresh in blood and fire is no true priest of god. and for my countryman, roger of hereford, thinkest thou lanfranc excommunicated him for nought?--lanfranc, who loved him as a son. wouldst thou associate with one accursed? what motive can he have in this save the slaking of his over-weening pride? as for the breton, or the englishman, or whatsoever he be called, ralph of guader, he who fought against his people at hastings can have little spur save his own ambition. wilt thou be the tool of such as these? i tell thee, waltheof, if thou by timely return to thy sober senses dost frustrate the plottings of these men, thy memory will be green in the pages of the chroniclers, but if thou dost strengthen them in their folly, the ages will curse thee. without thee they are powerless. it is thy name they conjure with, son of siward. what saxon would fight for roger of hereford, the son of their mightiest foe, or for the renegade, half-bred ralph de guader? go now to lanfranc, throw thyself at his feet, and all bloodshed will be stopped.' and waltheof groaned, and kissed the crucifix as she held it to his lips, for he was deeply religious after the wild manner of his times; humble in his faith, and little dreaming that the saxon church he loved so well would one day account him a martyr, and accord the power of miracle-working to the tomb in which his headless corse would repose, the trysting-place of countless pilgrims. 'i would not willingly bring further suffering on my unhappy country,' he said thoughtfully. a gleam of triumph passed over the face of judith, for the fury was gone from his voice, and she knew that she had conquered. chapter viii. knight-errant and mercenary. sir aimand de sourdeval, after he had been forbidden by eadgyth of norwich to wear her colours openly in his helm at the tourney, had cast about in his mind for some means of so bearing them that she should be aware that he did so, and she alone. accordingly, he had a new device blazoned on his shield,--a star shining from a band of blue sky between two barriers of sable cloud, with the motto, '_l'espérance vit dans le bleu_,' blue being the colour most affected by eadgyth, and to be worn by her, he knew, at the bride-ale. this shield he bore with brilliant fortune in the joust, and plied his lance so well that the highest prize was awarded to him, a lady's bracelet gleaming with many gems, which emma fitzosbern handed to him with a bright smile; while eadgyth, who stood behind her, thrilled with pleasure and pride that the knight who had placed his valour at her disposal had so worthily acquitted himself, though it was but a painful pleasure, since she deemed that an impassable gulf divided them, and she grieved to see how, without wearing any token openly, sir aimand still contrived to carry her colours. the ingenuity of the homage touched eadgyth to the quick, for she was no coquette, and had no wish that a gallant youth should waste his breath in vain sighs for her favour. so, when emma with a gracious compliment crowned sir aimand with laurel, and handed him the prize he had won away from the many dexterous lances and strong arms which had contended for it, eadgyth's eyes were full of ruth, and sir aimand, seeing them, grew suddenly glad at heart. 'nay, noble emma,' he said, declining to take the bracelet from her hand. 'though my lady's eyes are as bright as the jewels that stud this golden circlet, they look not upon me with favour, neither may i wear her token in mine helm, nor place my trophies at her feet. bestow the prize, therefore, upon one of thy fair damsels whose small wrist, peradventure, it may be of size to suit.' so saying, he descended into the lists again, mounted his steed, and rode away amid the cheers of the spectators. emma turned to the maiden beside her, and bade her hold out her wrist. 'i believe shrewdly the bracelet will fit thee,' she said; and eadgyth, blushing, was obliged to obey, and saw the jewelled circlet blazing round her arm with strangely mingled feelings of triumph and sorrow. on the day of the bride-ale, it fell to the lot of sir aimand, as the youngest knight in ralph de guader's following, to keep ward over the sentries of the camp, and necessarily, therefore, to be absent from the banquet. so, while his chief was pledging his guests with pledges of dire import, and men were feasting and revelling and vowing mad vows to help each other's treason, and follow the three great earls in their wild enterprise, the unconscious knight of sourdeval was riding through the starlit night from outpost to outpost, passing the watchword himself had chosen for the night. '_corage é bonne conscience_,' he said, as he proved each post. '_fait tout homme fort é fier_,' answered each sentry. for sir aimand, it must be admitted, was of a romantic cast of mind, and threw himself heart and soul into the fantastic images of chivalry which were then being evolved by the brightest spirits of the age, and never lost an opportunity of enforcing a good maxim, if it were only in so small a matter as a watchword. his young head was as full of schemes for the reformation and improvement of the world as that of any modern socialist; and, having lately met a palmer who had returned from a visit to the holy sepulchre, he had fallen a-dreaming on his chances of ever being able to travel thither himself, a project which had haunted him for a long time with more or less persistence, and which had started into prominence again in his mind since eadgyth had given so discouraging an answer to his suit. being profoundly religious, he had been inclined to believe that her answer was guided by heaven to lead him back to the less worldly scheme which had so filled his heart before he met her, and which he must have laid aside for an indefinite period, if not for ever, if she had consented to wed him; and he found comfort for his wounded love in the thought that he was, perhaps, to attain a higher spiritual life through the denial of earthly joy. so, as he rode under the sparkling sky, his breast was full of a tender resignation, and the thought that he was guarding the lady of his love caused him a quiet satisfaction. he liked to feel that he was serving her, and vowed to serve her no less zealously that she had forbidden him ever to expect guerdon, and made all manner of silent vows to prove himself worthy of the love he had asked, and to live knight-like and piously, and do his _devoir_ to god and man. so noble a frame of mind might well bring forth fruit of song, and as he rode he hummed snatches of a _lai_ which had taken his fancy a few weeks before, when he heard it from the lips of the author, a gallant minstrel, who, like taillefer the famous, was also a knight of goodly prowess, and was devoted to the nobler branches of the _joyeuse science_. sir aimand sang but snatches to the jingle of scabbard and harness, but this was the poem at length:-- the whyte ladye. i. sir bors went riding past a shrine, and there a mayd her griefe did tyne. _o sweet marye!_ a lilye maid with cheekes all pale, and garments whyte, and snowy veil, shee bitterly did weepe and wail. _o dear marye!_ ii. sir bors beheld, and straight hys brest for pitye 'gainst his hauberke prest. _o sweet marye!_ 'ladye,' quod hee, 'i love thee soe, that i toe deth wold gladlye goe, if i might ease thy cruel woe!' _o dear marye!_ iii. shee answered, 'in a robber's hold lies chained a comlye knight and bold.' _o sweet marye!_ 'mine herte is fulle of dysmal dred lest hee be foully done to dedde, for i have promised him to wedde!' _o dear marye!_ iv. then grew sir bors as white as shee, and never answer answered hee. _o sweet marye!_ a cruel stound didde pierce his brest, yet soothly laid hee lance in rest, and parted instant on his quest. _o dear marye!_ v. and whilom found the robber's hold, and freed the comlye knight and bold. _o sweet marye!_ and sette him on his own good steed (though inwardly his wounds did bleed), and stript his hauberke for his need, that he might be in knight-like weed. _o dear marye!_ vi. and ran before him in the mire, that hee might fitlye have a squire. _o sweet marye!_ then when they reacht the lilye maid, 'behold thy comlye knight!' he said, and saw her chaunge from white to redde, then, smiling, at her feet fell dedde. _o dear marye!_ as sir aimand hummed his song, a secret joy came to his heart, for he felt that although his plight was sad, being distasteful to his lady for his country's sake, at least no 'comlye knight and bold' of any other nation, saxon or breton, had forestalled him in her regard; of that he felt doubly assured, for, in the first place, if it had been so, he felt convinced that eadgyth would have frankly avowed it, when he begged her permission to show himself at the tourney as her knight; and secondly, the expression he had surprised on her face when he had refused to take the prize bracelet. suddenly these dreams were interrupted. the soldier banished the lover. sir aimand checked his horse, and stiffened into rigidity, like a pointer scenting game. trot! trot! trot! the beat of a horse's tread leaving the camp at a rapid pace sounded through the darkness. sir aimand struck spurs into his own gallant destrier, and dashed forward in the direction he judged the horseman was taking, endeavouring to intercept him by cutting off an angle. the trot changed into a gallop, and though the norman knight even caught sight of a dark figure hurrying through the gloom, he soon found that his steed was no match for the one he was pursuing; but judith's messenger had a narrow escape. returning to the camp, de sourdeval questioned the sentries; but, finding that the horseman had issued from the quarter occupied by the northumbrians in the retinue of earl waltheof, over which he had no jurisdiction, he was forced unwillingly to let the matter rest. meanwhile the camp had grown quiet. the sounds of revelry and the mighty chorus which from time to time had burst from the palace--sir aimand little guessed their dire import--had ceased, and the silence was only broken by the occasional neigh of a horse, or whinny from some of the mules belonging to the ecclesiastical guests, or the clash of a sentinel's spear against his shield and jingle of his harness as he paced his post, or perhaps some wandering owl hooting at the disturbers of his accustomed hunting-grounds. the east grew red with dawn, and sir aimand was relieved from his watch by the knight next on duty, and went towards his own pavilion to rest. as he passed the quarters of the breton knights in the east anglian earl's following, he was hailed by a group who were still lingering at the entrance of one of the pavilions, and talking together rather noisily of the events of the evening. some few of the bretons were vassals to ralph de guader, holding lands under him on his estates of guader and montfort, but the greater number were adventurers whom the earl had gathered round him, when he had determined to defy the mandate of william against his marriage. these men were under the leadership of one alain de gourin, a bold and reckless soldier of fortune, whose guiding principle was the lining of his own purse and the obtaining a full share of the fat of whatsoever land he might be living in. between this swashbuckler and de sourdeval but little love was lost, the norman deeming the breton a ruffian, and the breton despising the norman as a prig, so a smothered enmity was always between them. therefore it was with no great alacrity that sir aimand answered de gourin's hail, especially as he guessed very shrewdly that the bretons had not returned very steady-headed from the banquet. 'gramercy, sir aimand! thou hast been out of the world these six hours,' cried de gourin, who had inherited the physical traits of his welsh forefathers, having blue, bulging eyes, and light eyelashes, and truly celtic flaming red hair, and was of a tall, wiry figure, and capable of immense endurance, his age being about fifty. 'come hither, lad! we have such news for thee as will make thy heart beat faster, if thou hast the love of a true knight for the clash of steel and the hope of glory! beshrew me! the man who knows how to wield his weapon will have a chance to carve his way to fortune e'er many months are past and gone!' here a knight whispered to him rather anxiously. 'tush! sir aimand had been at the banquet save for the need of keeping ward on the camp,' answered sir alain. 'i would have the pleasure of seeing his delight!' he added, with a coarse laugh, and half forced the norman to enter the tent with him, when, pouring out a goblet of gascon, he challenged sir aimand to pledge the enterprise. 'nay! first i must know what it is,' said the norman. 'to unseat that upstart and usurper, william the bastard, from his ill-gotten seat on the throne of england, and to put a better man in his place,' answered sir alain in a hectoring tone; 'and to win for ourselves such good shares of the lands as is due to our valorous lances.' sir aimand started back, looking fixedly at the breton, and his hand instinctively sought his sword-hilt; but in a moment he regained his composure. 'methinks the earl's somewhat ponderous saxon hospitality has turned thy hot brains a bit, sir alain,' he said contemptuously. 'neither thou nor i are likely to drink that pledge!' sir alain smiled at him with an evil smile, but he kept his temper. 'st. nicholas! but every man here has drunk it this evening, and every man who sat at ralph de guader's marriage board; and, sooth to say, if thou hadst been present to hear the list of that same william's crimes that were brought up against him, methinks so virtuous a knight as thyself had drunk it too, with a rider to vow that such vermin were best exterminated from the earth.' 'it is true, de sourdeval! all drank the pledge,--normans, bretons, and saxons,' chorused the knights around. 'we are under oath to pull william from the throne and set up waltheof in his stead.' 'it cannot be!' cried sir aimand, overwhelmed. 'it is treachery! the earl cannot be guilty of such baseness!' 'and who art thou to stigmatise as baseness what so many men as good as thee hold fit and good?' chorused the bretons. 'by the rood! ye are scarcely fair to the lad,' said one somewhat more sober than his companions. 'the communication is sudden, to say the least. neither did he hear the eloquent catalogue of william's faults which wrought our blood to the boiling point.' 'nor would i have listened to a word of it!' cried sir aimand fiercely. 'i would have thrown down my gauntlet had it been the earl himself who traduced his liege lord and king! and what were ye for leal knights, fair sirs, that ye gave ear to such treason?' 'look ye, my galliard,' said alain de gourin contemptuously, 'i should advise you to drop that hero of romaunt strain, for it is a little out of fashion here and now. by my halidom, thou wilt scarce find a foot-page in the whole camp that will support thee! the fell-monger's grandson has carried his tyrannies a little too far even for the patient stomachs of his servile normans at last; and as for us bretons, we have long bided our time to pay him out for those dishes of italian soup to which he treated counts alain and conan.' 'i will never drop the strain whilst i have breath in my body!' said sir aimand stoutly. 'perhaps, when the morning comes, it will be you who will pipe to a different tune, fair sirs. let me pass, gentlemen; i would go to my pavilion.' 'not so fast!' answered sir alain, interposing his bulky person betwixt de sourdeval and the door of the tent. 'not until thou hast drunk the pledge! it would be scarce politic to let loose so puissant a knight while he declares himself hostile to our enterprise.' sir alain and the most part of the bretons were in their banqueting robes, armed only with swords and daggers, but a half-dozen, at least, had prepared for duty, and were in full harness, and these closed round their leader, and barred sir aimand's retreat. 'sirs,' said de sourdeval, 'ye are six to one, without counting unarmed men. if you stand not at treason to your king-lord, ye will scarce be particular in giving fair play to one who is true to him. but i tell you that ye shall not force _me_ into complicity with your traitorous plans if ye hack every limb from my body. and i will sell my life dearly, since every blow i strike will be for my liege as well as for myself.' 'thou young fool!' returned de gourin, 'we have no wish to hurt a hair of thy head. thou needest not drink the pledge if it irks thee, but for our own sakes we must shut thy mouth in one way or other. resistance to such odds is madness. yield thyself a prisoner, and the worst that will befall thee is a limited sphere of action till such time as we can honourably exchange thee against any of our members who may get into william's clutches.' 'honourably!' repeated sir aimand furiously. 'when the combat is begun by throwing honour and devoir and all knightly fairness to the winds!' 'by the devil's own horns! thou carriest the matter too far for my patience!' cried de gourin. 'fight for it, then, if thou wilt!' drawing his sword, he made a tremendous blow at sir aimand, who parried without returning it. 'i fight not with unarmed men!' said sir aimand, and obtained a cheer from the onlookers, who dropped the points of their own swords, as if rather ashamed of the business. 'nay, if thou likest it better, and none of these men will suit thee, i will go and put on my harness,' said de gourin. 'it is not i who hesitate!' flung back sir aimand, for his blood was up, and he threw prudence to the winds. 'well crowed, sir victor of the tourney!' cried sir alain mockingly. 'thou hast already unhorsed singly more than one of us, why shouldst thou be awed by our combination? sir mordred here cut a shrewdly laughable figure when thy thrust caught his jowl two days agone! methinks his teeth must chatter yet! no wonder he pauses before attacking so doughty a champion!' sir mordred, stung by the taunt, advanced on de sourdeval and attacked him fiercely; but the norman held his own, surpassing him both in strength and skill; and in a few moments sir mordred fell to the ground, cured for ever of the toothache or any other ache that flesh is heir to. his comrades, with a savage howl, closed on sir aimand, and, overwhelmed by numbers, he was borne down, and lay senseless and bleeding beside his slain foe. meanwhile judith's messenger was speeding on his way to the primate, while the unfortunate knight who had striven so hard to stop him was thus foully entreated, lest he should himself be the bearer of some such message. chapter ix. norwich. after the bride-ale the splendid company parted, mainly in three great divisions: earl waltheof and his following to the north; earl roger to the west; earl ralph with his bride, his norman knights, and breton vassals and mercenaries, his anglo-saxon vassals and sympathisers, to the east; a few minor parties of independent barons, knights, and thegns going their several ways. the earl of norfolk and suffolk and his train rode forth along the old roman ikenield street, which ran then an uninterrupted course from within a few miles of exning to norwich. de guader rode beside his young countess on a gentle _hacquenée_, which paced quietly beside her palfrey, and did not break in upon their converse by any pranks of his own, his squire leading the fiery oliver, and an attendant following with a mule carrying his armour, lance, and spear. it may well be supposed that the noble bridegroom spared no pains to make the time pass pleasantly for his young countess, which, under the circumstances, was no difficult task, for the mid-may weather was delightful, and whether they rode over heaths or through the forests, which then spread over the greater part of the country, they were surrounded with flowers and the song of birds. the yellow gorse was gorgeous in the open, filling the air with its almond scent, and the whin-chats fluttered from bush to bush, trying to lure them away from the spot that hid their nests. overhead the larks carolled and the sparrow-hawks poised motionless, while round and about them darted the busy swallows. where they passed a homestead, fruit-trees were gay with blossom, apple and cherry and pear, and the sweet-breathed kine were standing in the meadows, knee-deep in the flower-jewelled grasses, for was it not _tri-milki_, the month when cows are milked thrice in the day, according to the quaint old anglo-saxon calendar? now and again they met a shepherd with a flock of ewes and lambs, or, more often, the inevitable saxon swineherd with his grunting pigs. but alas! they passed more often the blackened ruins where a homestead had once been, for the curse of war had desolated the land. over the thatchless rafters hung the white branches of the flowering may, the more like snow, because no girlish fingers had stripped them to deck maypoles. they journeyed also through many a mile of forest land, where the great trees interlaced their boughs into the beautiful arches which the gothic architect imitated so well in stone, and the wild birds thronged in undisturbed security, countless in kind and number, and the antlered stags trotted nimbly down the glades. the greenwood in those days, however, had its dangers as well as its delights. wolves and boars and wild cattle shared its shelter with the feathered songsters; and more formidable still were the indomitable saxons, who had sought refuge in the wilderness, and made war without mercy on such of the conquering race as trespassed on their domain. many a saxon thegn, who had lost house and land in the great struggle against the norman invader, had retired into the woods, and there lived the life of a freebooter, some taking with them not only their families, but their vassals and retainers. to be an outlaw was accounted an honour by these men, who would not acknowledge the right of the law-makers to command. they swarmed even under the walls of the norman castles, and harassed the conquerors continually. retaliation was sanguinary, and the unarmed peasants were punished under pretext that they harboured the outlaws. in return, the kings of the forest attacked the english households who favoured the normans, and every house was fortified to resist a siege, and stores of arms and food were laid in; at night the head of the family read aloud the form of prayer then used at sea in a storm, praying 'the lord bless and help us,' to which all present answered 'amen.' but the strong and well-armed retinue that accompanied the earl of east anglia's party assured safety, and the most timid amongst the ladies could fear no harm while surrounded by so many gallant knights in all the pride and panoply of glorious war! they made a goodly sight as they moved along, the sunshine flashing on their mail hauberks and high-peaked steel saddles, and the wind fluttering the gonfalons on their lances, their well-appointed horses snorting and curvetting, a strong body of men-at-arms, bowmen, and slingers following afoot. doubtless many a saxon serf and bordar cursed them as they passed, not knowing that the powerful earl who led them had avowed himself champion of the saxon cause, and meant once more to raise the standard of revolt. doubtless many a stout forester peered at them from behind the shelter of green leaves, and raged with impotent anger at their strength. perhaps others greeted them with courtesy and proffers of friendship and offerings of game, for the outlaws contrived to be wonderfully well informed of the march of events, and de guader was keenly alive to the desirability of making all possible allies amongst the scattered english, and did not neglect the brave spirits who had taken to the wilds rather than submit, and who wielded so strong a weapon in possessing the love of the common people. however that might have been, they journeyed safely through wood and wold, going slowly to suit the comfort of the ladies, and the capacity of the sumpter mules, and revelling in the bright spring weather. amongst the knights who pressed round them eadgyth looked in vain for the figure of sir aimand de sourdeval. emma, happy with her bridegroom, took no notice of his absence, till, on the second day of their journey, the earl having left her side to give some necessary orders to his train, she saw that eadgyth was sad and silent, and remembered that the hero of the tourney had not appeared in the ranks of their escort. she surmised that it was likely he had purposely avoided companionship which could only lead to pain, and had contrived to fulfil some other duty; so, when the earl rode up to her side again, she put some light question to him regarding the knight, and was surprised to see his face grow dark as thunder. he answered briefly, however, that sir aimand was detained on business of weight, and emma, rather perplexed, did not venture to question him further. at the moment the jester grillonne ambled up, mounted on a piebald nag with a chuckle-head and goose-rump, and cut capers which made both earl and countess laugh, so that the poor knight of sourdeval was banished from emma's thoughts. on the evening of the fourth day they came in sight of the churches and trees of norwich, with the newly-built castle blauncheflour rising in stately strength above them (for no cathedral spire dwarfed it then), the brilliant beams of the setting sun gilding its snowy towers, and lighting the square mass of the lofty keep, which still, after eight hundred years of war and weather, stands firm and solid on its throne above the city.[ ] [ ] see appendix, note b. emma exclaimed in delight when she first came in sight of this goodly castle, which brought home to her pleasantly the power and wealth of her noble husband. 'a garrison of five hundred might hold it for ever!' cried ralph enthusiastically, 'if only manna would fall from the skies to feed them, or that they might be fed by a san graal. that reminds me, sweet, thou wilt like to hear my minstrel tell the story of blauncheflour, who was the betrothed of percivale, the searcher for the graal. the fair white walls, faced with goodly caen stone, seemed to me in their invincible dignity to resemble a pure maiden, so i named them after her.' norwich in those days was surrounded by broad and deep streams, at least five times as wide as its present modest rivers, and the chroniclers of edward the confessor's day record that the fisher-folk suffered terribly through the receding of the waters. a sandbank some distance out at sea was just emerging where yarmouth now stands, and sea-going vessels could make their way past the walls of blauncheflour. the level of the water was many feet above its present mark, and the castle was surrounded, and rendered very strong, by deep ditches of early british construction, on a similar scheme to those traced at rising, castleacre, and many other places, where norman architects had availed themselves of the earthworks constructed by earlier peoples. the castle was surrounded by the circular moat which still exists, while a large horseshoe fosse extended to the south, covering the great gate of the castle, which was at the foot of the existing bridge, which is of saxon construction, and measures forty feet in the span, being the largest remaining arch raised by that people. the great gate was a strong and imposing structure, and had four towers, two at the base and two at the top of the bridge, and was the only entrance to the upper ballium, which was guarded by eleven strong towers, and contained various halls and lodgings, beside the great keep, which is all that remains to us. the fortress might well look imposing, with its moats and earthworks, strengthened by strong palisadings of wood, its formidable walls and gate-houses dominated by the great square tower, with many a pennon waving from the topmost points, and warders marching to and fro on the battlements, their glittering mail shining in the sun. norwich was not a city then, the see of the bishop of east anglia being at elmham, but there was a monastic church called christ's church where the present cathedral stands, and the bishop had a palace on the site of the well-known maid's head inn of the present, the walls of which were lapped by the river. herfast, who held the see from to , had been chaplain to william the conqueror when he was duke of normandy. it may be that he somewhat favoured ralph de guader, or chose to be blind to the doings of the turbulent earl, for, though norman of the normans, he bitterly hated lanfranc, who had once exposed his ignorance to pitiless scorn, and who unsparingly denounced his vices, bidding him 'to give over dice-playing, not to speak of graver misconduct, in which you are said to waste the whole day;' and bade him 'study theology and the decrees of the roman pontiffs, and to give especial attention to the sacred canons.' also to 'dismiss certain monks of evil reputation.' at all events, he does not appear to have been an active opponent to the east anglian earl, and it may be that he was not sorry that the archbishop he so much disliked should have a little trouble during his time of temporal power. in the domesday survey, made eleven years later, , fifty-four churches are recorded, and burgesses and bordars were among the inhabitants. the town was probably larger in , as it suffered much during the subsequent siege, and many an entry of '_wasta_,' '_wasta_,' '_wasta_,' bears testimony to the sorrow ralph de guader brought upon the place. where the busy market-place is now, spread broad meadows for the castle use, called the magna crofta or castle fee, and through them ran a stream, having its rise on all saints' green, and flowing across the present site of davey place to the river. the quiet quaker burial ground occupies the jousting acre, or gilden croft, where many a noble knight gave or received a broken head in sheer good fellowship and amiable love of fighting; and many a fair lady encouraged the giver with smiles, or wept for the receiver. so the lovers of peace sleep calmly under the sod that once was trampled by the eager steeds of the men-at-arms. such was the norwich to which ralph de guader brought home his bride; and, as they entered it, the knights in their retinue pricked their jaded steeds and stirred their mettle, that they might prance sufficiently gaily. the trumpeters flourished their trumpets, to give notice to the good people that their earl and his bride were approaching, and, though travel-stained and weary, the cavalcade made a brave appearance. rich and poor, normans, saxons, danes, flemings, and jews, all of which nations were represented in the town,--the last-named having made their first appearance therein at the heels of the norman invaders, and being hated accordingly,--crowded into the streets to welcome and admire the bride and bridegroom, or, at the least, to render that homage which circumstances rendered politic. for it must be remembered that the dignity of the powerful earl of east anglia was almost royal. the feudal king was 'first among peers,' and the earls came next to him; even so late as the reign of queen elizabeth the parliamentary formula of royal speeches was, 'my right loving lords, and you, my right faithful and obedient subjects.' the 'ykenilde weie' entered norwich where afterwards stood the brazen doors, passing by all saints' green to the castle hill; the cavalcade so entering what was called the new burg, consisting of norman dwellings erected since the conquest, which, then as now, took its name from the chapel in the field, and included the parishes of st. giles and st. stephen's. here the enthusiasm was effusive, and a well-dressed populace waved caps of rich fur in the air, while silken hangings and gay banners waved from the windows. it was with mingled feelings that eadgyth of norwich re-entered her birthplace in the train of the norman lady. all her loving recollections were embittered by the sight of changes that reminded her of the sufferings of her people and the ruin of their cause, and the tears came into her eyes when she compared the welcoming crowd of foreigners that shouted around her with the scenes stamped on her childish memory, when she had seen the stalwart danes and saxons gather to greet harold godwinsson, and heard their loud 'waes hael!' storms of anger and jealous misery moved her as she passed through the new burg, for the smart dwellings on each side of the street had all been built since the conquest, and showed the wealth of the invader. as they approached the castle, her heart sank more and more. it seemed to her as if its heavy foundations had been laid upon her breast, so cruelly did it bring home to her the strength of the yoke which was riveted upon the necks of her people. for in architecture more than in any art did the normans excel the people they conquered, and though the moats had been there when harold was earl, the fortress within them was but a rude structure. when they reached the castle gate, a lively scene was enacted. the garrison marched down to salute the earl and his bride, led by the castellan on a prancing charger, and forming in glittering lines on either side the bale. there were companies of archers clad in mail coats reaching halfway to the knee, over which they wore jerkins of stout leather, their ell-long shafts stuck through their belts, and their bows of yew, ash, witch-hazel, or elm, held in their right hands, and capable of despatching the arrows to a distance of from to yards, with little steel-caps on their heads shaped much like the prim head-coverings worn by the puritan maidens of later times; and men-at-arms, shining from head to foot in chain mail, or with little steel rings sewn thickly upon leather, armed with straight swords about a yard in length, and wearing helms like upset saucers; others less heavily armed, bearing oval shields and long lances, their shoulders and chests protected by glittering capes of scale armour; and others again, still more slightly armed, with lighter lances, and small round shields not larger than dinner-plates, with which to baulk a lance thrust; slingers, with light tunics reaching to the knee, and little or no armour, their weapon a long pole provided with a loop, from which the practised hand could sling stones with great force and precision. a good two-thirds of the archers and slingers were bretons; for the men of bretagne were famed bowmen, and furnished the chief contingent of the archers who did so much execution at senlac. besides these there were the engineers, who worked the mangonels and catapults, and a large troop of smiths and armourers, whose duty it was to repair with hammer and anvil the damage done by wear and war to the accoutrements of these various gentry,--in all some two to three hundred men. they rent the air with a great cheer, as they formed in line before the earl and countess and their retinue; and the castellan, sir hoël de st. brice, a knight who had grown grey in the service of the lords of guader and montfort, and who had fought under the father of ralph's breton mother, gave the cue, with a compliment to the bride. 'long live the daughter of william fitzosbern!' he cried, whereat the soldiers cheered again. emma smiled and bowed, and tried to pay them equal compliments in return. 'with such a castle, and such gallant defenders,' she said, 'fear would be impossible, even if the blood of the veriest coward ran in her veins instead of that of a hero.' whereat they gave still louder cheers, and vowed that they would spend every drop of their blood to defend her if need were. then the earl treated them to a little harangue. 'he knew they meant what they said,' he told them, 'for he had seen them fight, not only from behind stone walls, but hand to hand on the field of hastings;' and added, 'that he was glad he knew their metal, for perhaps it would be rung sooner than they looked for.' an announcement received with vociferous delight by the wild men of war, who scarce thought life worth living in time of peace, and looked to the giving and taking of shrewd blows both for amusement and fortune, caring little in what cause they were bestowed. while this took place, eadgyth had turned her eyes to the south-east, the old portion of the town looking over to the thorpe marshes, where the bright mary buds 'had oped their golden eyes,' and the willows were white with catkins, and the thorpe woods were in their fresh verdure. an overwhelming sense of desolation came upon her as she marked the old familiar objects among which her childhood had been passed--and more forcibly as she noted the absence of others. she drew her veil across her face, lest it should be seen that she was weeping. the cavalcade moved on again, sir hoël riding by the earl's side. they passed into the northern end of king street, and so to the ancient palace of the east anglian earls, which stood where the st. ethelbert gate is now, and had a chapel dedicated to that saint, who had been a king of the east angles. he was murdered by offa, king of mercia, at the instigation of his wife quendrida. the head of the victimised prince rolled down as his body was being carried away; a blind man stumbled over it, and, accidentally touching his eyeballs with the blood, received his sight again. a well sprang up where the head fell. so runs the legend. at the palace they were received by a gaily-clad host of servants and retainers. brave squires and smart pages, portly bursar and anxious steward, cellarers, cooks, and scullions; stately dames and pretty bower-maidens, tirewomen, dairy and grinding-maids (for in those days windmills had not been invented, so 'woman's sphere' included the grinding of flour in a hand-mill),--these, and many more, stood waiting in order of their rank, and dressed in their bravest apparel. behind the earl's household was a still larger company of socmen and slaves from the nine manors which william of normandy had bestowed on ralph de guader when he gave him the east anglian earldom, making altogether a goodly crowd of retainers; and we may guess how they all strained forward to catch the first glimpse of the noble young bride their lord was bringing home, and how emma, though well used to homage, was glad to bow her fair head under excuse of courtesy, and so hide her glowing face from so many curious eyes. on the plain before the palace, opposite st. michael's chapel (tombland), six fine beeves were roasting whole for the entertainment of the populace, and a tun of wine and several fat barrels of ale were broached, wherewith throats that had grown hoarse with shouting welcome should be refreshed. so came emma, countess of norfolk and suffolk, to her new home in norwich, where she was to spend but a few short months full of terror, suffering, and sorrow, and by her bearing under misfortune to prove herself the worthy daughter of her noble sire, and to be known in the pages of history as the heroine of the most romantic incident in the annals of norwich castle. chapter x. lanfranc, primate of all england. waltheof, instead of continuing his journey northward, left his retinue privily, and, with as small a following as the state of the country rendered imperative, made his way to canterbury and craved audience of the primate, appealing to him in the double capacity of a spiritual father, and, for the time, while king william should be absent, as a temporal superior also, the archbishop having been appointed justiciary of the kingdom in conjunction with robert, earl of morton, and geoffry, bishop of coutances. after certain ceremonious delays, he was received. lanfranc, archbishop of canterbury and primate of all england, was a man of high character and subtle intellect, uniting the business capacities and breadth of view of the man of the world, to the piety and earnestness of a sincere churchman. a lombard by birth, he had attained eminence in his youth as a law student at pavia. his birth was not noble, but his parents were said to have been of senatorial rank, which indicated a good social position. his eloquence as a lawyer was so great, that he triumphed over veteran opponents, and soon became famous. italy, however, was at that time torn by dissensions, and he was early involved in political quarrels, so that he deemed it wise to quit the arena of his forensic triumphs, and to seek the less genial but safer climate of normandy. here he soon attained high eminence, and opened a school at avranches, to which scholars came in crowds; but suddenly the illustrious advocate disappeared, and no one knew whither. he was discovered, some three years later, living the life of a penitent in the secluded monastery of bec, a small establishment founded by his countryman herluin, but which afterwards became famous through having supplied canterbury with three archbishops. after a time, lanfranc became the prior of bec, and was as much sought as a religious teacher as he had hitherto been as a lawyer. in his newly-awakened zeal, lanfranc took it upon him to denounce the intended marriage of the duke of normandy with matilda of flanders; the pope having threatened excommunication, as the couple were within the prohibited degrees of relationship. one fine day, the quiet monks of bec, working in their garden amongst their cabbages and onions, were surprised by the advent of a gay company of knights in holiday attire, surrounding an ecclesiastic who rode pompously upon a fine white mule. the excitement increased to boiling point when the visitor was found to be the duke's chaplain herfast, whom we have already introduced to the reader as holding the bishopric of elmham in , and that his retinue was composed of nobles high in favour at the court; and the much-impressed monks hastened to tell their prior of the honour shown him. but the prior was giving audience to a beggar, and made the duke's emissaries wait till his conference was leisurely concluded. he understood perfectly well that william wished to bribe him, by this display of favour, into giving his assent to the wedding, and he had a mind to assert his independence. herfast was as ignorant as he was pompous, and the accomplished prior took every opportunity of exposing his guest's ignorance, even placing in his hands an abcdarium, or spelling-book, to the great amusement of the spectators and the huge wrath of herfast, who rode back to his royal master with a fine tale of the insolence of the lombard upstart. william was so incensed, that he fell into a paroxysm of rage, ordered lanfranc out of the country, and sent a band of soldiers to burn one of the granges of the monastery to the ground, as a practical witness to his anger at the way in which his courtiers had been treated. imagine the consternation amongst the monks of bec. lanfranc, however, was equal to the occasion. william had ordered him to quit the country. but the brethren of bec were poor, and there were no parliamentary trains in those dark ages to carry passengers from one end of a country to the other for a penny a mile. they must travel in the saddle or on foot. churchmen, for the most part, patronised mules of considerable size and high breeding, and journeyed in no small state. but the only animal the stables of bec could boast was a sorry steed, angular of joint and far from sound. none the less the prior mounted it, and set off for rouen, where he had been bidden to appear before the duke ere he quitted the country. william came forth to meet the haughty churchman, who had dared to thwart and condemn him, and to make fun of his chaplain, accompanied by a gallant train of knights and squires. he expected to meet a cavalcade almost as numerous and magnificent as his own. his face was dark with anger, and he wrapped himself in thoughtful taciturnity, meditating a rebuke befitting the insolence with which his condescension and favour had been met. he grew impatient when along the straight level road nothing could be seen but a single horseman on a lame jade, whose nose almost touched the ground at every step, and whose pace was easily kept up with by a follower on foot. as this sorry trio approached, however, he saw that the men were habited as monks, and herfast, who rode beside his royal master on his sleek white mule, flushed deeply red. ''tis lanfranc himself!' he exclaimed. [illustration: lanfranc jests with the conqueror.] 'what new mummery is this?' demanded william, his keen eyes straying over the comical figure of the prior and his wretched mount, and a smile gleaming over his stern face, brief but irrepressible, for william was a lover of horseflesh, and spared no pains or expense in the importation of fine horses from spain for his own use. the creature he bestrode was a splendid animal, and the strongest of contrasts to the prior's pitiful nag. slight as the smile was, and hastily repressed, lanfranc saw it, and took instant advantage. 'by your commands,' said the audacious prior airily, 'i am leaving your dominions, but it is only at a foot's pace that i can proceed on such a wretched beast as this; give me a better horse, and i shall be better able to obey your commands.' william had a keen sense of humour, and perhaps felt that the clever lombard would be a formidable foe. he laughed a royal laugh of magnificent amusement. 'who ever heard before,' he asked, 'of an offender venturing to ask a donation from the very judge he has offended?' herfast grew redder than ever with chagrin and mortification, for he saw very plainly that the subtle prior had mollified the duke by his intrepid joke. and so it was, and from this strange meeting resulted no less a matter than the establishment of a friendship which lasted till william's death. not long afterwards, lanfranc went to rome to plead with the pope, and urge him to give his sanction to that marriage which the prior had hitherto opposed so bitterly. and this he did without inconsistency, for his opposition had been based upon william's defiance of the holy see; when, therefore, he persuaded the haughty duke to humble himself, and plead meekly for a dispensation, with promises that he and his bride would bind themselves to many duties in return, amongst others, to endow each an abbey and two hospitals, the seeming submission of lanfranc was really a triumph. after a while, though much against his will, lanfranc was induced to leave normandy, and assume the onerous post of primate of william's newly-conquered kingdom of england. he even appealed to pope alexander ii. to extricate him from the difficulties of such high office, and to permit him to return to the monastic life, which above all things delighted him. but the pope refused to interfere, and lanfranc accepted the inevitable, and set to work with courageous zeal to make the best of his manifold duties. and he acquitted himself like a brave and good man, steering a wise course amongst the jealous normans and aggrieved saxons, selecting virtuous men to fill the posts which became vacant; and though, no doubt, partaking the prejudices of the conquerors, yet securing good men amongst the saxon clergy as friends. the church of england owes much to him, for he was distinctly an imperialist, and stoutly resisted papal aggression, laying the seeds of that nationality which has saved us from so many evils. it may be imagined that the simple-minded and gentle waltheof, much more adept at wielding a seax than at chopping logic, and who was as wax in the hands of his clever wife, was as water under the treatment of this subtle lombard, who could mould to his wishes even the self-willed and astute william. the archbishop received the earl of northumberland with much pomp and circumstance, giving him the ceremonious honour due to his high rank and his position as husband of the king's niece, so that waltheof had to beg for a private interview. this being granted, the unhappy hero knew not how to begin his forced confession, and the keen black eyes with which lanfranc searched his face did not lessen his confusion. but the archbishop had no intent to deal harshly with his illustrious penitent. his features softened with a winning smile. 'what hast thou to say to me, my son?' he asked in a gentle voice. 'why hesitate? dost thou not know me for a true friend?' 'alas, father! i have a sad tale of sin and weakness to reveal to thine ears,' said the son of siward at length. 'but i pray thee advise me. i have taken an oath, and since then, heated with wine, and somewhat overawed by numbers, i have taken a second contrary thereto. by which am i bound? am i forsworn in that, notwithstanding this second oath, i sent the messenger to thee, who, if nought mischanced, reached canterbury some four days agone?' 'thou hast sinned, my son, answered the archbishop gravely; 'but not so heavily but that, after due penance, the offence may be pardoned. an unwilling oath, taken under the compulsion of an excited crowd, can scarce bind as that which was the fruit of calm reflection and sober judgment. rather must it be accounted evil in thee, that thou didst consort with a man who was anathema of the holy church.' his mobile face grew stern, but it was a sternness not unmixed with sorrow. 'nay,' answered waltheof eagerly, 'i knew not of that till the banquet was well-nigh ended, when it was impossible to turn back.' he was relieved at the tone of the archbishop, yet could not keep reflecting bitterly in his heart, that this light treatment of a forced oath when taken by the son of siward _against_ william, was very different to the view taken of that made by the son of godwin _for_ william. harold had been branded a perjurer for abjuring a forced oath. 'nevertheless,' said the archbishop, not yet relaxing his face, 'thou hadst knowledge that the men whose bread was broken for thee were acting in direct opposition to the mandate of thy king-lord and kinsman, whose clemency had pardoned thy former misdeeds against him, whose hand had been reached to thee in fellowship, and whose niece had been given to thee to be bone of thy bone, flesh of thy flesh.' 'in good sooth, father,' replied waltheof reluctantly, and with the air of a schoolboy repeating a lesson by rote, 'i thought mine uncle and king-lord was playing a somewhat tyrannical part in dividing two true lovers. i see now that he had reasons which i little suspected.' this defence had been suggested by judith. lanfranc's fine sensitive face grew sad. speaking in a low, sorrowful voice, as though the subject caused him inexpressible pain, he said, 'my son, it was not for light or frivolous reasons that william our king-lord interfered to thwart the wishes of his earls. nor was it without cause, or, in truth, without grievous necessity, that i declared the anathema of the holy church against the son of the man who did more than any other to crown our norman duke an english king. had it been but a question of a marriage,' the archbishop continued in the same strain, but in a still softer tone, and rather as if speaking to himself than to the earl, 'god forbid that i should have parted whom he had elected in his all-seeing wisdom to unite!' he sighed deeply, for in his youth he had been the husband of a much-loved wife, whose death had taken all flavour from earthly joy for him, and had been the cause of his precipitate retreat from a position of wealth and fame, to seek consolation in the cloister. 'i have loved roger fitzosbern as a son! i have striven with him in affection! but, alas! in vain. one folly was added to another, until at last foolishness swelled into crime. he denied justice to the injured. he invaded the property of his king-lord, and of his peers; and now he has crowned all by this attempted treason, brought to the light at the unholy banquet at which thou wert thyself tempted to evil, waltheof! ah! i have wept tears of blood over this lost sheep. would that my efforts had recalled him to the fold! but the time is past.' he stretched out his thin, transparent hands before him, his dark eyes fixed upon space, as if contemplating a vision of the bloodshed to come. he was silent, and waltheof, being a man of few words, was silent also. suddenly the lombard turned his gleaming eyes upon the northumbrian earl. waltheof started, for in his heart was no repentance for having attended the banquet, nor for any of his treasonable designs, but only a fierce wrath against the norman wife who had defeated his plans, and brought him more tightly under the yoke he hated, and it seemed to him as if those dark eyes could read his most secret thoughts. he shifted his huge frame uneasily, so that the bracelets which ringed his tattooed arms almost to the elbow, clanged together, and his large fingers sought the jewelled haft of the hunting-knife which hung at his baldric, not threateningly, but from habit. yet if his thoughts were read, they were ignored. 'but thou at least art here!' lanfranc exclaimed, his mobile features lighted by a brilliant smile. 'thy better angel has prevailed, and, by the mercy of our lady, has brought thee back to the fold at the eleventh hour.' waltheof looked relieved, and he lifted his head and tossed back the yellow mane which had fallen over his face. 'i pray thee, father,' he said earnestly, encouraged by the primate's smile; 'stand by me in my trouble, and plead my cause with william of normandy. _thou_ hast the power to influence him. advise me how i may best act to win his pardon for my transgression; how best assure him of the sincerity of my return to allegiance.' [illustration: waltheof's humiliation.] 'i will stand by thee, my son,' replied the archbishop, clasping waltheof's great hand in his slender fingers. and he fulfilled his promise with unswerving fidelity, even to the last, when the unfortunate son of siward lay doomed to death in prison; nor, if lanfranc could have prevented it, would william have consummated that greatest blot upon his reign, the execution of the northumbrian earl. 'thou art impulsive, my son, and simple-minded, and therefore easily snared. but i believe not that thy heart is evil, or that thou wouldst be other than a pious son of our holy mother church.' 'no, indeed!' said waltheof, much affected by the appeal, which roused all the natural piety and humility of his nature. he crossed himself with much fervour. 'tell me what to do, father. whatever thou wilt command i will perform.' 'my son, i would bid thee cross the sea to normandy and seek william in person, confessing all frankly, and throwing thyself on his mercy. nor would it be detrimental to thy suit if thy hands bore somewhat of the produce of the lands and honours he has bestowed upon thee with so lavish a generosity.' waltheof shuddered. it was no pleasant prospect to the powerful earl, whose head had of late been so filled with schemes of ambition, thus to humble himself a second time to the conqueror of his people. but waltheof's courage was more of the physical order than the moral. he was, besides, of gentle disposition, and sincerely desired to avert bloodshed, and he thought that his defection from the ranks of the conspirators would prevent any attempt to meet william in the field. therefore he bowed his head. 'thine advice is meet, father,' he said; 'i will cross the seas and seek william, bearing rich presents to testify my regret for the past, and present goodwill.' chapter xi. the castellan of blauncheflour. ralph de guader had said little to his bride of the proceedings at the marriage festivities, but a time came when it was necessary for him to break in upon their brief honeymoon with rumours of war, for it was not possible to hide the fact that he must take the field in defence of life and liberty. the defection of waltheof had been a great blow to the conspirators; his untimely betrayal of their plans was more serious still, as their chance of success lay chiefly in the hope of taking the king's forces by surprise. waltheof himself had supposed that his course would altogether put a stop to the undertaking, seeing that his two brother earls had represented that to place him on the throne was its chief object. but de guader and fitzosbern were too proud to give up their hopes of aggrandisement so easily, and, moreover, their case was desperate. if they submitted at once and unconditionally, they could only look forward to disgrace and imprisonment, whereas the chances of battle might still be in their favour. it was not wonderful, therefore, that they elected to fight it out, notwithstanding the odds against them. the earl of norfolk and suffolk had assembled his forces, and held all in readiness for departure on the morrow. the dreaded moment had come, and he sought his wife's bower, feeling that he would much liefer meet william's men-at-arms. it was a sunny little room on the east side of the palace, looking over the marshes of the low holme which then bordered the wensum with a wilderness of sedges and white water-lilies, and upon which, some eleven years later, herbert de losinga erected the cathedral which is our present pride and joy. emma loved to watch the high-prowed galleys passing to and fro upon the river, with sails spread, and oars flashing, and stout rowers bending to their work; and to see them lading and unlading at lovelly's staithe, a wharf situated about a third of the distance between the present ferry and foundry bridge. here eadgyth would entertain her with stories of her girlhood, and tell how she had seen her cousin, harold godwinsson, land at that wharf, when he came to norwich after his imprisonment in normandy; and how leofric, earl of mercia, to whom the sainted king eadward had given the east anglian earldom in harold's absence, met him with all honour; and of the magnanimous strife between the two, when leofric would give back the earldom, and harold would fain have had him keep it; and how harold took it for a time, but returned it on ascending the throne. and when the white swans came sailing amongst the reeds, bending their long necks from side to side, the saxon maiden would tell her friend of harold's beloved, her namesake eadgyth swannehals, the most beautiful woman in norfolk, or, for the matter of that, in all england, and would burst into tears when she thought of the sad ending of that fair romance. and emma would smile at her enthusiasm, but yet grew in sympathy with this english people, the smoke of whose dwellings was rising around her, and almost found it in her heart to wish that her hero william had been a little less successful, and to question whether it had not been more virtuous of him to stay at home in his native normandy. somehow she had never admired him so freely since he had endeavoured to part her from her betrothed. in such a mood as this was emma when her husband sought her, with the intention of telling her the secret of his bold enterprise, but he little guessed how much her sympathies had turned against william, for, as is often the case when convictions are changing, she had made up for her coldness of feeling by warmth of speech, and had sought so to atone for her act of rebellion in marrying ralph against the king's mandate. therefore the earl knew not how to begin his explanation, and sat before her embroidery frame almost as deeply embarrassed as waltheof had been before the archbishop. 'tis true he had told her ere their wedding that the quarrel must needs be fought out, yet it seemed not the easier to say,'my standard is lifted.' his face was ashy pale, for it was to him cruel as death to leave his young bride before a month had passed, although he had known that the parting must come. emma, looking at him, dropped her silks in horror, and, throwing her arms round his neck, asked coaxingly what ailed him. and ralph turned his head away without speaking. 'can it be that i have offended thee in aught?' asked the young countess anxiously. 'nay, emma, i am the offender, if offender there be. methinks the worst of all ailments is mine, for i must leave thee, and perchance anger thee also.' 'leave me?' her breath caught in a sob of terror. ralph faced her desperately. 'my love, thou knowest our wedding was against the express mandate of the king. lanfranc, the king's man, whom he made primate of all england,--in place of the holy stigand, whom he unjustly deprived, and who yet languishes in prison,--hath turned bitterly against thy brother of hereford, whom whilom he was wont to treat as a son, and has set a ban of excommunication upon him.' a low cry of horror escaped from emma. ralph's eyes flashed fire. he caught his wife's white hands as they were sliding down from his neck, half withdrawn at the fear that her love had led her into deadly sin, since the brother who had countenanced her marriage, and urged her to its fulfilment, was cast out by the church. he understood the loosening of her clasp, and caught her hands as a protest. 'emma,' he cried,'thou hast taken me for better or worse. i hoped to have made thee the second lady in the land. but alas! i must fight to hold mine own, nay, for dear life,--life which is precious for thy sake.' 'i do not regret my choice,' said emma, meeting his gaze with her frank eyes, her proud fitzosbern spirit rising to the test. 'only i fear lest i have sinned in taking thee against the will of my king-lord and the voice of the holy church.' 'say rather the voice of william's creature,--a lombard upstart, without a drop of noble blood in his veins. dost thou forget the holy men who blessed our union and gave it the sanction of the church? they blessed thy brother for taking up the cause of an oppressed people. shall the curses of the wily italian have more weight than their benedictions? dost thou throw over thy brother so easily to his untender mercies?' 'alas! i am bewildered amid so many conflicting counsels,' emma sighed. 'this poor land and all who are in it are so bewildered, my sweet lady,' ralph answered, kissing the hands he still held. 'none can see the right clearly. william--the conqueror, as he proudly styles himself--hath gone mad with his success, and the luckless people groan under his tyranny. would i had never helped him to leave his duchy of normandy! but it is useless to groan over the past, nor can i stop to chop logic over the present. the point is this: the king's men are marching to attack me. my only course is to fight for it, and, if possible, make a junction with thy brother roger, when it may be that the oppressed saxons will strike a blow to regain their freedom, and, with my trusty bretons, i may still gain the day.' emma clasped her hands in sore distress. 'is it in good sooth come to this, that thou must go forth against the king? alas! my foolish face tempted thee to wrong. 'tis i that am to blame.' ralph caught her to him and kissed her. 'nay, by the heart of our lady. 'tis william's mad pride that is to blame, and that alone. speak no slander against my wife, or it will go ill with thee, for i will not brook to hear it.' emma drooped her head against his shoulder, smiling through her tears. 'oh, ralph,' she said, 'if thou wert but going in a good cause, the parting would not be so bitter.' ralph, having no good argument to proffer in reply, lost his temper. he sprang up and paced the room, making his golden spurs jingle at each impatient stride. 'i thought when i wedded a fitzosbern i should escape the lot of most men, to be wept and wailed over at every crinkle in the rose-leaves of fate. but it seems thou art but of the same stuff as other women, after all.' emma flushed over neck and brow. she drew herself proudly erect, and hastily wiped away the tears that were rolling down her cheeks. 'naught but dread of guilt and a too fond love could have drawn tears from a fitzosbern,' she answered haughtily. 'thou shalt not need to complain again, my lord.' 'nay, my sweet lady, pardon me,' pleaded the earl, turning to her with entreating eyes. 'in good sooth, i am well-nigh distracted, and the sight of thy tears makes me too bitterly conscious of my own lack of worth. but what wouldst thou have me do? if it were but a question of my own poor life, i would submit, and let william do his worst, if such a course would pleasure thee; but i cannot desert thy brother, nor my own poor bretons, and the saxons who have thrown in their lot with mine. thou knowest william is not gentle with such as cross his will. it would mean loss of lands and lifelong imprisonment to thy brother and myself, and the lopping off a hand and a foot for each of my bretons, at the least, while hanging would be too mild a measure in his eyes for the saxons.' emma's hands were tightly clenched together. the momentary flush had faded from her face, and it was pale as death, but she neither sobbed nor flinched. 'i have made my choice, and i will abide by it,' she said in a low, firm voice. 'nor will i quail before the consequences of our deed. we have chosen each other against the whole world. perhaps if thou hadst trusted me more fully, thou hadst not been vexed with tears. thy announcement was somewhat sudden.' 'let that ill-grained speech rest in its grave, dear love. thou hast spoken like a fitzosbern now,' said the earl, taking her hands again in his and drawing her back to his shoulder. 'i want thee to be of good courage, for i have treated thee as a hero's daughter, and appointed thee castellan of blauncheflour in my absence. i have vested in thee the supreme and sole command. thine it shall be, in case of siege while i am away,--which god forfend,--to surrender or defend the castle on whatsoever terms may seem good to thee. sir alain de gourin and sir hoël de st. brice will act under thine orders and be thine advisers. wilt thou take the office?' 'yes, i will take it,' answered emma, without a moment's hesitation, although her whole soul trembled within her at the prospect of being left in her young feebleness to command the turbulent de gourin, for whom she had a strong aversion, and the veteran sir hoël, who was a total stranger to her, albeit he had been so long in her husband's train. 'thou art indeed a fit bride for a warrior,' cried ralph, gazing with admiration at her determined face. emma longed to throw her arms around his neck and sob, but conquered the impulse, answering only with a smile. 'thou saidest i was sudden, sweet,' resumed ralph. 'methinks an agony that must be sharp had best be short. to that end i would not poison for thee the brief time we had together with the shadow of parting. that is why i told thee naught till now, upon the eve of my going forth.' emma could not repress a slight start. 'dost go so soon? to-morrow?' she said. 'to-morrow thou wilt enter on thy new office,' answered the earl gaily, kissing her forehead. and then he slipped from the apartment, congratulating himself that the mischief was out, and full of admiration for his bride, in that she had borne the tidings so bravely. emma listened to his footfall as he strode down the long corridor till its echo was lost in the distance. then the emotion she had violently repressed had its way. she stretched out her arms after him as if to call him back, and threw herself on her knees near the door. 'oh, ralph!' she sobbed,--'oh, ralph, my husband! saints and angels protect thee! guard him, st. nicholas, thou under whose patronage he has placed himself. i vow seven candlesticks of pure gold to thine altar in blauncheflour.' her voice died away, a strange sensation of numb oppression succeeded her violent anguish, and she sank in a dead faint by the door her husband had just passed through. chapter xii. the standard of revolt. the day which was to part emma de guader from her bridegroom dawned clear and bright, and the summer sunshine sparkled upon the broad reaches of the yare, and gleamed amidst the pale green rushes and brown osier beds of the cowholme, shining with impartial equality, not only upon the just and the unjust, but upon the joyous and the sad. in nooks and corners amongst the reeds and water weeds, the coots and water-hens were tending their nestlings. on the site of the busy railway station, the tall heron poised gracefully on one leg, as his descendants do to this day, some ten or fifteen miles nearer the sea. the yellow water-lilies were pushing their golden buds to the surface, and the reeds were growing dusky at the top, while the hot sunshine brought out the fragrance of the sweet-gale, or bog-myrtle, which covered many an acre, now built over, with its dark green bushes. westward the broad woodlands were in the young beauty of their summer dress, wearing still somewhat of the rich variety of spring. mountainous white clouds cast purple shadows over the sea of their close-packed crowns, in the shelter of which sang merles and mavises, and the fitful nightingale; while above marsh and woodland many a hawk and bustard hung poised on motionless wings, for in those days the gamekeepers had no quarrel with them. the sentinels on the keep of blauncheflour had a fair panorama to look upon as they marched to and fro upon the walls; but they did not pay much heed to the beauties of nature, they were far too much engrossed in the doings in the courtyard of the castle below, and their eyes only left the knights who were gathered there, for an occasional glance at the armed host assembled within the circle of the barbican. truly the cluster of gallant warriors before the grand portal of the castle, glittering from head to foot with shining steel, lavishly ornamented with gold and silver, were a goodly sight to see; though perhaps roger bigod may have gathered a still gayer company round him a century later, when gaudy plumes and surcoats embroidered with the coats of arms of the wearers were the fashion of the day. in william the conqueror's time, military finery had trenched little on the strictly useful, and the richness of these cavaliers consisted more in fine inlay of precious metals than in feathers and embroidery, or fantastic helms or armour. their heads were covered with small conical steel-caps, having a nasal to protect them from a transverse cut across the face, or were encased in huge cylinders of steel, having narrow apertures for the necessities of sight and breathing; their long hauberks were of linked mail, or leather sewn all over with little rings of steel; their straight cross-hilted swords measured three and a half to four feet in length, and were encased in richly-chased and jewelled scabbards, and suspended from baldrics ablaze with gold and gems. each wore in his belt the _miséricorde_, and at the saddle-bows of some hung the battle-axe or mace. their oval or heart-shaped shields were from four to five feet long, richly embossed, and often bearing a raised spike in the centre. their long lances were adorned with square or swallow-tailed pennons, according to their rank, for, when a knight obtained the rank of banneret, or leader of a troop, the points were shorn off his pennon. their saddles and horse furniture were studded with steel bosses, and often the reins were steel chains plentifully enriched with gold, and the heavy steeds they bestrode had need of all their sturdy strength to carry their burdens of man and metal at a gallop, even at the prompting of golden spurs. before the portal stood de guader's magnificent barb oliver, champing his bit, and with difficulty restrained by the squire who held his bridle-rein, the white foam flying from his heavy curb upon his gilded trappings, and his fox-coloured mane tossing in the breeze. a few words of the great portal itself, before which this brave company was assembled. the vestibule on the eastern side of the keep, now known as bigod's tower, was not built, but the very beautiful early norman archway was certainly a part of the original structure, and opened upon a raised platform of stone, from which sprang a drawbridge connecting it with a flight of twenty-eight steps, ended by a gate to the south. beneath this drawbridge was the sally-port, a narrow postern strongly fortified, which in case of siege could, by raising the drawbridge of the main doorway, be made the only entrance to the keep.[ ] [ ] some idea of the arrangement here described is given by the figure of the ruins of hedingham castle in strutt: _manners and customs of the english_, vol. i. plate xxix. at a signal from a sentinel who stood upon this platform, the trumpeters executed a lively _fanfare_ on their instruments. a moment later the portal was thrown open, and the earl came forth, clad in complete armour, and leading the young countess, who was very gallantly apparelled in crimson cloth, broidered over with jewels and silver; she wore a small gorget of blue milan steel, and had on her head a little cap of the same, damascened with gold; round her waist a jewelled belt, from which were suspended a little _miséricorde_ and a short steel chain. behind the earl and countess followed sir hoël de st. brice and sir alain de gourin, both in full harness, attended by several squires and pages. as they came upon the platform, the greater part of the garrison--all that were not actually on duty as sentries, warders, and like offices--filed into the courtyard, and took up their places behind the group of knights. 'a guader! a guader!' shouted knights and soldiers. 'long live the earl and countess!' the noble couple bowed courteously, and the earl, who held in his hands the keys of the castle, turned to his consort, and then cast a proud glance along the ranks of his retainers. 'knights and soldiers,' he said, in clear trumpet tones which could be heard even by the sentinels on the battlements, 'before i go forth to battle, it is meet that i should appoint a castellan to have charge of my castle of blauncheflour, and this i do now before ye all assembled, in the person of my dear lady and countess, emma, daughter of the valiant william fitzosbern. i appoint her to the sole and supreme command, and to have as deputies under her, and as military advisers,--but under her pleasure, and to be dismissed if she think fit,--sir hoël de st. brice and sir alain de gourin. knights and gentlemen, you who are about to go forth to battle with me, and to share my dangers, and, i hope, my successes, i make you witnesses of the fact of this appointment, so that if i fall in the chances of the field, you may hurry to my lady's standard and reinforce it with your strength. knights and soldiers of the garrison, i charge ye to serve your castellan and liege lady with faithfulness and fervour; to render her humble obedience, and to defend her as ye would defend your own lady-loves, wives, and children. i commit her and my castle, and with them my joy and my honour, to your care. justify my trust!' as he spoke he handed the keys of the castle to emma, who took them with trembling fingers and attached them to her girdle, looking at the ranks of steel-clad men around her with a brave though blanched face. a great roar of cheering rolled round the spacious courtyard, such as emma had never heard in her life before, though she was to hear its like in the coming months. asseverations and vows and battle-cries mingled in wild confusion, shouted from stentorian lungs in more than one language. 'dex aie!' cried the normans; and the bretons cried 'guader et montfort!' 'aoie!' 'heysaa!' and 'the holy rood!' from english of varying types; while the knights shook their lances, and cried to god to shield their lady in their absence. arms clashed, and horses stamped, and it seemed as if all the dogs in norwich were barking. when the tumult had somewhat subsided, and the startled pigeons were circling back to their favourite perches on the battlements, emma, with a beating heart, made her little speech in answer. turning first to the garrison, she said,-- 'i thank ye all for your devotion, good sirs and soldiers!' and her clear, flute-like voice was to the full as distinct as that of the earl. 'nor do i doubt that ye will do your duty to god, to your earl, and to me, his deputy, in whatsoever sore straits may befall. to you, noble knights,' she continued, turning to the group who were about to depart with the earl, 'i return thanks for your courtesy, and beg you to bear in mind that my lord's fortunes and fair fame, nay, even his life, do in some measure depend upon the sharpness of your swords, and your promptness to use them in his behalf, and therefore every blow ye strike will be struck in my defence, for, in sooth, i should die if ill or dishonour came to him!' the cheers of the garrison and the vows of the knights to do their _devoir_ by their lord burst forth more tumultuously than before; but the countess, turning to her husband, said in a low voice,-- 'i can bear no more, ralph. farewell! may our lady and st. nicholas guard thee and bring thee shortly home!' she held out her hands to him appealingly, and he, pressing them, bent forward hastily and kissed her on the forehead. '_À dieu_, dear lady!' he said, with a voice less steady than her own. 'forget not to name me in thine orisons!' he stepped forward and mounted his impatient destrier, which, excited almost to madness by the cheering of men and the clash of arms, pranced and curveted proudly as he felt his master's hand. the trumpets blared, the portcullis creaked upon its hinges, and the drawbridge clanked upon its chains. the gay cavalcade set forth on their adventures, none knowing how, or when, or if ever, they should return. the armed heels of the steeds clattered upon the pavement and thundered over the drawbridge, and lusty cheers rent the air before and behind them, from the waiting host upon the plain, and from the garrison in the courtyard of the castle. emma, with a heavy heart, ascended the circular staircase in the north-eastern angle of the keep, her ladies following, and went round to the southern side of the battlements, whence they commanded a view of the country for many miles around, and could see the earl's army in glittering array upon the space within the barbican, and also the road by which they would march away, that same broad ikenield way by which the young countess had entered the town such a short time before, happy in her bridegroom's society. the troops assembled in order of march. a cloud of archers and slingers in the van, chiefly bretons; after them the bills and battle-axes, and the anglo-saxon contingent with their round red shields and great two-edged seaxes--the weapon from which they got their name of saxons, though it was modified from the ancient scythe-shaped blade to a straight, double-edged sword; next in order, the javelins and pikemen, and men of various arms, many only wielding stout clubs of oak and ash, or carrying long staves. then, glittering and shining, the body of knights headed by the earl. near him rode sir guy de landerneau, the richest and most powerful of de guader's breton vassals, to whom was accorded the honour of bearing the gold and black standard of the earl--the standard of revolt. next after sir guy rode his body-squire, young stephen le hareau, the handsomest and most promising of all the aspirants for knighthood who rode in ralph de guader's train, the darling of the ladies' bower, after whom more than one fair face looked wistfully as he went away, full of high hopes and visions of glory, bent on 'winning his spurs,' and wearing till he had done so, as the custom was, a golden chain around his right arm. laughing and fearless as he rode away, with the blue summer sky reflected in his blue norseman's eyes, little did they who watched him dream in what plight they would see him return. after them followed pages leading _hacquenées_ which their masters might ride when the weight of their armour had fatigued them and their fiery war-steeds. next the baggage on sumpter mules, and a second body of archers and slingers to protect the rear. so they rode away on the bright summer morning, and emma and her ladies watched their slow progress from the battlements till the last glimmer of the glittering armour was lost in the distance, her eyes following them by wood and mere, now hidden by thickets, now crossing the open moorland covered with golden gorse, now startling a solitary heron from his post amongst the marshes, now a skein of wild fowl from some shining pool. eadgyth watched beside the countess with eager eyes, and a great hope in her bosom that her countrymen might yet come by their own again. a delusive hope, and one she would scarcely have held if she had known more of the facts of the case. the english hated their conqueror, and found his yoke oppressive. if eadgar Ætheling had been man enough to stand against william, and lead them in revolt, they might have struggled to overturn the norman;--even waltheof they might have welcomed as a national chieftain;--but they saw too clearly that ralph de guader and roger of hereford were bent only on their own advancement, to rally in numbers to their banners. small gain would it be to them to pull william from the throne only to place one of his turbulent barons in his stead. but the patriotic talk which the earl of east anglia had affected, with the hope of gaining saxon aid, had been as honey to the listening ears of eadgyth, and had helped her to bear the trial of seeing strangers in the palace which had been harold's aforetime. she had almost forgiven ralph his part at senlac, and was building the most noble castles in the air as she watched the rebel army marching away. but the young countess, torn with doubts, in bitter anguish for both husband and brother, watched with clasped hands and a set, pale face, and spoke not a word; but at last, when even her anxious gaze could no longer discern a vestige of the moving force, she turned to eadgyth. 'let us to our bower amid stone walls, sweet,' she said. 'i had hoped to have done with such when i left the stormy borders of wales, and came hither to peaceful norfolk. at least, i had thought that their shelter would be needed only for protection against the wild danish vikings, not to guard me from my own folks.' she sighed deeply, and eadgyth scarce could think of consolation. like most other people in all days and all places, it seemed to them that their times were sadly out of joint. so they descended from their post of observation, and, crossing the courtyard, entered the constable's lodge, which was to be their home till the war-engines of the royal forces compelled them to shelter behind the solid walls of the keep. the bower de guader had prepared for his bride was as magnificent and comfortable as the resources of the times permitted; and here dame amicia de reviers sat awaiting them, her infirmities having prevented her from climbing the steep newel staircase of the great tower. the pretty bower-maidens clustered round the venerable old lady, and chattered to her gaily of all that had taken place, vying with each other in recalling all the details of the stirring sight they had just witnessed, and in conveying them to her dull ears. but dame amicia felt keenly that what was but a pleasant excitement to most of them must have been acute anguish to her darling. 'where is your lady, children?' asked she; but only eadgyth had noticed that before they left the great tower, the countess had slipped quietly away from them. she had gone to the oratory, that little oratory which is still shown to those who visit the remains of norwich castle. the archway by which she had entered was supported by two columns with ornamental capitals. at the angle were carved pelicans, in their piety vulning their breasts. 'ah!' thought emma as she passed them, 'if i could strip my own breast, and so make soft the beds of those i love! brother and husband! ah me, what sufferings may await them! the warrior's lonely death on the cold, pitiless earth, or worse, that of the prisoner on the colder flags of the dungeon of their foe! william is without mercy. st. nicholas, make my ralph prevail!' she shook from head to foot with a shudder of dread, as she threw herself upon her knees before the altar; but the tears she had so long repressed would not now come to her relief. dry-eyed, with a dull, persistent pain at her heart that made each breath a sigh, she stretched up her arms in mute supplication to the help of the helpless for aid. chapter xiii. st. nicholas for guader! the original plan of campaign drawn out by the earls of east anglia and hereford had been sadly marred by the defection of waltheof, whose counties of huntingdon and northampton lay between them, so that, instead of being a bond of union, they had now become adverse territory. with waltheof assisting them, only worcestershire and warwickshire would have divided them, but since he had left them in the lurch, they must needs fight half across england to effect a junction. they had this comfort, however, that waltheof had left the country in order to make his peace with the king, and would not personally encounter them, while their positions at the extremes of east and west exposed any force attacking either of them to be itself attacked in the rear by the other. further, the unsettled state of the welsh border, and the readiness of the celts to seize any excuse for invasion, rendered hereford's movement doubly formidable for the king's lieutenants. de guader hoped that, for this reason, the main force of the opponents might be turned towards hereford, and that he might be upon them before they were aware that he had taken the field. the hope proved delusive. when he reached his manors at swaffham, of which place he was lord, he found that the royal army was almost upon him, and that he must give battle there and then. ralph had need to put forth his best powers of generalship, for the force against him was led by four of william's most brilliant officers:-- earl william de warrenne and surrey, the husband of the king's stepdaughter gundred, to whom had been given twenty-eight manors in yorkshire, and one hundred and thirty-nine lordships in norfolk, and who was building a fine castle at acre near swaffham, so that he was ralph's neighbour, and probably no very cordial one. the norman earl had won experience of fenland fighting in the campaign against hereward a few seasons previously, and had never forgiven the english for killing his brother, who was leading the king's men through the terrible quagmires of the isle of ely; so he ground his teeth and swore strange oaths, as was the way of the normans, that now the time for retribution had come. next there was robert malet, son of the brave old sir william, who had helped to bear the corse of harold godwinsson to its first burial, and who took with him to his own grave the love and respect of normans and english alike, leaving his son an inheritance of lands in norfolk and suffolk. besides were two warlike bishops: odo of bayeux, the king's half-brother, and geoffrey of coutances, warriors whose prestige was itself equal to a large body of troops. after the death of robert the devil, arlète of falaise, the mother of william the conqueror, married a knight named herluin de conteville, and bore him two sons, robert, count of mortain, and odo, bishop of bayeux. odo had a large share of the military genius of his great half-brother; nevertheless the chronicles say: 'he was no instigator to war, nor could he be drawn thereto, and therefore much feared by the soldiers. but upon great necessity, his counsels in military affairs were of special avail, so far as might consist with the safety of religion. to the king, whose brother he was by the mother, his affections were so great that he could not be severed from him, no, not in the camp.' he equipped one hundred ships of war as his contribution to the invasion of england, and fought in person at hastings, for which he was rewarded by the earldom of kent, one hundred and eighty-four lordships in that county, and two hundred and fifty in other parts of england, including rising, in norfolk, where he built a fine castle. affluence did not improve his character. he grew rapacious and greedy, and degraded his sacred office by flagrant immoralities. the followers of these four redoubtable leaders far out-numbered de guader's, and were better drilled and equipped; moreover, the defection of waltheof had caused many of the saxon and anglo-danish nobles to join the norman camp, seeing a good opportunity to curry favour with the conqueror. ralph's naturally dauntless spirit was, however, strung by the impossibility of turning back, and he formed his troops in the strongest position he could, taking advantage of the great saxon fosse and rampart known as the devil's dyke, which runs from eastmore to narborough, lining the steep vallum with his archers and slingers and javelin men, and massing his cavalry on the firm open ground of beachamwell heath, with the hope of forcing his foe into the morasses that lay around foulden; for in those days the bedford level was undrained, and there were no old and new bedford rivers to gather the waters, no denver sluice to carry them off; the sweltering fens stretched far and wide, and miles and miles of land that is now fertile pasturage was haunted only by wildfowl and fishes. before commencing the attack, the leaders on the king's side sent forward a knight with a herald carrying the royal standard, and accompanied by trumpets to sound a parley. this being acceded to by de guader, and a knight bearing his standard sent forth to meet them, the royal envoy, who was no less a person than the bishop of bayeux himself, rode forward, and delivered his charge in so loud and clear a voice, that it was audible to the cluster of knights who gathered round de guader, before the herald officially repeated it. ralph was not ill-pleased to see the bishop of bayeux come forward, for the cruelties he had perpetrated while sharing the vice-regency of england with william fitzosbern had won him the hatred of the saxons, and the normans regarded him with jealousy and distrust; so that of all william's leaders he was least likely to win ralph's followers to his side by personal influence. yet the warlike bishop was well fitted to grace the saddle of a knight. tall, robust, and handsome, in the prime of youthful manhood, he looked indeed a noble cavalier, and any who saw him might well deem that the feats by which he had made himself famous at hastings might be eclipsed by his prowess on the field before him. his eyes sparkled with the excitement of the coming struggle, and his upright and muscular form was armed _cap-à-pie_ in all the trappings of knightly harness. only in one particular did his equipment differ from that of the warriors around him. he bore neither lance nor sword, but only, hanging from his saddle-bow, a huge mace with iron spikes, a weapon more deadly than either, be it said, though less like to spill blood; by this subterfuge professing to obey the law of the church which forbade his order to shed blood. he now came as a messenger of peace--on conditions. but what conditions! 'noble barons and knights,' he shouted, 'here present in contumacious assembly! in the name of our king-lord, william of normandy, supreme sovereign of these realms, by the will of the sainted eadward the confessor, and the election of the witanagemót'--('no!' thundered some of the anglo-saxons who followed ralph de guader)--'by the will of the sainted eadward the confessor, and the election of the witanagemót!' repeated the bishop in still louder tones, 'we, his representatives, do here demand of you that ye deliver up the body of the vile and audacious traitor, ralph de guader, sometime earl of norfolk and suffolk, but now under attainder for high treason; and the persons of his breton followers, here arranged in blank rebellion against their liege lord and sovereign, william the norman, upon which deliverance and your immediate return to allegiance, your past misdeeds will receive free pardon, be ye norman or saxon.' ralph de guader's dark visage was convulsed with passion when he heard himself and his countrymen thus singled out and excepted from all hope of pardon; and he vowed within his throat that if his norman and saxon vassals and allies accepted the terms, himself and his bold bretons would forthwith turn upon them, and so entreat them that few should live to profit by their delinquency. but the doubt was short-lived. ralph was a brave leader and a generous master, and, moreover, well skilled in raising the ambitions of such as had embarked in his boat. a shout of derision hailed the bishop's harangue before the herald had time to repeat it formally, rising first from a dozen or so of lusty throats in ralph's near neighbourhood, and spreading afterwards through the whole host. ralph himself flung back the answer. 'tell your base-born usurper,' he shouted, 'that the normans have tired of his ingratitude, and deem his offers of pardon as little like to be fulfilled, as the fair promises of lands and honours he made them before hastings. tell him that the saxons have yet to avenge harold godwinsson, and win back their broad acres, and that the bretons are not yet within the power of the murderer of count alain and count conan.' 'it is well!' replied the bishop, who, notwithstanding the elasticity of his ecclesiastical conscience, preferred honest fighting to the chopping off the hands, ears, and noses of prisoners which must needs have followed the acceptance of his terms. 'after such a message, we need have no compunction in striking the first blow.' the day was overcast, and heavy masses of grey cloud were scudding up from the south-west, shedding blinding gushes of rain at intervals, and a gusty, whistling wind swept the open heath. as bishop odo withdrew to the ranks of the king's men, a wilder whistle shrilled through the air, and sharp cries of pain startled the larks and the whin-chats from their nests among the gorse. the battle had commenced with an almost simultaneous flight of arrows on each side. for a long time de guader acted stubbornly on the defensive. his only chance was to keep the king's forces at bay along the devil's dyke. but the line to be guarded was very long, and the number of the foe enabled them to attack many points at once. he stood with his standard and his cavalry on the high ground towards beachamwell, where alone they had any chance to manoeuvre; but down in the fens towards fouldon the fierce clashing of axe on spear, the clang of swords on buckler and mail, the whiz of arrows and the sharp twanging of bows mingled strangely with the shrill screaming of frightened waterfowl; and the wild shouts of the combatants frightened many a skein of mallards and plovers in their reedy haunts, from which they rose on whirring wings, with clamorous shrieks of fear. alike on the heath and in the fen, normans were striving with normans, and saxons with saxons, while the bretons fought with the courage of desperation, well knowing that not only ruin, but the most terrible tortures and mutilation awaited their defeat. time after time the assailants strove to throw bridges across the dyke, and more than once succeeded in fixing their grappling-irons upon the rampart. time after time they were beaten back, leaving so many dead and dying behind them that the bodies of their friends might almost have served for a bridge. but numbers prevailed at length. there came an hour when de guader's archers and slingers, thinned by the continuous iron hail of arrows and quarrels to which they had been unceasingly exposed, no longer sufficed to guard the extended line of the rampart. while they were defending one hotly-contested point, the enemy forced another, and before they were well aware of their misfortune, a large body of knights had gained the eastern side of the dyke. de guader instantly formed his cavalry and led them to the charge, with the cry of 'st. nicholas for guader!' and the ground shook beneath the thundering feet of the destriers. '_dex aie et notre dame!_' shouted the warlike bishop, who led the foe, and the mailed hosts closed with a crash that was heard by the warders on the walls of the new castle that william de warrenne was building at castle acre. but when de guader and his followers had hewn their way through the thick squadron that met them, a fresh body stood ready for them, and further hosts were pouring across the dyke. the odds were so overwhelming, that the east anglian earl was forced to fall back; an awful retreat, for his troops were harassed in the rear by the remnant of the band they had just charged. the royalist knights pressed after them, driving them back and back off the firm heath towards the morasses near fouldon; many a gallant horseman floundering into the quagmires and stifling in the black ooze. carnage grew fierce round the east anglian banner, and anxious eyes followed the waving gold and black plumes upon de guader's helm, for many felt that to lose their leader would be to lose the day. in those times individual prowess often turned the fortune of a field. it was the era of single combats, and a thrill passed through all the host, when, after long seeking, ralph and odo met at length. it was as if the whole field paused to watch. they had fought side by side at hastings, these two splendid warriors, to ralph's shame be it spoken! they had sat side by side at many a festive board, and had tried their strength and dexterity in the friendly struggle of the tourney. now they met as mortal foes, hurling insult at each other. 'pitiful renegade, twice told a traitor!' cried odo, 'how darest thou draw good steel to defend thine unknightly carcase?' 'nay! my sword has better cause than ever hath thy mace, unsanctified shaveling!' retorted ralph 'the cause of a fell-monger's grandson!' the taunt struck home, since it included odo with william. striking the rowels into their horses, they flew at each other like tigers. the head of ralph's lance had been chopped off a few moments before by a blow from a saxon seax, so he had but his sword to oppose to the bishop's awful mace. a gleam of steel, and a dull, horrible crash! a wild yell of execration and triumph from a hundred throats! for both the champions were down. each party closed up to protect its leader, and a fearful conflict began around the fallen heroes. but though odo was down, geoffrey of coutances, william de warrenne, and robert malet were ready to take his place, and shrewd blows were given and taken in the neighbourhood of each of these redoubtable champions, while, although the east anglian earl had many brave knights in his following, the insurgents were virtually without a leader. ralph's fall decided the fate of the day, if it had ever been doubtful. the flight of his army was only delayed by the frantic valour of the bretons, who were bent on selling their lives as dearly as possible. the tide of battle rolled eastwards, gradually degenerating into a pursuit and butchery, and the original site of the struggle was left to the dead and the dying. the wind had risen, shaking the white tassels of the cotton-grass which covered acres of the marshes, and bending the aspens till the white undersides of their leaves alone were visible, as if it were preparing white shrouds for the dead. as the clouds parted, the red sun shone forth between their scudding masses, flushing them to vivid crimson, and shedding a lurid light upon the ensanguined field of fight, glittering redly on the harness of the fallen, and painting the pale faces of the dying with a hue as bright as the life-blood that welled from their wounds. but no wind could shake yonder tuft of reeds as it is shaken! behold a motley figure comes cautiously forth and advances along the field, peering curiously into the faces of the fallen as it comes. it is grillonne, the earl of east anglia's jester. grim jests he must make if he would suit his wit to his surroundings! [illustration: bishop odo meets de guader.] and grim jests he does make; for often, when, after considerable toil, he has gained sight of the face of a dead or wounded man, half buried under fallen friends and foes, he expresses his disgust and abhorrence at recognising one of william of normandy's supporters, by pulling his nose or moustachios;--not very violently, it is true, and usually following up the indignity by placing the victim's head in as comfortable a position as the circumstances allowed. but at last he found a face which he treated otherwise. 'ah, my dear lord!' he cried, placing his hands tenderly under the senseless head; he could do no more, for a heap of slain and the hoof of a dead charger were piled above the earl. 'oh, sweet nuncle, open thine eyes, thy dear eyes, and glad the heart of thy poor faithful fool. god forbid! thou canst not be dead! for thy lady's sake thou canst not be dead!' he took from his breast a small flask containing a strong cordial, and poured a portion of its contents down the earl's throat, tenderly wiping away the blood which oozed from a contused wound in his forehead; and after a time ralph's eyes opened languidly,--opened and closed again almost instantly. 'good lad! good lad!' exclaimed the old jester cheerfully. 'there is life in thee yet, i well see, and we will have thee all safe and sound yet, holy mary be praised! but i cannot do the job single-handed, valiant hero as i am, and i like not to leave thee, lest thine enemies return. hist! i have a notion!' he took off his little parti-coloured cape, and got it upon the earl's shoulders; and he drew from his pocket his jester's cap, which he had thrust therein to still the noise of the bells, and decorated therewith the earl's stately head; and he took the earl's battered helm, which had rolled off, and lay near by, with its gold and black plumes mightily draggled, and fastened it upon the head of a dead breton knight, sir guy de landerneau, who had fallen at a little distance from his leader, and not long afterwards. next, he armed himself with the mail jerkin and steel-cap of one of the slain archers, added thereto a short sword, then fled precipitately to find help to extricate the earl. and he was but just in time. scarcely had he disappeared, when a searching party of the king's men came to that quarter of the field, and carried off triumphantly the dead knight upon whom grillonne had fixed the earl's helmet.[ ] [ ] see appendix, note c. chapter xiv. how the conqueror deals with rebels. the days passed drearily for the countess of east anglia, mewed up within the protecting walls of norwich castle, and the anxiety she felt on behalf of her husband and brother made the hours seem unutterably long. her office of castellan was no unusual one for women in those days. the annals of chivalry teem with stories of noble ladies who held castles for their male relatives or feudal superiors, but as no enemy was, at present, near the castle, it did not afford her much occupation. an occasional hawking or fishing party was organised for her entertainment, but the disturbed state of the country, the fear of treachery, and the uncertainty of the whereabouts of the king's forces, rendered so large an escort necessary, and entailed so much trouble and preparation, that the sport was robbed of all zest. if orders were given in the evening, it most frequently happened that the morning would be wet and uninviting; if left till a suitable morning had dawned, all freshness had vanished before the advancing sun ere so large a party could be put in motion. moreover, emma had little heart for such entertainment, which chiefly served to bring back memories of happier days, when earl roger and ralph de guader had been beside her; and all the prowess of her danish hawk did but remind her of her husband and his dangers. soar, and stoop, and chancelier as he might, he failed to move her enthusiasm, and did but render her more sad, while the encomiums of sir alain de gourin, who made a point of attending her on these expeditions, irked rather than pleased her. his criticisms, admiring as they were, seemed to her impertinent when passed on a bird which ralph de guader had pronounced as one of the most perfect he had ever seen. so she strove to cheat the hours by embroidering a magnificent mantle for her absent lord, using all the most elaborate saxon stitches, which she had learned from eadgyth, who sat ever at her elbow to help her, if she forgot her lesson. such gorgeous mantles were much in fashion among the norman exquisites. eadgyth herself was busy, by emma's desire, making an altar-cloth for the chapel of the castle, in which the de guader and east anglian arms were mingled somewhat incongruously with pictorial illustrations of the life of st. nicholas. the chaplain of the aforesaid chapel had drawn the designs, being a very clever limner and illuminator, and he took great interest in the progress of the pious work, losing no opportunity to visit the fair embroideress when she was engaged upon it. he was a young breton of good family, but had sunk his patronymic for the priestly 'father pierre,' the venerable title being rather incongruous to his boyish face and shy, shrinking ways. he was an ascetic enthusiast, believing sternly in the mortification of the flesh, and his young cheeks were sunken, his large dark eyes hollow and glittering, and his tall figure painfully emaciated. but his sternness was all for himself; to his flock he was the kindest of pastors, and in his humility he did not venture to enter upon political matters, accepting the judgment of his feudal superior as paramount, and not to be questioned. emma did not feel drawn to him. her practical nature could not comprehend or draw comfort from his mystic and dreamy ecstasies, and she needed a strong, clear-headed guide, to advise her on the tangible and imminent perplexities that encircled her. 'oh for an hour of father theodred!' she sighed one day, when father pierre had left the apartment, after making a vague reply to a question she had addressed to him, touching some small urgent duty of the hour. 'our good chaplain hath more anxiety regarding the ordering of thy needlework warriors for the adornment of his chapel, than for the bodies of the living men who are defending it, methinks! in good sooth, eadgyth, i feel tired of this stitchery. i would the wind blew not so keenly on the battlements. i could be ever watching the horizon like some sea-rover's deserted mate, looking out for the glint of sun on a steel headpiece, as such an one would watch for a sail. the stone walls well-nigh stifle me! i feel entombed sitting here, where i cannot see if any approach to bring tidings of my dear lord! fetch me mantle and headrail, sweet damsel. methinks, if i sit here longer, chewing the cud of bitter reflection, i shall go stark staring mad. let us go to the battlements and fight the wind!' eadgyth, whose more phlegmatic temperament did not seek relief from mental pain in physical exercise, smiled at the restlessness of her friend, but instantly laid aside her needlework, and sought her lady's tire-woman, who brought the wished-for garments. in a few moments emma and eadgyth had left the lodge, ascended the spiral staircase in the great tower, and were pacing upon the battlements. it was one of those grey chilly days, frequent in the eastern counties, when the north-west wind brings haze from the fenlands, and the wash, and the north sea; covering the sky with a leaden pall, and bringing winter into summer's heart. columns of dust rose along the roadways, but the wind swept away all mist and fog, and the country showed bleak and naked to the horizon. the sentinels saluted their countess and her lady-in-waiting with a deep reverence, but they were accustomed to see their fair castellan scanning the distance, as if distrusting that any eyes could be so keen and faithful as her own. they paced the circuit of the battlements some five or six times, and played with the pigeons that crowded upon the merlons, and greeted them with soft cooing and much fluttering of soft-coloured pinions, for they knew well that emma's gipsire was generally stored with peas for them. suddenly emma caught her bower-maiden by the wrist. 'see!' she cried. 'my sail is in sight! dost thou not catch the glint of a morion over yonder?' they were on the southern side of the keep, and she indicated a far speck upon the course of the ikenield way. 'nay,' replied eadgyth, 'mine eyes reach not so far, the more especially as this stinging wind brings unbidden tears into them.' 'i am right, eadgyth--it is a horseman approaching! ho, sentinel! thy vigil is no very keen one!' 'in sooth, lady, i can see naught,' answered the sentinel, with a respectful salutation. it had been a favourite amusement with emma, when a girl at clifford castle, to challenge her maidens and squires, and any noble visitor who might chance to be present, to a trial of sight, from the walls of that goodly fortress, and seldom had she found any who could rival her for length of vision. she proved to be right on this occasion. a horseman was approaching, and at a gallop, and the sentinels soon acknowledged his coming and gave the fitting signal. a while later, and the traveller had reached the barbican, and, after a short parley, the portcullis was raised, the drawbridge lowered, and he rode forward into the courtyard of the castle. emma descended full of tremulous excitement. sir alain de gourin met her, on his way to the courtyard, to question the new-comer. 'i will send word at once, if he prove to be one of the earl's men, or brings any message or news,' said sir alain. 'nay,' replied emma, 'i will myself go down. each moment of waiting will prove a year.' so, with eadgyth beside her, and her train of ladies following, she went down to the great portal on the east side of the keep, whence a short time before she had bidden 'god speed' to her noble spouse and his army. the horseman was surrounded by a curious crowd of soldiers and domestics. archers and men-at-arms of all sorts and conditions from the guard-room, pages, squires, cooks, and scullions, had all come forth to see. certain of the garrison who had been trying their strength for pastime in a wrestling bout, had left their sport, and stood with brawny arms akimbo, and mouths agape. even the pale face of the chaplain was amongst the group, his dark eyes gazing with pity and awe upon the man who formed its centre. [illustration: the tower stairs.] he was in sorry plight! his horse, flecked with foam and bloody with spurring, head down, nostrils red, and limbs trembling with fatigue, looked as though another mile had been utterly beyond his spent powers. the casque of the rider was battered, and his countenance so gashed with wounds as to be beyond recognition, nor did his surcoat or harness in any way help to show his identity, so stained and torn were they. shield he had none, and his right arm hung straightly at his side. he took no heed of the crowd buzzing round him, nor of the countess standing at the portal of the keep, with sir alain de gourin at her right, and sir hoël de st. brice on her left, and her train of ladies and squires behind her, but sat on his panting steed, with his chin sunk on his breast. suddenly one from the circle around him cried, '_mort de ma vie!_ he has lost a foot as well as a hand!' a murmur of surprise burst round him. 'those are no gashes gained in fair fighting! his nose is slit! saints and angels! he has been in the hands of the bastard's men! we all know how william serves his prisoners!' 'speak, sir fugitive, or sir messenger, or whatever your name is,' thundered de gourin, 'and speedily! is it so? who art thou? for thy beauty is so spoiled we are at a loss by what title to greet thee! by the rood! his own mother would not know him!' the countess hastily bade her leech be called, and shuddered, not only with pity, but with a dread presentiment of evil, as the ghastly witness of men's merciless cruelty turned his maimed face towards them, his bloodshot eyes staring vacantly, half dazed with terror and pain. 'it is all over!' he muttered hoarsely, forcing his swollen lips to utter the words with difficulty. 'the earl is slain, and my master; and the army is scattered like a flock of sheep! flee, flee! they are coming after me to storm the castle!' he raised his right arm, from which the hand had been riven, the stump black with the searing of red-hot irons with which the flow of blood had been staunched, in a gesture of entreaty. a fearful witness truly as to what might be expected to follow on defeat. a howl of fierce anger ran around the courtyard, and many a strong breast heaved with an indignant sob of impotent rage; curses loud and deep were showered on the heads of william of normandy and his vicegerents. 'heed him not, noble emma!' cried sir hoël de st. brice hastily. 'by the holy virgin! 'tis but a recreant who has let himself be made prisoner, and now repeats the story they have stuffed him with! out of his wits with their rough treatment, and small wonder! may the foul fiend seize them for their barbarity!' 'christ be my witness, i speak sooth!' cried the unfortunate fugitive. 'i am stephen le hareau, squire of the body to sir guy de landerneau, and i swear by the holy cross, i saw the earl fall with mine own eyes!' 'thou stephen le hareau? thou?' shouted sir alain de gourin, startled out of his equanimity as he looked at the pitiful object before his eyes, and remembered the handsome gallant he had seen ride from the castle gates a few weeks before. a fresh hiss of execration burst from the bystanders, as the cruelty of the young man's fate came home to them. stephen le hareau! the handsomest and most popular squire in the earl's following! they knew him, too, for a brave and dauntless soldier. sir hoël looked towards the countess, wondering how she would bear the blow, for the difficulty with which she had maintained her self-control when she had parted with her noble bridegroom had been manifest to all, and now the worst fears she could then have entertained were declared to have come to pass. but emma, who had shrunk from the approach of evil, stood firm to meet its actual contact. her face was white as marble, and her lips quivered, but she said in a firm voice,-- 'the cruelty this poor gentleman has undergone may well nerve our hearts to resistance. st. nicholas grant thou art in the right, sir hoël. he may well deem things blacker than they are! i prithee, keep him no longer answering our vain queries. let him be lifted from his horse and carried to the spital. i will tend him with my own hands. his poor steed also, let it be cared for.' eadgyth and several of the ladies were sobbing hysterically behind her. she turned to them. 'courage, dames and damsels!' she said, with a simple dignity that shamed them into self-control. 'i have heard as evil tales as this, and found them vanish like dreams at the breaking of the morn.' she gathered her robes around her and swept back into the keep, and, calling her tirewoman, ordered her to bring sundry essences and simples, which, like every noble lady of the time, she kept by her, the science of medicine being chiefly in feminine hands in those days. then, bidding eadgyth to attend her, she proceeded at once to the spital, to leech the unfortunate squire. she stopped a few moments in the chapel, to direct the chaplain to offer masses for the souls of those who had fallen in the battle. a sob caught her breath as she remembered the earnest repetition with which stephen le hareau had declared that the earl was amongst them. but she dare not think, and went on hurriedly to direct that others should be offered for the safety of those who had escaped, and for the success of their undertaking. her ministrations to the wounded man kept at bay the fierce troop of agonising thoughts that were thronging down upon her like a pack of hungry wolves. rolling bandages, and preparing salves and unguents, she had scarce time to speculate upon the probability of the truth of her patient's direful news. true, no doubt, it was as far as his knowledge went, but there was hope, as sir hoël had suggested, that his report of the battle had been supplied by their opponents, and himself sent off by them, as a messenger of evil tidings, with the express intent of demoralising the garrison of blauncheflour. the physical sufferings of the poor squire were so terrible to witness, that emma almost forgot the awful shadow of death and impending peril that hung over her own head, and the hours flew past without her noticing their flight. all that she and her leech and her ladies could do to lessen his pain was done, but it was not much. even in these days little could be done for such a case, with all the skill of advanced science. presently a page came to the countess with a message from the two knights, st. brice and de gourin, begging her to give them audience in the council-chamber. 'watch over my sufferer, eadgyth,' said emma. when she entered the apartment in which the two knights were awaiting her, she quivered with apprehension as she saw their grave faces. sir hoël's kindly visage was white as his silver hair, and even sir alain's inflamed countenance was a shade less purple-red than usual, while his expression was distinctly anxious. they both hesitated to speak, but the countess broke the pause. 'tell me the worst, gentle sirs, i pray you. suspense is ever hardest to bear, and i see you have ill news.' sir hoël advanced and took her hand in both his own, a little forgetting the ceremony due to her rank, in his huge pity for her youth and the forlorn fate that he feared too surely had befallen her. 'alas, dear lady, the news is ill indeed! sir walter deresfort, and the saxon thegn, alfnoth of walsham, with some dozen men-at-arms, have ridden in from cambridgeshire, and confirm'--a sob broke his voice--'in every item the dire tidings brought by poor stephen le hareau.' 'do they say, then, that i am a widow?' asked emma in a strange, hard voice, with so awful a calm in it, that the thick-skinned sir alain, who was little wont to heed the tears or shrieks of women, or to spare them in any respect if they stood in his way, shuddered as he heard it. he thought the countess was going mad. 'i fear,' answered sir hoël, 'there is no doubt the earl is slain, st. nicholas rest his soul!' 'then, gentlemen,' asked emma in the same strange tone, 'what is to be done?' 'god knows!' exclaimed sir hoël, the great tears running down his furrowed face, and dripping upon his hauberk. 'noble lady,' said sir alain eagerly, speaking for the first time, 'it is well known that the wrath of the primate, and of his master, william the norman, is principally enkindled against the countrymen of the late earl. thy safety, most noble countess, is, of course, what every man in the garrison would give his life to insure, therefore my humble counsel, for what it may be worth, is that thou shouldest at once take ship with the trusty bretons under my command, and make for bretagne, and thy late husband's estates of guader and montfort.' 'what is thy counsel, sir hoël?' demanded emma, still with the same unnatural calm. 'dear lady, i would advise thee as doth sir alain.' 'but would not the garrison, thus bereft of half their numbers, fall an instant prey to the enemy?' asked emma. 'it is not william's policy to provoke the saxons, and to his own countrymen he is ever complacent,' urged de gourin, with the same eagerness. 'therefore my meaning is, that the castle be surrendered at once, in which case the garrison would probably be softly dealt with, we bretons being out of the way; whereas further resistance will be useless, and will but further provoke their vengeance, the style of which we have seen.' 'art thou of this advice also, sir hoël?' demanded emma. sir hoël bowed his head. 'dear lady,' he said, 'there is no doubt that the primate hath animosity against us bretons, and may prove kinder to normans and saxons; yet methinks i will stand by them, and advise them not to try his mercy sooner than is needful. i counsel, therefore, that thou shouldest so far follow sir alain's advice, as to take ship with himself and his band for bretagne. for my part, i will fight for it with the garrison remaining to me. blauncheflour has been built to stand a siege, and we may well victual it before supplies can be cut off. we may yet make good terms.' 'there spoke the spirit of a true knight!' cried emma, turning on de gourin with so fierce a flash in her eyes, that he started, so great a change was it from the stony indifference of her former manner. 'go, fair sir, if it suits thee! take all thy fainthearted mercenaries with thee to their native bretagne! i will stay with sir hoël and defend this castle, which the earl gave into my charge. the _late_ earl, thou said'st? methinks thou art wondrous quick to make so certain of his death! methinks all these gallant gentlemen who have galloped back to the safe walls of blauncheflour in such hot haste, scarce waited to see if he was wounded or slain! for _me_ he will never be the _late_ earl. on earth or in heaven he is my husband still, and i will hold his castle, hoping, perhaps selfishly, that he will come to claim it. i will hold it if only to have vengeance on his foes!' sir hoël watched her in delighted surprise. sir alain flushed hotly under her attack, but could not but admire the high-spirited beauty as she hurled her indignant taunts at his head. 'now, by all the saints! thou art unjust to me and my poor following, noble lady!' he exclaimed. 'my object was but to secure thy safety.' 'if the earl be indeed slain,' said emma, with a tremor in her voice, 'my safety boots me but little; if he be not, it is important that blauncheflour hold out to the last gasp. besides, ye know not how it fares with my brother of hereford; his arms have perchance prevailed, and he may be able to relieve us.' 'a slender hope,' said sir alain impatiently. 'but our lives are at thy disposal, noble emma.' he accompanied this speech with a smile of homage, which he meant to be irresistibly touching and pathetic; for a new idea had come into the adventurer's bullet-head, which somewhat gilded the pill of hard fighting without hope of plunder, which the countess's decision forced him to swallow. he remembered that if, as he fully believed, de guader was slain, the beautiful emma had become a widow with a goodly dower! for even if, as was probable, her late husband's possessions in england were forfeit through his treason, and all english and norman property of her own, the estates of guader and montfort were beyond william's jurisdiction, and she would doubtless draw rich rents from them. this rich prize was here under his hand, and, to a great extent, in his power. if he played his cards well, he might secure her for himself, albeit she was william of normandy's kinswoman. but the good old sir hoël looked at her fair, flushed face with very different thoughts. 'god bless thee, dear young lady,' he said, with a husky voice. 'he would be a coward indeed who grudged to give his life for thee! though, for that matter, we must needs fight for our own sakes, so we need not try to make out that all our valour is on thy behalf!' emma met his kind eyes, and scarce bore their sympathy. she turned away hastily. 'there must be more wounded in the spital,' she said; 'i must tend them. make what preparation needs for holding out under a long siege.' and so saying she quitted the apartment. 'alas!' sir hoël murmured, more to himself than to de gourin, when she was gone, 'i doubt she is buoying herself with a false hope, and that our noble de guader will glad her eyes no more.' 'by the rood!' answered sir alain, 'i doubt so too. but methinks so fair a widow, and so well-dowered and youthful withal, may find consolation on this side the grave. holy mary! a dame of spirit! if our motley garrison, saxons, danes, flemings, and other, were of metal that would ring to the same tune, our case would not look so desperate.' 'methinks the mercenaries under thy hand are the most doubtful metal within the walls, good sir,' answered sir hoël gravely, eyeing his companion somewhat keenly. 'if thou canst get the right ring out of _them_, i think i can answer for the rest!' chapter xv. 'o high ambition lowly laid!' the choughs and ravens which had flapped lazily away, with noisy wings and harsh croaking, when the royalists had come to search amongst the dead and wounded for ralph de guader, had settled down to their banquet again as soon as their disturbers had departed, mistakenly laden with the body of the breton knight whom grillonne had decorated with the earl's helmet. their foul beaks were busy with the flesh of the dead and the eyes of the living. the harsh clamour of these noisy revellers pierced at length to the fainting ears of the fallen earl, who was in some measure revived by the cordial which grillonne had poured down his throat. consciousness came back to him, a poor exchange, under such circumstances, for kind oblivion. for he could move neither hand nor foot, and the weight upon his chest was as the oppression of a fearful nightmare--a nightmare from which there was no awaking. he lay helpless--the living under the dead! above him stretched the twilight sky, still flushed with fleeting, blood-red clouds, beyond which, from pale green pools of infinite depth, glimmered, here and there, a silvery star. to the right stretched the sombre heath, its rising hills crested with fantastic figures of contorted slain, men and horses stiffened into uncouth and terrible forms; while groaning wounded were heaped between them, their panting anguish not less awful than the silence of the dead. to his left also were witnesses of battle, but not so many, for on that side the hungry morasses had swallowed them up. to the south and west the measureless fen stretched to the horizon, crimson to its farthest verge with the ensanguined glow of the sun, the tall reeds reddened like warrior's lances that had been dipped in the life-blood of the foe. the air was full of the awful scent of wounds and blood, and the weird, dank odours of the decaying sedges, while the wailing wind piped and moaned over the wold, swaying the rushes, though scarcely making a ripple on the protected surfaces of the bottomless lagoons. mallard and teal and plover came circling back to their haunts in the lonely swamps, now that the din of battle, which had frightened them, was over and done; and, as the twilight deepened, bats and owls came forth with silent wings to hunt their night-roaming prey. ralph's open eyes looked only into the sky, and at the wild, wind-driven clouds fleeting across the calm, immutable heavens beyond, as the struggling hosts of mortals fleet over the face of eternity. his soul was filled with an overwhelming sense of desolation and guilt. he had brought his fate upon himself, and he must face the shadow of the valley of death, all forsworn and blood-stained as he was; alone, helpless. no wife to comfort him, no priest to absolve him, 'cut off even in the blossoms of his sin, unhousel'd, disappointed, unanel'd.' against the clear spaces of the sky, he saw, high up, almost above the clouds, an ordered flight of wild swans passing swiftly westward into the sunset glow. oh, that he were free as they, winged as the wind! his spirit writhed in fierce rebellion. he put forth all his force in a wild struggle to drag his limbs from the prisoning mass that detained them, but he could not lift the ghastly burden that weighted him to earth an inch. 'mary in heaven, help me!' he groaned. 'i am scarce wounded, and so strong! it will take me hours to die, and these foul birds will perish mine eyes!' the cold sweat burst from his brow, and, as he writhed again, he somewhat shook his head, and the bells on the jester's cap tinkled. he quivered with astonishment, and contrived so far to lift his head as to catch a glimpse of the points of the cape which covered his shoulders. at first the idea seized him that he was no longer on earth at all, but in purgatory, and dressed in a jester's garb, in that his sin had been through the folly of pride and mad ambition. then, with a flash, came the joyous thought of grillonne, the faithful, the ready of wit, the fertile of resource. a wild gladness came to him, but as the sky grew dark, and the stars were obscured by clouds, hope left him again. 'if it were he indeed, he has forgotten me, or has met his death in trying to save me.' then all the joys of earth passed before him in a fair pageant, and he thought of his young bride with her clear, loving eyes that he might never see again, and to whom he had been united with such magnificence scarcely a month before, and who was but a few short miles from the scene of his present suffering; and at the thought, burning tears welled from beneath his closed lids and rolled down his bronzed cheeks, moistening the parti-coloured edges of grillonne's cape. 'ah, it is bitter!' he groaned. 'not more bitter for thee than for the scores and tens of scores thou hast led into like misery,' said awakened conscience grimly. '_mea culpa! mea culpa!_' murmured the unfortunate warrior in his anguish. 'my days have been evil in the land. i have sought not the will of heaven, but mine own vain-glory. but oh, mary mother, let not my sins be visited on the head of my sweet lady! as thou wert a woman, protect her from all harm! sure william will be merciful to his kinswoman.' dismal indeed were the thoughts that chased each other across his restless brain, which seemed to make up by its activity for the enforced stillness of his body. visions crowded upon him of his castle of blauncheflour in flames, and his lady in the power of insulting or--and it was little less terrible to his ambitious, jealous spirit--too-courteous conquerors, some one of whom might, perchance, find favour in her eyes and drive his memory from her heart. at length, however, as the stillness of the night fell over the plain, broken only by the moaning wind or the agonised groan of some fellow-sufferer, he grew calmer, and a deep resignation flooded his breast. '_mea culpa!_' he murmured again. death seemed inevitable, and he bowed his spirit humbly to accept it. hark!-- the mingled anguish and joy of hope awaked once more. for the silence was broken by a sound so faint that his listening ears could scarce detect its repetition, distracted as they were by the tumultuous pulses which throbbed at the possibility of escape. yet why hope rather than fear? why should the sound of approaching steps mean friends rather than foes? the fact grew certain. steps were approaching, and were accompanied by a clash of arms that betokened soldiery. how he strained to catch every faint sound that might indicate the direction in which these, his fellow-men, alive and strong and capable of help, were moving! 'st. nicholas befriend me! if the miracle is wrought that i be rescued from this living tomb, i vow to make pilgrimage to the holy sepulchre before my days are done!' then he shuddered in sick misery lest the band should pass him by! better a blow from the _miséricorde_ of an enemy, than the languishing torture of his present position. others thought so too, for he heard more than one piteous cry for help. then he, the proud earl, lifted up a feeble voice and craved deliverance, even by death!-- and it came. 'here! here! this way, my lads, this way!' cried the familiar voice of the faithful jester. 'look you, galliards, there is my famous cap and cape! saints be praised! he wears them still. the lord grant there is a living skull in the cap. i shrewdly thought i heard him squeak!' 'ay, grillonne, thou didst, sure enough!' cried the earl; and the revulsion of feeling from despair to hope was so great that he fainted again. when he revived, his head was in grillonne's arms, and the intolerable weight of the slain who had fallen above him was removed from his limbs, which, however, were so numbed that he could not move them. half-a-dozen stout fellows, archers, slingers, and spearmen, were bustling about him, dimly visible by the light of a horn lantern which one of them carried. grillonne, seeing his eyes open, instantly held a flask to his lips, and when the draught had helped his revival, nodded sagely. ''tis well to be taken for a fool sometimes, nuncle.' he remarked, twitching his tinkling cap from the earl's head. 'thy fine helmet has been carried off in triumph to the enemy's camp on the corse of poor sir guy de landerneau, whom i bedecked with it; seeing that, as they had already killed him as dead as a norwich red herring, they could do him no further hurt. 'twill have given us time even if they discover the cheat, as most like they will, for so many of them are full well acquainted with thy noble hawk nose.' 'ah, grillonne ready-wit,' said the earl, 'st. nicholas reward thee! that prince of hypocrisy, lanfranc, may say that jesters have no hope, and are doomed without fail to the worm that dieth not and the fire that knows no quenching![ ] but i tell thee, grillonne, he in hell shall pray to thee in heaven as dives to lazarus!' and the groaning noble kissed the hand that lay upon his breast, albeit the member belonged to one of that despised class, for death is a greater leveller than any democrat or republican of them all, and ralph de guader had held long converse with him. [ ] 'd. have jesters hope? m. none. in their whole design they are the ministers of satan. of them it is said: "they have not known god, therefore god hath despised them, and the lord shall have them in derision, for mockers shall be mocked."'--lanfranc's _elucidarium_, p. , quoted by hook, _lives of the archbishops of canterbury_. grillonne raised the hand which had been so honoured to his own lips and added some hearty smacks to the aristocratic salute it had received. 'nay, my dear lord,' he said in a rather husky voice, 'i would fain lay that hand up in lavender and take it to heaven with me when i die, since thou thinkest i have hope to get there. but alack! we have rough work before us to prevent thee from getting thither before thy palace is prepared for thee. thou art not saved yet by a very long chalk. if st. nicholas is half so generous as thou deemest, he will give me my reward at once, like a free-handed gentleman, in the shape of success to the safe ending of my undertaking; nor must we spend further time in palaver.' he beckoned to the men who were with him, and four of them came forward with a litter roughly woven of osiers, of which a plentiful supply was near at hand. grillonne and another lifted the earl into it, and they set off at a rapid pace, the jester guiding them along the smoothest path; and watching over his charge with tender care. to de guader it seemed as if he were couched on pillows of softest down, notwithstanding his wounds and the pain the motion caused him, for the joy of being rescued from his horrible entombment, and of having yet a chance of life and love, was so intense that he seemed to be in a dream of bliss. his eyes filled with grateful tears each time that a gleam from the lantern gave him a fitful glimpse of grillonne's face. never had he thought to be so glad to look on that wizened, whimsical countenance, with its oblique eyes twinkling with mingled malice and affection, and which seemed almost quainter under the conical steel-cap with the nasal, in which he had ensconced it on giving up his cap to the earl, than in that strange headgear itself. the way was no flowery one either. slain men and horses encumbered the bearers at every step, and more than one pitiful voice from some wounded wretch, in such plight as the earl had just been rescued from, besought them in mercy to stop and give aid, for the sake of mary mother and the saints in heaven. most pitiful of all was the cry for 'water, for the love of christ!' from men whose limbs were actually immersed in the rippling edges of the meres or engulfed in the slimy ooze, and who were so faint from wounds, or so set fast by the slain above them, that they could reach no drop wherewith to moisten their parched lips and slake the burning death-thirst which tormented them. but they cried to deaf ears; nay, when entreating arms were thrown around the limbs of the litter-bearers, a sharp cut across the knuckles with dagger or anlace speedily unclasped the detaining fingers, whether they belonged to friend or foe. it was rough treatment, but the men were risking their lives in their endeavour to save that of the earl, and delay would have been fatal both to him and to themselves. the fact that the body of sir guy de landerneau had been removed by the enemy proved that they desired to make certain of de guader's fate, and on finding their mistake they might at any time return to rectify it. the moon had risen by this, and shone between the swift fleeting clouds that sped across the sky. by her light and the uncertain glimmer of the lantern, ralph saw that two of his rescuers wore the winged helms and long moustaches and golden torcs distinguishing the costume of the danes. his heart leapt with hope that the messengers he had despatched to the court of king sweyn had moved the warlike monarch to seize the opportunity of striking a blow at his ancient enemy, william of normandy, and had sent him timely reinforcements. but their progress was too rapid for speech, and whatever might be his curiosity, he had to lie passive in his litter and allow himself to be borne whithersoever his rescuers pleased. and by what a weird and desolate pathway did they bear him! heading, apparently, for the very heart of the fen that stretched westward as far as eye could reach, its level surface unbroken by tree or hill, and only varied by beds of tall reeds and snake-like pools of still, dark water, the surfaces of which were scarcely rippled by the gusty breeze, they advanced steadily for the better part of an hour. the fitful light of the half shrouded moon cast ghastly gleams upon the waving plumes of the flowering sedges and white tufts of the meadow-sweet, whose strong and somewhat sickly perfume mingled, strangely luscious, with the dank odours of peat and decaying rushes and grasses. now and again some frightened bird flew screaming from its roosting-place, or dusky water-rat glided hastily into thicker cover, or plunged with a flop into the water, while the pipe of the curlew, or boom of the bittern, sounded from afar off in the melancholy marshes. the loneliness was intense, and seemed but accentuated by the presence of bird and beast. [illustration: the rescue of the earl.] in the dimness of the cloudy night, with the uncertain bursts of moonlight, that seemed to make the chaos of scarce divided earth and water but more difficult to distinguish, the men who bore the earl threaded their way through the bewildering maze, with an unerring celerity and absence of hesitation that proved them to be no strangers to its mysterious solitude. at length they halted, beside a channel less overgrown with weeds and rushes than the many they had passed, and which was, in fact, the great ouse river. one of the party put a horn to his lips and sounded a couple of mots. his summons was answered from the water, and in a few seconds a boat impelled by eight sturdy oarsmen shot forth from a bend in the river and drew to the bank. the earl was speedily put on board, with the faithful grillonne at his head, and his bearers embarked, some with him, some in a second boat which had come in the wake of the first. de guader confided himself utterly to the safe keeping of his jester, and the rhythmic sound of the oars, which he believed were every moment bringing him nearer to liberty, soothed him inexpressibly. he fell into a drowsy sleep of exhaustion, never really losing consciousness, but devoid of all impatience, and almost of all curiosity as to whither he was being taken. but the splash of the oars ceased at length, and the keel of the boat grated on the shore of a small island, raising a modest crown a little above the level of the surrounding fen. it was protected by an earthwork somewhat similar in construction to the great dykes with which cambridge is seamed, the devil's dyke, fleamdyke, and others, and, had the light served, the low turrets of a long, rambling, two-storied house might have been seen behind its shelter. a summons was given by a few mots on the horn, and in answer a deep voice threw a challenge across the sullen surface of the waters,-- 'who goes there?' 'st. nicholas for guader!' a rattle of chains and hoarse creaking of bolts and hinges followed, and a heavy gate was slowly lifted, which admitted the boats into an inner moat. they glided in and moored their vessels at a small landing stage on the opposite side, the gate closing instantly behind them. as they did so, the sentry asked anxiously, in a low voice and in the saxon tongue, 'what cheer?' 'all's well!' was the answer. 'st. eadmund be praised!' ejaculated the sentry fervently; and the earl's heart leapt with a thrill of joy and gratitude to the poor unknown soldier who cared about his safety, so infinitely precious had the humblest human sympathy become to him since those dreadful hours when he had thought himself doomed to quit the cheerful earth and the faces of his fellow-men for evermore! inside the enclosure a party of wild-looking ceorls surrounded them, with shaggy locks and rude jerkins of sheepskin, armed with pikes and staves for the most part, but some few better clad, and bearing the terrible seax; their brawny necks half hidden by their unshorn beards, which hung in tow-coloured elf-locks round their weather-beaten and scarred faces. amongst them were one or two tall fellows, dressed, like those in the party of rescuers who had attracted de guader's attention, in danish mode. this much he gathered by the fitful moonlight and the feeble light of lanterns carried by the men. question and answer followed quick between his bearers and their rough colleagues, but he could comprehend little of what they said, for they spoke in all manner of tongues and dialects. 'thou hast had a harsh ride, i fear me, good nuncle,' said grillonne, bending over his beloved master with tender solicitude. 'gramercy! 'tis a god-forsaken hole we have brought thee to; but beggars must not be choosers, and let us hope that the archbishop's people will keep their pious noses from sniffing thee out in it! troth! if they venture them here, i parry, some of these stout carles will slit them for them parlous quick!' 'methinks any corner of the earth is better than being quite out of it, grillonne,' returned the earl, with a gentle smile. 'i am not like to be critical; but in good sooth i would fain know the title of my host?' 'i scarce know it myself, good my lord,' replied the jester. ''tis a saxon, or more properly anglo-danish thegn, whose son went shares in thy escapade, and has got a maimed foot for his share of the booty, they tell me. the father and son have had a price on their heads since hereward leofricsson's downfall, and have a natural fellow-feeling for thy discomfiture, sweet nuncle.' meanwhile they had reached the entrance of the house, and the earl was borne into a long barnlike hall, very sparsely furnitured, with a table running almost from one end of it to the other, and rude settles and stools placed against it, as in preparation for a meal. at one end was an archway leading into another apartment, which seemed, to judge by the heat and the savoury odours, the noises of pots and kettles and other indications which came from it, to be a kitchen; while at the other end was a cheerful fire of peat, beside which sat an aged warrior wearing the anglo-danish tunic and cross-gartered hose, his white hair flowing back over his shoulders and his grizzled beard growing close up his cheeks, so that it seemed almost to meet the bushy white eyebrows that shaded his bright blue eyes. his baldric was richly worked with gold, and he wore massive gold bracelets on his arms. beside him stood a broad-shouldered, athletic young man in similar garb; his thick fair hair surrounding his head like a lion's mane, and his long moustaches and golden beard showing lighter than the bronzed skin of his cheeks and chest; his eyes as bright and blue as those of his father, and his neck and sinewy arms covered with tattoo marks. but the linen tunic he wore was drabbled with mud and gore, and one of his feet was swathed in bandages, through which the crimson stains would force their way, and his muscular hand grasped the arm of his father's carved oak chair to ease his weight somewhat from the wounded foot. on the opposite side of the large open fireplace sat a monk in the habit of the black friars, and near by a stately lady, wearing the headrail and flowing robes which had been the fashion in the time of the confessor; while a bevy of damsels waited behind her, looking towards the wounded earl with curious eyes. the old thegn rose as the bearers brought their noble burden forward, advanced to the litter, and, bowing with great dignity, said in his own tongue,-- 'by the holy cross! my heart is glad to see thee safe beneath my roof, oh, valorous earl! would that ealdred godwinsson had means to offer fitting hospitality to the son of ralph the staller, in whose hand his own has been placed and under whose standard he has fought in many a hard field! alas! the glory of his house has faded! barely can he save his last days from the fury of his foes by hiding in this wilderness of the meres! but to such as he possesses, thrice welcome, noble earl! had not age and infirmity clogged his steps as securely as chains of iron, he had sallied forth to thy rescue himself. had not a spear-thrust in the instep, got this morn while fighting in thy ranks, crippled leofric his son, that son had gone forth to seek thee.' here the younger man bowed deeply in token of assent and reverence. 'it boots not! his followers have been true, and thou art here.' 'brave thegn,' returned de guader, raising himself as far as possible in his litter, 'i thank thee for thy fidelity to a ruined and defeated man! the saints forefend that my presence bring evil to thy retreat!' 'nay,' answered ealdred, 'had those who would harm us the wit to track us, we had perished long since. but thou art sore wounded! berwine, the widow of mine eldest-born, shall leech thy hurts.' a couch was prepared in a recess near the fireplace, and the earl was placed thereon. cordials and delicate soups, with omelettes of plovers' eggs, were brought to tempt his appetite, and the young thegn's widow examined his wounds, pansed and dressed them with soothing unguents, and finally bound them up in linen of her own weaving, and with the greatest tenderness and skill. meanwhile the stalwart fellows who had borne the stricken noble so far upon their strong shoulders,--no light burden, sheathed as he was in all his mail!--with grillonne and others, were regaled with the savoury messes whose odours had assailed them with such enticing welcome through the kitchen door as they entered, and, in sooth, they had a _ménu_ fit for a king. stewed and fried eel, pike and lampreys in pasties, roast gossander, curlew, and snipe!--fare fit for an epicure, and by no means cavilled at by the hungry men before whom it was served--add thereto good cider and ale. for this island in the meres was the home of innumerable wildfowl, and fish as many crowded the waters around it. 'wild swannes, gossanders, water-crows, hernes, hernshaws, cranes, curlewes, mallard, teele, bytters, knotts, styntes, godwytts, widgeons, smeaths, puffins, and many sorts of gulls; eels, pike, pickerel, perch, roach, barbel, lampreys, and sometimes a royal-fish' (turbot or sturgeon?); so that, as the chronicler relates of hereward's refuge in the neighbouring isle of ely, foemen might sit blockading the place for seven years without 'making one hunter cease to set his nets or one fowler to deceive the birds with springe and snare.' in this asylum we will leave the earl, and see how it fares with blauncheflour. chapter xvi. wife or widow? the castellan of blauncheflour swept hastily from the chamber where she had held council with the two knights, doubting lest her power of self-control should fail her, and that the desperate grief which was gnawing at her heart should gain the upper hand, and mar the stately boldness of mien which she saw affected them not a little, by bringing the weak tears which are accounted a woman's privilege. she remembered bitterly that almost the last day which she had spent with her dear lord had been clouded for him by her weeping, and she felt as if by maintaining firmness now she was carrying out his wishes. 'i vexed him with my tears,' she said to herself. 'ah! now i will be the very hero's daughter he bade me to be. i will be bolder than his mailed retainers. while i can get one soldier to fight for me, one warder to pace the walls, i will hold his castle ready to receive him!' by such brave words she tried to stifle the awful terror that assailed her secret heart that the tidings of stephen le hareau were indeed true. leaving the room hastily, she nearly fell over the fair figure of eadgyth, who was kneeling on the threshold. 'eadgyth! what dost thou here? is this obeying my behests? i bade thee tend the wounded, from whom other duties called me.' 'pardon, dear emma! i feared lest thou shouldst need my service. i have not forgotten the day when i found thee senseless in thy chamber; and these news be so dire.' 'faint heart!' cried emma contemptuously, taking refuge in indignation. 'dost thou then credit the wild stories of these runaways? how but by telling of slain leader and ruined cause could they excuse their own cowardice? the cousin of harold godwinsson should despise them for _nodings_!' her eyes blazed with the light of fierce determination, as she hissed out the word which in the ears of saxon or dane was the most degrading that could be applied to a warrior. the mild-natured eadgyth, whose courage was of the moral order, and with whom fortitude and fidelity were greater than high spirit, gazed wonderingly at her friend. she had seen emma cry over a fawn the dogs had lacerated, or over the dead body of a pet bird, when her own eyes had been tearless, and this strange strength of emma's made her shiver, for she fully believed that the earl was slain. emma looked in her startled face and laughed. 'tend them, bonnibell, and ease the pain of their wounds; but credit them not. let my lord deal with them when he comes back at the head of a victorious army.' eadgyth, like the knights, thought that the countess was going mad. perhaps she was; but her madness saved the garrison. yet, to say truth, her high spirit quailed when she re-entered the spital. the draggled, blood-stained, dejected warriors who lay, and leaned, and stood around, with every variety of wound to be dressed, were no cheering sight. nor, when she saw their pale, stern faces, grave with defeat and haggard from fatigue, did she stigmatise them in her heart, as she had stigmatised them in words, as cowards--_nodings_. her woman's heart went out in sympathy to the suffering humanity around her. she did not pause to settle the question whether they had fled prematurely or stood by their leader--in whom was all her joy--to the last bitter gasp, as brave men should. she dared not investigate too closely, lest they should convince her that she had wronged them, and so daunt the hope that was her only comfort. with tireless industry she busied herself in the manual labour of the leech, in such crude forms as the medical science of the day allowed. how rudimentary they were may be guessed from the story told us by old robert of gloucester, of the duke of austria in coeur de lion's time, some fifty years later, a patient who doubtless had at his command whatever skill the times afforded. the duke fell from his palfrey and hurt his foot, which mortified, and the doctors advised him that his only hope lay in having it taken off. nobody, however, could be found bold enough to undertake the operation, and the poor duke at last held a keen axe with his own hands upon his ankle, and bade his chamberlain smite upon it with all his strength, the foot being severed at the third blow. such being the best surgical aid that a royal duke could obtain, it may be imagined that little could be done to ease the pangs of humbler men. a stream of fugitives came straggling in before the day was done, and, alas! all told the same tale. they were mostly bretons or normans, for the saxons and anglo-danes who had followed the earl sought refuge, not in the norman stronghold, but in the forest retreats where their countrymen had already found shelter, and in the fastnesses of wold and fen, which were familiar to their steps. the bride of a month before tended them with feverish assiduity, refusing rest and food, dreading that time for thought should force her to yield belief to the tidings they all brought--that she was a widow. when evening came, sir alain de gourin demanded another audience, at which he appeared alone, averring that sir hoël could not leave the direction of the defence at the same time as himself. he faced the countess doggedly, with a defiant gleam in his bulging blue eyes which she did not find it pleasant to meet. his cheeks were more purple than ever, and it seemed to emma that his red moustache almost quivered with flame, while his brawny figure was adorned with an unusual display of finery, the flashing jewels on his baldric attracting her eyes even in that moment of distress. he urged that what had seemed a doubtful rumour in the morning had become certain news by night, since fugitive after fugitive had confirmed the tidings first brought by stephen le hareau, and begged her once more to think of her own safety, and allow himself and his trusty bretons to escort her to bretagne. 'is it but to repeat to mine ears the idle plaints of these runaways that thou hast summoned me to solemn conclave, good knight? my answer of the morning stands.' she broke into a laugh that was low and silvery enough, but which caused even the thick-skinned mercenary to shiver, and she would have swept from the room, but, recovering himself, de gourin stepped forward, and, laying his mailed hand on her arm, detained her. 'by the rood!' he exclaimed, 'thou shalt not go! thou alone in all this castle dost refuse to believe the inevitable. i tell thee, knights of my following, whose word is sacred as my own, saw ralph de guader struck down by the mace of odo of bayeux; none could live after such a blow, were his harness sevenfold thick! besides, the press of battle was upon the spot where he fell, and the feet of the horses must have achieved what odo began, if his mace completed it not.' eadgyth, who attended the countess, uttered a scream of horror, and endeavoured to stop his speech. 'wouldst thou kill her?' she cried. emma shook herself free from his grasp, and faced him with flashing eyes of scorn. 'by the mass, noble lady, pardon me! i would have spared thee these rude details, but perforce i must have thee comprehend.' 'if the earl indeed be perished,' said emma bitterly, 'life will not be so sweet to me that i should take such care to save it. save thyself and thy bretons if thou wilt. if ye go, there will be less to man the walls, but fewer mouths to feed.' the last words were uttered with a careless contempt that was absolutely sublime, and the blustering mercenary no longer ventured to detain her. 'certes, the donzelle is mad!' he asserted, with a round oath, when she had left the chamber, for her absolute refusal to leave blauncheflour had thrown to the winds his plan for becoming her second husband, and becoming lord of her fair manors. outside the chamber door emma turned to her loving bower-maiden like a creature of the woods at bay. eadgyth's sympathy was more dreadful to her than the breton's brutal frankness. 'i would be alone, eadgyth. i am going to the oratory,' she forced her white lips to murmur, and almost fled from her side down the circling stairway. eadgyth followed at a distance, and, when emma had disappeared within the sacred portal, threw herself prostrate at the threshold, like a faithful hound, as she had thrown herself at the door of the council-chamber in the morning. emma, alone at last, knelt before the shrine of the virgin. she chose that rather than the one dedicated to st. nicholas, for it seemed to her in her anguish that her husband's patron saint had forsaken his votaries in their distress. the grief she had so long held at bay shook her from head to foot with a long quivering sob that held her speechless, and almost stopped her breath. she stretched out her arms in mute supplication to heaven. scalding tears formed slowly in her eyes, and rolled one by one down her bloodless cheeks. then a fresh gust of agony shook her like a leaf. 'ah, _dieu merci_!' she moaned; 'the horses! the horses! they achieved if odo failed, he said! oh, christ! it cannot be! that dear head that has pillowed on my bosom!' quivering and shuddering, she sank upon the cold flags of the floor. the grey light of morning creeping through the narrow oriel found her still there. * * * * * 'oh, countess! sweet countess! one waits without who will not deliver his message to any but thee, and _he bears the earl's signet_!' eadgyth was in the oratory, bending over the stiffened form of the unhappy châtelaine of blauncheflour. emma passed her hands across her brow in blank bewilderment, and eadgyth cried to her again. 'oh, heaven be praised!' cried emma, a great light of joy springing into her eyes; and, rising from her knees, 'where is he? where is he?' she asked. 'take me to him without delay. what manner of man is this whose advent doth so raise my hopes? the earl's signet, sayest thou?' 'he wears a danish helm, and looks as if he had travelled over land and through water,' said eadgyth. 'our lady and good st. nicholas grant that our hopes be well founded!' 'fetch me my golden torc, which was my wedding gift from the false waltheof,' said emma; 'i will meet this dane as one who knows somewhat of his race.' she went to her chamber to wash away the signs of her night's vigil from her cheeks, and, when her hasty toilette was made, eadgyth saw with surprise the change in her: hope had brought back the bloom to her cheek and the elasticity to her step, and she looked well fit to be the bride of one who aspired to the third of a kingdom for his earldom. she swept from the lodge to the great tower, and entered the council-chamber, where sir hoël and sir alain awaited her, curious enough to know the contents of the missive guarded by the fair-haired, long-limbed dane with such jealous care, sir alain eyeing him as he stood before them with no very gracious countenance. when emma came into the room, the dane saluted her profoundly, his tow-coloured locks almost touching his knee, and his formidable double-edged axe rattling on the floor as he bent; then he put into the hands of the countess a packet tied with a slender silken cord. emma started with joy, for her quick eyes noted the many joins in that silken cord, and recognised it as composed of the fringe with which ralph's surcoat had been decked. the dane then drew from his finger a ring, and handed it to her, and, truly enough, it was de guader's signet. emma's fingers trembled so violently that she could scarce read the superscripture, endorsed with a clerkly scroll,-- 'to the fair hands of emma de guader, castellan of our castell of blauncheflour in norowic.' she drew the little _miséricorde_ at her girdle and severed the silk. 'bid the chaplain hither,' she said, for in truth she had little learning, and her literary attainments did not extend far beyond the reading of her own name; notwithstanding which, her eyes questioned eagerly the fairly illumined page before her, which was the work of the monk who has been mentioned as sitting by the hearth of ealdred godwinsson in his fenland refuge, for the earl's clerkly skill was little greater than that of his wife. impatiently she awaited the coming of the chaplain, and, when he came, thrust the cherished parchment into his hand, and followed his reading, word by word, with hungry avidity. 'fair and dear lady and countess,' said the missive, 'ill news has thy unfortunate knight wherewith to vex thine heart. the battle went against me. by little less than a miracle was my life, dear for thy sweet sake, preserved to me. a long story which some day i yet hope to relate to thee. i am sore wounded, but not dangerously'-- 'the holy saints be praised!' ejaculated sir hoël fervently. 'ay!--the holy saints be praised!, echoed sir alain, with somewhat halting zeal, for this resuscitated earl put an end to all his schemes. 'therefore,' resumed the chaplain, continuing his reading, 'vex not thyself with fears. but for my wounds only, i had been with thee by now, but could not mount steed or _hacquenée_. the messenger will tell thee my retreat, and the plan by which i yet hope to prevail, and to win fame for thee. defend my castell of blauncheflour, sweet my castellan, and, by the aid of good st. nicholas, i will come back to thee at the head of such an host as will put all our foes to rout. i count the daies till i see thee again. the blessed virgin have thee in her keeping. 'these from thy leal and loving husband, 'ralph de guader and montfort, 'earl of norfolk and suffolk.' the missive was signed by the earl's own hand, and sealed with his wedding ring, on which was graven the cognisance of hereford. 'ah, fair sirs,' cried emma exultingly, looking, however, at sir alain, and with contemptuous defiance in her flashing eyes, 'ye see the instinct of the true wife was more trustworthy than the eye-witness of belted knights! let us charitably suppose that their poor heads were somewhat flustered with the hurly-burly of battle. methinks they were over quick to believe their leader slain.' then, turning to the messenger, she questioned him regarding the battle and the retreat, and the manner of the earl's escape; and heard the story we already know of grillonne's ready wit, and the refuge in the fens. the dane was one of those who had helped to carry the wounded earl, and had been chosen as a messenger because he was trustworthy, renowned as a swift runner, and could carry messages of importance to such danish seamen as might be with their vessels at norwich for trading purposes, besides his message to the countess. dependence had not been placed on him alone; other messengers had been despatched from the fenland camp, in case he fell into the hands of the enemy, but he had outstripped his competitors. he said that the earl had desired to return to norwich, but had been overpersuaded by those about him that it would be a wiser course to take ship at wells by the sea, which he could do privily by aid of ealdred godwinsson, and those over whom the thegn had influence. so it was agreed that the earl should make sail for denmark, where, without doubt, he would be nobly welcomed by king sweyn, who had already promised him men and vessels. from thence he would go with all speed to bretagne, and arm his retainers, and gather all help he might among the breton nobles; and with the host thus gathered would haste to the relief of blauncheflour, which would thus be rendered sure and certain. the countess listened with kindling eyes and glowing cheeks. 'a device worthy of a hero!' she exclaimed. 'let the garrison be summoned to the courtyard of the castle, and i will tell them these brave news. i would they should receive them from mine own lips. see also that this worthy messenger enjoys all hospitality the castle may afford.' she unfastened a golden collar from her neck, and added it to the many bracelets which already glittered upon the dane's muscular arms. the warrior thanked her earnestly, with the frank reverence which characterised the wild sea-kings in their behaviour to women. half-an-hour later, the countess, arrayed in her richest robes, with steel-cap on her head, and her gorget glistening in the morning sun as it rose and fell with the swift heaving of her bosom, stood at the great east portal, with the danish messenger at her side, and looked down upon the eager faces of the hastily assembled garrison. a rumour had gone forth that the earl had escaped, and would yet return in triumph, and a glow of excitement lighted every eye. as emma saw the stalwart forms and the strong determined countenances before her, a thrill of pride swelled her heart at the thought that her warrior husband should have given her command over them. the spirit of william fitzosbern lived again in the breast of his daughter. 'i will be worthy of the honour that ralph's choice bestowed on me,' she thought. 'if aught a woman can say or do may inspire men to gallant deeds, these men shall not fail their lord.' emotion brought high words to her lips and fire to her eyes. her heart verily shouted with delight for the joyful message which she had to deliver. 'brave knights and soldiers!' she cried, and her voice rang through the fresh morning air like the clang of a silver trumpet, 'glad news have i for loyal ears. earl ralph yet lives! see, this missive is signed by his own noble hand! his signet blazes on my finger!' she held the scroll aloft in her hands, and the sunshine flashed on the ring. 'a guader! a guader!' shouted the assembled host; and arms were raised and weapons clashed, while some three hundred stout throats echoed the shout, 'st. nicholas for guader!' 'yesterday your countess and her counsellors were sore distressed,' emma went on; 'for, as ye know, the unfortunate squire, stephen le hareau, and those who followed him, believed that the earl was slain; but we would not vex ye with our grief till doubt was changed into certainty. doubt _is_ changed into certainty;--but a certainty of life, not death!' a roar of cheers rent the air again. 'yes, your lord lives!' cried emma. 'his first field is lost, but it will not be his last! he is wounded, sorely, but not dangerously. see! so the letter says! his way is open to denmark. this gallant dane has borne his message across field and over flood, faithfully, as he helped to carry the earl himself from the battlefield.' she turned to the messenger beside her, who clashed his great axe upon his round wooden shield, with its strange embossing of iron nails, and shouted 'waes hael!' then emma told again the story of the earl's rescue, though she did not reveal his hiding-place, lest there should be traitors in the camp, and how he intended to take ship for denmark to ask aid of king sweyn, 'who,' she said,'has already promised it. then the earl will seek his own fair lands in bretagne, and he will call his vassals to his standard, and come across the sea at the head of a great host to relieve his faithful garrison in blauncheflour. is any man so mean of heart that he will not vow to good st. nicholas to do his best to keep the castle to that hour? if so, let him declare himself a _noding_, and quit the company of gallant men!' 'not one! not one!' rang round the castle yard, and echoed back from the high stone tower of the keep, reverberating in tumultuous thunder from base to summit. then old sir hoël de st. brice took off his plumed barret, and waved it in the air, where he stood behind his lady, his eyes humid and his lips quivering, as he echoed, 'not one!' sir alain de gourin, listening with a strange expression of satirical disdain on his florid countenance, rattled his sword from its sheath and waved it in the air, where he stood behind his lady, and shouted with a lusty voice, 'not one!' 'i thank ye, friends!' cried the countess. 'to your strong arms and your loyal hearts i commit my fate and that of my lord. st. nicholas give ye fortitude!' turning to a page who stood beside her with a silver tray, she took a velvet purse from it, and scattered broad pieces amongst the soldiery. 'a largesse! a largesse!' they cried; and all was joy and hilarity. 'ye shall taste a vintage better than ever grew even in the vineyards of hereford or kent,' cried the countess; and she gave orders to the steward to broach a cask of french wine which had been amongst her brother's gifts at the bride-ale; an order which called forth a fresh burst of applause. 'drink it,' cried emma, 'to the safe return of your lord!' chapter xvii. how ralph came home. 'sweet nuncle, methinks some of thy wits adhered to my cap, and that, when i put the same upon thy noble skull, they found an entrance into it by that crack the worshipful bishop's mace rove therein, else thou hadst never assayed this mad journey! why, thou hast scarce taken a step without giving a groan.' 'have i been so weak, grillonne?' earl ralph asked, a faint smile brightening his pale, worn face. he was on horseback, but rode at a foot's pace, and bent over the neck of his _hacquenée_ like an aged and decrepit man. he was dressed in a loose flowing saxon blouse, and had not a link of mail on his person from top to toe. on his left rode grillonne, who strove to cheer him with loving banter; on his right the young anglo-dane, leofric ealdredsson, the son of his late host in the fenland refuge; a little behind came a small band of men-at-arms, a squire leading ralph's spanish destrier, and a mule bearing the earl's harness, making some score in all. 'in good sooth,' continued the earl, 'it hath not seemed to me that my path was strewn with rose-leaves, but only with the thorns stripped bare of flowers. yet would i go through it seven times over to see my lady's face again.' 'well-a-day, nuncle! and a pretty galliard thou art, forsooth, to figure before a gracious dame, with thy hollow cheeks and thy hawk's eyes glaring out of caverns deep eno' for pixies to bide in,' replied the privileged jester. 'cogs bones! thou hadst done better to go to denmark first as thou didst intend, there to have picked up a few stout followers and a little flesh to cover thy worn framework withal. the women ever love the signs of power.' a jealous pang flushed the earl's gaunt face with a faint hue of red. what if the fool spoke truth, and emma should turn from him in his defeat, and embitter his humiliation by fresh reproaches? she had sent him forth with a doubting heart, scarce wishing him success, in that he fought against her kinsman and suzerain, william of normandy. all his feudal pomp and glory, at the head of the eager army he then led to battle, had failed to move the bosom of the daughter of william fitzosbern, who, young as she was, had seen many a fair host go forth with streaming pennons and noisy clarions. how, then, would she greet the weary, wounded wight who crept back to his castle like a thief in the night, with a poor remnant of faithful followers in little better plight than himself? truth is seldom palatable to men in high places, and the jester's light words had struck home too surely. 'thou presumest, sir fool!' quoth the earl sharply. 'thine office doth not establish thee a critic of mine actions!' 'mercy, sweet nuncle! i cry you mercy! a fool's words count for nothing!' cried grillonne, looking into his lord's face with so much love in his clear, keen eyes, that de guader instantly forgave him. 'thou art the best friend i have, grillonne!' he said impulsively. 'nay, there thou dost wrong to a thousand stout hearts, good my lord!' answered the jester, 'noble leofric there amongst the number. but see, thy toils are well-nigh ended. yonder rise the white walls of norwich castle.' 'st. nicholas be praised!' exclaimed the earl fervently. 'right glad shall i be to shelter my aching head within the towers. the next bosquet shall serve me for tiring-room. i will show myself in harness as befits a knight.' some two hours later, the warders at the great gate of castle blauncheflour saw a small troop of horsemen approaching the portal at a foot-pace, amongst them a knight in mail, but without cognisance, or surcoat, or shield, his countenance covered by his large round helmet, and, riding beside him, a motley-coated jester, whose well-known visage caused a thrill of excitement amongst the guards, greater than the general appearance of the group; for many a similar one had demanded and received admittance within the castle during the preceding days, since stephen le hareau had pioneered the fugitives. this party had little difficulty in gaining entrance, for the faces of the men-at-arms composing it were all more or less familiar to the warders; and, after a short parley, the portcullis was raised and the drawbridge lowered to admit of their passage into the courtyard of the castle. the news that the earl's jester had returned spread like wildfire through the garrison, with the mysterious celerity that sometimes makes it seem as if intelligence was circulated by magic. before the new-comers had dismounted from their horses, the countess, who was passing from the chapel to the spital, heard the rumour, and came forth into the courtyard to ascertain if it indeed were true. sir alain de gourin, who had been overlooking some target practice amongst the archers in the tilt-yard, came also to receive and examine the fugitives. seeing the countess and the ladies who had followed her, glad that duty gave them the opportunity to satisfy their own curiosity, he louted low, and took his place beside them. archers and soldiers of various arms from the guardroom, servants and others, had swarmed from all quarters, and the courtyard was well-nigh full of animated faces. one new-comer after another was recognised, and, so to speak, 'passed' by de gourin, and it came to the turn of the helmeted knight to declare himself--most of the others wore round steel-caps with a nasal, which left the features visible. he doffed his steel headpiece silently, and looked around upon the throng. the gaunt, pale face woke no instant response from the many onlookers, but the countess sprang forward with outstretched arms to his saddle-bow. 'my lord!' she cried. 'soldiers! do you not know your earl?' 'a guader! a guader!' the cry resounded in the court with vigour even surpassing that of a few days before, when their castellan's eloquence had moved them so deeply. ralph de guader caught his wife's outstretched arms in his own, and looked down into the fair face he had feared never to see again; and then--not the gentle lady, but the mailed warrior swooned. worn out with the terrible fatigues he had undergone, while yet unhealed of his wounds, the earl reeled in his saddle, and would have fallen, if the tender arms of his wife had not caught him in their clasp. his head sank on emma's shoulder. the fiery oliver turned his intelligent head and caressed her arm softly with his velvet nose, but stood without moving a limb, gazing at her with his full, bright eyes. he seemed to understand. had he moved, the countess would have fared ill. emma was quickly eased of her beloved burden by the retainers around, and the insensible earl was borne within the sheltering walls of the keep, and laid upon his own broidered, carved oak bed, in his own spacious and luxurious room. ah! how emma wept and prayed and joyed over him, and laughed lowly for delight that in very truth she had her warrior once more. how she burnt sweet essences, and bathed his lips with perfumed waters, and shuddered at the print of odo's mace that still marked his brow with a black and sullen scar. ralph, opening his steel-grey eyes upon that eager face, lost all fear lest his gauntness and humiliation and defeat should lessen wifely love. 'sweetheart!' he sighed. 'sweetheart! god be praised that i see thee again!' the memory of his desolation on the battlefield came over him with resistless force. his breast heaved with a mighty sob as he took his wife's hands again in his own and pressed them to his lips. 'they brought me news of thy death, ralph. but i knew better,' whispered emma, as she bent over him, her quick tears falling on his face. 'i knew better! thou couldst not have died but i had known it. my heart had been rent in twain.' then ralph told her the history of his struggle, and of the long dreadful hours when he lay 'twixt life and death upon the field; and how grillonne had schemed and saved him; and of the refuge in the fens. a murmured story, told in a voice faint and weak with suffering, and received with many an ejaculation of sympathy and love. 'i had planned to steal away privily by wells on the sea, and there take ship for denmark,' de guader said. 'but, sweetheart, the thought of thee was to me as the thought of water to the pilgrim in the desert. thee i must see, or perish for longing. and i see thee.' he drew her to him and feasted his eyes on her face. 'and for that thou didst confront danger and difficulty and the pain of thy sore wounds?' said emma proudly. 'in sooth the wounds were sore, but of danger there was little,' answered the earl. then he sprang up from the couch into a sitting posture with a suddenness that startled his gentle leech. 'they deem me crushed,' he said. 'so flushed are they by their victory that they are careless to pursue it further. i found no trace of their troops as i dragged wearily to norwich. they have gone west, i deem it, to deal with thy brother.' 'alas, my poor roger! i would we had news of him,' said the countess, her face drawn with pain. de guader caught the change in her face with jealous quickness. the old haunting fear came back lest she should scorn the broken man. 'emma, my defeat is dire! dost thou credit how i have come back to thee,--hiding behind bush and briar, beaten, poverty-stricken, all but alone? i, who left thee at the head of a noble army, now scattered like chaff before the winds! dost thou not spurn me?' the daughter of william fitzosbern looked in the face of the man she had chosen for richer, for poorer, for better, for worse. 'my knight,' she said, 'hadst thou come maimed of a hand and foot, with thy visage marred for ever and a day by the cruel daggers of thy foes, as hath happened to thy favourite squire, stephen le hareau, i had but loved thee the better.' 'by the holy rood! has stephen le hareau been so foully entreated?' 'alack, yes! moreover, he bore a message from the king's men, that every prisoner, of whatever rank and whatever nation, they might take in this struggle, should lose his right foot.' the earl raised himself from the couch and smote his knee with his balled fist. 'by the bones of st. nicholas, i will avenge them! i will yet prevail.' he turned to emma, fiercely seizing her hands again in his, this time with no very tender grip. 'hast thou courage? wilt thou help me now in my sore need, or is thine heart half with william? say me sooth!' 'it is with thee!--all with thee!' 'god bless thee for that answer!' he passed his hand across his eyes, and then held his brow as if in pain. 'that accursed shaveling's mace! sith he cracked my poor head with it, whenever i try to think i get a pang instead of a notion.' 'strive not to think, mine own. rest awhile. where shouldst thou rest if not here in thine home, or when, if not after dire fatigue?' 'no, emma! no rest for me till i have retrieved mine honour! stephen le hareau, thou saidest? he fought like a paladin beside me. the smartest squire in my following, and the best born. i so loved the lad that i would have had him squire to mine own body, but that sir guy de landerneau was as a father to him, and had formed him in all fitting a man-at-arms. sir guy dead too! yet death is but the soldier's portion, it irks me not. 'tis that the fiends should mutilate one of le hareau's gentle blood. it beggars credence! their own leader is of such proud lineage. ha, ha!' emma had moved softly to his side, and had enlaced her slender fingers round his mailed arm, striving to soothe him with mute sympathy. 'seest thou not the menace in the insult, emma? they spare not rank. had i been taken, my fate had been even as le hareau's.' emma shuddered, recalling le hareau's awful face as she had seen it on the day of his return. 'it bears not to think of,' she said. 'sweet, i must go forth! i must seek sweyn ulfsson of denmark in mine own person; he dallies with my messengers. i must go to him and demand fulfilment of his pledges. i must go to wader and montfort and assemble my vassalage. hast thou courage to hold blauncheflour till my return?' 'i have courage for aught that profits thee.' ralph gazed in her face, his eyes aflame with joyous pride. he took her fair cheeks between his palms, and bent down and kissed her brow and lips. 'methinks there is but little risk, my falcon!' he said. 'they cannot turn from west to east, as the sun does, in a night. that gives me time. they will scarce attempt blauncheflour and i not in it. if they do, it is impregnable. ere six weeks i shall relieve thee with a fair force at my back.' emma looked wistfully in his eyes. her heart ached at the thought of losing him again. 'courage, m'amie!' he said, mistaking the cause of her hesitation. 'my courage fails not, ralph,' she answered. 'i had held thy castle while a man would obey my orders and stand to the walls, even hadst thou been dead, as they tried to make me believe. how then should i quail to hold it for thee living? i do but mourn that we must part again.' and again ralph took her face between his palms and kissed it. * * * * * meanwhile lanfranc, the primate, sat writing in his closet; a satisfied smile hovered round the corners of his mobile lips and lighted up the depths of his gleaming southern eyes. a monk stood waiting to receive the letter. it ran thus:-- 'to his lord, william, king of the english, his faithful lanfranc sends his faithful service and faithful prayers. gladly would we see you, as an angel of god, but we are unwilling that you should take the trouble of crossing the sea at this particular juncture. for if you were to come to put down these traitors and robbers, you would do us dishonour. rodulph the count, or rather the traitor, and his whole army have been routed, and ours, with a great body of normans and saxons, are in pursuit. our leaders inform me that in a few days they will drive these perjured wretches into the sea, or capture them dead or alive. the details i send you by this monk, who may be trusted, as he has done fealty to me. may god almighty bless you.'[ ] [ ] lanfranc, _opp._ i. , translated by hook, _lives of the archbishops of canterbury_, vol. ii. p. . the details which lanfranc's messenger had to give of the defeat of the earl of east anglia, or, as the prelate styled him, rodulph the count, we already know. turning to the monk, the archbishop said, 'regarding the base uprising favoured and headed by our lord-king's cousin, roger, earl of hereford, the tidings are of like good savour. inform our liege that the english prelates, bishop wulfstan and abbot Æthelwig, in union with urse, sheriff of worcestershire, have hindered the traitor from passing the severn, and have taken the earl himself prisoner, whereon we pray our liege heartily to make known his wishes how we may best dispose of this haught prisoner. 'forget not to repeat likewise the stratagem by which the count rodulph's men deceived us, so that we made not his body secure, and know not certainly if he be dead or alive.' 'i will forget no detail, good my lord archbishop,' replied the messenger; and lanfranc folded his letter, and fastened it with a silken cord, and sealed it with his official seal. 'naught could be more satisfactory,' he murmured to himself, as he was performing these small offices, 'than the manner in which the saxons have ranged themselves, in this matter, upon our liege's side. it was a bold stroke on the part of the lady judith to warn us of her husband's schemes, and to risk his rage and his danger. sooth, it had been a dire struggle if the doughty son of siward had taken his part, as the plotters did well intend. a turmoil raised for the sake of one woman, and foiled by another! thanks to thee, judith, the day is ours!' but not to be ended quite so speedily as the sanguine primate supposed. a woman was to hold his best troops at bay for a space of three long months, and then to make terms quite other than a choice between imprisonment or the bottom of the sea. the race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong! chapter xviii. besieged. 'methinks, emma, my foes will say that ralph de guader was a recreant knight, who fled from his devoir and left his lady to fight for him! beshrew me, but it mislikes me to leave thee!' so quoth the earl, when, after a few days of rest and rehabilitation at blauncheflour, he was making ready to go on board a danish galley, which lay moored at lovelly's staithe, her brightly coloured sails flapping idly in the summer wind; the heads of the oarsmen, with their long light hair and long light moustaches, showing in even ranks along her bulwarks, and her high dragon-carved prow gleaming in the sun. emma, upright and determined, with the keys of the castle at her girdle, and wearing her steel-cap and mail gorget, forced back the tears that sprang to her eyes, and turned proudly to the warrior beside her, who, dressed in complete mail, with his long cross-handled sword suspended from a jewelled baldric, _looked_ the perfect figure of a hero. 'nay, my ralph! whatever hard things they may say of thee, they will never be so mad as to accuse _thee_ of aught that savours of cowardice. thy valour has been too well proven on many a well-fought field! did not william see thee fight at hastings, and give thee thine earldom for thy prowess? didst thou not defend his conquest from the danish invaders, and win fresh honours and lands? who could withstand thee in the tourney? oh, it is preposterous! rebel they may call thee, recreant never!' ralph de guader, however, gauged the justice of the makers of history better than his warm-hearted countess.[ ] [ ] see appendix, note d. he looked at the waiting galley with a sigh, wondering if he should ever again be lord in his english earldom. he had not been idle during his short stay in his capital. without waiting for his wounds to heal, he had been up and doing as soon as a few days of rest had made it possible. he had summoned his local supporters, who--if we may judge from the number of estates entered in domesday as '_wasta_' later on--were numerous, to more than one council, and had done much to restore their confidence in his arms and their belief in his ultimate success. his own heart had grown lighter as he went the round of his magnificent new castle, which william had munitioned with every improvement then known, and truly it seemed well-nigh impregnable, with its high towers and battlemented walls, and deep, sullen moats. preparations for the siege had been going merrily forward. fat beeves were driven up from the meadows; the bleating of sheep mingled strangely with the clangor of arms, and the large herds of swine so dear to saxon housekeeping contributed their quota of victims, while not a little fun was caused among the laughter-loving soldiery by the exciting difficulties of persuading the squeaking porkers to cross the drawbridge, and many were the tussles and, in some cases, dire the misfortunes incurred in the sport. barrels of salt meat and flour and ale were rolled up the ballium by the stalwart arms of the bows and bills; arms destined, alas! to be but bare skin and bone when they should issue again from the walls of the fortress. all was bustle and plenty. sinews of war of every kind were there in superfluity. de guader saw clearly that to shut himself up in the castle was to make himself helpless; but that to leave its defence to his vassals, and go forth to collect reinforcements in denmark and bretagne, and take the besiegers in rear, was a plan that promised all success; and every man among his counsellors agreed with him. yet it was hard to leave the fair bride for whom he had risked so much, and whose noble sympathy in his misfortunes had endeared her to him a thousandfold. no wonder that his heart failed him at the last, when the moment for parting had arrived, and the time and tide that wait for no man were ripe for departure. 'it mislikes me to leave thee!' he said. 'sweet my lord, "he that putteth his hand to the plough must not look back,"' said emma, meeting his wistful eyes firmly. 'an thou standest quavering for my poor sake, while yon oarsmen are broiling on their benches, i myself shall accuse thee for a recreant! dost doubt the courage of thy castellan?' 'no, by st. nicholas! thou art the true daughter of a noble sire!' said the earl. a group of knights, saxon, breton, and norman, stood around him, some half-dozen in readiness to accompany him, while the rest were gathered from the neighbourhood, or formed part of the garrison; amongst these last, sir alain and sir hoël and leofric ealdredsson were conspicuous. the earl turned to them: 'obey your lady loyally, guard her zealously; and may the saints have mercy on the man who is untrue to his trust!' he cried, 'for i will have none.' 'thy threat touches no man here, good my lord,' blustered de gourin. 'i will warrant every soul in the garrison ready to die for that trust.' 'ay, ay!' cried the rest; but a strange quiver of doubt ran through the bosom of the valorous castellan, as to whether one man there was honest and leal, and the man she doubted was the breton protester. then the earl mounted and rode down to the waiting galley; and soon the long oars were sweeping rhythmically through the blue water and shedding simultaneous showers of pearly drops from their glittering blades; the gay sails swelled fairly in the breeze, so that the dragon-prow moved swiftly down the shining reaches of the yare. but emma did not watch it; she had slipped away to the oratory, and knelt before the altar in speechless but passionate prayer, while the tears she had repressed so long chased each other down her cheeks. a terrible fear was gnawing at her heart, that her husband had but left her to die in that wild denmark, amongst the rough norsemen, for she knew how sore and desperate were his unhealed wounds, and by what effort his high spirit forced his body into action. she had steeled herself to serve him as he wished to be served, but it had been liefer to her woman's heart to tend and leech him into perfect health, than to command and urge his vassals to hurt others as sorely. meanwhile the king's forces were not so far away as ralph supposed. on the eve of the third day after the earl's embarkation, the warders on the battlements of blauncheflour heard afar off the thunderous tramp of steeds and the jingle and clang of harness and arms, and, as the sun sank in a splendour of golden clouds, his last rays gilded the hastily pitched pavilions of bishop geoffrey of coutances, earl william of warrenne, and robert malet, who led the investing army to the attack. the bishop of bayeux, though not dead, as the fugitives supposed who had seen the combat between odo and earl ralph, with its catastrophe of mutual unhorsing, was _hors-de-combat_ for the time being, and unable to seek retrieval of his knightly prowess in person. the countess emma, with eadgyth and her ladies, ascended to the battlements of the keep to view the encampment of the foe, and in sooth the sight would have been gay enough if it had not borne so dire a meaning. groups of glittering horsemen, their long lances decked with many-coloured pennons gleaming in the golden light, their horses curveting and prancing, were riding hither and thither, directing and superintending. long lines of bowmen and slingers were advancing in order at a quick march, wheeling and breaking into companies as they reached the camping ground. trains of sumpter mules and squires with led horses mingled with the infantry; and shouts and laughter, the braying of trumpets and neighing of horses, mixed fitfully in the soft south wind. sometimes even the words were audible as some man-at-arms shouted to his followers, and the blows of the mallets with which the poles of the pavilions were being driven into the ground came sharply through the air. the tents themselves were decked with richly-hued silks, and soon displayed the banners of their noble owners. as the twilight deepened, some hundreds of watchfires threw out bright flames into the dusk, and made the air fragrant with their sweet wood smoke, seeming to blaze the brighter as the curfew boomed forth from the church towers in norwich, to bid all the inhabitants of humble rank rake out their cheerful hearths. all 'the pomp and circumstance of glorious war,' as it was known in those days, was spread out before blauncheflour, and, as emma watched the doings of her foe, there rose in her spirit that wild and mysterious 'rapture of battle,' which modern darwinians explain by tracing back our lineage to tiger forefathers,--that strange yearning to dare all and spend life itself in one great effort, which some have said is but the endeavour to satisfy our instinct to grapple with abstract evil by personifying it in the form of a human foe; but which others define, perhaps more truly, as the final efflorescence of egotism run riot, which satisfies its lust of power even at the cost of destruction to itself. good or bad, the feeling flooded emma's heart. at sight of real danger, menacing and close, she who had fainted at the thought of it grew bold as any of the belted knights in the hostile host below. the blood of her hero father coursed swiftly through her veins, and the wild battle-song of rollo, which had served her ancestors so often as a national hymn, haunted her brain. she had ascended one of the small flights of steps at the angle of the battlements, which served to raise the sentinel above the merlons. eadgyth stood beside her, and the ladies and knights in attendance were all busily watching the encamping foe through the embrasures, and were out of earshot. emma stretched out her right hand with its small fingers tightly clenched, and shook it at the beleaguering host. [illustration: emma's first sight of the foe.] 'methinks, eadgyth, these haught chevaliers with their baldrics and their golden spurs, and above all my lord bishop of coutances, cut a sorry figure assembling their forces thus to crush a woman,' she cried, with an excited laugh. 'how wrathful will they be, when the brave ger-falcon they deem to be mewed up within these towers swoops down upon them as from the skies, with a gallant army of bold bretons, backed by some of sweyn ulfsson's best warriors. do your worst, ye tools of my tyrant kinsman! i fear ye not. my lord is safe--my lord ye would fain have hindered from being mine. and i am safe also, whatever betide--my _miséricorde_ assures that.' 'holy mary preserve thee from such a desperate safety!' exclaimed eadgyth, whose sad, still face contrasted strongly with the flushed excitement of the impulsive norman. 'thou art down-hearted, eadgyth!' said emma, after a piercing glance into her bower-maiden's eyes. 'i know thee too well to believe that thy depression comes from vulgar fear. tell me thy grief. we are as private here as in my bower. none can hear our speech.' 'seest thou yon star shining between two bars of cloud, noble emma? it reminds me of one who bore a painted star between two clouds for his cognisance. a dire doubt haunts me lest he be in the ranks of the foe; for i well remember his heart was always with the duke of normandy.' 'sir aimand de sourdeval? nay, surely he would not lift his hand against his lord. besides, the earl told me that he had sent him on a long journey.' through eadgyth's heart passed a quiver of pain. 'not surely the longest journey of all,' her anxious affection whispered, but she was silent. 'poor child, i feel for thee!' said the countess, laying her hand caressingly on the flaxen head of the saxon, which her elevated position on the stone steps enabled her to do comfortably. she had assumed a very matronly manner since the gold ring had been slipped upon her finger by her heart's chosen, and, in truth, she felt as if years of experience had gone over her head since the day when her brother had come to her and told her 'that her broken troth should soon be mended.' sir alain de gourin approached with an obsequious air, and the countess said to him gaily, 'i hope, fair sir, the gentlemen yonder are well satisfied with the quarters they have chosen, for methinks it will be somewhat long e'er they change them for the hospitable shelter of blauncheflour.' at which de gourin laughed applaudingly, and swore that if the garrison had half the spirit of their castellan, they would send them to bide still farther from their doors. then the countess led her ladies down to the chapel, where the chaplain performed a special mass, praying the protection of the heavenly powers for the beleaguered garrison and for all who fought on their side, at home or abroad, and offering prayers for the safety and success of the earl. the tears rolled down emma's cheeks as she repeated these last, and many of the ladies sobbed audibly, partly for the woes of their countess and partly through fears or sorrows of their own. when the service was over, emma dismissed her attendants, even eadgyth, and followed father pierre into his sacristy. 'i would have a mass performed, father,' she said, 'for the soul's welfare of a knight whom i regard for the sake of one who loves him well, and also in that he did always seem to me an honest wight, but of whom i know not whether he be fighting for my dear lord, or if he be in the opposing host without. there is no reason why i should make mystery of his name--sir aimand de sourdeval.' 'sir aimand de sourdeval!' repeated father pierre, gazing at the lady with startled eyes. 'knowest thou not, noble countess, that he is a prisoner in the dungeons of this keep?' chapter xix. 'stone walls do not a prison make.' 'sir aimand de sourdeval a prisoner in this castle?' repeated the countess in a tone of the most complete surprise, and her cheeks grew white with a sudden horror, for, to explain this thing, either, it seemed to her, the young knight, whose honest face and noble bearing had won her respect and the heart of her best-loved bower-maiden, must be unworthy; or--and the thought gave her a keener pang than even she had suffered from the rumour of his death--the master of the castle had made evil use of his power. 'wherefore is this? knowest thou his offence, father?' demanded the countess. the young priest bowed his head. 'daughter, if thou wilt know the truth, the offence of a too great fidelity to his suzerain, william of normandy,' he answered in a low voice. a spasm of pain crossed emma's face at this objective presentment of her worst fear, and the terrible heart-searchings with which she had entered into the struggle against the conqueror returned with renewed force. 'i would hear this prisoner's defence from his own lips, and judge for myself of his guilt,' she said, turning to father pierre with quick decision, and a pale, set face. 'lead me to him.' 'noble emma, the dungeon in which he is chained is no seemly place for gold-embroidered slippers and ermined robes.' 'less seemly still, then, for an innocent man, if innocent he be,' cried emma, each syllable sounding like a challenge thrown at a foe. 'show me the way. i will see myself to the lodgment of all under my roof.' then a satisfied light gleamed from father pierre's unworldly dark eyes, and his thin, ascetic features relaxed into a smile. 'the holy mother reward and sustain thee, my daughter!' he said softly. 'come then at once!' emma followed him; outwardly calm, but in reality deeply moved, and not without terror at thought of entering those terrible dungeons, which, although she had passed her life in castles, had hitherto been known to her only by name. he led her through winding passages secured by more than one heavy, clangorous portal--the vaulted walls echoing to the creak of their hinges--into the silence and the darkness of the basement. the chaplain was free to penetrate at will into these halls of suffering and despair in the prosecution of his sacred office, but the warders who guarded the various portals half forgot to make their reverence to the priest, as they stared with open-eyed surprise at the lady, till, on recognising her, they saluted with clumsy haste, and strove to atone for momentary negligence by quick opening of the door which formed their ward. emma shuddered as the torch with which father pierre had provided himself gleamed on the damp, massive walls. it seemed to her that imprisonment between them would of itself bring death to her, and she marvelled how any human creature should sustain life under such conditions. 'in sooth, noble emma,' said father pierre, as the countess gave expression to this feeling, 'the holy saints have sent thee hither this night, because time grew pressing. a little while, and the man who is the object of thine errand of mercy would be released by a sterner liberator--death. if thou shouldst deem him worthy of his dungeon, he will not need guarding long!' 'ah!' sighed emma, with a sharp pang of horror, and instinctively quickening her steps, as if a moment might be fatal. they had reached a narrow, ponderous door, studded with huge nails. father pierre produced a key which he had taken from a warder who stood at the end of the passage. he turned it in the lock, and, drawing back their solid bolts, pushed open the door and entered the cell into which it gave access, the countess following with shrinking steps. the cell was small, for it was hollowed in the wall of the keep, some thirteen feet in thickness at the outside; it was, perhaps, eight feet square. the walls were running with moisture, and the air was dank and foetid. on a stone ledge raised a little higher than the ground, the prostrate figure of a man was revealed by the fitful gleam of the torch, and father pierre went forward and bent over him. 'awake, my son!' he said gently, holding the torch so that the light fell upon the slumberer's face. emma's hands clung together in anguish as she saw the gaunt, cadaverous features, the paled skin, and the wild matted hair and beard of the prisoner, and marked the fleshlessness of the limbs that were extended in uneasy length upon the inhospitable couch. his appearance might have moved the hardest-hearted to pity, and seemed all the more terrible in contrast with the image that was in emma's mind, of the young knight as she had last seen him, in all the bravery of the harness of the jousting-field, neat-shaven and close-cropped as any modern english gentleman, according to the fashion of the normans. the unhappy knight opened his eyes with a nervous start, and sprang into a sitting posture; the rattle of chains that accompanied his movement revealing to the ruthful eyes of the countess that his ankles were loaded with heavy rings of iron, attached by chains to a stanchion in the floor. 'fear nothing, sir aimand,' said the priest reassuringly. 'it is i--father pierre; and i have brought thee hope, and at least the surety that thy case will be inquired into and sifted to the ground. see, the noble countess emma has herself deigned to visit thy prison. st. michael has answered thy prayers!' the captive stared round him with haggard eyes, which seemed almost supernaturally large and bright, and emma quailed as they rested at length upon her, with an expression of wonder and inquiry. 'the countess emma?' he repeated in a faint voice,--'the bride?' time for him had been standing still since the day of that fatal bride-ale, which brought evil in some form to all who partook of it! 'art thou indeed sir aimand de sourdeval?' said emma, crossing the cell and standing before the prisoner, her beautiful face full of pity, yet not all softness. 'unhappy knight,' she added almost sternly, her clear, decisive utterance ringing round the cell, 'what crime hast thou committed against my lord, that thou art subject to such durance?' de sourdeval threw back his head with a gesture of indignation; then his expression changed to one of sadness, and he threw himself on his knee before the countess. 'noble emma,' he said, 'the only crime i have committed against thy lord and mine own liege, was that of being faithful to his suzerain and mine, nor can i believe the kind and generous de guader knows my fate.' 'thank god!' cried emma, with a sudden sob. 'thou hast been good to me always!' exclaimed de sourdeval, with intense excitement, his breast heaving and his eyes shining as he spoke. 'oh, gracious countess, bear my petition to thy lord, and tell him that aimand de sourdeval was never unfaithful to him in word or deed, and pray him to sift this matter to the bottom, for if he knoweth aught, 'tis most like that his ears have been abused by the untrue malignities of my enemies.' 'knowest thou not that the earl is sped to denmark, there to collect fresh forces wherewith to relieve us from the beleaguering host that now sits before the castle walls?' asked emma, with less firmness, feeling for the first time the full weight of the responsibilities she had undertaken. 'in my hands is the ruling of the castle; tell me, therefore, the burden of thy petition.' then sir aimand related to her the story of his adventures on the night of her bridal, and how sir alain de gourin had foully entreated him, a narrative broken by terrible fits of coughing, showing how deeply the chills of his prison had wrought upon his frame, and by exclamations of surprise from the countess, who was much startled to discover the conduct of the breton knight, and in great perplexity, for she felt keenly that sir aimand had but acted the part of an honourable man, and that to offer him a pardon under such circumstances would be but an insult. moreover, he seemed to ignore the earl's present position of active rebellion, and she could not gather how far he was aware of the position of affairs. 'doubtless, sir knight,' she said, 'thine impulse to be faithful to thy suzerain was that of a true and loyal soul, and none can blame thee; but william of normandy has made the land groan under his tyranny, and so haught and overbearing was he, that, for the mere delight of showing his power, he crushed his most loving peers under his heel. thou knowest that he strove to part my lord from me, and forbade our marriage; and so wroth was he at the breach of his capricious mandate, that, in self-defence, my lord was driven to take arms. let the past be forgotten. thou shalt be reinstated in all knightly honour, and shall prove thy faith to the earl thy lord, by defending his lady in his absence.' she held out her white jewelled hand to the gaunt, unkempt prisoner, looking in his face with a persuasive witchery that might have tempted a man to leave a palace for a dungeon. but de sourdeval kept back his meagre, unwashed hand. 'noble countess,' he exclaimed, with a long sobbing sigh, that showed how great the effort was to speak words that might close for ever his half-opened prison door, 'against whom am i to defend thee? am i to fight men who are faithful to their knightly vows, by the side of traitors who have broken troth?' 'my son! my son!' interposed father pierre anxiously. the knight's bold words brought home the unvarnished truth of the situation with a startling clearness, which his own dreamy nature had enabled him to shirk facing hitherto. emma proved cowardly; she evaded a direct answer, and sheltered herself behind the privileges of her sex. 'surely thy vow of chivalry binds thee to succour ladies in danger? we are in danger, myself and my ladies. eadgyth of norwich,'--she paused and looked in his face. de sourdeval made a gesture of distress,--'dame amicia, whose age and infirmity should nerve the arm of a brave young knight and all our band, need the help of every stalwart friend who can be found. still further, sir aimand, famine is our most dread foe,' she added, half smiling at the inhospitable thought. 'we can ill support idle mouths in blancheflour.' 'let me then starve, dear lady,' replied de sourdeval in a low voice of desperate earnest, and avoiding her too persuasive eyes. 'i cannot lift my hand against my heart's witness to the right.' 'fight not then, noble sir aimand!' exclaimed the countess, deeply moved. 'only pass thy knightly pledge not to betray us to the foe, or to struggle to escape, and thou shalt be free! nay, if we make a prisoner we will honourably exchange thee!' 'not even that can i do, noble countess,' said sir aimand with unwavering firmness. 'i cannot pledge myself not to help the right.' 'nay then, thou art obstinate!' cried emma, stamping on the stones with one of the gold-embroidered slippers which father pierre had observed to be ill suited to dungeon floors, and turning away. sir aimand bowed his head in silence, and made no effort to recall her, as she swept towards the door, though his trembling lips and clenched fingers showed the fierceness of the struggle he was making. but emma paused before she reached the door. 'thou art too proud, sir knight,' she said coldly. 'but few can rival the fitzosberns in that quality, and i also have my pride. i scorn to make conditions with a man circumstanced as thou art. abuse my generosity if thou list. thou art free!' 'mary mother in heaven bless thee for thy goodness, noble countess!' cried de sourdeval, raising his head with a start of joy. 'yet methinks i am scarce free yet!' he lifted his shackled limbs, and made the heavy irons clang upon the floor. 'ah, good st. nicholas, no!' cried emma, with a fresh shock, as she realised what sufferings the prisoner must have undergone. 'but thou shalt be free before the sun is in the sky.' 'noble countess,' interrupted a harsh voice behind her, 'what means thy presence in this cell at such an hour? by the rood! thou dost great honour to the would-be murderer of thy husband.' 'liar!' hissed the prisoner between his set teeth. emma turned with a start to face sir alain de gourin, his cheeks purple with passion, and his quivering hand on the hilt of his _miséricorde_. the countess thought it politic to ignore his speech, although every word had reached her ears. 'sir alain!' she exclaimed, simulating pleasure at his appearance. 'thy coming is most opportune. i was about to send a messenger to thee. give orders forthwith that the irons be struck from the limbs of this worthy knight without delay. he hath been shrewdly misunderstood, and my will is that he be set free!' she looked the mercenary hardily in the face as she gave him her command, and the villain quailed. he saw that he had come too late to prevent her from hearing sir aimand's statement of the case. he accepted the oblivion in which she had buried his first insulting speech, and took an entirely different tone. 'thy will is law, noble countess,' he said obsequiously, and with a low bow. emma did not retire to rest until she knew that the knight was comfortably lodged in the state apartments of the castle. the breton had been completely taken by surprise. he had imposed upon the earl with a story which the latter, in the excitement attendant upon his ambitious enterprise, had neglected to verify, and it had never entered his head that the countess would trouble herself about the matter. he supposed that the earl himself had at least spoken to her of sir aimand as a culprit, and that she was entirely ignorant of his presence as a prisoner in the castle; as she had been, until the strange impulse which came to her to have a mass said for him, caused her to name him to the chaplain. even in case of her finding the matter out and wishing to probe it, he had an ingenious story ready, wherewith to put her off the scent. but the suddenness with which she had taken matters into her own hands, and had visited the prisoner and heard _his_ version of the facts, quite overcame the somewhat clumsy wit of the breton. his first impulse, as usual, had been to bluster, but the firmness with which the countess confronted him had fairly cowed him for the moment, as he knew that he would have to justify himself, and to eat a good many of his words before sir hoël and the norman knights of the garrison, to whom he had accounted for de sourdeval's absence by representing that he had been sent on an embassy by the earl. many were the curses that he inwardly showered on the devoted head of father pierre, to whom he attributed the discovery of his schemes, and he also reviled himself for having forgotten him as a possible channel of communication between the prisoner and the countess. his wits had not been the brighter for the hour at which emma had happened on her inopportune discovery, for he had been indulging freely in his favourite spiced hippocras during the evening, and therefore it seemed best to his clumsy cunning to offer no further open opposition to the countess, and to carry out her orders himself, thus gaining time to concoct plausible excuses before sir hoël should know of the affair. emma also kept her own counsel, and did not say a word even to eadgyth, when the saxon maiden, who slept in her chamber, came to help her to unrobe. when eadgyth ventured a question as to what had detained her to such a late hour, the countess smiled and kissed her. 'thou shalt know all in good time, dear donzelle,' she answered. 'ask me not to-night.' chapter xx. À outrance. the morning came, and with it cares more important than the fate of the poor knight of sourdeval. before the dew was off the meadows, the shrill trumpets of the besiegers were heard at the barbican, demanding a parley, and calling for admittance in the name of the king. the countess, holding counsel with sir hoël de st. brice and sir alain de gourin, and other of the knights of the garrison, replied that she would accede to the parley, and receive the messenger in person; and, accordingly, the messenger was blindfolded, admitted within the castle, and conducted to the council-chamber in the great tower. the knight who bore the message of the king's lieutenants was sheathed in complete armour, and exceedingly stately in his mien and figure, being tall and of great personal strength. he was no other than robert malet, whose father, the loved and honoured william malet, had been in bodily prowess second to none but the conqueror himself of those who fought on the norman side at hastings. as he entered the room, the rebel knights instinctively straightened themselves, and assumed such dignity of bearing as they were capable of showing; but none bore comparison with him save leofric ealdredsson, the stalwart anglo-dane, who had never bent the knee to the norman conqueror, and who now stood at the right hand of the countess, with the lightnings of a noble defiance gleaming in his blue eyes. yet malet himself was to become a rebel before his death. when the silken kerchief with which his eyes had been covered was removed, he gazed proudly round the assembly, and bowed his tall head to the countess alone. 'in the name of william the conqueror, king of england and duke of normandy,' he said in a commanding voice, 'i call upon ralph de guader and montfort, heretofore earl of east anglia, but deprived of his earldom for that he has wrongfully taken arms against his suzerain and liege lord; and i demand that he instantly surrenders this castle, which he holds only as the constable of the king. i demand that entrance into the said castle be at once given to the troops of his grace the king, and that he thereby refrain from adding still further to his guilt, by contumaciously retaining it.' 'the earl of east anglia hath taken ship from this country, and hath devolved the duties of castellan upon me, his countess,' replied emma calmly. 'in that case, noble lady,--i cannot style thee countess, for thou hast no longer right to the title,--i call upon thee, as castellan of this castle of blauncheflour, to surrender it to the lieutenants of thy liege and kinsman, william of normandy,' answered the young knight, fixing his keen blue eyes upon emma's fair face, whose features, worn by the anxiety she had undergone, were pathetic in their pallor, and moved his heart to pity. 'i may well suppose,' he continued boldly, 'that in so doing thou wilt with pleasure disburden thy slender shoulders of so heavy and unwomanly a burden.' emma drew herself up with a slight gesture of disdain for such misbestowed sympathy. the knight responded by adding hastily, 'moreover, i would appeal to thy gentleness and natural instincts of mercy to prevent the useless shedding of blood which the holding of this castle must cause, by prolonging a struggle which can only end one way.' emma's delicate nostrils quivered, and the fine firm lips set fiercely. 'the countess of east anglia desires to know the terms on which she is asked to yield up her faithful garrison to the tender mercies of the men who mutilated stephen le hareau,' she said, still calmly, but with flashing eyes, and due emphasis on her title. 'the race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, and methinks her gentleness and love of mercy are more nearly concerned in preventing her faithful defenders from encountering such a fate as his.' 'to the castellan of blauncheflour i reply, that the surrender must be without conditions,' answered the knight. 'in that case,' answered emma, 'the countess of east anglia replies, that her garrison will win their own terms by their swords.' leofric ealdredsson burst out with a loud 'ahoi!' in the exuberance of his approbation, and clashed his heavy axe upon the floor, his many bracelets jingling like small bells. 'well said!' exclaimed the venerable sir hoël de st. brice, looking at the young countess with an expression of reverent affection, and from one and all the representatives of the garrison who stood around her chair broke various expressions of approval. the countess turned to her knights with sparkling eyes. 'i have ye with me, then, in this reply, fair sirs?' she asked, and the tumult of assent with which they answered hindered robert malet, for some moments, from further speech. in truth the enthusiasm was contagious, and the royal envoy's own eyes flashed. the chivalrous spirit of fitzosbern's daughter jumped well with his humour. he had been a sorry norman else; no true heritor of the wild sea-kings. it cost him some effort to resist his impulse to join in the applause, but he controlled himself, and said gravely, 'i pray thee, noble lady, to consider well before coming to so direful a decision; involving, as it doth, no less an issue than the adding of high treason on thine own part to the heavy guilt of the man thou hast wedded against the express mandate of thy suzerain. the daughter of william fitzosbern should be slow to draw the sword against william of normandy.' 'the decision is final, sir knight,' replied emma curtly; thinking to herself that william of normandy had not scrupled to insult the son and daughter of william fitzosbern. she added to those in attendance, 'let this brave gentleman be reconducted to the gate without delay.' the envoy bowed in silence, and, allowing the silken kerchief to be again bound over his eyes, he marched with stately grace from the apartment. so emma de guader cast down her gauntlet beside that of her husband, and dared the power of her great cousin. before the sun was midway in the heavens, a fierce struggle had begun between the besiegers and the besieged for possession of the barbican. this was not a strong construction of masonry as in the norman castles of the twelfth century, but a deep and wide fosse or moat, with a high vallum strengthened with stout palisading on its inner side, of a semicircular or horseshoe form, the horns nearly touching the present ditch. the causeway that passed between the horns and the present ditch, by which access was given to the castle, was amply protected by the towers of the gate-house and the walls of the castle itself, from whence arrows and quarrels would easily reach assailants. the similar fosse and palisaded vallum surrounding the castle meadow afforded additional protection to the eastern extremity of the causeway; the portion of the semicircle to the south-west being most open to attack. spearmen and javelin-throwers lined the palisades, and from their cover repelled the onslaught of the assaulting men-at-arms, who had further to withstand a whizzing shower of arrows from bowmen hiding in the wooden stalls of the market. the king's men were endeavouring to throw a wooden bridge across the ditch. one end was furnished with wheels, the other with huge grappling-irons, which they strove to make fast in the vallum. watching them stood leofric ealdredsson, who, on the night before, when sir alain de gourin had been sneering at the primitive saxon earthworks, had said, with a laugh and a fierce gleam in his eyes, 'let me defend them; i am used to the rude english fashions.' a band of his terrible house-carles, armed with their great battle-axes, and long of hair and large of limb, waited his orders with the air of bloodhounds in a leash straining at their collars. from a loophole on the southern side of the keep, lighting the gallery which runs within the walls on a level with the great entrance, the countess and her bower-maiden eadgyth watched the strife. eadgyth had been present in the council-chamber during the audience of robert malet. 'thou wast grand, emma,' she was saying to her lady and friend. 'thou wast so strong and courageous, while, to say sooth, my own heart was beating like an armourer's hammer.' 'thou art a strange child, my eadgyth,' said emma affectionately, well pleased with the admission of the english maiden. a wilder shout from the besiegers than any preceding broke their converse, and for some moments each watched the progress of the fight in breathless silence. for the assailants had established their bridge against the vallum, and over it the attacking knights charged in a body, led by robert malet in person, his high crest topping them all, and by sheer weight of horse and harness they drave down the barricades and pressed in, hewing in sunder all before them. eadgyth gave a shrill scream and threw her arms wildly round the countess, who stood motionless, with eyes dilated and heaving breast. then rang out the wild norse war-cry, 'ahoi! ahoi!' and leofric and his fierce carles sprang forward like tigers; and the flash and crash of their great axes smote eye and ear, while more than one knightly saddle was emptied, more than one riderless destrier ran neighing around the enclosure; more than one mailed warrior, impervious to arrows and quarrels, was cloven through his helm and lay lifeless on the ground. the anglo-danes laughed in their yellow beards, and vigorously improved their advantage, so that in a few moments the knights were forced back beyond the line of the barricades, some getting back across the bridge, some falling into the water. 'see, foolish child! thy cousin has driven them back!' cried emma. for leofric was akin to harold on the mother's side, and so akin to eadgyth. she stroked the cheek of the frightened girl as a mother who comforts an infant. 'and had he not, there are stout walls and strong arms betwixt them and thee.' 'i know it! i know it! but it is all so terrible! i have not thy nerves of steel! oh, emma, in pity watch no longer! i cannot bear it!' 'faint heart!' cried emma lovingly. 'the clash of arms doth but spur my courage. i have always loved it from my cradle. methinks i had made a doughty knight! it is not danger that quells me.' her face grew sad, for the bitter pang of an uneasy conscience gnawed her soul. danger did not quell her, but her doubting heart tormented her. '_let me then starve, dear lady; i cannot lift my hand against my heart's witness to the right._' the sentence sprang into her mind and seemed to glow before her eyes as if it had been seared upon her brain with red-hot irons. she drew her breath with a long shuddering sigh. in the rapid crowding of events that morning, the man who had spoken it in such despairing earnest had been forgotten, though she had thought of nothing else through the long watches of the night. she turned to eadgyth, and bade her go to the chapel, and offer prayers for the earl, and the garrison, and the souls of the fallen. 'thou wilt feel safe within the holy precincts,' she said; 'and dame amicia shall attend me. she is short of sight, and the shouts of yonder madmen will scarce penetrate her ears; she will prove more courageous than art thou.' when the aged lady-in-waiting came to her, in obedience to the message eadgyth had conveyed, the countess left the loophole through which so stirring a drama was visible, and advanced to meet her. 'i need the support of thy reverend presence, dear dame,' she said, and told her how she had found one of her lord's knights imprisoned, as she believed, on a misunderstanding, and that she wished to question him again, having taken it upon her to free him. the old lady could hear each syllable of emma's clear, soft voice, though she was untroubled by the shouts of the combatants below, and she nodded her stately head with its crown of snow-white hair, tastefully draped with a broidered veil of cyprian crape. 'a good lad, a good lad, and ever courteous,' answered dame amicia. 'thou dost well to probe the matter. i thought he had gone to bretagne.' 'it seems he was in durance in this castle,' said emma. 'but we knew it not; or, if my lord knew it, he had no time to sift the charges against him. methinks, if he have somewhat erred, he has been punished enough, and i may grant him pardon.' 'ay; if we forgive not the trespasses of others, how can we pray with a clean heart that our own may be forgiven?' replied the old lady, nodding again. 'we must practise forgiveness, or our paternosters are but a mockery.' no further words were spoken till they reached the apartment to which, according to the orders of the countess, sir aimand had been conveyed. de gourin had taken the precaution to place a stout warder at the door, who announced the visit of the countess to the knight. when emma entered the chamber, sir aimand threw himself on his knee before her, with an expression of deep homage, and bowed to her and to her venerable attendant. 'noble countess,' he exclaimed, 'i scarce know how to form my gratitude in words!' emma was freshly shocked when she saw his face and form. shaven and close-clipped as became a norman knight, and clad in tunic and hose, the ravages of two months of misery were but the more conspicuous, as they owed no adventitious aid to wild elf-locks and shaggy beard. his cheeks were sunken, and his eyes unnaturally bright with fever, and the bones of his thin hands and limbs were pitiful to see. his voice also was hoarse and hollow. emma felt that the revelations of the morning moved her more, not less, than the doleful horrors of the preceding night. 'i fear me thou hast greatly suffered,' she said involuntarily. 'rise, sir aimand, and be seated; thou art not fit to stand.' and sir aimand was forced to obey her, for, as he rose to his feet, he tottered and clutched at a stool for support, and emma recalled some fears that had crossed her mind during the night, with pathetic amusement, for she had been haunted with the idea that she had perhaps let loose a very dangerous champion in the castle. the poor knight looked little able to fight either for her cause or against it. 'i had come hither to question thee more closely as to the circumstances of thy imprisonment,' the countess said, 'and to see if thy proud spirit be at all softened by my bounty, but methinks the best thing i can do is to send thee a good leech.' 'noble countess, thy generosity hath not left me unmoved,' said sir aimand eagerly. 'i give thee my parole, neither to attempt escape, nor in any way to communicate with, aid, or abet the besiegers, if indeed thou wilt be gracious enough to accept it so ungraciously and tardily given.' 'i will accept it,' replied the countess, with a gratified smile; and dame amicia smiled also, seeing that her lady was well pleased, although her deafness prevented her from knowing very clearly her reasons for satisfaction. the countess had felt that the old dame's infirmity might be convenient, for the chief object of her visit was to question the knight more closely regarding the circumstances of his imprisonment, and she cared not to trust his indictment of sir alain to any of her gossip-loving ladies. 'i would that sir alain bore not so important a position in the garrison,' she said, after listening again to de sourdeval's story. 'the bretons make the most part of our strength, and, save one or two, who are vassals to my lord, he hath them all under his command.' 'lady,' answered de sourdeval, 'strive not to see me righted to the detriment of thy welfare. it may well be that de gourin will serve thee faithfully, though he satisfied a private vengeance against me. let him not know that i accuse him; say only that thou dost grant me pardon. but be on thy guard against him.' 'it must be so,' answered the countess, '_for the present_.' so saying, she took her leave, the knight following her with grateful eyes. when emma regained her bower, she summoned eadgyth to her. 'i have news to comfort thy courage,' she said. 'a doughty champion is in the castle. does not thy heart tell thee his name?' eadgyth opened her blue eyes in vague surprise, then cried, with a start of joy,-- 'ah, emma, dear emma! hath the earl so soon returned?' 'fie, maiden! wouldst make me jealous? doth _thy heart_ suggest the name of my lord?' 'what meanest thou, emma? jest not, i pray thee. these days are too terrible for jesting,' said eadgyth, with distressed mien and paling cheeks. emma took both her slender wrists in hers and looked lovingly in her face. 'nay, we must jest to keep our blood from curdling, eadgyth. but i will not tease thee. sweet, 'tis sir aimand de sourdeval of whom i speak.' eadgyth said nothing, but met emma's gaze with eyes in which joy and surprise, and doubt of herself that was almost terror, were struggling for mastery. emma drew her gently upon the seat beside her. 'surely thou art glad to know that he is safe, if thou joyest not that he is near?' 'ah yes! i am glad--glad indeed of his safety!' replied eadgyth in a low, thrilling voice, and her hand sought the bracelet which she wore as ever. 'and not of his nearness?' 'i know not! i know not! it means but fresh struggle and misery!' the tears rolled down her cheeks. 'why struggle, eadgyth? fate has united you when all pointed to separation. eadgyth, he needs thee. i told thee sooth when i said he was in safety. but he has suffered much. he is ill. be thou his leech. dame amicia will attend thee--her motherly heart warms towards the youth.' 'ill?' eadgyth looked in the countess's eyes with almost fierce questioning. 'ill,' repeated emma, smiling. 'not dying; not in danger; i said "safe." it is a long story, eadgyth, but i must tell it thee.' then she told the history we already know; and how, after eadgyth's remark about him on the battlements, it had entered her heart to have a mass said for him; how it had led to his discovery, and how she had visited him in his dungeon. when she came to that point, and narrated her visit, describing his sorrowful aspect with unconscious pathos, eadgyth sprang up and clasped her hands above her head. 'oh, the terrible injustice of it!' she groaned, and afterwards she paced backwards and forwards, unable to control her emotion. 'but thy hero was shrewdly saucy, eadgyth. woebegone and desperate as he was,--i almost wish i had let thee see the figure he cut, with his unkempt beard and tangled locks, as long as those of thy saxon champions,--natheless he would make no terms. i might free him, or leave him chained by the leg like a hobbled steed, as i found him. one might have thought he had passed a pleasant time down there in the dark. he would not even give me his parole not to help our besiegers if i gave him the chance.' eadgyth's eyes lighted up with a proud joy. 'that was noble,' she said under her breath. emma laughed. 'he had come to a better mind this morning,' she said; 'i found means whereby to tame his proud spirit.' eadgyth turned to her with a start, and wild visions of racks and thumbscrews, and other fashionable instruments of the time, passed through her mind. her spirit was so torn with the terror of the day, and the excitement she had undergone, that she did not pause to consider probabilities. 'emma! thou hadst not heart to crush one so unhappy?' 'i had!' said emma. eadgyth's eyes looked dumb reproach more eloquent than words. 'yes,' said emma; 'i hold not the office of castellan of blauncheflour by halves! i made use of my power.' 'what didst thou do?' asked eadgyth in a scarcely audible voice. 'i gave him his liberty without conditions, and had him lodged in one of the best apartments of the castle. _that_ touched my knight's pride; he would not have me outdo him in generosity, so he capitulated this morning, and offered me his parole without further asking!' and the countess broke into a silvery peal of laughter. 'oh, emma, that was like thy dear self!' cried eadgyth, running to the countess, throwing herself on her knees before her, and hiding her head in emma's robes like a repentant child. emma kissed her. 'now, maiden, thy part must be done. the knight has promised neither to help the enemy nor to attempt escape. be it for thee to persuade him to buckle on his harness and fight for us. he can scarce see thy sweet face, and know thou art in danger, and not lift his hand to help thee!' '_i_ persuade him!--to break his knightly vows and fight against his lawful liege? never!' cried eadgyth, raising her head and throwing it back proudly. 'strange,' she continued, more to herself than to the countess, indeed, scarce knowing that she spoke aloud, 'how thy haught courage and noble generosity are allied with so little sense of moral right!' a flash of pain and some indignation crossed the countess's brow. 'i deny thy right to judge me,' she said coldly. 'there are some who strain after such high ideals, they fail to see the duties that lie near; gratitude, for instance, and the welfare of their friends!' eadgyth was silent, for she felt that emma was unjust; she would have given her life to serve her, though she would not go a step against her conscience. 'sir aimand has suffered much,' said the countess gently, after a pause. 'he is out of health and out of hope. a little happiness would serve him in better stead than an armful of herbs and simples. go to him, eadgyth! encourage his contumacy if thou wilt, but go to him.' and eadgyth went. chapter xxi. the ordeal by fire. at the close of the day the barbican still remained in the keeping of the besieged. it had not been retained without the loss of many a stout soldier, and the spital was crowded with patients, who occupied all the healing talents of the countess and her ladies. when emma at last retired to her chamber, with her saxon bower-maiden in attendance, she was so weary and worn with the excitement and strain of the day, that she threw herself upon the bed, without even taking off her jewels, and fell asleep almost immediately; while eadgyth, after softly laying a warm coverlet over her, lay down beside her. but not to sleep. her brain was full of dire and disturbing images, and even the face of sourdeval, which it had been so great a joy to her to behold once more, came to her as she had seen it, wan and melancholy, when he turned to her as she entered his apartment, before it flashed with brightness on recognising who had come to him. the change in him had shocked her, and in her nervous and depressed mood she thought of him as one whom death had marked for his own, and his image was but as a pale spectre, round which the manifold forms of wounded and dying and tortured men, whom she had beheld during the day, grouped as a central point. her ears were full of the wild shouts of the besiegers and the shrieks of the injured, the awful clash of seax on helm, and hurtle and whiz of arrows. again and again she woke from a fitful doze, thinking to hear the thunder of charging knights and the fierce 'aoi!' of leofric ealdredsson and his carles, as they leaped forth from the cover of the palisades upon the foe. at last from such an awakening she sprang from the bed; better, she thought, to wake all night than suffer such awful dreams. but the awakening did not silence the cries. they were no dreams, those screams of terror, those head-rending shrieks for help, they were dreadful realities; and, rushing to the window, she gazed out with a beating heart at the western sky, which flickered and flared with strange and ghostly gleams. she ran back to the sleeping countess, and by the lurid light saw that she was smiling in her sleep. 'wake! wake! oh, emma! dear countess! this is no night for sleep. methinks the dawn is like to bring the last dread day! alas! she sleeps like a young infant that knows not danger or woe. wake, emma! thy life may hang on it!' then the countess, opening her eyes dreamily, murmured, 'thou hast brought good succour, ralph!' the next moment she started up. 'mary mother! what is it, child?' 'there is murder in the air, emma! see, the very sky is full of tokens. listen! listen! oh, saints in heaven! how they scream!' they did indeed! the countess sprang from the bed and rushed to the window also. 'they have fired the town!' she cried; 'they have fired the town!--the saxon quarter! sir hoël said they would!' 'the saxon quarter! oh, my home, my home!' cried eadgyth, and, pressing her hands to her ears in a vain effort to shut out the shrieks of the sufferers, she cowered, with closed eyes, upon the floor. 'let us go to the great portal of the keep, whence we can see it,' said the countess. 'see it!' cried eadgyth. 'ah, emma, no! i could not look! it would kill me.' but emma went forth boldly, intent to know if anything could be done to rescue the victims. norwich in those days was an open town. the walls and towers, of which portions still remain to gladden the eyes of archaeologists, were not built till some fifty years later, so that it was not possible to defend the town itself. moreover, although the earl had found supporters amongst the saxon and anglo-danish inhabitants of the older quarters, numbering more than one relative of harold godwinsson, the majority of the norman denizens of the new burg around the chapel-in-the-field remained loyal to william, and were ready to give all help to the besiegers. for this reason was it that the western sky had but flickered with the reflections of flames. it was the saxon quarter by the river, the wooden tenements in king street, which provided fuel for the bonfire. looking east from the portal of the great tower, a grand and terrible spectacle confronted the beholders. crackling flames shot up against the dark midnight sky, dancing like living demons of fiery destruction, and sinking only to lick the doomed houses with their scorching tongues and spring up higher than ever. every now and again some beam or stone would burst with a sharp report, throwing blazing fragments into the air; and the volumes of smoke rolled far into the night, lurid with the red glare of the flames. moats and marshes and river gleamed and sparkled weirdly with the light of destruction, so that the ground was broken by inverted images of fiery tongues; and it seemed, indeed, as if the nether world--so ardently believed in by those who were watching as a material hell of fire and brimstone--had broken bounds, and was let loose to destroy the world. but most awful was it to see the small black figures that every now and again raised wild arms against the flare of the fire; most awful was it to here the screams that every now and again rose above the dull roar and crackle and hiss of the destroying element. when such figures were seen, and such sounds heard, curses and execrations burst from the white lips of the soldiers who were crowding the eastern walls of blauncheflour, and the knights who had assembled before the portal of the keep. as the countess came down amongst them, she could not repress an exclamation of horror, for never in her life had she beheld anything so awful. sir hoël de st. brice came instantly to her side. 'alas, dear lady! this is no scene for thee. return to thy bower. there is no danger for the castle.' 'my place is here, sir hoël,' said emma firmly. 'i am castellan of this castle. the battle is not always to the strong. see, yonder flames hissing through the air are more terrible than a hundred mailed warriors! the flame of wit is given to woman as well as to man!' 'william's men are doing thee homage, noble countess,' said de gourin, with a sneer. 'these are finer bonfires than the good people of norwich lighted on the night of thy arrival in their town!' emma turned from him with a shudder of disgust. 'how hath this been accomplished, sir hoël?' she asked of the older knight. 'by what means hath the fire been enkindled?' 'the king's men are provided with mighty engines,' answered sir hoël. 'never have i seen mangonel or balista that carried so far. they are throwing red-hot stones and balls of lead from them, and the old houses yonder have been so well dried by the sun of late, that they burn like tinder. see,' he added, pointing out some glowing stars in the south-east, which emma had not before distinguished from the burning fragments tossed aloft by the action of the flame, 'their fiery hail continues even now. they have got possession of the cyning ford, and are flinging their missiles from across the river.' 'and are we to stand here and gape at them, and do nought to stop them?' demanded the countess eagerly. 'good st. nicholas! how the cattle bellow in the castle meadow! are the poor beasts in danger?' 'the fire frightens them, and no wonder!' answered sir hoël. 'but they are in safety, unless, perhaps, some fragment, here and there, may be carried from the fire, and somewhat scorch their hides. as for thy former question, i see not that anything can be done. having possession of the ford, i know not how we can dislodge them.' 'it would be but throwing away good lives to attempt it,' said de gourin, who cared little whether a few saxons more or less were burned on their own hearthstones. 'eadgyth!' exclaimed the countess impetuously to her bower-maiden, who had followed her, notwithstanding her terror, 'hast thou not told me there was a way through the marshes, that harold used against the vikings?' eadgyth, with wild eyes and teeth chattering in the extremity of her horror, gazed at the countess as if her fear had taken away her reason. the countess repeated her question, and eadgyth, with an effort, forced herself to attend. 'ay, that is so. my kinsman leofric would be familiar with it. he has fought every inch of this ground against the danes under your lord!' she said. 'where is this leofric? let him be summoned,' commanded the countess. 'he is yonder helping his countrymen to save their skins from the fire,' said sir alain contemptuously. again the countess commanded, 'let him be summoned!' and when, not long after, leofric ealdredsson stood before her, still breathing hard after his exertions, his face begrimed with dust and smoke, and the wild firelight gleaming on his torc and mail corselet and bracelets, she asked him if he knew of any way by which he could steal unperceived through the marshes, and take the artillerymen of the foe by surprise. 'by asgaard! yes!' exclaimed leofric, turning to de gourin. 'and so i told this fair sir an hour ago, and offered to show him how he might take them in flank, and stuff their accursed red-hot balls down their own throats; or i would have taken a band under my own order, twenty of my house-carles, if he would add twenty stout men from the garrison. but he would hear none of it.' 'we shall be the safer that the buildings yonder are burned,' said de gourin. 'why throw away good lives to stop it?' 'why was i not told of this suggestion?' asked sir hoël, frowning. 'thou takest over much upon thyself, sir alain!' 'grant me the men now, countess!' said leofric eagerly. 'my lord owed his life to thee, leofric ealdredsson!' answered the countess. 'i know i may trust thee! take thy stout carles, and twenty men beside.' 'ahoi! by freya! thou art a pearl among women!' cried the wild leofric, who was much of a viking himself. 'ah, kinsman leofric, leave those heathen names alone!' said eadgyth. 'thou hast a better symbol in the hilt of thy sword!' but he had not stopped to listen to her. he had gone off to call his carles together, and to choose his twenty men from the garrison. and some forty of them, for the most part anglo-danes or saxons, left the castle a few minutes later, leaving by the western horn of the barbican, and making their way by the streets north of the castle, by tombland, to the river; slipping along through the fire-lighted night with a panther-like trot on their silent shoes of untanned leather, their trusty seaxes in their right hands, and their round red shields on their left arms. arrived at the river, they possessed themselves of boats without particularly asking the leave of the owners, and crossed-over to the marshes on the eastern bank, leaving a man in each boat to guard it. they crept through the rushes, as only men who had grown up amid the fens could have done, and fell upon the unsuspecting normans like thunderbolts; knocked their balistas to fragments, served a good many of their men likewise, and returned as they came to the west bank of the river. then they added their strength to that of the townsfolk to fight the flames, and, by means of clearing large spaces to windward of the burning houses, stopped the fire from spreading its ravages indefinitely. but five less returned through the castle gate than had left it. so went the first day and the first night of the siege. when day broke, the attack on the barbican began again, and so it was for five days afterward; but at the end of the sixth the barricades were almost battered down, and strong bridges were established across the ditch, so that the defenders thought it wise to abandon it to the enemy, as scarcely worth the lives it would cost to maintain possession of it. but this meant no very great advantage to the besiegers. they stood before the great gate of the castle, the actual entrance to which looked like a mere mouse-hole between the sheer strong walls of its two flanking towers. they well knew the make of such gateways: their folding-doors of solid oak, strengthened with bars and bolts of iron, and studded with huge nails to prevent the cutting out of a panel or staving in of the same; the strong portcullis behind them, a harrow-shaped iron grating, to be let up and down in a moment by means of pulleys from the inside; above the doors a row of chimney-like apertures, called machicolations, through which the defenders could pour scalding water, molten lead, or any other deadly matter, upon the devoted heads of the assaulting column, who were exposed also to a cross fire of quarrels, stones, and other missiles from the flanking towers. truly, to assault such a portal was no child's play, even with such aid as could be given by the rude artillery of the times: petronels and agerons for throwing stones and leaden pellets, catapultas for shooting arrows, and the trebuchettum, or warrewolf, specially designed for the smashing in of gates and walls; all these, and more of their kind, the king's men were well provided with. stout earl warrenne, and the astute bishop of coutances, and the accomplished lance, robert malet, held many a consultation as they rode round the invested fortress, and scanned it eagerly to see if haply they might discover some weak point which should give them advantage in the attack. but they decided that they must become masters of the great gate, and so of the ditch, before they could make any assault on the castle itself. a month had passed away before they were so masters; but being so, they had their opponents in a veritable trap. the besieged knew well that a harder struggle than ever lay before them in their awful isolation, cut off from communion with their fellow-creatures by a wall of human fury as effectually as if they had been wrecked on some desert island in that vast ocean of the west, the opposite shores of which were all unknown to them, though its great eastern rollers dashed in spray upon the breton and norman coasts. through all this weary time of fear and suspense, with its harassing duties and oppressive sorrows, the countess emma found comfort in two dumb friends: oliver, the earl's spanish destrier, who had been left in the fortress when de guader embarked for denmark; and the brave tassel-gentle, that had been ralph's gift to her upon the day on which she had promised to share his fortunes, good or ill. oliver had been restored to his master, after he had been struck down by odo's mace, by one of those strange accidents which seem to have the finger of fate in them. some of the old thegn ealdred's men had visited the battlefield several days after the fight, to see how the land lay and what the king's men were doing. they were attacked by a band of norman soldiers, headed by a knight who was mounted on a splendid destrier. the animal was full of strength and courage, but the rider being, as they afterwards found, one stephen main-de-fer, a parvenu who had made his fortune out of the woes of england, like so many of his countrymen, and who had won his spurs without having learned to ride, instead of profiting by the noble booty that had fallen to his share, was brought to his ruin thereby; for the fiery barb, unused to such handling as he gave it, and doubtless wondering, like johnny gilpin's steed, 'what thing upon his back had got,' became unmanageable in the excitement of the fray, and threw his clumsy new master heavily to the earth. there he lay sprawling, as little versed in carrying his armour as in managing his horse, and ealdred's men did not lose their opportunity of despatching him. after a short struggle, his followers beat their retreat, and the destrier fell into the hands of the anglo-danes, who took him back with them to their refuge in the fens, where he was immediately recognised with much jubilation by grillonne, and restored to his master. so it came to pass that ralph de guader had been able to ride back into blauncheflour on his trusty oliver. since the earl had quitted the castle, emma had visited the barb morning and night, and had taken him many a dainty wastel cake or sugary comfit such as horses love; and, stroking his satin neck with many an endearment, longed for the time when she should see his master on his back again. a time which would never come! at such moments she would often have the tassel-gentle on her wrist, and the bird seemed almost human, so intelligent and tame was he. she needed some comfort, for she had one great sorrow. the gentle and loving dame amicia de reviers, who had watched over her from her cradle, was stricken down by paralysis, and a few days later died. it was really but the natural end of a long and happy life; but emma, in the mood for self-torture, blamed herself for having dragged the aged dame into tumult and terror, and shed tears that were beyond the usual bitterness of grief. she was buried in the holy precincts of st. martin at bayle, which stood before the castle gate, the besiegers granting a truce for the occasion, with that chivalrous courtesy that was so oddly mixed with the ferocity of the times. so the king's men and the earl's met in friendly sympathy one day, and prepared for bitter contest on the morrow, when the besiegers planned to make assault upon the walls themselves. within the castle all was bustle and business. harness was mended and bullets were moulded, bows restrung and arrows feathered, axes and swords whirred on the grindstone, huge cauldrons were prepared wherein to heat water to pour upon besiegers' heads; and even the countess and her ladies helped to carry stones with their own fair hands, and pile them ready for the use of the slingers. meanwhile the swallows wheeled and twittered overhead as they wheel and twitter now; and down in the woods the merles and mavises sang on undisturbed by the tumult, while swans were marshalling green-grey cygnets across the pools in the marshes of the cowholme. chapter xxii. a subterranean conflict. the besiegers on their part had not been idle. they had established quite a _menagery_ of mechanical contrivances, rejoicing in the zoological names of tortoises, sows, and cats, to protect their approaches to the white walls of blauncheflour, and under cover of these they had cut a channel to the castle ditch and drained the water from it, so that it was as dry as at present, though, instead of growing fair greenery of bushes and flowers, it showed a bottom of parched, foetid mud under the hot summer sun. they had thrown up large mounds of earth at intervals around the ballium, and upon these had built up towers of wood overtopping the walls. these were furnished with drawbridges which could be let down at pleasure upon the merlons of the battlements, so to give ingress to their men-at-arms; their upper storeys serving to shelter archers and slingers, while from the lower, battering-rams were sturdily plied, and the warrewolves flung their stones and balls of lead. these towers had cost them many good lives, for not one had been established without a fierce struggle. sally after sally had been made from the castle, but, in the end, numbers prevailed, and at last their impertinent wooden crests were reared above the caen stone of blauncheflour. those within were, however, more troubled by the mines which their assailants had run from the bottom of the moat beneath the foundations of the castle; for although these had been met by countermines, and many a furious combat had taken place in these uncanny lists, each mine meant a point to be guarded with jealous care, and was a source of weakness and anxiety; demanding exhausting sentry duty from the already over-burdened garrison. the countess found her office of castellan no sinecure. the motley garrison were anything but homogeneous. all manner of petty jealousies, personal and national, raged among them. the normans were jealous of the bretons, and the bretons blustered about independence, boasting that they were 'no man's men;' while the saxons hated them both, and regarded their refinements as dandyisms and their courtesies as cant; and the normans and the bretons both looked down upon the saxons as savages, and gibed at their priest-bestowed knighthood; so that, on the whole, they were as much inclined to fight against each other as against the king's forces outside the walls, and sometimes actually came to blows. however, the countess set her woman's wit to weigh these quarrelsome gentlemen against each other, and managed to do it, owing to the three-sidedness of the situation. after all, their want of unity had its advantages, as they never 'went solid' in any direction, except under the self-evident necessity of defending their lives and the castle. still, at times, emma grew very weary, and almost failed under the burden she had taken upon her slender shoulders, feeling terribly feeble and lonely and out of her depth. sir hoël de st. brice was her chiefest comfort and principal counsellor. the old knight had come to regard her with absolute veneration and the deepest affection, and in him she felt that she had a true and sincere friend. his zeal for the earl's cause nearly equalled her own. to say that he would have given his life for it would express little, for all in the garrison were formally pledged to do that; but he had no other object in life. emma had sought the earliest opportunity to tell him the circumstances under which she had discovered the imprisonment of sir aimand de sourdeval, and to repeat his account of the foul treatment he had met with from de gourin. 'unknightly!' he had said,--'from first to last unknightly. but what would you have? can a man who sells his lance to the first bidder, without inquiry into the justice of his cause, be a true knight?' altogether he gave evidence of shrewd indignation, but no keen surprise. 'i love not the mercenary,' he answered, 'and wish that he had not so high a command in the garrison. i know well that he had no great liking for the young norman _prudhomme_, whose boyish enthusiasms were stronger than his prudence, and led him to throw taunts at sir alain's thick head, all the more galling that they were barbed with truth.' but he agreed that, under the circumstances, it was best to let matters stand; de gourin was evidently of the same opinion, and, save for a few veiled gibes at the magnanimity of the countess, made no reference to the freeing of the young knight. sir aimand, for his part, had a dismal time of it, and almost wished himself back in his dungeon, securely chained by the leg. as soon as his health began to mend, which was speedily enough, under the combined influences of good food, good air, and the sight of his lady's face, eadgyth withdrew that last and sweetest influence. for she was determined by no word or look of hers to tempt him to be untrue to his high standard of honour, and she felt on her own part more saxon than ever, and judged the gulf between them impassable, save by the wreckage of the ideals of both; and therefore she deemed that to bestow her company upon him would be but cruel kindness. so the poor knight mooned about in solitary meditation, and his returning strength made inaction a veritable purgatory to him. to hear blows going, and have no hand in giving or taking them, was truly about the cruellest torture that could have been invented for one of his order and temper in those days when christians still thirsted for the valhalla of the old norsemen, wherein the immortal heroes were healed of their wounds at night that they might slay each other over again in the morning. again and again he was on the point of throwing his scruples to the wind, and buckling on sword and helm in defence of the generous dame who had given him his freedom so unconditionally. again and again he restrained himself, and did penance by fasting and prayer, wishing the while that she had left him in durance, so he had escaped such doubting and searching of heart. nor did he find much peace in hall. norman, breton, and saxon were all against him. gibes and jeers were his portion. they called him the 'ladies' tame tiercel,' the 'gamecock without spurs,' the 'dancing bear,' and a hundred other names suggestive of carpet-knight-errantry. then his fists would ball and his clear-cut, high-bred face grow white with anger, though he never made reply, as he felt it an evident point of honour that, being a prisoner on parole, he might neither risk his own person, which carried value for ransom, nor seek to injure any of the garrison. but on the eve of the assault, when the countess was holding council with sir hoël de st. brice, attended only by eadgyth, the young norman prayed audience of her, and on its being granted strode into the chamber with curiously flashing eyes. 'i beseech thee, noble emma, to furnish me with an helm and an hauberk, and the sharpest sword thou canst spare out of thine armoury, and i will put them to a good use in thy service,' he said, with speech that was rather too hasty to be clear. 'hast found thy senses at last, brave sir?' demanded sir hoël, smiling indulgently, for he had always liked the young knight. but eadgyth noticed his flushed cheek and excited mien with a chill dread at her heart. was he about to be false to the noble ideals for which he had endured so much, or--saints in heaven forfend!--did his exaggerated love to his suzerain lead him to contemplate a baser falseness still, and so confuse his mind that he should fancy it would be virtue to betray the castle? her cousin leofric had said more than once, that only a woman playing castellan would be so imprudent as to allow one holding so invidious a position as did de sourdeval, to be free of the castle and aware of all its secrets; and though at the time she had cried shame on his mean suspicions, the words had rested in her mind with the burr-like persistency characteristic of such suggestions of evil. the countess, however, looked at him with her frank glad eyes, and rejoiced, for she had always hoped that the time would come when he would repay her generosity with complete allegiance, and she was about to reply unconditionally, 'ay, that will i.' but before she could speak, sir aimand continued, 'i ask thee more. i want not only arms for myself, but twenty men to back me.' sir hoël looked grave, and lifted his bushy white eyebrows high in astonishment. 'pick men of whose fidelity you are assured,' sir aimand cried. 'let leofric ealdredsson go with me. thou knowest he has no liking for me, and is in no way in collusion with me, sith there is race hatred between us and rivalry in love.' 'rivalry in love!' exclaimed emma, turning quickly to eadgyth, and the cheeks of the saxon maiden burned scarlet under her gaze, but not more redly than those of the knight, who had exposed his jealousy unawares. 'i should not have said rivalry,' he amended hastily, 'sith i have no claim.' eadgyth was in a difficult position. if she made the protest her heart urged, that leofric was her cousin and nothing more, and never could be more, she would give sir aimand an encouragement which was cruel. if she did not make it, she let that be believed which she imagined had no foundation in fact. emma saved her from need of reply. 'upon the honour of leofric ealdredsson i can rely,' she said, 'whether he have cause to like or mislike thy person, fair knight. what more hast thou to ask?' 'that he, with twenty of his stout anglo-danes, may be put under my guidance, with instructions to hew me in sunder if i in any way show token of treachery. i can serve thee best if none know of this matter, nor the end in view, save leofric alone. but this i will say in explanation, there is a traitor in thy camp, and i would fain foil him. i cannot fight under thy banner, noble countess, but it accords with my vow of chivalry to save thee from foul betrayal.' 'let leofric ealdredsson be summoned, sir hoël,' said the countess. and in the end de sourdeval obtained his boon. knowing what had been granted to the norman, and that leofric and his stout carles would not have accepted service under him unless with some prospect of stiff work to follow, sir hoël was somewhat surprised to see the anglo-danes linger later than usual over the wassail bowl in hall that even, seeing too that on the morrow it was certain that shrewd blows would be going, and all heads wanted clear. sir alain de gourin thought fit to rebuke them. 'for as thick skulls as your battle-axes there may boast, childe leofric,' he said, 'they had best have wakeful wits under them by dawn.' and he set a worthy example by leaving the revel. his most important followers slipped after, first one and then another, but still the vikings drank on, and sir hoël began to have queer doubts of the wisdom of granting the whimsical de sourdeval control over such a crew, and determined to watch them out. [illustration: "the big rat has gone into his hole!"] presently in came sir aimand, wrapped in a long cloak, with a hood over his head, and whispered to leofric,-- 'the big rat has gone into his hole.' and leofric wagged his yellow beard approvingly, and rose up, tall and strong, with a rattle of mail and bracelets, and took his great two-handed axe and strode with de sourdeval out of the hall; and sir hoël saw that under de sourdeval's cloak was a mail hauberk and steel headpiece. then one after another the anglo-danes picked themselves out of the rushes, whither they had subsided to save the trouble of falling, and went out also, with strange steadiness for tipsy men. and de sourdeval led leofric to a mine that had been run to meet one dug by the enemy on the north-west side of the castle, near the chiefest of the wall towers, and two dozen good men and true were at their back. they went down into the darkness, dimly lighted with rude lanterns, and they found the watch were one and all breton mercenaries. these one after another they stealthily seized, gagged before they could make outcry, bound, and carried up into the outer air, setting their own men in their stead. then they crouched down and waited at the extremity of the mine, where it met the norman parallels. and after a while they heard sounds approaching. the clink and chink of weapons and mail and the muffled beat of creeping footsteps. 'remember--sir alain to me,' hissed de sourdeval in a hoarse whisper,--'sir alain and his traitors. i strike no blow against the king's true men.' 'by odin! all's fish that comes to my net. breton or norman, what have they to do in harold's norwich?' returned leofric savagely. 'but i'll not poach on thy manors. sir alain to thee.' two minutes later, the breton mercenary, leading the foe with whom he had traitorously compounded to save his own skin, was startled to meet the fierce white face of sir aimand instead of the friendly countenance of one of his own ruffians. 'ha! caught in thine own burrow, despicable rat!' shouted the norman, and the next moment they were hewing at each other with the fury of a long hatred. de gourin had the disadvantage of surprise, and he lost his head and struck wildly. de sourdeval got within his guard, and the next moment the breton rolled heavily to earth. over his dead body waged a fierce battle, but it was not maintained for long. the besiegers, expecting to be led straight into the heart of the castle, were not prepared for the determined resistance they met with thus at the outset, and credited the bretons with decoying them into a trap. the latter were therefore the chief combatants, for their case was desperate. they were between two foes, and scarce one of them escaped alive; nor did sir aimand find any great difficulty in keeping his vow to deal with them alone. so sir aimand slew his enemy in the bowels of the earth; the man through whose treachery he had been forced to live for so many long days as deeply buried from the free air and cheerful light of day. yet the personal quarrel was merged in a greater cause, and in revenging his own wrong he was saving the brave countess emma and the lady of his love, with all the womanhood in the castle, from the horrors of a sudden sack. when the garrison heard of this feat which 'the ladies' tame tiercel' and 'the danish wolf' had carried through between them, the enthusiasm knew no bounds, and the curses and maledictions that were poured on the senseless head of the treacherous breton knew no bounds either, till sir aimand said,-- 'the greater his sins, the greater need we pray for him,' and ordered masses for the dead man's soul at his own expense, so putting bitter tongues to shame. the countess came down into the great hall and met the heroes of the hour with shining eyes and heartfelt thanks; but, to say truth, they were both more anxious for kind glances and sweet praise from her saxon bower-maiden, and their eyes went round the hall in search of her. but she was not there; she had slipped away to ask the chaplain to set her penances for having entertained suspicions of an innocent person. perhaps none felt deeper indignation against the foiled traitor than those of the breton mercenaries whom he had not included in his band of deserters. if his plot had been successful, they would probably have suffered most of all in the garrison, for mercenaries are rolling stones who make enemies wherever they go, and whose services being paid for in cash and plunder, win no gratitude even from those they defend. they knew well that if the besiegers got the upper hand, it would go hard with them. therefore they stood aghast when they heard of the treachery of their leader and of those of their comrades who had been with him, feeling that treachery to be in a manner twofold towards themselves. they gathered round de sourdeval asking eager questions. 'how had he discovered the plot? had he known it long? what proofs had he to support his assertion?' to which he made reply that he had not known it long, only an hour or two before his counterplot was framed and executed, and it had come to his knowledge in this wise. a certain soldier in de gourin's band had been sir aimand's warder during his imprisonment in the dungeons of the castle, and it seemed that the man had conceived a great affection for him. being one of the sentries whose duty it was to guard the mine, he had received instructions from de gourin to admit the king's troops, and was perforce made privy to the nefarious designs of the leader. believing de sourdeval to be hostile to the garrison, and wishing to do him a good turn, he had told him of the scheme on hand, and had undertaken to procure a disguise for him, so that he might pass out amid de gourin's band. the man would tell them the story himself; he now lay bound in the courtyard of the castle with the rest of the breton sentries. the next day sir aimand returned to the countess the arms with which she had provided him from the castle armoury, holding fast to his resolution not to bear them against the king's forces. chapter xxiii. how oliver died. but there was little time for asking questions and making inquiries, or for celebrating the exploits of heroes, norman or anglo-dane. the morning light was creeping up the east, and the chirp and twitter of wakening sparrows was the signal for the battering-rams and pickers to commence their ominous clatter. the attack was made at several points simultaneously; and all the strength of the garrison, weakened as it was by the losses of a month of strife, was needed on the walls. from every loophole the archers and slingers aimed whizzing arrows and hurtling stones upon the columns of the assailants, and from between the merlons great sacks of wool and horsehair were suspended to protect the walls from the battering-rams, while huge logs of timber were hurled upon the pickers. molten lead and boiling water was poured down upon the heads of the besiegers like a veritable hell-rain. but for all their efforts the assault made progress. in two distinct places the walls were so battered that horsemen could have ridden through the breach. the garrison did their best to throw up earthworks inside the broken walls, and fought valiantly to defend them, sallying forth at intervals with the impetus of men who felt their case desperate. but the besiegers fought with fury also. they were weary of dallying week after week before the walls of a castle which was under the command of a woman, and were determined to get the mastery, if energy and valour could accomplish it. the countess, mounting the battlements of the keep one day, that she might see for herself the working of the mighty engines which were plied against her stronghold, had seen earl william de warrenne and robert malet standing together in one of the wooden towers already described. as she bent forward to look below, a stone from a petronel struck the wall not far beneath her, and the fragments and dust flew into her face and upon the wall on which her hand had rested. her noble adversaries, who were watching her, could not repress an exclamation of dismay at this; but emma, without blenching, took her kerchief from her gipsire and nonchalantly dusted the walls with it. 'you do well to fight a housewife with dust, fair sirs!' she cried, sending a mocking peal of silvery laughter to follow her words. such taunts were not unheeded or forgiven. they helped to nerve the leaders who led the attack; and they were men who were accustomed to lead their men to victory. on this day the chequered shield of earl warrenne pressed forward as if it were possessed of magic powers, which made it proof against every blow, and wherever it went it had eager followers; while young robert malet showed himself the worthy son of his great father. as for the bishop of coutances, he contented himself with blessing the column before it started, and reminding the soldiers that the brother of the countess emma was an excommunicated man. earl warrenne strained every nerve to make the assault a success. he led his men in person to the breach; and his strong voice dominated the tumult with trumpet tones, as he cried, 'dex aie! for william the norman!' 'a warrenne! a warrenne!' responded his men, as they struggled forward over the counter-scarp, under a pelting hail of arrows and javelins from the battlements. [illustration: a warrenne! a warrenne! for william the norman!] within the breach stood leofric ealdredsson, holding his great double-edged axe in his hand, with his men arranged in a saxon wedge, the front row kneeling, with shield touching shield, and a forest of spears bristling out above them, like the spines of a porcupine. they answered the norman battle-cry with a wild shout that made the walls ring again, and echoed up the sides of the keep behind them, 'ahoi! ahoi! a guader! a guader!' otherwise they were motionless as statues. earl warrenne had won experience of that formation at hastings, and he well knew how invulnerable it was, and how the terrible seaxes could crash through helm and hauberk. he knew how stratagem alone had prevailed over it; how pretended flight had cheated the saxons into pursuit, and how they had so foregone their advantage; and he determined to employ the same device again. so he leapt his horse in over the shattered wall, and his men-at-arms followed him, but spent their force in vain on the living rampart before them; more than one reeled with cleft helmet from the saddle, and warrenne himself wavered and turned. seeing their leader give way, the band broke and pressed tumultuously back over the temporary drawbridge thrown across the waterless moat for their use; and leofric and his men sprang forward to pursue them. then warrenne turned again with a fierce rallying cry, and his knights, used to strict discipline, and instantly understanding his aim, turned with him, and, as at hastings, the advantage was won. it was a hazardous experiment, but it had succeeded. man to man the battleaxes and spearmen were no match for the mailed and mounted normans. the struggle was bitter. horses and knights, normans and english, fell cursing and kicking from the bridge into the moat. but earl warrenne, with a bevy of knights at his heels, made their way through the breach, penetrating into the courtyard of the castle; while leofric lay senseless on the bridge, with his yellow curls dangling over the edge, streaked with crimson, and dripping red drops into the gulf below. so the king's men had made their way within the walls of blauncheflour, after two months of strong endeavour; and the sight of warrenne's chequered banner inside the defences they had held so manfully brought terror into the hearts of the besieged. their unnerved arms struck feeble blows; and the king's knights rode them down, driving them to the very stairway of the great entrance to the donjon keep. all at once, from above their heads came a clear voice like a clarion,-- 'st. nicholas for guader! a guader! a guader! shall your lord come back, and find his castle lost?' there, on the platform before the grand entrance, stood a white-robed figure, with uplifted arms and a wildly shining face, which set the half-pagan anglo-danes thinking of valkyries and norns, and the bretons and normans of angels and saints; but when they recognised the face of emma the countess, they shouted a mighty shout, and the blood came back into their hearts with a great glow of determination, and they rushed once more fiercely against their assailants. 'i am here to see how bravely you maintain his cause in his absence!' cried emma from the portal. then the knights mixed in the wild _mêlée_ at her feet; while the king's archers shot their whizzing shafts from the wooden towers, and the king's slingers hurled their leaden balls and stones, fighting the men who upheld the east anglian banners on the walls. whether or no every arrow had its billet, as it is said every bullet has in modern days, many an arrow flew far beyond the men at whom it was aimed, and whistled down into the courtyard. as the besieged knights looked for inspiration to their beloved châtelaine, brimming over with the strong desire to distinguish themselves before her eyes, they saw a cloth-yard shaft fly straight to her white figure, and strike the tender form they were burning to protect, marring it with a crimson streak. a great howl of rage rose up against the sky, and the passion of vengeance nerved their arms with furious force. they sprang at the foe, who had also seen the arrow strike its mark, and had paused a moment in chivalrous horror, and so were unprepared to meet the onslaught. thus the tide of battle turned once more, and earl warrenne and his followers were driven out through the breach by which they had entered. then, when the knights of the garrison rode back in grievous haste to satisfy their anxiety for their lord's bride, the countess still stood before the portal, laughing, though the arrow stuck in her arm. 'see!' she said, 'it is nothing! only a flesh-wound. i have leeched a hundred worse.' the normans and the bretons and the saxons all joined in tumultuous cheers, and vowed to save their countess and their castle if they died to the last man. '_merci!_ brave hearts!' cried the countess. 'that was well spoken! holy mary grant my lord may relieve us ere many days are past!' then they entreated her to have her wound looked to; and she swept away to the spital, and there had the arrow cut out of her white arm, so all her wounded warriors might see; and the legend of her unflinching courage spread like wildfire through the garrison, and even into the camp of the besiegers without. 'by st. michael!' cried robert malet, 'these rebels seem to have the knack of coining heroines. thou and my father, earl warrenne, had shrewd experience of hereward's witch of a wife in the fenlands by ely,--how she wound up the wild galliards her husband got to follow him with her sorceries and incantations till they were at the point of madness! sooth, methinks we have to deal with such another.' then leofric ealdredsson, who had been carried into the camp, and lay within earshot, raised himself up and swore mightily. 'no witch was torfrida,' he cried in anger, 'but as true and noble a woman as ever god made! so truly is de guader's countess, norman though she be!' at which the king's captains laughed, and turned to leofric. 'ay! thou wast one of that pestilent hereward's most saucy upholders, i well remember; and now thou art leader in this hornet's nest also, i trow!' said earl william. 'dost thou know the mark we are bid to set on all our prisoners in this affair, to the end that we may recognise them again when we meet them?' 'do your worst, usurping cowards!' answered the furious anglo-dane. 'when sweyn ulfsson follows de guader home, and claims his own, and drives the tanner's grandson from the throne he has stolen, he will put _his_ mark on _you_ in return, i warrant me!' malet's face grew dark; for william himself and william's followers resented no insult so deeply as any allusion to the honest fell-monger of falaise. but earl warrenne was too wise to quarrel with a wounded man, and said good-humouredly,-- ''twould be a pity to lop a limb from so fine a warrior as thyself, noble leofric. perhaps some exception can be made in this case. we are told that sir aimand de sourdeval is detained in blauncheflour against his will, and that he is faithful to the king. if that be so, an exchange might be effected.' leofric, who did not relish the prospect of having his right foot hewed off, courageous as he was, gasped for joy at this proposition. it meant even more to him than escape from cripplehood for life; it meant that he would regain entrance into blauncheflour, and be near the fair cousin who had become dear to his heart, and that his rival would be parted from her. 'that is true,' he said eagerly. 'the knight is there, and has refused to strike a blow against the king's troops.' meanwhile the sun was sinking in the sky, and with night came partial cessation of hostilities. the besieged were holding council as to what step should next be taken, but the counsellors had dwindled in number. sir alain de gourin was no longer there with his purple face and blatant ways, but he could be better spared than leofric, and than several others who had fallen during the month. 'we cannot hold the walls another day,' said sir hoël sadly; 'there is nothing for it but to retire into the keep. it will take them some time to dislodge us from thence; the masonry is solid as the earth.' 'and time is all we need!' exclaimed the countess eagerly. she was very pale, and had her arm in bandages, but her eyes were bright with fever and determination, and she insisted on taking her part in the discussion. 'my lord must soon be here.' 'we may hold the keep for months,' said a knight. 'yes, if manna would fall from heaven,' suggested another jestingly; 'else i fear we must needs eat each other ere many moons had waned.' 'gentlemen,' said sir hoël gravely, 'there is a means by which we may increase our supplies a shade less desperate than that.' the countess turned to him with anxious curiosity. sir hoël continued,-- 'we cannot stable all our horses in the keep, some must be sacrificed; better we kill them with our own good swords, and salt their flesh, than let the king's men have them. horse-flesh may not be palatable, but at least it would be better fare than picking each other's bones. relief may come before we need fall back on such provender. still, it will be there.' a sick shudder of horror passed through emma's heart. was famine indeed so near? the faces of the knights grew serious. no man stood forward to proffer his own steed for the sacrifice. more than one gave evidence, by trembling lip and quickened breathing, of the hardness of the trial. for those mailed warriors were a centaur race. their steeds were almost a part of themselves. their lives were constantly hanging on the qualities of their mounts. a hard mouth or a nervous temper might bring them their death any day, and docility and nimble limbs be their safeguard. the horse became a trusted friend, and a champion's destrier was often as celebrated as himself. the countess's lip trembled also, and her cheeks grew even paler than before, while her heart throbbed in cruel doubt. for was not oliver, the earl's noble spanish warhorse, in the castle? had she not visited him morning and night, and seen with her own eyes that he had his due ration of corn, and that his satin skin was sleek as grooming could make it? had she not patted his splendid neck morn and night, and plaited his thick mane, and had his velvet nose thrust into her soft palms for an apple or a wastel cake? she knew how the earl loved the creature, and had misliked leaving him behind, and she herself loved him both for his master's sake and for his own. he seemed to her half human as she thought of his intelligent eyes, and the clear, soft neigh, musical as the whistle of a blackbird, with which he was wont to greet her, and a sob caught her breath as she thought of condemning him to death. she knew also that he was worth his weight in gold. yet to sacrifice him seemed to her a clear duty, as she looked round the circle of reluctant men about her. they would never ask it, she knew. some few horses would be kept, and the earl's destrier amongst them, as a matter of course; but she remembered how she had heard it told of william the conqueror, that when, on his march on chester, his men, weary with labour and cold, begged him to let them go back, he dismounted and went afoot to encourage them, and shared all their hardships. was her lord a less generous knight than william? a thousand times no! if he were in blauncheflour, he would be the first to lead the sacrifice. as he was absent, she must do it for him. these thoughts flashed through her mind in a moment, though they are long to write. 'thou art right, sir hoël,' she said in a steady voice. ''tis like killing a child for a knight to kill his steed, i well understand. yet it is but wisdom as we are circumstanced, and i make no doubt if my lord were here, he would be the first to make the sacrifice. therefore i beg thee, dear sir hoël,'--she laid her left hand on his arm, and would have put the other with it, had it not been stiffened with bandages, and looked into his face with her clear, brave eyes, very pathetic now, with heavy rings of blue round them, and thin, wan cheeks beneath,--'i beg thee, dear sir hoël, despatch my lord's destrier with thine own blade, and see that he suffer no needless pain.' a chorus of protests burst from the knights; not a man but offered his steed to save oliver; but the countess said hastily, 'attend to my behest, i pray thee, sir hoël!' and hurried from the room. she went to her bower, where eadgyth was awaiting her. she had not trusted any of her ladies to attend her in her council-chamber, lest their courage should give way, and so weaken her influence over the knights. now, when she met eadgyth's look of tender inquiry, and felt her caressing arms round her, she was overcome herself. she dropped her poor weary head on eadgyth's shoulder and wept--wept as she had never done in her life before--no, not even in the chapel through that long sad night when she believed herself a widow; for her fresh young strength was in its prime then, and now she was weakened physically by the strain of continued anxiety and the acute pain of her wounded arm. the storm of sobs was so long and violent, that eadgyth, who had scarcely ever seen her cry, was sore afraid. she dreaded that some fell disaster had befallen. but she was a good comforter; she did not tease with questions, she only pressed her friend fondly to her, and kissed and caressed her till she grew calmer. 'oh, eadgyth,' said the countess at length, 'they are going to kill the horses, and ralph's destrier must die. the dear oliver!' to eadgyth this reason for such excessive grief seemed almost absurd, and her blue eyes opened widely. 'oh, i am a poor weak fool!' said emma, drawing away, 'to break down so utterly. but my arm aches shrewdly, eadgyth, and i am not used to pain.' she threw herself upon the embroidered bed, tears rolling silently down her cheeks. 'poor sweet!' said eadgyth. 'i do not marvel that even thy wonderful spirit should yield to nature. this day has been fearful indeed.' 'why does not ralph come? why does he not come?' exclaimed emma, covering her face with her slender hands, which had grown so thin that she could scarce keep on her wedding ring. 'my heart is full of fears, eadgyth. i dreamt of him last night, ill and sorrowful, tossing on a bed of fever. he was ill when he went away, his wounds half-healed. it is all doubt and dread--and horror!' 'ah, christ have mercy upon us!' said eadgyth, who was kneeling beside the bed. 'i dare not ask for mercy,' said emma piteously. 'i am fighting in a wrong cause! thy sir aimand said it. i have brought all this woe and suffering on the man who loved me, and on those who love him and follow him, like leal knights and true!' 'oh, do not torment yourself with such thoughts, sweet heart! surely it was no wrong cause to strive with the oppressor of this wretched land,--he whose minions were killing the heart out of his victims with every species of wrong and outrage!' the tears were running swiftly enough down eadgyth's cheeks now. 'alas!' said emma, 'i fear we thought less of that than of our own revenge and ambition.' 'but how couldst thou have helped it?' 'i might have helped it. i might have refused to marry against the king's command, and gone into a convent, and then the bride-ale would never have been, nor its direful following.' 'perchance it had been better,' said eadgyth thoughtfully. 'no, it would not have been better!' cried emma, starting up, impatient at eadgyth's acquiescence; she had given her scruples voice that they might be combated, not confirmed. 'i would go through it all again and more to be ralph's wife, and i am a contemptible coward, a _noding_, to be puling here because my roses are not thornless, when i might be helping to keep my hero's castle for him!' she sprang from the bed, and insisted on going to the spital to leech the day's wounded, though eadgyth told her that she needed leeching far more sorely herself. yet in all her self-abandonment she had spared eadgyth, and had not told her that they were to be imprisoned in the keep from that day forth, nor that her cousin leofric ealdredsson was dead or in the hands of the enemy. chapter xxiv. famine. when the besiegers attacked the walls of blauncheflour on the morning following, they found them undefended, and took possession with shouts and jubilation. the besieged, sheltered behind the strong ramparts of the keep, felt much as shipwrecked mariners, who, from the present safety of some rocky islet, watch the rising of the tide, knowing that their lives depend upon the height to which the shining water will attain,--unless indeed some friendly vessel come to the rescue and carry them off. the hope of the imprisoned garrison was in the coming of the earl, and as earl warrenne and robert malet rode round the keep, and saw how strong and flawless was the masonry, they had a shrewd fear that de guader would yet bring the danes and bretons upon them before they had time to complete their victory, and that, after all their hard fighting and expenditure of lives and time and money, the quarry would escape them. so they determined to call a parley, and endeavour to cajole the countess into resigning the fortress. needless to say, their summons was eagerly responded to by the garrison. emma trembled with hope that was almost pain, as she inquired what terms the envoy was empowered to grant. 'safe-conduct to herself, her ladies, and a reasonable escort, if she would give her parole to leave the country within a month--no more.' she realised then that her hope had been despair; that she had not had courage to hope at all. 'safe-conduct for myself, my ladies, and every soul in the garrison,' replied the countess proudly. 'i will yield for no less.' the envoy was not empowered to grant it. 'dear lady, it were better to accept the terms. we cannot insure the safety even of thyself and thy ladies in the end,' advised sir hoël privately. 'nought lies before us but quick starvation; the provisions are very short.' 'desert you and all who have fought so nobly for us, and braved every peril for us, to insure our own safety? never! remember stephen le hareau! they would deal with you likewise,' cried emma. 'i have given my answer. convey it to thy lords!' she told the envoy. then the messenger said there was a further matter. it was understood that a loyal knight, sir aimand de sourdeval, was in the castle, a prisoner, and, the gallant childe leofric ealdredsson having fallen into their hands on the previous day, they proposed an exchange. this was, of course, accepted, and sir aimand was sent for. eadgyth had begged to attend the countess to the council-chamber, and emma turned to her. 'i am glad, eadgyth. i feared a worse fate for thy kinsman.' the poor girl turned to her with a white face, well knowing that the words were spoken to cover her agitation. she tried to smile. 'it is a happy thing for him,' she said. 'thy presence here is no longer needed,' said the countess. 'let sir aimand wait upon me in my bower before he goes.' 'poor child, thou shalt have a comfortable leave-taking at least!' she said, as eadgyth followed to her private chamber. 'it is good for him to go, donzelle; he is eating his heart out in misery here.' 'good for him to go that he may be free to slay my people!' cried eadgyth bitterly. 'ah, wretched me! that i should love my country's foe!' emma had no time to answer, for de sourdeval's mailed step was clanking up the passage. a moment later he entered the bower. his eyes were shining and his cheeks flushed. he threw himself on his knee before the countess. 'ah, noble lady,' he exclaimed, 'would that thy cause were one with that of my liege-lord william, so i might fight for thee, and show my gratitude for all thy kindness and generosity! i will seek service far from here; my sword shall not be against thee!' 'the generosity has not been all on my side, sir knight!' replied the countess, with moistening eyes. 'i would indeed that my cause were one with that of william of normandy; that all this turmoil was at an end, and that no more brave lives were to be sacrificed for me and mine.' a deep, quivering sigh followed her speech. 'lady eadgyth,' said sir aimand, with a voice not quite so steady as before, as he turned to the saxon maiden, 'i am glad thy kinsman profits by my freedom. it will comfort me that if i cannot myself labour in thy defence, my poor life has served to restore one who can to the garrison--far more valiantly and worthily than i.' he forced out the words. he himself tried to believe that he was glad, but, in truth, the bitterest sting of parting lay for him in the thought that the man whom he regarded as his rival should be in the castle, favoured by daily and hourly intercourse under circumstances that must needs draw the hardest-hearted together. he remembered with renewed anguish all the tortures of tantalus he had endured during his enforced inactivity; burning to distinguish himself before his lady's eyes, and forced to remain a drone in the hive, while leofric had been free to show himself the hero he was, and would now have still fairer opportunity. his eyes sought hers, therefore, full of a sadness which belied his words. eadgyth longed to tear a favour from her dress, and bid him wear it in his helm against all comers, for that no other knight, stranger or kin, should ever carry it. but she thought, 'who knows that we shall ever meet again? why should i bind him?' so she answered, bowing her head to hide the springing tears, 'mary mother have thee in her keeping!' she gave him her hand, which he kissed reverently, and so departed, and half-an-hour later leofric ealdredsson was borne into the keep on a litter. when eadgyth saw her kinsman, her heart smote her that his fate had moved her so little; for his brow was damp with pain, and his brawny arms dropped feebly by his side, and all his strength was fled from him. she pansed and bound his wounds with tender care, and washed the clotted blood from his long yellow curls, wondering if indeed it were true that he was sir aimand's rival, or if it were only a figment of love's self-torturing jealousy. from time to time leofric moaned as she ministered to him, but scarcely opened his eyes. did he know who it was, she wondered, or, if he knew, did he care? when the last bandage was fastened, and she stood for a moment to see if aught more could be done for her patient, leofric raised his weary head and looked in her face. he did not speak, he had scarce strength for that; his eyes were full of gratitude, and spoke his thanks, but they told her something more. then eadgyth knew that sir aimand had said sooth, and her heart smote her, and her breath caught with an inward sob. leofric lifted his hand feebly and held it for hers. had she given it, he would have pressed it to his lips; she could not,--but an hour before aimand de sourdeval had kissed it! leofric let his great nerveless hand fall listlessly beside him again. 'thou art the best leech in the world, cousin,' he murmured, and closed his eyes again. eadgyth hurried away to the bower. the days that followed were like an evil dream for all in the castle. the deadly monotony let them note clearly how, hour by hour, death was creeping nearer. the mangonels and warrewolves were busy at their work, and the din of their projectiles was ever in the ears of the besieged. but these were not what they feared. these could but splinter a fragment off a stone here and there, but could make no dangerous breach in walls thirteen feet thick; besides, wooden galleries had been projected from the battlements, through which the defenders poured scalding rain of boiling water and molten lead upon the engineers, and so prevented any lengthened attack upon a given spot. no; the enemy they feared was _famine_! she stared them in the face. day by day more nearly her awful ghoulish eyes came nearer, and the grip of her bony hands was at their throats. and still the warders scanned the horizon vainly, in hope to see the glimmer of friendly armour, still vainly watched the river for the flash of friendly oars. day after day dragged its slow length along, and yet the position remained unchanged, save that the assailants had almost given up effort, and quietly surrounded them, biding their time, knowing well that it must come if only no relief appeared. the garrison had long been reduced to the barest rations on which it was possible to sustain life, and the few poor horses which had been taken into the keep, in the hope of some happy chance making their services available, had shared the fate of their brethren. gaunt faces and spectre forms dragged wearily from post to post, and strange thoughts flitted across hungry brains when slain men had to be buried in the donjon vaults. if one were to eat a body now, what would happen at the last day? would it be more difficult for the soul that needed it again than for those whose flesh had been food for worms in the usual way? would the men who had partaken of the flesh, and incorporated it into their own bodies, have to give it up again when the time of resurrection had arrived, and go scant themselves? then they shuddered and crossed themselves, and muttered an ave or a paternoster, shunning the hungry eyes of their neighbour, lest he should guess their thoughts, or be thinking like horribleness himself, while they buckled their belts tighter to stay their pangs. the countess, worn to a shadow, with her arm still bandaged,--for the worry and care she had undergone had hurt her health and kept her wound from healing,--was ever among them, consoling, entreating, commanding, inventing all manner of comforts for their souls and their bodies. she it was who prompted the cooks to make dainty dishes out of most unlikely materials; who sang the song of rollo as she passed on her way, and kept up their hearts with gay jests. one day an archer had the good fortune to shoot a heron that was flapping with evenly beating wings across the sky, so that it fell fluttering upon the roof of the keep, and was soon killed and presented by the lucky marksman to the countess, as a fit tribute to her private table, the fare on which, as all knew, had been poor enough for some time past. she thanked the stout bowman heartily, but bade him follow her, and led the way to the great kitchen. then she bade the scullions pluck the noble bird; and, after that was done, put it with her own white hands into the great cauldron which was cooking for the men. 'share and share alike,' she said; and the soldiers cheered her, so that the king's men heard it outside the walls, and wondered what good luck could have come to their prisoners. one morning eadgyth met her kinsman, leofric ealdredsson, who had so far recovered from his wounds as to be able to keep watch and ward, and to see that the sentinels did their duty. his face bore traces of violent agitation. 'well met, coosine,' cried he; 'i wanted to see thee. keep thy lady off the battlements to-day, and go not thither thyself.' eadgyth looked in his face, and trembled. 'thou hast bad news. i will heed thy warning. but wherefore? is aught more terrible than we daily witness to be seen?' 'by odin and thor, yes! it bears not the telling.' 'oh, leofric, invoke not those dreadful pagan names in such an hour! pray rather to the holy saints.' 'if thou wouldst take me in hand, a good man might perchance be made of me, coosine,' said the wild leofric, with a laugh half tender and half bitter. eadgyth shook her head. 'but thou hast sorely alarmed me, leofric. i would rather know the worst.' 'well, the countess must know some time; perhaps it were better told through thee. this, then, is the sight to be seen from the battlements, and it is ugly as sin.' the veins on his forehead swelled, and his strong throat gathered into knots, while his fingers clenched on the hilt of his dagger. 'a tall gallows, right close under our noses, and three men hanged thereon; with an inscription over them, "the traitor breton's traitor messengers."' eadgyth clasped her hands. 'the earl has sent, and they have caught his men!' 'that's it;' and leofric murmured a few wishes regarding the king's men that at the least were uncharitable. 'further, one of the men is the poor fool grillonne--a quick-witted rascal as ever was called wise--he who saved his master so cleverly after the battle.' 'grillonne! what! grillonne so entreated?' exclaimed eadgyth, with a shudder. 'but that will be a sore blow to the earl when he comes to know it. art thou sure?' 'ay; the knave's face was one not easily mistaken,' said leofric. eadgyth hurried to the bower, and told the countess what she had heard. 'but it is good news, it is great news!' cried emma, with sparkling eyes. 'ralph is alive, and trying to help us! alacke! i grieve for the poor envoys and grillonne. ah, 'tis sad such a fate has befallen him, the poor honest fool! his quick wits have not saved him after all.' emma was right, it proved to be good news, for earl warrenne and his colleagues, before hanging the messengers, had extracted from them the intelligence that ralph de guader had collected a great force in bretagne and amongst the danes, and that he was coming to the relief of his beleaguered castle. a day or two later they called a parley, and offered safe-conduct to the whole garrison, without exception, on condition that they left england within forty days, counting from the day on which they surrendered the castle. emma would fain have held out still, hoping that the earl was on his way to relieve them; but she had no certain knowledge of his movements, and the famine was so direful that even the fire-eating leofric was obliged to counsel her to accept the terms. 'it is a victory!' exclaimed sir hoël, moved almost to tears; 'and we owe it to thy haught spirit and determined courage, noble countess. thy name shall be famous in days to come.' so the garrison were called together into the great hall, and told how that their lives were saved, and that they were to march out of castle blauncheflour with banners flying, and all the honours of war, instead of having their feet cut off like poor stephen le hareau and the other prisoners the king's men had taken; and the men, who had looked forward to certain ill-fortune for themselves, whatever might betide their superiors, thought it a victory also. how the hall rang with cheers, and congratulations, and praise of the countess! norman and breton, saxon and dane, raised what voices hunger had left them, and verily they shouted lustily, notwithstanding a light breakfast. the countess stood amongst them, sobbing like a child. 'no praise is due to me; it is all to you, my gallant defenders.' so the answer went back to earl william de warrenne that the keys of castle blauncheflour should be surrendered on the morrow. then all the garrison attended a 'te deum' in the chapel of st. nicholas. afterwards, when the knights had again assembled in the great hall, the countess said,-- 'leofric ealdredsson, these gentlemen, thy comrades in arms, shame themselves that they should wear the belt and spurs while one who has fought so knightly should not claim them. we well know thou hast them not solely because thou wert too careless to claim them, but i would not have thee leave blauncheflour undubbed.' leofric's pale hunger-eaten cheeks turned red with pleasure. 'if the men who have fought with me here esteem me peer, i will not reject the honour,' he answered; at which the hall rang with cheers. then said the countess, smiling, 'wilt thou have thine accolade in our norman fashion, from the hands of a knight, and take sir hoël de st. brice for thy sponsor, or, in the way of thine own people, at the hands of father pierre?' 'nay,' quoth the turbulent hero, 'there is a better way than either. many a good man has taken his knighthood from the hands of a maiden. let my fair kinswoman, thy bower-maiden, stand sponsor to me;' and he turned appealingly to eadgyth. 'a truce to thy jests, leofric ealdredsson, this is no time for them!' answered eadgyth sharply, fingering the bracelet she always wore upon her arm. 'by the rood, i mean no jest, coosine! jourdain took his knighthood from the hands of his lady; why not i from thee?' 'keep to the old saxon custom, leofric; take it from the hands of father pierre.' and so he did; and his last night within the walls of blauncheflour was spent in vigil and prayer before the altar of the chapel, whereon lay his armour. on the morrow, the brave defenders of norwich castle marched forth from its sheltering walls, with all the honours of war; carrying their arms, and fully equipped, with flags flying and banners waving. the leaders of the royal forces sent palfreys for the countess and her ladies, and came in state to meet the woman who had held them all at bay so long, armed _cap-à-pie_, their horses prancing and curveting, and plumes dancing in the breeze. many a courtly compliment they paid to their fair foe, and earl warrenne took the keys himself from her white hands. then bishop geoffrey, and earl warrenne, and robert malet took possession of castle blauncheflour formally, and threw into it a garrison of three hundred men-at-arms, and a body of balistarii and other engineers. and archbishop lanfranc wrote to king william, in terms more forcible than polite, 'glory be to god on high! your kingdom is at last purged from the filth of these bretons.' chapter xxv. bretagne. the days that followed seemed like an evil dream to the countess and her ladies. several of the breton knights who were amongst the garrison had manors in the neighbourhood; these were, of course, under confiscation; still, for the forty days allowed them to get away from england, they retained the lordship of their estates, and were able to offer hospitality to emma. on their way to a temporary retreat thus provided for them, the newly-dubbed knight, sir leofric ealdredsson, reined in the somewhat sorry jade he had managed to procure, to the side of his kinswoman eadgyth, as on a happier occasion sir aimand de sourdeval had reined in a nobler steed. 'alack, coosine! the norman fell-monger is safe in his seat now. our last, chance is over and done. we have nought left but to submit with the best grace we can muster,' he said sadly. eadgyth turned to him with an unfathomable regret in her limpid eyes. 'yes, it is too true; the normans have conquered.' 'but not us, coosine! we shall never be conquered in spirit, you and i! we are angles to the backbone, and always shall be. in the fat fenland we may yet live a life of our own, doing homage to no man, and defying fate. share my island home amongst the meres, eadgyth. i have strength to protect thee.' then eadgyth shook her head sadly, her voice was scarcely audible as she answered,-- 'i am not so staunch as you think me, kinsman. i fear i am conquered, body and soul. day by day it hath been borne in upon me more strongly that the normans have won because they deserved to win.' leofric opened his blue eyes at this announcement, and rounded his mouth for an oath, but recollected himself and checked it, and tugged his yellow beard instead. 'i say it advisedly, leofric ealdredsson: we english have lost because we were selfish and lazy; sunk in enjoyment; turbulent, and unwilling to submit to discipline. hast thou not thyself told me how the normans spent the night before senlac in prayer and vigil, while the english feasted and drank it away?' 'ah, eadgyth, well for thee thou art a woman!' answered leofric, grinding his teeth, his cheeks flushed with anger. then he burst out laughing in his light-hearted, merry way, though there was a taint of bitterness in his mirth. 'by asgaard and odin! i believe thou art bewitched by that pale, shaven-faced norman _prudhomme_, as they call it--aimand de sourdeval. my unclerkly tongue and downright ways doubtless bear ill the contrast with such a "parfait knight"!' he brought down his strong hand on his thigh with a force that made all his bracelets jingle. 'say frankly now, kinswoman, thou thinkest him the better man of us twain?' he dreaded the answer, though he braved it. but eadgyth, looking steadily in his face, replied,-- 'i should not speak sooth, leofric ealdredsson, if i denied it. i do think him the better man. thou thyself hast said he was thine equal in the _mêlée_; and, certes, he is more gentle in hall.' leofric turned away and hung his head, only for a moment. then he faced eadgyth with a bright smile, the indomitable spirit of the man meeting the heart-wound as it would have met one of the flesh. 'but i am here, and he is absent,' he said; 'a live dog, they say, is better than a dead lion. and he is of the conquerors, and i of the conquered, so all thy generosity should be thrown into my side of the balance. beside,' he added seriously, 'the blood of thy countrymen is on his blade, whilst i am of thy people.' eadgyth shuddered, and clutched the pommel of her saddle; the quick tears started from her eyes, and rolled one after another down her cheeks. leofric leaned over and laid his broad palm upon her little trembling hand. 'go not away from thy country in the train of the foreign woman, eadgyth,--though god forbid that i should say aught against her, for she is brave and beautiful,--but come thou over into the fenlands, and share my risks, and comfort my poor old father, and tame me. rough as i am, i would always be gentle to _thee_, eadgyth.' 'wouldst thou wed me with another man's image in my heart, leofric?' asked eadgyth, with a trembling voice. 'i would drive out that image by my own,' avowed leofric. 'that thou wilt never do, coosine!' said eadgyth firmly. 'no, do not dream it. i can never be his, neither can i wed any other. nor can i leave my lady now in her sore distress and sorrow. no, leofric, i cannot go with thee; ask me no more, it is but pain to both.' then leofric saw she was in earnest, and desisted. affecting to see some dangerous object that required investigation, he struck spurs into his _hacquenée_, and dashed off into the brushwood that bordered the road; and when he joined the cavalcade again, he took care not to choose the neighbourhood of his cousin's palfrey. about a fortnight later, the countess and her ladies, amongst whom was the faithful eadgyth, went on board a long-bodied, high-prowed galley at lovelly's staithe. it was propelled by twenty-five oars on each side, and flaunted gaudy embroidered sails to the wind, the mainmast being surrounded by a gallery round which a sentinel could walk. the garrison of blauncheflour embarked on board a small flotilla of similar vessels. we may imagine how they suffered as they made tedious progress down the rough east coast, passing dunwich and ipswich, and the low-lying estuaries of maldon and the thames; and farther south, sandwich and the high white cliffs of dover, famous then, although no shakespeare had sung them. how they raised their weary heads and strained their sad eyes to look at the castles which william the norman had built at hastings and lewes and arundel; and how eadgyth wept to see them, because they reminded her of slain harold godwinsson, and were proof of the downfall of her nation. emma was sorrowful too, because they witnessed to the valour and success of the greatest captain of the age, whom her father, stout william fitzosbern, had loved and honoured, and against whom she was in rebellion. they slipped as quickly as might be past the rough norman coast, keeping as far out to sea as possible, lest norman vessels should come down on them and harry them, and bear off the precious charge they guarded, to be kept in durance vile till ransom was extorted, which was far from improbable, notwithstanding the forty days' safe-conduct given them by william's officers. standing out so far to sea, they got a rough tossing on atlantic rollers, and many a baptism of atlantic spray. with what joy they hailed the first glimpse of the breton rocks! how glad they were when they made the ille, and floated under the staithes of dinan! then all was question and curiosity, one side as eager to hear as the other. the countess and her _meinie_ asking news of ralph de guader and montfort; the brittany folks as anxious to learn how she had fared, and how escaped. the countess learned with joy that ralph was at montfort, scarce forty miles away, preparing with might and main an expedition for the relief of blauncheflour. 'had she not seen the warships in the harbour?' they asked. we may guess how quickly messengers were sent off to montfort, and how ralph mounted in hot haste as soon as they told him that his countess had come, with all her gallant garrison, and how he galloped to meet them as fast as his steed could gallop. no doubt he sighed that he had not oliver under him then. emma and her following got what horses they could, and started for montfort. the august sun shone hotly from the blue continental sky, and the apples were turning yellow and red in the orchards along the road. as noon came on, the travellers, having ridden some fifteen miles on very sorry beasts, were fain to rest them at a wayside hostel. the countess and her ladies ascended the ladder that served for a staircase to the upper chamber, and, while food was preparing below, lay down upon the rushes to rest their weary limbs. the countess occupied a low pallet bed that stood in a corner of the room, and so utterly weary and broken down was she, that she could not even rejoice at thought of seeing her husband speedily. she soon fell into a heavy slumber, broken by dreams of the dreadful past more terrible even than the reality. she heard again the din of the warrewolves and mangonels, and the crash of the stones flung by them as they struck the walls, the clash of swords and clangor of armour; and the terror and woe of it overcame her. she awoke with a scream. throwing out her arms wildly, her hands came in contact with a man's mailed gauntlets, and she sprang up, crying, 'blauncheflour is taken! to the rescue! to the rescue!' 'dost thou not know me, my wife, mine own?' answered ralph's voice, broken with sobs. 'would to god i had never left thee!' emma burst into hysterical laughter, and threw herself upon her husband's breast, sobbing for joy. 'i was dreaming, ralph! would all bad dreams might end as happily.' then they sat down side by side upon the bed, and looked in each other's faces. they were alone, for emma's ladies had delicately withdrawn when the earl entered, knowing that they would rather be in private. 'how pale thou art and thin, my sweet,' said ralph, reproaching himself more and more bitterly that he had left her to struggle alone. 'i fear my poor face has lost its fairness, ralph,' with an anxiety of tone that was all of love and naught of vanity. 'thou art ten times fairer to me than ever before, my heroine!' answered de guader fondly. 'but let me make excuse e'er i question thee. this is how i came not to thine aid. i went, as thou knowest, to denmark, and sought sweyn ulfsson, and begged him bear out his promises and assist me with men, telling him that he might yet hoist william from the english throne. and sweyn swore by the head of sleipnir, odin's horse, which thou knowest is a mighty oath amongst these danish heathens, that he would support me. but then my wounds, being half healed, broke out afresh; and my head being still sore through odo's blow, i fell into a fever, and lost my mind for six weeks. meanwhile sweyn had made no move, and when i came to myself i was still weak and powerless. as soon as i got strength enough, i came over here to collect my vassals, and call to me whoever would put his hands between mine and be my man; and i sent off messengers to comfort thee'-- 'whom william's men caught, and hanged on a gallows as high as the donjon keep,' interposed emma. ralph gnashed his teeth. 'ah! was it so? my faithful grillonne, was this the reward of thy long service? i have brought evil on all who loved me! i had all in readiness, and should have started in a day, but, the blessed saints be praised! thou art here in safety, and there is no need. none can tell how i have suffered thinking of thee.' '_thy_ cheeks are hollow enough, in truth; thou canst not crow over me,' said emma, with a flash of her old gaiety. and then she told him the long story of the siege of blauncheflour. ralph listened as one spellbound, and when she had ended her tale he slipped on his knee at her feet. 'let me do thee homage,' he said, with a proud, fond glance in her eyes. 'what am i that thou shouldst have so suffered for my sake? it humbles me unspeakably.' ever after it seemed to emma that the poor garret of that wayside inn was the noblest, fairest, and most beautiful apartment into which she had ever set foot.[ ] [ ] see appendix, note e. chapter xxvi conclusion. whoever will, may find no small part of the ensuing chapter in the pages of grave historians; but in no sober leaf of history will they find recorded how it fared with eadgyth of norwich and sir aimand de sourdeval. ralph and emma, like an orthodox hero and heroine, lived happily together to the end of their days; though they had to fight a good many more battles. de guader had made himself a mighty enemy in william the conqueror, king of england and duke of normandy; one who, in his latter capacity, had no mind to have ralph rampant on the borders of his dukedom. so he invaded brittany, and strove to run de guader to earth in his own country; he invested dol, but had to raise the siege somewhat ignominiously, owing to the help rendered to the besieged by alan fergant, son of the reigning count howel of brittany, and philip of france, who was always delighted to supply aid against william. sweyn ulfsson, king of denmark, carried out his promises to ralph, and sent his son cnut with hakon jarl to invade england; and they appeared on the east coast with a fleet of two hundred ships, and actually put into the humber, though rather too late to serve the purposes of the ambitious earl. william, whether really frightened, or moved by the lust of power which was rapidly gaining upon him, and which clouded his later years with hate and misery, made the descent of the danes a pretext for the worst crime of his reign--the judicial murder of waltheof;--for it must be noted that, with this exception, his conduct to the english princes was generous and mild. when the son of siward had carried to william the news of the plot in which he had taken part, the conqueror had received him graciously, and had pardoned him freely for his own share of the mischief. but he kept him at his side, although he did not call him a prisoner; and, soon after landing in england, arrested him on a charge of complicity with the danes, who had been his old comrades. william had that excuse for thinking him dangerous. then came judith's opportunity. she hated the husband she had been forced to marry for state purposes, and stood forth as his accuser, pouring her poison into the ears of her royal uncle. unfortunately william listened, and cast the son of siward into prison at winchester, where he languished for months, while a mock trial was going on, which many hungry normans, who wanted his estates, were determined should end to their liking. ivo taillebois, who had been one of hereward's most venomous foes, and whose lands adjoined those of waltheof, was amongst the most clamorous for his destruction; and the primate lanfranc his best advocate and almost sole friend, recognising perhaps that it was by his persuasion that waltheof had been induced to place himself in the power of the conqueror. early one morning, while the good folks of winchester were asleep in their beds, the normans led the saxon chief without the walls of the town. waltheof walked to the place of execution clothed in his earl's apparel, which he distributed among some priests, or gave to some poor people who had followed him, and whom the normans permitted to approach on account of their small numbers and entirely peaceful appearance. having reached a hill at a short distance from the walls, the soldiers halted, and the saxon, prostrating himself, prayed aloud for a few moments; but the normans, fearing that too long a delay would cause a rumour of the intended execution to be spread in the town, and that the citizens would rise to save their fellow-countryman, exclaimed with impatience to waltheof, 'arise, that we may fulfil our orders.' he asked, as a last favour, that they would wait only until he had once more repeated, for them and for himself, the lord's prayer. they allowed him to do so; and waltheof, rising from the ground, but remaining on his knees, began aloud, 'our father who art in heaven;' but at the verse, 'and lead us not into temptation,' the executioner, seeing perhaps that daylight was beginning to appear, would wait no longer, but, suddenly drawing his large sword, struck off the saxon's head at one blow. the body was thrown into a hole, dug between two roads, and hastily covered with earth.[ ] but the monks of crowland, to whom he had made rich gifts in his lifetime, and who had been staunch throughout to the english cause, got the body up again a fortnight later, and averred that it was still unchanged and the blood fresh (sixteen years later they pronounced that it was still as fresh, and that the head had grown on to the body again!); and they bore it away to 'holland,' to st. guthlac's in the fens, and erected a tomb in the abbey, with william's permission, whereat great miracles took place. when his traitress wife judith, the 'foreign woman,' as the chroniclers style her, went to cover this monument to her husband with a rich pall of silk, which she had prepared for it, the martyred hero refused her hypocritical gift, and the offering was snatched away and thrown to a distance by an invisible hand. [ ] thierry, _norman conquest_, p. . almost literal translation of orderic vitalis. so the saxon monks made a holy martyr of the wavering waltheof, whose fate, and the fate of england with it, might have been very different if he had possessed as much moral as physical courage. the norman ecclesiastics accused the saxons as idolaters, and found the occasion good for deposing and dishonouring abbot wulfketel, and putting norman toustain in his stead; which only made the english more keen to honour their dead hero, and they rushed in crowds to his tomb. judith thought herself very lucky to have all the money and lands that had belonged to waltheof, and to be free of him, and made up her mind to have a second husband according to her own taste. but she wished him alive again when william made a present of her, possessions and all, to one simon de senlis, a brave, but lame and deformed knight. she refused to carry out the bargain, so william consoled de senlis with her daughter instead, together with all the lands and money; and the saxon chroniclers gloat over judith's subsequent poverty and sorrows. but we, looking back, now the years have rolled away, may pity her, and see that the crime lay with those who treated a woman as a chattel, and 'gave' her away to this man and that, without consulting her welfare or her happiness, rather than with the woman so treated. and emma's brother, the son of william's staunchest vassal, how fared he? when the conqueror passed the straits after his attempt to reduce de guader at dol, he called a great council of norman barons to pass judgment on the authors of the recent conspiracy. ralph de guader they dispossessed of all his english property as absent and contumacious; and roger of hereford, being a prisoner, was brought before them, and condemned to lose all his lands, and to pass the rest of his days in prison. but william seems still to have had a soft place in his heart for the son of his old friend, and sent him one easter, according to the custom of the norman court, a complete suit of precious stuffs, a silk tunic and mantle, and a close coat trimmed with foreign furs. but roger was full of pride and bitterness, and he took the rich present and threw it on the fire. when william heard how his gift had been received, he flew into a mighty rage. 'the man is too proud who does such scorn to me,' he cried. 'he shall never come out of my prison in my days, _par le splendeur dex_!' nor did he; neither in the days of william rufus. he died in prison. but, in the reign of henry i., his two sons won back a portion of their father's possessions. the lesser accomplices of the three great earls fared even worse. at the council before mentioned, 'man foredoomed all the bretons that were at the bride-ale at norowic, some were blinded, some were driven from the land, and some were put to shame. so were the king's traitors brought low,' say the chronicles. truly a disastrous bridal! yet the bride and bridegroom, who risked so much for each other and involved so many in ruin, were the most fortunate of those who attended it. though ralph lost his english estates, he had broad lands in his mother's country, and lived with his hard-won consort in his castles of guader and montfort. a son and a daughter were born to them. the son succeeded to his father's breton possessions, and the daughter, whom one chronicler names amicia, another itta, married earl robert of leicester, and became a great english lady. a little over twenty years had emma and ralph lived together, the stream of their true love having found peaceful channel after the rapids and whirlpools that followed on the first joining of their courses twain in one. grey hairs had begun to muster in ralph's dark locks, though his sturdy figure was as strong and active as ever and his hawk eyes as keen; motherhood had softened the high-spirited emma, and had brought soft dimples into her cheeks and a lovelight to her brow. happy in her home, she did not give much heed to the signs of the times, or note the strong new spirit that was stirring in the air. but one day de guader came into her bower in full harness, wearing helm and hauberk, with his great two-handed sword by his side. he came up to her, and stood before her, and looked in her face, and took her soft mother's hand between his two big palms. 'see'st thou?' he asked, and he guided her eyes with his own towards his arm, whereon was bound the cross of the crusaders. 'ah, ralph!' she cried,'not thou!' [illustration: de guader dons the cross.] 'sweet,' he said gently, 'when i lay on the field of my greatest fight, in sore distress and despair, with the choughs and ravens waiting to feed on mine eyes, and the thought of thee as of one i should never see again till the sounding of the last trump, i vowed that if life were spared me, i would one day make pilgrimage to the holy sepulchre. now the time has come, my lady. life has given me more than i had dared to hope for, but it is passing; we are no longer young, you and i, old wife! let me join the men who have responded to pope urban's call. robert curthose is moving. i will put my hands between his and be his man, and march under his banner to join godfrey de bouillon.' 'whom all men honour!' said emma under her breath. 'wilt thou give me thy blessing and thy leave, my lady?' 'thou art sudden! let me be alone and think,' said emma; and she left him for a space. when she came back to him, her face was very pale, but she met his eyes with a steady smile, and, in turn, guided them to _her_ arm, on which was bound the cross of the crusaders. 'wilt thou give me thy blessing and thy leave, my knight?' she asked. then ralph caught her in his arms and kissed her, as if the fatal bride-ale had been but the day before. so it came to pass that ralph de guader, with many of his vassals, joined the standard of the duke of normandy, and took his lady with him. with them went also eadgyth of norwich, faithful in all things, and unmarried still, having met no champion who could compass that in which her kinsman leofric ealdredsson had failed; her fair face still winsome, with its frame of soft yellow hair, and her blue eyes pathetic and serious. in august , de guader led his knights to swell the great army of crusaders then assembling on the banks of the moselle, with godfrey de bouillon at its head, that 'very parfit gentil knight' and mirror of chivalry, whom all historians agree to praise, not only for spotless morals and untarnished honour and the high ideal he upheld before the face of the world, but for the 'consummate skill and patient perseverance, self-possession and presence of mind,' by which alone such a host of turbulent and independent chiefs as that which he commanded could have been led to victory. as de guader and his lady rode into the great camp beside the blue moselle, a knight came forward to conduct them to the quarters which had been assigned to them. he had a worn ascetic face, seamed with scars and lighted by the large sombre eyes of a dreamer of day-dreams, his spare figure witnessing to a life of hard service and activity. he met de guader's lady with a sweet smile of reverence and recognition; but when he saw her companion, eadgyth of norwich, a flush passed over his bronzed cheeks and up into his forehead as far as it could be seen under his helm. 'sir aimand de sourdeval!' cried emma, with a quick movement of delight. 'welcome the sight of thy brave, true face amidst this host of god.' then she called back her husband, that he might pardon and be pardoned for what had happened in the old, sad days, and ralph did so with the free, candid generosity of the times, which were saturated with the spirit we strive to keep alive in our public schools to this day--free fight and no malice borne. sir aimand was one of messire godfrey's most trusted knights, whom the commander held in close attendance on his person; heart and soul in the holy war, full of joy that so great a thing was going forward. 'you leave not wife or child by a lone hearthstone, sir knight?' asked emma, feeling sure that the answer would be 'nay.' and 'nay' it was. 'the lady of my choice would not have me, noble dame,' he answered in a low voice, scarcely daring to look at eadgyth; 'a leal knight loves not twice.' 'but she will have thee now,' said emma, and, taking eadgyth's hand, she laid it in his. nor did eadgyth withdraw it. before the host of the crusaders had moved from the moselle, the norman and the saxon had vowed to be one. did they see the holy city together with the eyes of the flesh? did de guader and his faithful consort see it? history answers not; it tells us only that ralph and emma died together somewhere near jerusalem. whatever their faults, whatever their sins, at least they were true to each other, and died fulfilling what the judgment of the time esteemed the holiest of duties. appendix. note a. the marriage of ralph de guader. the bridal of ralph de guader to emma fitzosbern is very fully described by the chroniclers, and i have endeavoured to keep as closely as possible to history. but though i have searched at least half-a-score authorities, ancient and modern, every one of whom states that many abbots and bishops were among the company, in no case is the name of any ecclesiastic recorded. i have therefore taken a liberty with the abbot of st. albans, of whom freeman says: 'all that certain history has to say about frithric is, that he was abbot of st. albans, and that he died or was deposed some time between and .' these dates would make it not impossible that he attended the bridal, and tradition represents him as a very active worker in the patriotic cause of the saxon church, and the untiring opponent of lanfranc. note b. norwich castle. harrod, _castles and convents_, p. . some later archæologists are of opinion that the castle built by william the conqueror was so injured in the siege that it had to be rebuilt, and the chronicler, henry de knyghton, under date , ascribes its erection to william rufus. all agree that a fine norman castle was built on the old saxon earthworks by the conqueror, though they differ as to whether the existing keep is the one then erected. note c. de guader's defeat. it is to be remarked that none of the chroniclers, norman or english, say anything of this encounter of odo and ralph. nor do they notice ralph's wound. what they do say is that de guader was defeated at a place called fagaduna. lingard suggests that this name is probably a translation of beacham, in norfolk, and the theory is rendered more probable by the fact that beachamwell st. mary was anciently divided into two parishes, beacham and welle. but eight miles from this is the village of fouldon, which name, according to blomefield, is a corruption of its old saxon cognomen. 'at the great survey, this town occurs by the name of fulgaduna, fulendon and phuldon, and takes its name from the plenty of wild fowl which frequented it, it being seated in the midst of fens and morasses. _fugol_, in saxon, signifies wild fowl, and in some antique writings 'tis wrote fugeldune.' what a slight misunderstanding of a strange name, or slip of the pen, might change this word into fagaduna! note d. de guader and waltheof. the chroniclers called ralph's embarkation from norwich a flight; while modern historians accuse the stout earl of not _daring_ to stand the siege in his own person, and of leaving the bride for whom he had risked so much to sustain dangers he feared to face. ralph was unfortunate in offending all parties. chroniclers of norman sympathies hated him for his rebellion against william; saxons for fighting against his people at senlac: neither had any motive to say a good word for him, while they canonized waltheof as a saint,--waltheof, who surely earned the name of traitor as richly as ever did ralph, since he entered in the conspiracy against william, after having voluntarily accepted the hand of the conqueror's niece in marriage, and binding himself under a solemn form of fealty; then, to shield himself, acted the ever-hateful part of an informer. hugh and roger bigod, ralph's successors in the earldom of norfolk, are spoken of as worthy bearers of the title. yet hugh rebelled, first against king stephen, and afterwards against henry ii.; and roger wrested a charter from richard i., in which the inhabitants of norwich were first recognised as citizens, and afterwards joined the barons against king john, being one of the foremost of those who forced him to sign magna charta. it may be said that the treasons of the bigods were justified by their ends, to obtain liberty for the people; but it must not be forgotten that ralph de guader alleged as his motive the intolerable oppression of the saxons under the _régime_ of william's subordinates. victor hugo, writing of the good service done to english liberty by the jealous watch kept by the barons on the crown, and by their determined resistance of all royal encroachments, says: 'dès les barons se font sentir au roi. et à quel roi! a guillaume le conquérant!' the date thus given is that of the rebellion of de guader and hereford. note e. the siege of norwich castle. all that certain history has to tell of this siege of norwich castle, is that de guader left it in the hands of his countess and knights, the names of the latter not being given; that they were attacked by the king's forces under the leaders named in the text, armed with all the mechanical inventions of the day; that the countess held it for three months, and gave it up on the terms related through lack of provisions; and that she rejoined her husband in brittany. why he had not appeared to relieve his castle is not recorded. these details may be found in orderic vitalis, matthew paris, florence of worcester, the chronicles of worcester and peterborough, and in all modern historians who deal with the period, perhaps the best account being that of freeman in the fourth volume of his _norman conquest_, a work abounding in interest and spirited description. morrison and gibb, printers, edinburgh. recently published. st. dunstan's clock. a story of . by e. ward. with eight illustrations. price s. cloth. a pair of originals. a story by e. ward. with eight illustrations. price s. cloth. 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"alone, alone!" she murmured, half aloud: "yea, evermore alone! and the grandchild i had reared to be the mother of kings--whose fate, from the cradle, seemed linked with royalty and love--in whom, watching and hoping for, in whom, loving and heeding, methought i lived again the sweet human life--hath gone from my hearth--forsaken, broken-hearted--withering down to the grave under the shade of the barren cloister! is mine heart, then, all a lie? are the gods who led odin from the scythian east but the juggling fiends whom the craven christian abhors? lo! the wine month has come; a few nights more, and the sun which all prophecy foretold should go down on the union of the icing and the maid, shall bring round the appointed day: yet aldyth still lives, and edith still withers; and war stands side by side with the church, between the betrothed and the altar. verily, verily, my spirit hath lost its power, and leaves me bowed, in the awe of night, a feeble, aged, hopeless, childless woman!" tears of human weakness rolled down the vala's cheeks. at that moment, a laugh came from a thing that had seemed like the fallen trunk of a tree, or a trough in which the herdsman waters his cattle, so still, and shapeless, and undefined it had lain amongst the rank weeds and night-shade and trailing creepers on the marge of the pool, the laugh was low yet fearful to hear. slowly, the thing moved, and rose, and took the outline of a human form; and the prophetess beheld the witch whose sleep she had disturbed by the saxon's grave. "where is the banner?" said the witch, laying her hand on hilda's arm, and looking into her face with bleared and rheumy eyes, "where is the banner thy handmaids were weaving for harold the earl? why didst thou lay aside that labour of love for harold the king? hie thee home, and bid thy maidens ply all night at the work; make it potent with rune and with spell, and with gums of the seid. take the banner to harold the king as a marriage-gift; for the day of his birth shall be still the day of his nuptials with edith the fair!" hilda gazed on the hideous form before her; and so had her soul fallen from its arrogant pride of place, that instead of the scorn with which so foul a pretender to the great art had before inspired the king-born prophetess, her veins tingled with credulous awe. "art thou a mortal like myself," she said after a pause, "or one of those beings often seen by the shepherd in mist and rain, driving before them their shadowy flocks? one of those of whom no man knoweth whether they are of earth or of helheim? whether they have ever known the lot and conditions of flesh, or are but some dismal race between body and spirit, hateful alike to gods and to men?" the dreadful hag shook her head, as if refusing to answer the question, and said: "sit we down, sit we down by the dead dull pool, and if thou wouldst be wise as i am, wake up all thy wrongs, fill thyself with hate, and let thy thoughts be curses. nothing is strong on earth but the will; and hate to the will is as the iron in the hands of the war-man." "ha!" answered hilda, "then thou art indeed one of the loathsome brood whose magic is born, not of the aspiring soul, but the fiendlike heart. and between us there is no union. i am of the race of those whom priests and kings reverenced and honoured as the oracles of heaven; and rather let my lore be dimmed and weakened, in admitting the humanities of hope and love, than be lightened by the glare of the wrath that lok and rana bear the children of men." "what, art thou so base and so doting," said the hag, with fierce contempt, "as to know that another has supplanted thine edith, that all the schemes of thy life are undone, and yet feel no hate for the man who hath wronged her and thee?--the man who had never been king if thou hadst not breathed into him the ambition of rule? think, and curse!" "my curse would wither the heart that is entwined within his," answered hilda; "and," she added abruptly, as if eager to escape from her own impulses, "didst thou not tell me, even now, that the wrong would be redressed, and his betrothed yet be his bride on the appointed day?" "ha! home, then!--home! and weave the charmed woof of the banner, broider it with zimmes and with gold worthy the standard of a king; for i tell thee, that where that banner is planted, shall edith clasp with bridal arms her adored. and the hwata thou hast read by the bautastein, and in the temple of the briton's revengeful gods, shall be fulfilled." "dark daughter of hela," said the prophetess, "whether demon or god hath inspired thee, i hear in my spirit a voice that tells me thou hast pierced to a truth that my lore could not reach. thou art houseless and poor; i will give wealth to thine age if thou wilt stand with me by the altar of thor, and let thy galdra unriddle the secrets that have baffled mine own. all foreshown to me hath ever come to pass, but in a sense other than that in which my soul read the rune and the dream, the leaf and the fount, the star and the scin-laeca. my husband slain in his youth; my daughter maddened with woe; her lord murdered on his hearthstone; sweyn, whom i loved as my child,"--the vala paused, contending against her own emotions,--"i loved them all," she faltered, clasping her hands, "for them i tasked the future. the future promised fair; i lured them to their doom, and when the doom came, lo! the promise was kept! but how?--and now, edith, the last of my race; harold, the pride of my pride!--speak, thing of horror and night, canst thou disentangle the web in which my soul struggles, weak as the fly in the spider's mesh?" "on the third night from this, will i stand with thee by the altar of thor, and unriddle the rede of my masters, unknown and unguessed, whom thou hadst duteously served. and ere the sun rise, the greatest mystery earth knows shall be bare to thy soul!" as the witch spoke, a cloud passed over the moon; and before the light broke forth again, the hag had vanished. there was only seen in the dull pool, the water-rat swimming through the rank sedges; only in the forest, the grey wings of the owl, fluttering heavily across the glades; only in the grass, the red eyes of the bloated toad. then hilda went slowly home, and the maids worked all night at the charmed banner. all that night, too, the watch-dogs howled in the yard, through the ruined peristyle--howled in rage and in fear. and under the lattice of the room in which the maids broidered the banner, and the prophetess muttered her charm, there couched, muttering also, a dark, shapeless thing, at which those dogs howled in rage and in fear. chapter ii. all within the palace of westminster showed the confusion and dismay of the awful time;--all, at least, save the council-chamber, in which harold, who had arrived the night before, conferred with his thegns. it was evening: the courtyards and the halls were filled with armed men, and almost with every hour came rider and bode from the sussex shores. in the corridors the churchmen grouped and whispered, as they had whispered and grouped in the day of king edward's death. stigand passed among them, pale and thoughtful. the serge gowns came rustling round the archprelate for counsel or courage. "shall we go forth with the king's army?" asked a young monk, bolder than the rest, "to animate the host with prayer and hymn?" "fool!" said the miserly prelate, "fool! if we do so, and the norman conquer, what become of our abbacies and convent lands? the duke wars against harold, not england. if he slay harold----" "what then?" "the atheling is left us yet. stay we here and guard the last prince of the house of cerdic," whispered stigand, and he swept on. in the chamber in which edward had breathed his last, his widowed queen, with aldyth, her successor, and githa and some other ladies, waited the decision of the council. by one of the windows stood, clasping each other by the hand, the fair young bride of gurth and the betrothed of the gay leofwine. githa sate alone, bowing her face over her hands--desolate; mourning for the fate of her traitor son; and the wounds, that the recent and holier death of thyra had inflicted, bled afresh. and the holy lady of edward attempted in vain, by pious adjurations, to comfort aldyth, who, scarcely heeding her, started ever and anon with impatient terror, muttering to herself, "shall i lose this crown too?" in the council-hall debate waxed warm,--which was the wiser, to meet william at once in the battle-field, or to delay till all the forces harold might expect (and which he had ordered to be levied, in his rapid march from york) could swell his host? "if we retire before the enemy," said gurth, "leaving him in a strange land, winter approaching, his forage will fail. he will scarce dare to march upon london: if he does, we shall be better prepared to encounter him. my voice is against resting all on a single battle." "is that thy choice?" said vebba, indignantly. "not so, i am sure, would have chosen thy father; not so think the saxons of kent. the norman is laying waste all the lands of thy subjects, lord harold; living on plunder, as a robber, in the realm of king alfred. dost thou think that men will get better heart to fight for their country by hearing that their king shrinks from the danger?" "thou speakest well and wisely," said haco; and all eyes turned to the young son of sweyn, as to one who best knew the character of the hostile army and the skill of its chief. "we have now with us a force flushed with conquest over a foe hitherto deemed invincible. men who have conquered the norwegian will not shrink from the norman. victory depends upon ardour more than numbers. every hour of delay damps the ardour. are we sure that it will swell the numbers? what i dread most is not the sword of the norman duke, it is his craft. rely upon it, that if we meet him not soon, he will march straight to london. he will proclaim by the way that he comes not to seize the throne, but to punish harold, and abide by the witan, or, perchance, by the word of the roman pontiff. the terror of his armament, unresisted, will spread like a panic through the land. many will be decoyed by his false pretexts, many awed by a force that the king dare not meet. if he come in sight of the city, think you that merchants and cheapmen will not be daunted by the thought of pillage and sack? they will be the first to capitulate at the first house which is fired. the city is weak to guard against siege; its walls long neglected; and in sieges the normans are famous. are we so united (the king's rule thus fresh) but what no cabals, no dissensions will break out amongst ourselves? if the duke come, as come he will, in the name of the church, may not the churchmen set up some new pretender to the crown-- perchance the child edgar? and, divided against ourselves, how ingloriously should we fall! besides, this land, though never before have the links between province and province been drawn so close, hath yet demarcations that make the people selfish. the northumbrians, i fear, will not stir to aid london, and mercia will hold aloof from our peril. grant that william once seize london, all england is broken up and dispirited; each shire, nay, each town, looking only to itself. talk of delay as wearing out the strength of the foe! no, it would wear out our own. little eno', i fear, is yet left in our treasury. if william seize london, that treasury is his, with all the wealth of our burgesses. how should we maintain an army, except by preying on the people, and thus discontenting them? where guard that army? where are our forts? where our mountains? the war of delay suits only a land of rock and defile, or of castle and breast-work. thegns and warriors, ye have no castles but your breasts of mail. abandon these, and you are lost." a general murmur of applause closed this speech of haco, which, while wise in arguments our historians have overlooked, came home to that noblest reason of brave men, which urges prompt resistance to foul invasion. up, then, rose king harold. "i thank you, fellow-englishmen, for that applause with which ye have greeted mine own thoughts on the lips of haco. shall it be said that your king rushed to chase his own brother from the soil of outraged england, yet shrunk from the sword of the norman stranger? well indeed might my brave subjects desert my banner if it floated idly over these palace walls while the armed invader pitched his camp in the heart of england. by delay, william's force, whatever it might be, cannot grow less; his cause grows more strong in our craven fears. what his armament may be we rightly know not; the report varies with every messenger, swelling and lessening with the rumours of every hour. have we not around us now our most stalwart veterans--the flower of our armies--the most eager spirits--the vanquishers of hardrada? thou sayest, gurth, that all should not be perilled on a single battle. true. harold should be perilled, but wherefore england? grant that we win the day; the quicker our despatch, the greater our fame, the more lasting that peace at home and abroad which rests ever its best foundation on the sense of the power which wrong cannot provoke unchastised. grant that we lose; a loss can be made gain by a king's brave death. why should not our example rouse and unite all who survive us? which the nobler example--the one best fitted to protect our country--the recreant backs of living chiefs, or the glorious dead with their fronts to the foe? come what may, life or death, at least we will thin the norman numbers, and heap the barriers of our corpses on the norman march. at least, we can show to the rest of england how men should defend their native land! and if, as i believe and pray, in every english breast beats a heart like harold's, what matters though a king should fall?--freedom is immortal." he spoke; and forth from his baldric he drew his sword. every blade, at that signal, leapt from the sheath: and, in that council-hall at least, in every breast beat the heart of harold. chapter iii. the chiefs dispersed to array their troops for the morrow's march; but harold and his kinsmen entered the chamber where the women waited the decision of the council, for that, in truth, was to them the parting interview. the king had resolved, after completing all his martial preparations, to pass the night in the abbey of waltham; and his brothers lodged, with the troops they commanded, in the city or its suburbs. haco alone remained with that portion of the army quartered in and around the palace. they entered the chamber, and in a moment each heart had sought its mate; in the mixed assembly each only conscious of the other. there, gurth bowed his noble head over the weeping face of the young bride that for the last time nestled to his bosom. there, with a smiling lip, but tremulous voice, the gay leofwine soothed and chided in a breath the maiden he had wooed as the partner for a life that his mirthful spirit made one holiday; snatching kisses from a cheek no longer coy. but cold was the kiss which harold pressed on the brow of aldyth; and with something of disdain, and of bitter remembrance of a nobler love, he comforted a terror which sprang from the thought of self. "oh, harold!" sobbed aldyth, "be not rashly brave: guard thy life for my sake. without thee, what am i? is it even safe for me to rest here? were it not better to fly to york, or seek refuge with malcolm the scot?" "within three days at the farthest," answered harold, "thy brothers will be in london. abide by their counsel; act as they advise at the news of my victory or my fall." he paused abruptly, for he heard close beside him the broken voice of gurth's bride, in answer to her lord. "think not of me, beloved; thy whole heart now be england's. and if--if"--her voice failed a moment, but resumed proudly, "why even then thy wife is safe, for she survives not her lord and her land!" the king left his wife's side, and kissed his brother's bride. "noble heart!" he said; "with women like thee for our wives and mothers, england could survive the slaughter of thousand kings." he turned, and knelt to githa. she threw her arms over his broad breast, and wept bitterly. "say--say, harold, that i have not reproached thee for tostig's death. i have obeyed the last commands of godwin my lord. i have deemed thee ever right and just; now let me not lose thee, too. they go with thee, all my surviving sons, save the exile wolnoth,--him whom now i shall never behold again. oh, harold!--let not mine old age be childless!" "mother,--dear, dear mother, with these arms round my neck i take new life and new heart. no! never hast thou reproached me for my brother's death--never for aught which man's first duty enjoined. murmur not that that duty commands us still. we are the sons, through thee, of royal heroes; through my father, of saxon freemen. rejoice that thou hast three sons left, whose arms thou mayest pray god and his saints to prosper, and over whose graves, if they fall, thou shalt shed no tears of shame!" then the widow of king edward, who (the crucifix clasped in her hands) had listened to harold with lips apart and marble cheeks, could keep down no longer her human woman's heart; she rushed to harold as he still knelt to githa--knelt by his side, and clasped him in her arms with despairing fondness: "o brother, brother, whom i have so dearly loved when all other love seemed forbidden me;--when he who gave me a throne refused me his heart; when, looking at thy fair promise, listening to thy tender comfort,--when, remembering the days of old, in which thou wert my docile pupil, and we dreamed bright dreams together of happiness and fame to come,--when, loving thee methought too well, too much as weak mothers may love a mortal son, i prayed god to detach my heart from earth!--oh, harold! now forgive me all my coldness. i shudder at thy resolve. i dread that thou should meet this man, whom an oath hath bound thee to obey. nay, frown not--i bow to thy will, my brother and my king. i know that thou hast chosen as thy conscience sanctions, as thy duty ordains. but come back--oh, come back--thou who, like me," (her voice whispered,) "hast sacrificed the household hearth to thy country's altars,--and i will never pray to heaven to love thee less-- my brother, o my brother!" in all the room were then heard but the low sounds of sobs and broken exclamations. all clustered to one spot-leofwine and his betrothed-- gurth and his bride--even the selfish aldyth, ennobled by the contagion of the sublime emotion,--all clustered round githa the mother of the three guardians of the fated land, and all knelt before her, by the side of harold. suddenly, the widowed queen, the virgin wife of the last heir of cerdic, rose, and holding on high the sacred rood over those bended heads, said, with devout passion: "o lord of hosts--we children of doubt and time, trembling in the dark, dare not take to ourselves to question thine unerring will. sorrow and death, as joy and life, are at the breath of a mercy divine, and a wisdom all-seeing: and out of the hours of evil thou drawest, in mystic circle, the eternity of good. 'thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven.' if, o disposer of events, our human prayers are not adverse to thy pre-judged decrees, protect these lives, the bulwarks of our homes and altars, sons whom the land offers as a sacrifice. may thine angel turn aside the blade--as of old from the heart of isaac! but if, o ruler of nations, in whose sight the ages are as moments, and generations but as sands in the sea, these lives are doomed, may the death expiate their sins, and, shrived on the battle-field, absolve and receive the souls!" chapter iv. by the altar of the abbey church of waltham, that night, knelt edith in prayer for harold. she had taken up her abode in a small convent of nuns that adjoined the more famous monastery of waltham; but she had promised hilda not to enter on the novitiate, until the birthday of harold had passed. she herself had no longer faith in the omens and prophecies that had deceived her youth and darkened her life; and, in the more congenial air of our holy church, the spirit, ever so chastened, grew calm and resigned. but the tidings of the norman's coming, and the king's victorious return to his capital, had reached even that still retreat; and love, which had blent itself with religion, led her steps to that lonely altar. and suddenly, as she there knelt, only lighted by the moon through the high casements, she was startled by the sound of approaching feet and murmuring voices. she rose in alarm--the door of the church was thrown open--torches advanced--and amongst the monks, between osgood and ailred, came the king. he had come, that last night before his march, to invoke the prayers of that pious brotherhood; and by the altar he had founded, to pray, himself, that his one sin of faith forfeited and oath abjured, might not palsy his arm and weigh on his soul in the hour of his country's need. edith stifled the cry that rose to her lips, as the torches fell on the pale and hushed and melancholy face of harold; and she crept away under the arch of the vast saxon columns, and into the shade of abutting walls. the monks and the king, intent on their holy office, beheld not that solitary and shrinking form. they approached the altar; and there the king knelt down lowlily, and none heard the prayer. but as osgood held the sacred rood over the bended head of the royal suppliant, the image on the crucifix (which had been a gift from alred the prelate, and was supposed to have belonged of old to augustine, the first founder of the saxon church--so that, by the superstition of the age, it was invested with miraculous virtues) bowed itself visibly. visibly, the pale and ghastly image of the suffering god bowed over the head of the kneeling man; whether the fastenings of the rood were loosened, or from what cause soever,--in the eyes of all the brotherhood, the image bowed. [ ] a thrill of terror froze every heart, save edith's, too remote to perceive the portent, and save the king's, whom the omen seemed to doom, for his face was buried in his clasped hands. heavy was his heart, nor needed it other warnings than its own gloom. long and silently prayed the king; and when at last he rose, and the monks, though with altered and tremulous voices, began their closing hymn, edith passed noislessly along the wall, and, stealing through one of the smaller doors which communicated to the nunnery annexed, gained the solitude of her own chamber. there she stood, benumbed with the strength of her emotions at the sight of harold thus abruptly presented. how had the fond human heart leapt to meet him! twice, thus, in the august ceremonials of religion, secret, shrinking, unwitnessed, had she, his betrothed, she, the partner of his soul, stood aloof to behold him. she had seen him in the hour of his pomp, the crown upon his brow,--seen him in the hour of his peril and agony, that anointed head bowed to the earth. and in the pomp that she could not share, she had exulted; but, oh, now--now,--oh now that she could have knelt beside that humbled form, and prayed with that voiceless prayer! the torches flashed in the court below; the church was again deserted; the monks passed in mute procession back to their cloister; but a single man paused, turned aside, and stopped at the gate of the humbler convent: a knocking was heard at the great oaken door, and the watch-dog barked. edith started, pressed her hand on her heart and trembled. steps approached her door--and the abbess, entering, summoned her below, to hear the farewell greeting of her cousin the king. harold stood in the simple hall of the cloister: a single taper, tall and wan, burned on the oak board. the abbess led edith by the hand, and at a sign from the king, withdrew. so, once more upon earth, the betrothed and divided were alone. "edith," said the king, in a voice in which no ear but hers could have detected the struggle, "do not think i have come to disturb thy holy calm, or sinfully revive the memories of the irrevocable past: where once on my breast, in the old fashion of our fathers, i wrote thy name, is written now the name of the mistress that supplants thee. into eternity melts the past; but i could not depart to a field from which there is no retreat--in which, against odds that men say are fearful, i have resolved to set my crown and my life--without once more beholding thee, pure guardian of my happier days! thy forgiveness for all the sorrow that, in the darkness which surrounds man's hopes and dreams, i have brought on thee (dread return for love so enduring, so generous and divine!)--thy forgiveness i will not ask. thou alone perhaps on earth knowest the soul of harold; and if he hath wronged thee, thou seest alike in the wronger and the wronged, but the children of iron duty, the servants of imperial heaven. not thy forgivenness i ask--but--but--edith, holy maid! angel soul!--thy--thy blessing!" his voice faltered, and he inclined his lofty head as to a saint. "oh that i had the power to bless!" exclaimed edith, mastering her rush of tears with a heroic effort; "and methinks i have the power-- not from virtues of my own, but from all that i owe to thee! the grateful have the power to bless. for what do i not owe to thee--owe to that very love of which even the grief is sacred? poor child in the house of the heathen, thy love descended upon me, and in it, the smile of god! in that love my spirit awoke, and was baptised: every thought that has risen from earth, and lost itself in heaven, was breathed into my heart by thee! thy creature and thy slave, hadst thou tempted me to sin, sin had seemed hallowed by thy voice; but thou saidst 'true love is virtue,' and so i worshipped virtue in loving thee. strengthened, purified, by thy bright companionship, from thee came the strength to resign thee--from thee the refuge under the wings of god--from thee the firm assurance that our union yet shall be--not as our poor hilda dreams, on the perishable earth,--but there! oh, there! yonder by the celestial altars, in the land in which all spirits are filled with love. yes, soul of harold! there are might and holiness in the blessing the soul thou hast redeemed and reared sheds on thee!" and so beautiful, so unlike the beautiful of the common earth, looked the maid as she thus spoke, and laid hands, trembling with no human passion, on that royal head-that could a soul from paradise be made visible, such might be the shape it would wear to a mortal's eye! thus, for some moments both were silent; and in the silence the gloom vanished from the heart of harold, and, through a deep and sublime serenity, it rose undaunted to front the future. no embrace--no farewell kiss--profaned the parting of those pure and noble spirits--parting on the threshold of the grave. it was only the spirit that clasped the spirit, looking forth from the clay into measureless eternity. not till the air of night came once more on his brow, and the moonlight rested on the roofs and fanes of the land entrusted to his charge, was the man once more the human hero; not till she was alone in her desolate chamber, and the terrors of the coming battle-field chased the angel from her thoughts was the maid inspired, once more the weeping woman. a little after sunrise the abbess, who was distantly akin to the house of godwin, sought edith, so agitated by her own fear, that she did not remark the trouble of her visitor. the supposed miracle of the sacred image bowing over the kneeling king, had spread dismay through the cloisters of both nunnery and abbey; and so intense was the disquietude of the two brothers, osgood and ailred, in the simple and grateful affection they bore their royal benefactor, that they had obeyed the impulse of their tender credulous hearts, and left the monastery with the dawn, intending to follow the king's march [ ], and watch and pray near the awful battle-field. edith listened, and made no reply; the terrors of the abbess infected her; the example of the two monks woke the sole thought which stirred through the nightmare dream that suspended reason itself; and when, at noon the abbess again sought the chamber, edith was gone;--gone, and alone-- none knew wherefore--one guessed whither. all the pomp of the english army burst upon harold's view, as, in the rising sun, he approached the bridge of the capital. over that bridge came the stately march,--battle-axe, and spear, and banner, glittering in the ray. and as he drew aside, and the forces filed before him, the cry of; "god save king harold!" rose with loud acclaim and lusty joy, borne over the waves of the river, startling the echoes in the ruined keape of the roman, heard in the halls restored by canute, and chiming, like a chorus, with the chaunts of the monks by the tomb of sebba in st. paul's--by the tomb of edward at st. peter's. with a brightened face, and a kindling eye, the king saluted his lines, and then fell into the ranks towards the rear, where among the burghers of london and the lithsmen of middlesex, the immemorial custom of saxon monarchs placed the kingly banner. and, looking up, he beheld, not his old standard with the tiger heads and the cross, but a banner both strange and gorgeous. on a field of gold was the effigies of a fighting warrior; and the arms were bedecked in orient pearls, and the borders blazed in the rising sun, with ruby, amethyst, and emerald. while he gazed, wondering, on this dazzling ensign, haco, who rode beside the standard-bearer, advanced, and gave him a letter. "last night," said he, "after thou hadst left the palace, many recruits, chiefly from hertfordshire and essex, came in; but the most gallant and stalwart of all, in arms and in stature, were the lithsmen of hilda. with them came this banner, on which she has lavished the gems that have passed to her hand through long lines of northern ancestors, from odin, the founder of all northern thrones. so, at least, said the bode of our kinswoman." harold had already cut the silk round the letter, and was reading its contents. they ran thus:-- "king of england, i forgive thee the broken heart of my grandchild. they whom the land feeds, should defend the land. i send to thee, in tribute the best fruits that grow in the field, and the forest, round the house which my husband took from the bounty of canute;--stout hearts and strong hands! descending alike, as do hilda and harold (through githa thy mother,) from the warrior god of the north, whose race never shall fail--take, o defender of the saxon children of odin, the banner i have broidered with the gems that the chief of the asas bore from the east. firm as love be thy foot, strong as death be thy hand, under the shade which the banner of hilda,--under the gleam which the jewels of odin,--cast on the brows of the king! so hilda, the daughter of monarchs, greets harold the leader of men." harold looked up from the letter, and haco resumed: "thou canst guess not the cheering effect which this banner, supposed to be charmed, and which the name of odin alone would suffice to make holy, at least with thy fierce anglo-danes, hath already produced through the army." "it is well, haco," said harold with a smile. "let priest add his blessing to hilda's charm, and heaven will pardon any magic that makes more brave the hearts that defend its altars. now fall we back, for the army must pass beside the hill with the crommell and gravestone; there, be sure, hilda will be at watch for our march, and we will linger a few moments to thank her somewhat for her banner, yet more justly, methinks, for her men. are not yon stout fellows all in mail, so tall and so orderly, in advance of the london burghers, hilda's aid to our fyrd?" "they are," answered haco. the king backed his steed to accost them with his kingly greeting; and then, with haco, falling yet farther to the rear seemed engaged in inspecting the numerous wains, bearing missiles and forage, that always accompanied the march of a saxon army, and served to strengthen its encampment. but when they came in sight of the hillock by which the great body of the army had preceded them, the king and the son of sweyn dismounted and on foot entered the large circle of the celtic ruin. by the side of the teuton altar they beheld two forms, both perfectly motionless: but one was extended on the ground as in sleep or in death; the other sate beside it, as if watching the corpse, or guarding the slumber. the face of the last was not visible, propped upon the arms which rested on the knees, and bidden by the hands. but in the face of the other, as the two men drew near, they recognised the danish prophetess. death in its dreadest characters was written on that ghastly face; woe and terror, beyond all words to describe, spoke in the haggard brow, the distorted lips, and the wild glazed stare of the open eyes. at the startled cry of the intruders on that dreary silence, the living form moved; and though still leaning its face on its hands, it raised its head; and never countenance of northern vampire, cowering by the rifled grave, was more fiendlike and appalling. "who and what art thou?" said the king; "and how, thus unhonored in the air of heaven, lies the corpse of the noble hilda? is this the hand of nature? haco, haco, so look the eyes, so set the features, of those whom the horror of ruthless murder slays even before the steel strikes. speak, hag, art thou dumb?" "search the body," answered the witch, "there is no wound! look to the throat,--no mark of the deadly gripe! i have seen such in my day.--there are none on this corpse, i trow; yet thou sayest rightly, horror slew her! ha, ha! she would know, and she hath known; she would raise the dead and the demon; she hath raised them; she would read the riddle,--she hath read it. pale king and dark youth, would ye learn what hilda saw, eh? eh? ask her in the shadow-world where she awaits ye! ha! ye too would be wise in the future; ye too would climb to heaven through the mysteries of hell. worms! worms! crawl back to the clay--to the earth! one such night as the hag ye despise enjoys as her sport and her glee, would freeze your veins, and sear the life in your eyeballs, and leave your corpses to terror and wonder, like the carcase that lies at your feet!" "ho!" cried the king, stamping his foot. "hence, haco; rouse the household; summon hither the handmaids; call henchman and ceorl to guard this foul raven." haco obeyed; but when he returned with the shuddering and amazed attendants, the witch was gone, and the king was leaning against the altar with downcast eyes, and a face troubled and dark with thought. the body of the vala was borne into the house; and the king, waking from his reverie, bade them send for the priests and ordered masses for the parted soul. then kneeling, with pious hand he closed the eyes and smoothed the features, and left his mournful kiss on the icy brow. these offices fulfilled, he took haco's arm, and leaning on it, returned to the spot on which they had left their steeds. not evincing surprise or awe,--emotions that seemed unknown to his gloomy, settled, impassible nature--haco said calmly, as they descended the knoll: "what evil did the hag predict to thee?" "haco," answered the king, "yonder, by the shores of sussex, lies all the future which our eyes now should scan, and our hearts should be firm to meet. these omens and apparitions are but the ghosts of a dead religion; spectres sent from the grave of the fearful heathenesse; they may appal but to lure us from our duty. lo, as we gaze around--the ruins of all the creeds that have made the hearts of men quake with unsubstantial awe--lo, the temple of the briton!--lo, the fane of the roman!--lo, the mouldering altar of our ancestral thor! ages past lie wrecked around us in these shattered symbols. a new age hath risen, and a new creed. keep we to the broad truths before us; duty here; knowledge comes alone in the hereafter." "that hereafter!--is it not near?" murmured haco. they mounted in silence; and ere they regained the army paused, by a common impulse, and looked behind. awful in their desolation rose the temple and the altar! and in hilda's mysterious death it seemed that their last and lingering genius,--the genius of the dark and fierce, the warlike and the wizard north, had expired for ever. yet, on the outskirt of the forest, dusk and shapeless, that witch without a name stood in the shadow, pointing towards them, with outstretched arm, in vague and denouncing menace;--as if, come what may, all change of creed,--be the faith ever so simple, the truth ever so bright and clear,--there is a superstition native to that border-land between the visible and the unseen, which will find its priest and its votaries, till the full and crowning splendour of heaven shall melt every shadow from the world! chapter v. on the broad plain between pevensey and hastings, duke william had arrayed his armaments. in the rear he had built a castle of wood, all the framework of which he had brought with him, and which was to serve as a refuge in case of retreat. his ships he had run into deep water, and scuttled; so that the thought of return, without victory, might be banished from his miscellaneous and multitudinous force. his outposts stretched for miles, keeping watch night and day against surprise. the ground chosen was adapted for all the manoeuvres of a cavalry never before paralleled in england nor perhaps in the world,--almost every horseman a knight, almost every knight fit to be a chief. and on this space william reviewed his army, and there planned and schemed, rehearsed and re-formed, all the stratagems the great day might call forth. but more careful, and laborious, and minute, was he in the manoeuvre of a feigned retreat. not ere the acting of some modern play, does the anxious manager more elaborately marshal each man, each look, each gesture, that are to form a picture on which the curtain shall fall amidst deafening plaudits than did the laborious captain appoint each man, and each movement, in his lure to a valiant foe:--the attack of the foot, their recoil, their affected panic, their broken exclamations of despair;--their retreat, first partial and reluctant, next seemingly hurried and complete,--flying, but in flight carefully confused:--then the settled watchword, the lightning rally, the rush of the cavalry from the ambush; the sweep and hem round the pursuing foe, the detachment of levelled spears to cut off the saxon return to the main force, and the lost ground,--were all directed by the most consummate mastership in the stage play, or upokrisis, of war, and seized by the adroitness of practised veterans. not now, o harold! hast thou to contend against the rude heroes of the norse, with their ancestral strategy unimproved! the civilisation of battle meets thee now!--and all the craft of the roman guides the manhood of the north. it was in the midst of such lessons to his foot and his horsemen-- spears gleaming--pennons tossing--lines reforming--steeds backing, wheeling, flying, circling--that william's eye blazed, and his deep voice thundered the thrilling word; when mallet de graville, who was in command at one of the outposts, rode up to him at full speed, and said in gasps, as he drew breath: "king harold and his army are advancing furiously. their object is clearly to come on us unawares." "hold!" said the duke, lifting his hand; and the knights around him halted in their perfect discipline; then after a few brief but distinct orders to odo, fitzosborne, and some other of his leading chiefs, he headed a numerous cavalcade of his knights, and rode fast to the outpost which mallet had left,--to catch sight of the coming foe. the horsemen cleared the plain--passed through a wood, mournfully fading into autumnal hues--and, on emerging, they saw the gleam of the saxon spears rising on the brows of the gentle hills beyond. but even the time, short as it was, that had sufficed to bring william in view of the enemy, had sufficed also, under the orders of his generals, to give to the wide plain of his encampment all the order of a host prepared. and william, having now mounted on a rising ground, turned from the spears on the hill tops, to his own fast forming lines on the plain, and said with a stern smile: "methinks the saxon usurper, if he be among those on the height of yon hills, will vouchsafe us time to breathe! st. michael gives his crown to our hands, and his corpse to the crow, if he dare to descend." and so indeed, as the duke with a soldier's eye foresaw from a soldier's skill, so it proved. the spears rested on the summits. it soon became evident that the english general perceived that here there was no hardrada to surprise; that the news brought to his ear had exaggerated neither the numbers, nor the arms, nor the discipline of the norman; and that the battle was not to the bold but to the wary. "he doth right," said william, musingly; "nor think, o my quens, that we shall find a fool's hot brain under harold's helmet of iron. how is this broken ground of hillock and valley named in our chart? it is strange that we should have overlooked its strength, and suffered it thus to fall into the hands of the foe. how is it named? can any of ye remember?" "a saxon peasant," said de graville, "told me that the ground was called senlac [ ] or sanglac, or some such name, in their musicless jargon." "grammercy!" quoth grantmesnil, "methinks the name will be familiar eno' hereafter; no jargon seemeth the sound to my ear--a significant name and ominous,--sanglac, sanguelac--the lake of blood." "sanguelac!" said the duke, startled; "where have i heard that name before? it must have been between sleeping and waking.--sanguelac, sanguelac!--truly sayest thou, through a lake of blood we must wade indeed!" "yet," said de graville, "thine astrologer foretold that thou wouldst win the realm without a battle." "poor astrologer!" said william, "the ship he sailed in was lost. ass indeed is he who pretends to warn others, nor sees an inch before his eyes what his own fate will be! battle shall we have, but not yet. hark thee, guillaume, thou hast been guest with this usurper; thou hast seemed to me to have some love for him--a love natural since thou didst once fight by his side; wilt thou go from me to the saxon host with hugues maigrot, the monk, and back the message i shall send?" the proud and punctilious norman thrice crossed himself ere he answered: "there was a time, count william, when i should have deemed it honour to hold parle with harold the brave earl; but now, with the crown on his head, i hold it shame and disgrace to barter words with a knight unleal and a man foresworn." "nathless, thou shalt do me this favour," said william, "for" (and he took the knight somewhat aside) "i cannot disguise from thee that i look anxiously on the chance of battle. yon men are flushed with new triumph over the greatest warrior norway ever knew, they will fight on their own soil, and under a chief whom i have studied and read with more care than the comments of caesar, and in whom the guilt of perjury cannot blind me to the wit of a great general. if we can yet get our end without battle, large shall be my thanks to thee, and i will hold thine astrologer a man wise, though unhappy." "certes," said de graville gravely, "it were discourteous to the memory of the star-seer, not to make some effort to prove his science a just one. and the chaldeans----" "plague seize the chaldeans!" muttered the duke. "ride with me back to the camp, that i may give thee my message, and instruct also the monk." "de graville," resumed the duke, as they rode towards the lines, "my meaning is briefly this. i do not think that harold will accept my offer and resign his crown, but i design to spread dismay, and perhaps revolt amongst his captains; i wish that they may know that the church lays its curse on those who fight against my consecrated banner. i do not ask thee, therefore, to demean thy knighthood, by seeking to cajole the usurper; no, but rather boldly to denounce his perjury and startle his liegemen. perchance they may compel him to terms-- perchance they may desert his banner; at the worst they shall be daunted with full sense of the guilt of his cause." "ha, now i comprehend thee, noble count; and trust me i will speak as norman and knight should speak." meanwhile, harold seeing the utter hopelessness of all sudden assault, had seized a general's advantage of the ground he had gained. occupying the line of hills, he began forthwith to entrench himself behind deep ditches and artful palisades. it is impossible now to stand on that spot, without recognising the military skill with which the saxon had taken his post, and formed his precautions. he surrounded the main body of his troops with a perfect breastwork against the charge of the horse. stakes and strong hurdles interwoven with osier plaits, and protected by deep dykes, served at once to neutralise the effect of that arm in which william was most powerful, and in which harold almost entirely failed; while the possession of the ground must compel the foe to march, and to charge, up hill, against all the missiles which the saxons could pour down from their entrenchments. aiding, animating, cheering, directing all, while the dykes were fast hollowed, and the breastworks fast rose, the king of england rode his palfrey from line to line, and work to work, when, looking up, he saw haco leading towards him up the slopes, a monk, and a warrior whom, by the banderol on his spear and the cross on his shield, he knew to be one of the norman knighthood. at that moment gurth and leofwine, and those thegns who commanded counties, were thronging round their chief for instructions. the king dismounted, and beckoning them to follow, strode towards the spot on which had just been planted his royal standard. there halting, he said with a grave smile: "i perceive that the norman count hath sent us his bodes; it is meet that with me, you, the defenders of england, should hear what the norman saith." "if he saith aught but prayer for his men to return to rouen,-- needless his message, and short our answer," said vebba, the bluff thegn of kent. meanwhile the monk and the norman knight drew near and paused at some short distance, while haco, advancing, said briefly: "these men i found at our outposts; they demand to speak with the king." "under his standard the king will hear the norman invader," replied harold; "bid them speak." the same sallow, mournful, ominous countenance, which harold had before seen in the halls of westminster, rising deathlike above the serge garb of the benedict of caen, now presented itself, and the monk thus spoke: "in the name of william, duke of the normans in the field, count of rouen in the hall, claimant of all the realms of anglia, scotland, and the walloons, held under edward his cousin, i come to thee, harold his liege and earl." "change thy titles, or depart," said harold, fiercely, his brow no longer mild in its majesty, but dark as midnight. "what says william the count of the foreigners, to harold, king of the angles, and basileus of britain?" "protesting against thy assumption, i answer thee thus," said hugues maigrot. "first, again he offers thee all northumbria, up to the realm of the scottish sub-king, if thou wilt fulfil thy vow, and cede him the crown." "already have i answered,--the crown is not mine to give; and my people stand round me in arms to defend the king of their choice. what next?" "next, offers william to withdraw his troops from the land, if thou and thy council and chiefs will submit to the arbitrement of our most holy pontiff, alexander the second, and, abide by his decision whether thou or my liege have the best right to the throne." "this, as churchman," said the abbot of the great convent of peterboro', (who, with the abbot of hide, had joined the march of harold, deeming as one the cause of altar and throne), "this as churchman, may i take leave to answer. never yet hath it been heard in england, that the spiritual suzerain of rome should give us our kings." "and," said harold, with a bitter smile, "the pope hath already summoned me to this trial, as if the laws of england were kept in the rolls of the vatican! already, if rightly informed, the pope hath been pleased to decide that our saxon land is the norman's. i reject a judge without a right to decide; and i mock at a sentence that profanes heaven in its insult to men. is this all?" "one last offer yet remains," replied the monk sternly. "this knight shall deliver its import. but ere i depart, and thou and thine are rendered up to vengeance divine, i speak the words of a mightier chief than william of rouen. thus saith his holiness, with whom rests the power to bind and to loose, to bless and to curse: 'harold, the perjurer, thou art accursed! on thee and on all who lift hand in thy cause, rests the interdict of the church. thou art excommunicated from the family of christ. on thy land, with its peers and its people, yea, to the beast in the field and the bird in the air, to the seed as the sower, the harvest as the reaper, rests god's anathema! the bull of the vatican is in the tent of the norman; the gonfanon of st. peter hallows yon armies to the service of heaven. march on, then: ye march as the assyrian; and the angel of the lord awaits ye on the way!'" at these words, which for the first time apprised the english leaders that their king and kingdom were under the awful ban of excommunication, the thegns and abbots gazed on each other aghast. a visible shudder passed over the whole warlike conclave, save only three, harold, and gurth, and haco. the king himself was so moved by indignation at the insolence of the monk, and by scorn at the fulmen, which, resting not alone on his own head, presumed to blast the liberties of a nation, that he strode towards the speaker, and it is even said of him by the norman chroniclers, that he raised his hand as if to strike the denouncer to the earth. but gurth interposed, and with his clear eye serenely shining with virtuous passion, he stood betwixt monk and king. "o thou," he exclaimed, "with the words of religion on thy lips, and the devices of fraud in thy heart, hide thy front in thy cowl, and slink back to thy master. heard ye not, thegns and abbots, heard ye not this bad, false man offer, as if for peace, and as with the desire of justice, that the pope should arbitrate between your king and the norman? yet all the while the monk knew that the pope had already predetermined the cause; and had ye fallen into the wile, ye would but have cowered under the verdict of a judgment that has presumed, even before it invoked ye to the trial, to dispose of a free people and an ancient kingdom!" "it is true, it is true," cried the thegns, rallying from their first superstitious terror, and, with their plain english sense of justice, revolted at the perfidy which the priest's overtures had concealed. "we will hear no more; away with the swikebode." [ ] the pale cheek of the monk turned yet paler, he seemed abashed by the storm of resentment he had provoked; and in some fear, perhaps, at the dark faces bent on him, he slunk behind his comrade the knight, who as yet had said nothing, but, his face concealed by his helmet, stood motionless like a steel statue. and, in fact, these two ambassadors, the one in his monk garb, the other in his iron array, were types and representatives of the two forces now brought to bear upon harold and england--chivalry and the church. at the momentary discomfiture of the priest, now stood forth the warrior; and, throwing back his helmet, so that the whole steel cap rested on the nape of the neck, leaving the haughty face and half- shaven head bare, mallet de graville thus spoke: "the ban of the church is against ye, warriors and chiefs of england, but for the crime of one man! remove it from yourselves: on his single head be the curse and the consequence. harold, called king of england--failing the two milder offers of my comrade, thus saith from the lips of his knight, (once thy guest, thy admirer, and friend,) thus saith william the norman:--'though sixty thousand warriors under the banner of the apostle wait at his beck, (and from what i see of thy force, thou canst marshal to thy guilty side scarce a third of the number,) yet will count william lay aside all advantage, save what dwells in strong arm and good cause; and here, in presence of thy thegns, i challenge thee in his name to decide the sway of this realm by single battle. on horse and in mail, with sword and with spear, knight to knight, man to man, wilt thou meet william the norman?'" before harold could reply, and listen to the first impulse of a valour, which his worst norman maligner, in the after day of triumphant calumny, never so lied as to impugn, the thegns themselves almost with one voice, took up the reply. "no strife between a man and a man shall decide the liberties of thousands!" "never!" exclaimed gurth. "it were an insult to the whole people to regard this as a strife between two chiefs, which should wear a crown. when the invader is in our land, the war is with a nation, not a king. and, by the very offer, this norman count (who cannot even speak our tongue) shows how little he knows of the laws, by which, under our native kings, we have all as great an interest as a king himself in our fatherland." "thou hast heard the answer of england from those lips, sire de graville," said harold: "mine but repeat and sanction it. i will not give the crown to william in lieu for disgrace and an earldom. i will not abide by the arbitrement of a pope who has dared to affix a curse upon freedom. i will not so violate the principle which in these realms knits king and people, as to arrogate to my single arm the right to dispose of the birthright of the living, and their races unborn; nor will i deprive the meanest soldier under my banner, of the joy and the glory to fight for his native land. if william seek me, he shall find me, where war is the fiercest, where the corpses of his men lie the thickest on the plains, defending this standard, or rushing on his own. and so, not monk and pope, but god in his wisdom, adjudge between us!" "so be it," said mallet de graville, solemnly, and his helmet re- closed over his face. "look to it, recreant knight, perjured christian, and usurping king! the bones of the dead fight against thee." "and the fleshless hands of the saints marshal the hosts of the living," said the monk. and so the messengers turned, without obeisance or salute, and strode silently away. chapter vi. the rest of that day, and the whole of the next, were consumed by both armaments in the completion of their preparations. william was willing to delay the engagement as long as he could; for he was not without hope that harold might abandon his formidable position, and become the assailing party; and, moreover, he wished to have full time for his prelates and priests to inflame to the utmost, by their representations of william's moderation in his embassy, and harold's presumptuous guilt in rejection, the fiery fanaticism of all enlisted under the gonfanon of the church. on the other hand, every delay was of advantage to harold, in giving him leisure to render his entrenchments yet more effectual, and to allow time for such reinforcements as his orders had enjoined, or the patriotism of the country might arouse; but, alas! those reinforcements were scanty and insignificant; a few stragglers in the immediate neighborhood arrived, but no aid came from london, no indignant country poured forth a swarming population. in fact, the very fame of harold, and the good fortune that had hitherto attended his arms, contributed to the stupid lethargy of the people. that he who had just subdued the terrible norsemen, with the mighty hardrada at their head, should succumb to those dainty "frenchmen," as they chose to call the normans; of whom, in their insular ignorance of the continent, they knew but little, and whom they had seen flying in all directions at the return of godwin; was a preposterous demand on the imagination. nor was this all: in london, there had already formed a cabal in favour of the atheling. the claims of birth can never be so wholly set aside, but what, even for the most unworthy heir of an ancient line, some adherents will be found. the prudent traders thought it best not to engage actively on behalf of the reigning king, in his present combat with the norman pretender; a large number of would-be statesmen thought it best for the country to remain for the present neutral. grant the worst--grant that harold were defeated or slain; would it not be wise to reserve their strength to support the atheling? william might have some personal cause of quarrel against harold, but he could have none against edgar; he might depose the son of godwin, but could he dare to depose the descendant of cerdic, the natural heir of edward? there is reason to think that stigand, and a large party of the saxon churchmen, headed this faction. but the main causes for defection were not in adherence to one chief or to another. they were to be found in selfish inertness, in stubborn conceit, in the long peace, and the enervate superstition which had relaxed the sinews of the old saxon manhood; in that indifference to things ancient, which contempt for old names and races engendered; that timorous spirit of calculation, which the over-regard for wealth had fostered; which made men averse to leave trade and farm for the perils of the field, and jeopardise their possessions if the foreigner should prevail. accustomed already to kings of a foreign race, and having fared well under canute, there were many who said, "what matters who sits on the throne? the king must be equally bound by our laws." then too was heard the favourite argument of all slothful minds: "time enough yet! one battle lost is not england won. marry, we shall turn out fast eno' if harold be beaten." add to all these causes for apathy and desertion, the haughty jealousies of the several populations not yet wholly fused into one empire. the northumbrian danes, untaught even by their recent escape from the norwegian, regarded with ungrateful coldness a war limited at present to the southern coasts; and the vast territory under mercia was, with more excuse, equally supine; while their two young earls, too new in their command to have much sway with their subject populations, had they been in their capitals, had now arrived in london; and there lingered, making head, doubtless, against the intrigues in favour of the atheling;--so little had harold's marriage with aldyth brought him, at the hour of his dreadest need, the power for which happiness had been resigned! nor must we put out of account, in summing the causes which at this awful crisis weakened the arm of england, the curse of slavery amongst the theowes, which left the lowest part of the population wholly without interest in the defense of the land. too late--too late for all but unavailing slaughter, the spirit of the country rose amidst the violated pledges, but under the iron heel, of the norman master! had that spirit put forth all its might for one day with harold, where had been the centuries of bondage! oh, shame to the absent--all blessed those present! there was no hope for england out of the scanty lines of the immortal army encamped on the field of hastings. there, long on earth, and vain vaunts of poor pride, shall be kept the roll of the robber-invaders. in what roll are your names, holy heroes of the soil? yes, may the prayer of the virgin queen be registered on high; and assoiled of all sin, o ghosts of the glorious dead, may ye rise from your graves at the trump of the angel; and your names, lost on earth, shine radiant and stainless amidst the hierarchy of heaven! dull came the shades of evening, and pale through the rolling clouds glimmered the rising stars; when,--all prepared, all arrayed,--harold sat with haco and gurth, in his tent; and before them stood a man, half french by origin, who had just returned from the norman camp. "so thou didst mingle with the men undiscovered?" said the king. "no, not undiscovered, my lord. i fell in with a knight, whose name i have since heard as that of mallet de graville, who wilily seemed to believe in what i stated, and who gave me meat and drink, with debonnair courtesy. then said he abruptly,--'spy from harold, thou hast come to see the strength of the norman. thou shalt have thy will--follow me.' therewith he led me, all startled i own, through the lines; and, o king, i should deem them indeed countless as the sands, and resistless as the waves, but that, strange as it may seem to thee, i saw more monks than warriors." "how! thou jestest!" said gurth, surprised. "no; for thousands by thousands, they were praying and kneeling; and their heads were all shaven with the tonsure of priests." "priests are they not," cried harold, with his calm smile, "but doughty warriors and dauntless knights." then he continued his questions to the spy; and his smile vanished at the accounts, not only of the numbers of the force, but their vast provision of missiles, and the almost incredible proportion of their cavalry. as soon as the spy had been dismissed, the king turned to his kinsmen. "what think you?" he said; "shall we judge ourselves of the foe? the night will be dark anon--our steeds are fleet--and not shod with iron like the normans;--the sward noiseless--what think you?" "a merry conceit," cried the blithe leofwine. "i should like much to see the boar in his den, ere he taste of my spear-point." "and i," said gurth, "do feel so restless a fever in my veins that i would fain cool it by the night air. let us go: i know all the ways of the country; for hither have i come often with hawk and hound. but let us wait yet till the night is more hushed and deep." the clouds had gathered over the whole surface of the skies, and there hung sullen; and the mists were cold and grey on the lower grounds, when the four saxon chiefs set forth on their secret and perilous enterprise. "knights and riders took they none, squires and varlets of foot not one; all unarmed of weapon and weed, save the shield, and spear, and the sword at need." [ ] passing their own sentinels, they entered a wood, gurth leading the way, and catching glimpses, through the irregular path, of the blazing lights, that shone red over the pause of the norman war. william had moved on his army to within about two miles from the farthest outpost of the saxon, and contracted his lines into compact space; the reconnoiterers were thus enabled, by the light of the links and watchfires, to form no inaccurate notion of the formidable foe whom the morrow was to meet. the ground [ ] on which they stood was high, and in the deep shadow of the wood; with one of the large dykes common to the saxon boundaries in front, so that, even if discovered, a barrier not easily passed lay between them and the foe. in regular lines and streets extended huts of branches for the meaner soldiers, leading up, in serried rows but broad vistas, to the tents of the knights, and the gaudier pavilions of the counts and prelates. there, were to be seen the flags of bretagne and anjou, of burgundy, of flanders, even the ensign of france, which the volunteers from that country had assumed; and right in the midst of this capital of war, the gorgeous pavilion of william himself, with a dragon of gold before it, surmounting the staff, from which blazed the papal gonfanon. in every division they heard the anvils of the armourers, the measured tread of the sentries, the neigh and snort of innumerable steeds. and along the lines, between hut and tent, they saw tall shapes passing to and from the forge and smithy, bearing mail, and swords, and shafts. no sound of revel, no laugh of wassail was heard in the consecrated camp; all was astir, but with the grave and earnest preparations of thoughtful men. as the four saxons halted silent, each might have heard, through the remoter din, the other's painful breathing. at length, from two tents, placed to the right and left of the duke's pavilion, there came a sweet tinkling sound, as of deep silver bells. at that note there was an evident and universal commotion throughout the armament. the roar of the hammers ceased; and from every green hut and every grey tent, swarmed the host. now, rows of living men lined the camp-streets, leaving still a free, though narrow passage in the midst. and, by the blaze of more than a thousand torches, the saxons saw processions of priests, in their robes and aubes, with censer and rood, coming down the various avenues. as the priests paused, the warriors knelt; and there was a low murmur as if of confession, and the sign of lifted hands, as if in absolution and blessing. suddenly, from the outskirts of the camp, and full in sight, emerged, from one of the cross lanes, odo of bayeux himself, in his white surplice, and the cross in his right hand. yea, even to the meanest and lowliest soldiers of the armament, whether taken from honest craft and peaceful calling, or the outpourings of europe's sinks and sewers, catamarans from the alps, and cut-throats from the rhine,--yea, even among the vilest and the meanest, came the anointed brother of the great duke, the haughtiest prelate in christendom, whose heart even then was fixed on the pontiff's throne--there he came, to absolve, and to shrive, and to bless. and the red watchfires streamed on his proud face and spotless robes, as the children of wrath knelt around the delegate of peace. harold's hand clenched firm on the arm of gurth, and his old scorn of the monk broke forth in his bitter smile and his muttered words. but gurth's face was sad and awed. and now, as the huts and the canvas thus gave up the living, they could indeed behold the enormous disparity of numbers with which it was their doom to contend, and, over those numbers, that dread intensity of zeal, that sublimity of fanaticism, which from one end of that war-town to the other, consecrated injustice, gave the heroism of the martyr to ambition, and blended the whisper of lusting avarice with the self-applauses of the saint! not a word said the four saxons. but as the priestly procession glided to the farther quarters of the armament, as the soldiers in their neighbourhood disappeared within their lodgments, and the torches moved from them to the more distant vistas of the camp, like lines of retreating stars, gurth heaved a heavy sigh, and turned his horse's head from the scene. but scarce had they gained the centre of the wood, than there rose, as from the heart of the armament, a swell of solemn voices. for the night had now come to the third watch [ ], in which, according to the belief of the age, angel and fiend were alike astir, and that church-division of time was marked and hallowed by a monastic hymn. inexpressibly grave, solemn, and mournful came the strain through the drooping boughs, and the heavy darkness of the air; and it continued to thrill in the ears of the riders till they had passed the wood, and the cheerful watchfires from their own heights broke upon them to guide their way. they rode rapidly, but still in silence, past their sentries; and, ascending the slopes, where the force lay thick, how different were the sounds that smote them! round the large fires the men grouped in great circles, with the ale-horns and flagons passing merrily from hand to hand; shouts of drink-hael and was-hael, bursts of gay laughter, snatches of old songs, old as the days of athelstan, --varying, where the anglo-danes lay, into the far more animated and kindling poetry of the pirate north,--still spoke of the heathen time when war was a joy, and valhalla was the heaven. "by my faith," said leofwine brightening; "these are sounds and sights that do a man's heart good, after those doleful ditties, and the long faces of the shavelings. i vow by st. alban, that i felt my veins curdling into ice-bolts, when that dirge came through the woodholt. hollo, sexwolf, my tall man, lift us up that full horn of thine, and keep thyself within the pins, master wassailer; we must have steady feet and cool heads to-morrow." sexwolf, who, with a band of harold's veterans, was at full carousal, started up at the young earl's greetings, and looked lovingly into his smiling face as he reached him the horn. "heed what my brother bids thee, sexwolf," said harold severely; "the hands that draw shafts against us to-morrow will not tremble with the night's wassail." "nor ours either, my lord the king," said sexwolf, boldly; "our heads can bear both drink and blows,--and--(sinking his voice into a whisper) the rumour runs that the odds are so against us, that i would not, for all thy fair brother's earldoms, have our men other than blithe tonight." harold answered not, but moved on, and coming then within full sight of the bold saxons of kent, the unmixed sons of the saxon soil, and the special favourers of the house of godwin, so affectionate, hearty, and cordial was their joyous shout of his name, that he felt his kingly heart leap within him. dismounting, he entered the circle, and with the august frankness of a noble chief, nobly popular, gave to all cheering smile and animating word. that done, he said more gravely: "in less than an hour, all wassail must cease,--my bodes will come round; and then sound sleep, my brave merry men, and lusty rising with the lark!" "as you will, as you will, dear our king," cried vebba, as spokesman for the soldiers. "fear us not--life and death, we are yours." "life and death yours, and freedom's," cried the kent men. coming now towards the royal tent beside the standard, the discipline was more perfect, and the hush decorous. for round that standard were both the special body-guard of the king, and the volunteers from london and middlesex; men more intelligent than the bulk of the army, and more gravely aware, therefore, of the might of the norman sword. harold entered his tent, and threw himself on his couch, in deep reverie; his brothers and haco watched him silently. at length, gurth approached; and, with a reverence rare in the familiar intercourse between the two, knelt at his brother's side, and taking harold's hand in his, looked him full in the face, his eyes moist with tears, and said thus: "oh, harold! never prayer have i asked of thee, that thou hast not granted: grant me this! sorest of all, it may be, to grant, but most fitting of all for me to press. think not, o beloved brother, o honoured king, think not that it is with slighting reverence, that i lay rough hand on the wound deepest at thy heart. but, however surprised or compelled, sure it is that thou didst make oath to william, and upon the relics of saints; avoid this battle, for i see that thought is now within thy soul; that thought haunted thee in the words of the monk to-day; in the sight of that awful camp to-night;-- avoid this battle! and do not thyself stand in arms against the man to whom the oath was pledged!" "gurth, gurth!" exclaimed harold, pale and writhing. "we," continued his brother, "we at least have taken no oath, no perjury is charged against us; vainly the thunders of the vatican are launched on our heads. our war is just: we but defend our country. leave us, then, to fight to-morrow; thou retire towards london and raise fresh armies; if we win, the danger is past; if we lose, thou wilt avenge us. and england is not lost while thou survivest." "gurth, gurth!" again exclaimed harold, in a voice piercing in its pathos of reproach. "gurth counsels well," said haco, abruptly; "there can be no doubt of the wisdom of his words. let the king's kinsmen lead the troops; let the king himself with his guard hasten to london and ravage and lay waste the country as he retreats by the way [ ]; so that even if william beat us, all supplies will fail him; he will be in a land without forage, and victory here will aid him nought; for you, my liege, will have a force equal to his own, ere he can march to the gates of london." "faith and troth, the young haco speaks like a greybeard; he hath not lived in rouen for nought," quoth leofwine. "hear him, my harold, and leave us to shave the normans yet more closely than the barber hath already shorn." harold turned ear and eye to each of the speakers, and, as leofwine closed, he smiled. "ye have chid me well, kinsmen, for a thought that had entered into my mind ere ye spake"-- gurth interrupted the king, and said anxiously: "to retreat with the whole army upon london, and refuse to meet the norman till with numbers more fairly matched!" "that had been my thought," said harold, surprised. "such for a moment, too, was mine," said gurth, sadly; "but it is too late. such a measure, now, would have all the disgrace of flight, and bring none of the profits of retreat. the ban of the church would get wind; our priests, awed and alarmed, might wield it against us; the whole population would be damped and disheartened; rivals to the crown might start up; the realm be divided. no, it is impossible!" "impossible," said harold, calmly. "and if the army cannot retreat, of all men to stand firm, surely it is the captain and the king. i, gurth, leave others to dare the fate from which i fly! i give weight to the impious curse of the pope, by shrinking from its idle blast! i confirm and ratify the oath, from which all law must absolve me, by forsaking the cause of the land, which i purify myself when i guard! i leave to others the agony of the martyrdom or the glory of the conquest! gurth, thou art more cruel than the norman! and i, son of sweyn, i ravage the land committed to my charge, and despoil the fields which i cannot keep! oh, haco, that indeed were to be the traitor and the recreant! no, whatever the sin of my oath, never will i believe that heaven can punish millions for the error of one man. let the bones of the dead war against us; in life, they were men like ourselves, and no saints in the calendar so holy as the freemen who fight for their hearths and their altars. nor do i see aught to alarm us even in these grave human odds. we have but to keep fast these entrenchments; preserve, man by man, our invincible line; and the waves will but split on our rock: ere the sun set to-morrow, we shall see the tide ebb, leaving, as waifs, but the dead of the baffled invader." "fare ye well, loving kinsmen; kiss me, my brothers; kiss me on the cheek, my haco. go now to your tents. sleep in peace and wake with the trumpet to the gladness of noble war!" slowly the earls left the king; slowest of all the lingering gurth; and when all were gone, and harold was alone, he threw round a rapid, troubled glance, and then, hurrying to the simple imageless crucifix that stood on its pedestal at the farther end of the tent, he fell on his knees, and faltered out, while his breast heaved, and his frame shook with the travail of his passion: "if my sin be beyond a pardon, my oath without recall, on me, on me, o lord of hosts, on me alone the doom. not on them, not on them--not on england!" chapter vii. on the fourteenth of october, , the day of st. calixtus, the norman force was drawn out in battle array. mass had been said; odo and the bishop of coutance had blessed the troops; and received their vow never more to eat flesh on the anniversary of that day. and odo had mounted his snow-white charger, and already drawn up the cavalry against the coming of his brother the duke. the army was marshalled in three great divisions. roger de montgommeri and william fitzosborne led the first; and with them were the forces from picardy and the countship of boulogne, and the fiery franks; geoffric martel and the german hugues (a prince of fame); aimeri, lord of thouars, and the sons of alain fergant, duke of bretagne, led the second, which comprised the main bulk of the allies from bretagne, and maine, and poitou. but both these divisions were intermixed with normans, under their own special norman chiefs. the third section embraced the flower of martial europe, the most renowned of the norman race; whether those knights bore the french titles into which their ancestral scandinavian names had been transformed--sires of beaufou and harcourt, abbeville, and de molun, montfichet, grantmesnil, lacie, d'aincourt, and d'asnieres;--or whether, still preserving, amidst their daintier titles, the old names that had scattered dismay through the seas of the baltic; osborne and tonstain, mallet and bulver, brand and bruse [ ]. and over this division presided duke william. here was the main body of the matchless cavalry, to which, however, orders were given to support either of the other sections, as need might demand. and with this body were also the reserve. for it is curious to notice, that william's strategy resembled in much that of the last great invader of nations--relying first upon the effect of the charge; secondly, upon a vast reserve brought to bear at the exact moment on the weakest point of the foe. all the horsemen were in complete link or net mail [ ], armed with spears and strong swords, and long, pear-shaped shields, with the device either of a cross or a dragon [ ]. the archers, on whom william greatly relied, were numerous in all three of the corps [ ], were armed more lightly--helms on their heads, but with leather or quilted breastplates, and "panels," or gaiters, for the lower limbs. but before the chiefs and captains rode to their several posts they assembled round william, whom fitzosborne had called betimes, and who had not yet endued his heavy mail, that all men might see suspended from his throat certain relics chosen out of those on which harold had pledged his fatal oath. standing on an eminence in front of all his lines, the consecrated banner behind him, and bayard, his spanish destrier, held by his squires at his side, the duke conversed cheerily with his barons, often pointing to the relics. then, in sight of all, he put on his mail, and, by the haste of his squires, the back-piece was presented to him first. the superstitious normans recoiled as at an evil omen. "tut!" said the ready chief; "not in omens and divinations, but in god, trust i! yet, good omen indeed is this, and one that may give heart to the most doubtful; for it betokens that the last shall be first--the dukedom a kingdom--the count a king! ho there, rou de terni, as hereditary standard-bearer take thy right, and hold fast to yon holy gonfanon." "grant merci," said de terni, "not to-day shall a standard be borne by me, for i shall have need of my right arm for my sword, and my left for my charger's rein and my trusty shield." "thou sayest right, and we can ill spare such a warrior. gautier giffart, sire de longueville, to thee is the gonfanon." "beau sire," answered gautier; "par dex, merci. but my head is grey and my arm weak; and the little strength left me i would spend in smiting the english at the head of my men." "per la resplendar de," cried william, frowning;--"do ye think, my proud vavasours, to fail me in this great need?" "nay," said gautier; "but i have a great host of chevaliers and paid soldiers, and without the old man at their head will they fight as well?" "then, approach thou, tonstain le blanc, son of rou," said william; "and be thine the charge of a standard that shall wave ere nightfall over the brows of thy--king!" a young knight, tall and strong as his danish ancestor, stept forth, and laid gripe on the banner. then william, now completely armed, save his helmet, sprang at one bound on his steed. a shout of admiration rang from the quens and knights. "saw ye ever such beau rei?" [ ] said the vicomte de thouars. the shout was caught by the lines, and echoed afar, wide, and deep through the armament, as in all his singular majesty of brow and mien, william rode forth: lifting his hand, the shout hushed, and thus he spoke "loud as a trumpet with a silver sound." "normans and soldiers, long renowned in the lips of men, and now hallowed by the blessing of the church!--i have not brought you over the wide seas for my cause alone; what i gain, ye gain. if i take the land, you will share it. fight your best, and spare not; no retreat, and no quarter! i am not come here for my cause alone, but to avenge our whole nation for the felonies of yonder english. they butchered our kinsmen the danes, on the night of st. brice; they murdered alfred, the brother of their last king, and decimated the normans who were with him. yonder they stand,--malefactors that await their doom! and ye the doomsmen! never, even in a good cause, were yon english illustrious for warlike temper and martial glory [ ]. remember how easily the danes subdued them! are ye less than danes, or i than canute? by victory ye obtain vengeance, glory, honours, lands, spoil,--aye, spoil beyond your wildest dreams. by defeat,--yea, even but by loss of ground, ye are given up to the sword! escape there is not, for the ships are useless. before you the foe, behind you the ocean. normans, remember the feats of your countrymen in sicily! behold a sicily more rich! lordships and lands to the living,--glory and salvation to those who die under the gonfanon of the church! on, to the cry of the norman warrior; the cry before which have fled so often the prowest paladins of burgundy and france--'notre dame et dex aide!'" [ ] meanwhile, no less vigilant, and in his own strategy no less skilful, harold had marshalled his men. he formed two divisions; those in front of the entrenchments; those within it. at the first, the men of kent, as from time immemorial, claimed the honour of the van, under "the pale charger,"--famous banner of hengist. this force was drawn up in the form of the anglo-danish wedge; the foremost lines in the triangle all in heavy mail, armed with their great axes, and covered by their immense shields. behind these lines, in the interior of the wedge, were the archers, protected by the front rows of the heavy armed; while the few horsemen--few indeed compared with the norman cavalry--were artfully disposed where they could best harass and distract the formidable chivalry with which they were instructed to skirmish, and not peril actual encounter. other bodies of the light armed; slingers, javelin throwers, and archers, were planted in spots carefully selected, according as they were protected by trees, bushwood, and dykes. the northumbrians (that is, all the warlike population, north the humber, including yorkshire, westmoreland, cumberland, etc.), were, for their present shame and future ruin, absent from that field, save, indeed, a few who had joined harold in his march to london. but there were the mixed races of hertfordshire and essex, with the pure saxons of sussex and surrey, and a large body of the sturdy anglo-danes from lincolnshire, ely and norfolk. men, too, there were, half of old british blood, from dorset, somerset, and gloucester. and all were marshalled according to those touching and pathetic tactics which speak of a nation more accustomed to defend than to aggrieve. to that field the head of each family led his sons and kinsfolk; every ten families (or tything) were united under their own chosen captain. every ten of these tythings had, again, some loftier chief, dear to the populace in peace; and so on the holy circle spread from household, hamlet, town,--till, all combined, as one county under one earl, the warriors fought under the eyes of their own kinsfolk, friends, neighbours, chosen chiefs! what wonder that they were brave? the second division comprised harold's house-carles, or bodyguard,-- the veterans especially attached to his family,--the companions of his successful wars,--a select band of the martial east-anglians,--the soldiers supplied by london and middlesex, and who, both in arms, discipline, martial temper and athletic habits, ranked high among the most stalwart of the troops, mixed, as their descent was, from the warlike dane and the sturdy saxon. in this division, too, was comprised the reserve. and it was all encompassed by the palisades and breastworks, to which were but three sorties, whence the defenders might sally, or through which at need the vanguard might secure a retreat. all the heavy armed had mail and shields similar to the normans, though somewhat less heavy; the light armed had, some tunics of quilted linen, some of hide; helmets of the last material, spears, javelins, swords, and clubs. but the main arm of the host was in the great shield, and the great axe wielded by men larger in stature and stronger of muscle than the majority of the normans, whose physical race had deteriorated partly by inter-marriage with the more delicate frank, partly by the haughty disdain of foot exercise. mounting a swift and light steed, intended not for encounter (for it was the custom of english kings to fight on foot, in token that where they fought there was no retreat), but to bear the rider rapidly from line to line [ ], king harold rode to the front of the vanguard;-- his brothers by his side. his head, like his great foe's, was bare, nor could there be a more striking contrast than that of the broad unwrinkled brow of the saxon, with his fair locks, the sign of royalty and freedom, parted and falling over the collar of mail, the clear and steadfast eye of blue, the cheek somewhat hollowed by kingly cares, but flushed now with manly pride--the form stalwart and erect, but spare in its graceful symmetry, and void of all that theatric pomp of bearing which was assumed by william--no greater contrast could there be than that which the simple earnest hero-king presented, to the brow furrowed with harsh ire and politic wile, the shaven hair of monastic affectation, the dark, sparkling tiger eye, and the vast proportions that awed the gaze in the port and form of the imperious norman. deep and loud and hearty as the shout with which his armaments had welcomed william, was that which now greeted the king of the english host: and clear and full, and practised in the storm of popular assemblies, went his voice down the listening lines. "this day, o friends and englishmen, sons of our common land--this day ye fight for liberty. the count of the normans hath, i know, a mighty army; i disguise not its strength. that army he hath collected together, by promising to each man a share in the spoils of england. already, in his court and his camp, he hath parcelled out the lands of this kingdom; and fierce are the robbers who fight for the hope of plunder! but he cannot offer to his greatest chief boons nobler than those i offer to my meanest freeman--liberty, and right, and law, in the soil of his fathers! ye have heard of the miseries endured in the old time under the dane, but they were slight indeed to those which ye may expect from the norman. the dane was kindred to us in language and in law, and who now can tell saxon from dane? but yon men would rule ye in a language ye know not, by a law that claims the crown as the right of the sword, and divides the land among the hirelings of an army. we baptized the dane, and the church tamed his fierce soul into peace; but yon men make the church itself their ally, and march to carnage under the banner profaned to the foulest of human wrongs! outscourings of all nations, they come against you: ye fight as brothers under the eyes of your fathers and chosen chiefs; ye fight for the women ye would save from the ravisher; ye fight for the children ye would guard from eternal bondage; ye fight for the altars which yon banner now darkens! foreign priest is a tyrant as ruthless and stern as ye shall find foreign baron and king! let no man dream of retreat; every inch of ground that ye yield is the soil of your native land. for me, on this field i peril all. think that mine eye is upon you wherever ye are. if a line waver or shrink, ye shall hear in the midst the voice of your king. hold fast to your ranks, remember, such amongst you as fought with me against hardrada,-- remember that it was not till the norsemen lost, by rash sallies, their serried array, that our arms prevailed against them. be warned by their fatal error, break not the form of the battle; and i tell you on the faith of a soldier who never yet hath left field without victory,--that ye cannot be beaten. while i speak, the winds swell the sails of the norse ships, bearing home the corpse of hardrada. accomplish this day the last triumph of england; add to these hills a new mount of the conquered dead! and when, in far times and strange lands, scald and scop shall praise the brave man for some valiant deed wrought in some holy cause, they shall say, 'he was brave as those who fought by the side of harold, and swept from the sward of england the hosts of the haughty norman.'" scarcely had the rapturous hurrahs of the saxons closed on this speech, when full in sight, north-west of hastings, came the first division of the invader. harold remained gazing at them, and not seeing the other sections in movement, said to gurth, "if these are all that they venture out, the day is ours." "look yonder!" said the sombre haco, and he pointed to the long array that now gleamed from the wood through which the saxon kinsmen had passed the night before; and scarcely were these cohorts in view, than lo! from a third quarter advanced the glittering knighthood under the duke. all three divisions came on in simultaneous assault, two on either wing of the saxon vanguard, the third (the norman) towards the entrenchments. in the midst of the duke's cohort was the sacred gonfanon, and in front of it and of the whole line, rode a strange warrior of gigantic height. and as he rode, the warrior sang: "chaunting loud the lusty strain of roland and of charlemain, and the dead, who, deathless all, fell at famous roncesval." [ ] and the knights, no longer singing hymn and litany, swelled, hoarse through their helmets, the martial chorus. this warrior, in front of the duke and the horsemen, seemed beside himself with the joy of battle. as he rode, and as he chaunted, he threw up his sword in the air like a gleeman, catching it nimbly as it fell [ ], and flourishing it wildly, till, as if unable to restrain his fierce exhilaration, he fairly put spurs to his horse, and, dashing forward to the very front of a detachment of saxon riders, shouted: "a taillefer! a taillefer!" and by voice and gesture challenged forth some one to single combat. a fiery young thegn who knew the romance tongue, started forth and crossed swords with the poet; but by what seemed rather a juggler's sleight of hand than a knight's fair fence, taillefer, again throwing up and catching his sword with incredible rapidity, shore the unhappy saxon from the helm to the chine, and riding over his corpse, shouting and laughing, he again renewed his challenge. a second rode forth and shared the same fate. the rest of the english horsemen stared at each other aghast; the shouting, singing, juggling giant seemed to them not knight, but demon; and that single incident, preliminary to all other battle, in sight of the whole field, might have sufficed to damp the ardour of the english, had not leofwine, who had been despatched by the king with a message to the entrenchments, come in front of the detachment; and, his gay spirit roused and stung by the insolence of the norman, and the evident dismay of the saxon riders, without thought of his graver duties, he spurred his light half-mailed steed to the norman giant; and, not even drawing his sword, but with his spear raised over his head, and his form covered by his shield, he cried in romance tongue, "go and chaunt to the foul fiend, o croaking minstrel!" taillefer rushed forward, his sword shivered on the saxon shield, and in the same moment he fell a corpse under the hoofs of his steed, transfixed by the saxon spear. a cry of woe, in which even william (who, proud of his poet's achievements, had pressed to the foremost line to see this new encounter) joined his deep voice, wailed through the norman ranks; while leofwine rode deliberately towards them, halted a moment, and then flung his spear in the midst with so deadly an aim, that a young knight, within two of william, reeled on his saddle, groaned, and fell. "how like ye, o normans, the saxon gleeman?" said leofwine, as he turned slowly, regained the detachment, and bade them heed carefully the orders they had received, viz., to avoid the direct charge of the norman horse, but to take every occasion to harass and divert the stragglers; and then blithely singing a saxon stave, as if inspired by norman minstrelsy, he rode into the entrenchments. chapter viii. the two brethren of waltham, osgood and ailred, had arrived a little after daybreak at the spot in which, about half a mile, to the rear of harold's palisades, the beasts of burden that had borne the heavy arms, missiles, luggage, and forage of the saxon march, were placed in and about the fenced yards of a farm. and many human beings, of both sexes and various ranks, were there assembled, some in breathless expectation, some in careless talk, some in fervent prayer. the master of the farm, his sons, and the able-bodied ceorls in his employ, had joined the forces of the king, under gurth, as earl of the county [ ]. but many aged theowes, past military service, and young children, grouped around: the first, stolid and indifferent--the last, prattling, curious, lively, gay. there, too, were the wives of some of the soldiers, who, as common in saxon expeditions, had followed their husbands to the field; and there, too, were the ladies of many a hlaford in the neighbouring district, who, no less true to their mates than the wives of humbler men, were drawn by their english hearts to the fatal spot. a small wooden chapel, half decayed, stood a little behind, with its doors wide open, a sanctuary in case of need; and the interior was thronged with kneeling suppliants. the two monks joined, with pious gladness, some of their sacred calling, who were leaning over the low wall, and straining their eyes towards the bristling field. a little apart from them, and from all, stood a female; the hood drawn over her face, silent in her unknown thoughts. by and by, as the march of the norman multitude sounded hollow, and the trumps, and the fifes, and the shouts, rolled on through the air, in many a stormy peal,--the two abbots in the saxon camp, with their attendant monks, came riding towards the farm from the entrenchments. the groups gathered round these new comers in haste and eagerness. "the battle hath begun," said the abbot of hide, gravely. "pray god for england, for never was its people in peril so great from man." the female started and shuddered at those words. "and the king, the king," she cried, in a sudden and thrilling voice; "where is he?--the king?" "daughter," said the abbot, "the king's post is by his standard; but i left him in the van of his troops. where he may be now i know not. wherever the foe presses sorest." then dismounting, the abbots entered the yard, to be accosted instantly by all the wives, who deemed, poor souls, that the holy men must, throughout all the field, have seen their lords; for each felt as if god's world hung but on the single life in which each pale trembler lived. with all their faults of ignorance and superstition, the saxon churchmen loved their flocks; and the good abbots gave what comfort was in their power, and then passed into the chapel, where all who could find room followed them. the war now raged. the two divisions of the invading army that included the auxiliaries had sought in vain to surround the english vanguard, and take it in the rear: that noble phalanx had no rear. deepest and strongest at the base of the triangle, everywhere front opposed the foe; shields formed a rampart against the dart--spears a palisade against the horse. while that vanguard maintained its ground, william could not pierce to the entrenchments, the strength of which, however, he was enabled to perceive. he now changed his tactics, joined his knighthood to the other sections, threw his hosts rapidly into many wings, and leaving broad spaces between his archers--who continued their fiery hail--ordered his heavy-armed foot to advance on all sides upon the wedge, and break its ranks for the awaiting charge of his horse. harold, still in the centre of the vanguard, amidst the men of kent, continued to animate them all with voice and hand; and, as the normans now closed in, he flung himself from his steed, and strode on foot, with his mighty battle-axe, to the spot where the rush was dreadest. now came the shock--the fight hand-to-hand: spear and lance were thrown aside, axe and sword rose and shore. but before the close- serried lines of the english, with their physical strength and veteran practice in their own special arm, the norman foot were mowed as by the scythe. in vain, in the intervals, thundered the repeated charges of the fiery knights; in vain, throughout all, came the shaft and the bolt. animated by the presence of their king fighting amongst them as a simple soldier, but with his eye ever quick to foresee, his voice ever prompt to warn, the men of kent swerved not a foot from their indomitable ranks. the norman infantry wavered and gave way; on, step by step, still unbroken in array, pressed the english. and their cry, "out! out! holy crosse!" rose high above the flagging sound of "ha rou! ha rou!--notre dame!" "per la resplendar de," cried william. "our soldiers are but women in the garb of normans. ho, spears to the rescue! with me to the charge, sires d'aumale and de littain--with me, gallant bruse, and de mortain; with me, de graville and grantmesnil--dex aide! notre dame." and heading his prowest knights, william came, as a thunderbolt, on the bills and shields. harold, who scarce a minute before had been in a remoter rank, was already at the brunt of that charge. at his word down knelt the foremost line, leaving nought but their shields and their spear-points against the horse. while behind them, the axe in both hands, bent forward the soldiery in the second rank, to smite and to crush. and, from the core of the wedge, poured the shafts of the archers. down rolled in the dust half the charge of those knights. bruse reeled on his saddle; the dread right hand of d'aumale fell lopped by the axe; de graville, hurled from his horse, rolled at the feet of harold; and william, borne by his great steed and his colossal strength into the third rank--there dealt, right and left, the fierce strokes of his iron club, till he felt his horse sinking under him-- and had scarcely time to back from the foe--scarcely time to get beyond reach of their weapons, ere the spanish destrier, frightfully gashed through its strong mail, fell dead on the plain. his knights swept round him. twenty barons leapt from selle to yield him their chargers. he chose the one nearest to hand, sprang to foot and to stirrup, and rode back to his lines. meanwhile de graville's casque, its strings broken by the shock, had fallen off, and as harold was about to strike, he recognised his guest. holding up his hand to keep off the press of his men, the generous king said briefly: "rise and retreat!--no time on this field for captor and captive. he whom thou hast called recreant knight, has been saxon host. thou hast fought by his side, thou shalt not die by his hand!--go." not a word spoke de graville; but his dark eye dwelt one minute with mingled pity and reverence on the king; then rising, he turned away; and slowly, as if he disdained to fly, strode back over the corpses of his countrymen. "stay, all hands!" cried the king to his archers; "yon man hath tasted our salt, and done us good service of old. he hath paid his weregeld." not a shaft was discharged. meanwhile, the norman infantry, who had been before recoiling, no sooner saw their duke (whom they recognised by his steed and equipment) fall on the ground, than, setting up a shout--"the duke is dead!" they fairly turned round, and fled fast in disorder. the fortune of the day was now well-nigh turned in favour of the saxons; and the confusion of the normans, as the cry of "the duke is dead!" reached, and circled round, the host, would have been irrecoverable, had harold possessed a cavalry fit to press the advantage gained, or had not william himself rushed into the midst of the fugitives, throwing his helmet back on his neck, showing his face, all animated with fierce valour and disdainful wrath, while he cried aloud: "i live, ye varlets! behold the face of a chief who never yet forgave coward! ay, tremble more at me than at yon english, doomed and accursed as they be! ye normans, ye! i blush for you!" and striking the foremost in the retreat with the flat of his sword, chiding, stimulating, threatening, promising in a breath, he succeeded in staying the flight, reforming the lines, and dispelling the general panic. then, as he joined his own chosen knights, and surveyed the field, he beheld an opening which the advanced position of the saxon vanguard had left, and by which his knights might gain the entrenchments. he mused a moment, his face still bare, and brightening, as he mused. looking round him, he saw mallet de graville, who had remounted, and said, shortly: "pardex, dear knight, we thought you already with st. michael!--joy, that you live yet to be an english earl. look you, ride to fitzosborne with the signal-word, 'li hardiz passent avant!' off, and quick." de graville bowed, and darted across the plain. "now, my quens and chevaliers," said william, gaily, as he closed his helmet, and took from his squire another spear; "now, i shall give ye the day's great pastime. pass the word, sire de tancarville, to every horseman--'charge!--to the standard!'" the word passed, the steeds bounded, and the whole force of william's knighthood, scouring the plain to the rear of the saxon vanguard, made for the entrenchments. at that sight, harold, divining the object, and seeing this new and more urgent demand on his presence, halted the battalions over which he had presided, and, yielding the command to leofwine, once more briefly but strenuously enjoined the troops to heed well their leaders, and on no account to break the wedge, in the form of which lay their whole strength, both against the cavalry and the greater number of the foe. then mounting his horse, and attended only by haco, he spurred across the plain, in the opposite direction to that taken by the normans. in doing so, he was forced to make a considerable circuit towards the rear of the entrenchment, and the farm, with its watchful groups, came in sight. he distinguished the garbs of the women, and haco said to him,-- "there wait the wives, to welcome the living victors." "or search their lords among the dead!" answered harold. "who, haco, if we fall, will search for us?" as the word left his lips, he saw, under a lonely thorn-tree, and scarce out of bowshot from the entrenchments, a woman seated. the king looked hard at the bended, hooded form. "poor wretch!" he murmured, "her heart is in the battle!" and he shouted aloud, "farther off! farther off?--the war rushes hitherward!" at the sound of that voice the woman rose, stretched her arms, and sprang forward. but the saxon chiefs had already turned their faces towards the neighbouring ingress into the ramparts, and beheld not her movement, while the tramp of rushing chargers, the shout and the roar of clashing war, drowned the wail of her feeble cry: "i have heard him again, again!" murmured the woman, "god be praised!" and she re-seated herself quietly under the lonely thorn. as harold and haco sprang to their feet within the entrenchments, the shout of "the king--the king!--holy crosse!" came in time to rally the force at the farther end, now undergoing the full storm of the norman chivalry. the willow ramparts were already rent and hewed beneath the hoofs of horses and the clash of swords; and the sharp points on the frontals of the norman destriers were already gleaming within the entrenchments, when harold arrived at the brunt of action. the tide was then turned; not one of those rash riders left the entrenchments they had gained; steel and horse alike went down beneath the ponderous battle-axes; and william, again foiled and baffled, drew off his cavalry with the reluctant conviction that those breastworks, so manned, were not to be won by horse. slowly the knights retreated down the slope of the hillock, and the english, animated by that sight, would have left their stronghold to pursue, but for the warning cry of harold. the interval in the strife thus gained was promptly and vigorously employed in repairing the palisades. and this done, harold, turning to haco, and the thegns round him, said joyously: "by heaven's help we shall yet win this day. and know you not that it is my fortunate day--the day on which, hitherto, all hath prospered with me, in peace and in war--the day of my birth?" "of your birth!" echoed haco in surprise. "ay--did you not know it?" "nay!--strange!--it is also the birthday of duke william! what would astrologers say to the meeting of such stars?" [ ] harold's cheek paled, but his helmet concealed the paleness:--his arm drooped. the strange dream of his youth again came distinct before him, as it had come in the hall of the norman at the sight of the ghastly relics;--again he saw the shadowy hand from the cloud--again heard the voice murmuring: "lo, the star that shone on the birth of the victor;" again he heard the words of hilda interpreting the dream --again the chaunt which the dead or the fiend had poured from the rigid lips of the vala. it boomed on his ear; hollow as a death bell it knelled through the roar of battle-- "never crown and brow shall force dissever, till the dead men, unforgiving, loose the war-steeds on the living; till a sun whose race is ending sees the rival stars contending, where the dead men, unforgiving, wheel their war-steeds round the living!" faded the vision, and died the chaunt, as a breath that dims, and vanishes from, the mirror of steel. the breath was gone--the firm steel was bright once more; and suddenly the king was recalled to the sense of the present hour, by shouts and cries, in which the yell of norman triumph predominated, at the further end of the field. the signal words to fitzosborne had conveyed to that chief the order for the mock charge on the saxon vanguard, to be followed by the feigned flight; and so artfully had this stratagem been practised, that despite all the solemn orders of harold, despite even the warning cry of leofwine, who, rash and gay-hearted though he was, had yet a captain's skill--the bold english, their blood heated by long contest and seeming victory, could not resist pursuit. they rushed forward impetuously, breaking the order of their hitherto indomitable phalanx, and the more eagerly because the normans had unwittingly taken their way towards a part of the ground concealing dykes and ditches, into which the english trusted to precipitate the foe. it was as william's knights retreated from the breastworks that this fatal error was committed: and pointing toward the disordered saxons with a wild laugh of revengeful joy, william set spurs to his horse, and, followed by all his chivalry, joined the cavalry of poitou and boulogne in their swoop upon the scattered array. already the norman infantry had turned round--already the horses, that lay in ambush amongst the brushwood near the dykes, had thundered forth. the whole of the late impregnable vanguard was broken up, divided corps from corps,--hemmed in; horse after horse charging to the rear, to the front, to the flank, to the right, to the left. gurth, with the men of surrey and sussex, had alone kept their ground, but they were now compelled to advance to the aid of their scattered comrades; and coming up in close order, they not only awhile stayed the slaughter, but again half turned the day. knowing the country thoroughly, gurth lured the foe into the ditches concealed within a hundred yards of their own ambush, and there the havoc of the foreigners was so great, that the hollows are said to have been literally made level with the plain by their corpses. yet this combat, however fierce, and however skill might seek to repair the former error, could not be long maintained against such disparity of numbers. and meanwhile, the whole of the division under geoffroi martel, and his co-captains, had by a fresh order of william's occupied the space between the entrenchments and the more distant engagement; thus when harold looked up, he saw the foot of the hillocks so lined with steel, as to render it hopeless that he himself could win to the aid of his vanguard. he set his teeth firmly, looked on, and only by gesture and smothered exclamations showed his emotions of hope and fear. at length he cried: "gallant gurth! brave leofwine, look to their pennons; right, right; well fought, sturdy vebba! ha! they are moving this way. the wedge cleaves on--it cuts its path through the heart of the foe." and indeed, the chiefs now drawing off the shattered remains of their countrymen, still disunited, but still each section shaping itself wedge-like,--on came the english, with their shields over their head, through the tempest of missiles, against the rush of the steeds, here and there, through the plains, up the slopes, towards the entrenchment, in the teeth of the formidable array of martel, and harassed behind by hosts that seemed numberless. the king could restrain himself no longer. he selected five hundred of his bravest and most practised veterans, yet comparatively fresh, and commanding the rest to stay firm, descended the hills, and charged unexpectedly into the rear of the mingled normans and bretons. this sortie, well-timed though desperate, served to cover and favour the retreat of the straggling saxons. many, indeed, were cut off, but gurth, leofwine, and vebba hewed the way for their followers to the side of harold, and entered the entrenchments, close followed by the nearer foe, who were again repulsed amidst the shouts of the english. but, alas! small indeed the band thus saved, and hopeless the thought that the small detachments of english still surviving and scattered over the plain, would ever win to their aid. yet in those scattered remnants were, perhaps, almost the only men who, availing themselves of their acquaintance with the country, and despairing of victory, escaped by flight from the field of sanguelac. nevertheless, within the entrenchments not a man had lost heart; the day was already far advanced, no impression had been yet made on the outworks, the position seemed as impregnable as a fortress of stone; and, truth to say, even the bravest normans were disheartened, when they looked to that eminence which had foiled the charge of william himself. the duke, in the recent melee, had received more than one wound, his third horse that day had been slain under him. the slaughter among the knights and nobles had been immense, for they had exposed their persons with the most desperate valour. and william, after surveying the rout of nearly one half of the english army, heard everywhere, to his wrath and his shame, murmurs of discontent and dismay at the prospect of scaling the heights, in which the gallant remnant had found their refuge. at this critical juncture, odo of bayeux, who had hitherto remained in the rear [ ], with the crowds of monks that accompanied the armament, rode into the full field, where all the hosts were reforming their lines. he was in complete mail, but a white surplice was drawn over the steel, his head was bare, and in his right hand he bore the crozier. a formidable club swung by a leathern noose from his wrist, to be used only for self- defence: the canons forbade the priest to strike merely in assault. behind the milk-white steed of odo came the whole body of reserve, fresh and unbreathed, free from the terrors of their comrades, and stung into proud wrath at the delay of the norman conquest. "how now--how now!" cried the prelate; "do ye flag? do ye falter when the sheaves are down, and ye have but to gather up the harvest? how now, sons of the church! warriors of the cross! avengers of the saints! desert your count, if ye please; but shrink not back from a lord mightier than man. lo, i come forth, to ride side by side with my brother, bareheaded, the crozier in my hand. he who fails his liege is but a coward--he who fails the church is apostate!" the fierce shout of the reserve closed this harangue, and the words of the prelate, as well as the physical aid he brought to back them, renerved the army. and now the whole of william's mighty host, covering the field, till its lines seemed to blend with the grey horizon, came on serried, steadied, orderly--to all sides of the entrenchment. aware of the inutility of his horse, till the breastworks were cleared, william placed in the van all his heavy armed foot, spearmen, and archers, to open the way through the palisades, the sorties from which had now been carefully closed. as they came up the hills, harold turned to haco and said: "where is thy battle-axe?" "harold," answered haco, with more than his usual tone of sombre sadness, "i desire now to be thy shield-bearer, for thou must use thine axe with both hands while the day lasts, and thy shield is useless. wherefore thou strike, and i will shield thee." "thou lovest me, then, son of sweyn; i have sometimes doubted it." "i love thee as the best part of my life, and with thy life ceases mine: it is my heart that my shield guards when it covers the breast of harold." "i would bid thee live, poor youth," whispered harold; "but what were life if this day were lost? happy, then, will be those who die!" scarce had the words left his lips ere he sprang to the breastworks, and with a sudden sweep of his axe, down dropped a helm that peered above them. but helm after helm succeeds. now they come on, swarm upon swarm, as wolves on a traveller, as bears round a bark. countless, amidst their carnage, on they come! the arrows of the norman blacken the air: with deadly precision, to each arm, each limb, each front exposed above the bulwarks whirrs the shaft. they clamber the palisades, the foremost fall dead under the saxon axe; new thousands rush on: vain is the might of harold, vain had been a harold's might in every saxon there! the first row of breastworks is forced--it is trampled, hewed, crushed down, cumbered with the dead. "ha rou! ha rou! notre dame! notre dame!" sounds joyous and shrill, the chargers snort and leap, and charge into the circle. high wheels in air the great mace of william; bright by the slaughterers flashes the crozier of the church. "on, normans!--earldom and land!" cries the duke. "on, sons of the church! salvation and heaven!" shouts the voice of odo. the first breastwork down--the saxons yielding inch by inch, foot by foot, are pressed, crushed back, into the second enclosure. the same rush, and swarm, and fight, and cry, and roar:--the second enclosure gives way. and now in the centre of the third--lo, before the eyes of the normans, towers proudly aloft, and shines in the rays of the westering sun, broidered with gold, and, blazing with mystic gems, the standard of england's king! and there, are gathered the reserve of the english host; there, the heroes who had never yet known defeat-- unwearied they by the battle--vigorous, high-hearted still; and round them the breastworks were thicker, and stronger, and higher, and fastened by chains to pillars of wood and staves of iron, with the waggons and carts of the baggage, and piled logs of timber-barricades at which even william paused aghast, and odo stifled an exclamation that became not a priestly lip. before that standard, in the front of the men, stood gurth, and leofwine, and haco, and harold, the last leaning for rest upon his axe, for he was sorely wounded in many places, and the blood oozed through the links of his mail. live, harold; live yet, and saxon england shall not die! the english archers had at no time been numerous; most of them had served with the vanguard, and the shafts of those within the ramparts were spent; so that the foe had time to pause and to breathe. the norman arrows meanwhile flew fast and thick, but william noted to his grief that they struck against the tall breastworks and barricades, and so failed in the slaughter they should inflict. he mused a moment, and sent one of his knights to call to him three of the chiefs of the archers. they were soon at the side of his destrier. "see ye not, maladroits," said the duke, "that your shafts and bolts fall harmless on those ozier walls? shoot in the air; let the arrow fall perpendicular on those within--fall as the vengeance of the saints falls--direct from heaven! give me thy bow, archer,--thus." he drew the bow as he sate on his steed, the arrow flashed up, and descended in the heart of the reserve, within a few feet of the standard. "so; that standard be your mark," said the duke, giving back the bow. the archers withdrew. the order circulated through their bands, and in a few moments more down came the iron rain. it took the english host as by surprise, piercing hide cap, and even iron helm; and in the very surprise that made them instinctively look up--death came. a dull groan as from many hearts boomed from the entrenchments on the norman ear. "now," said william, "they must either use their shields to guard their heads--and their axes are useless--or while they smite with the axe they fall by the shaft. on now to the ramparts. i see my crown already resting on yonder standard!" yet despite all, the english bear up; the thickness of the palisades, the comparative smallness of the last enclosure, more easily therefore manned and maintained by the small force of the survivors, defy other weapons than those of the bow. every norman who attempts to scale the breastwork is slain on the instant, and his body cast forth under the hoofs of the baffled steeds. the sun sinks near and nearer towards the red horizon. "courage!" cries the voice of harold, "hold but till nightfall, and ye are saved. courage and freedom!" "harold and holy crosse!" is the answer. still foiled, william again resolves to hazard his fatal stratagem. he marked that quarter of the enclosure which was most remote from the chief point of attack--most remote from the provident watch of harold, whose cheering voice, ever and anon, he recognised amidst the hurtling clamour. in this quarter the palisades were the weakest, and the ground the least elevated; but it was guarded by men on whose skill with axe and shield harold placed the firmest reliance--the anglo- danes of his old east-anglian earldom. thither, then, the duke advanced a chosen column of his heavy-armed foot, tutored especially by himself in the rehearsals of his favourite ruse, and accompanied by a band of archers; while at the same time, he himself, with his brother odo, headed a considerable company of knights under the son of the great roger de beaumont, to gain the contiguous level heights on which now stretches the little town of "battle;" there to watch and to aid the manoeuvre. the foot column advanced to the appointed spot, and after a short, close, and terrible conflict, succeeded in making a wide breach in the breastworks. but that temporary success only animates yet more the exertions of the beleaguered defenders, and swarming round the breach, and pouring through it, line after line of the foe drop beneath their axes. the column of the heavy-armed normans fall back down the slopes--they give way--they turn in disorder--they retreat--they fly; but the archers stand firm, midway on the descent--those archers seem an easy prey to the english--the temptation is irresistible. long galled, and harassed, and maddened by the shafts, the anglo-danes rushed forth at the heels of the norman swordsmen, and sweeping down to exterminate the archers, the breach that they leave gapes wide. "forward," cries william, and he gallops towards the breach. "forward," cries odo, "i see the hands of the holy saints in the air! forward! it is the dead that wheel our war-steeds round the living!" on rush the norman knights. but harold is already in the breach, rallying around him hearts eager to replace the shattered breastworks. "close shields! hold fast!" shouts his kingly voice. before him were the steeds of bruse and grantmesnil. at his breast their spears:-- haco holds over the breast the shield. swinging aloft with both hands his axe, the spear of grantmesnil is shivered in twain by the king's stroke. cloven to the skull rolls the steed of bruse. knight and steed roll on the bloody sward. but a blow from the sword of de lacy has broken down the guardian shield of haco. the son of sweyn is stricken to his knee. with lifted blades and whirling maces the norman knights charge through the breach. "look up, look up, and guard thy head," cries the fatal voice of haco to the king. at that cry the king raises his flashing eyes. why halts his stride? why drops the axe from his hand? as he raised his head, down came the hissing death-shaft. it smote the lifted face; it crushed into the dauntless eyeball. he reeled, he staggered, he fell back several yards, at the foot of his gorgeous standard. with desperate hand he broke the head of the shaft, and left the barb, quivering in the anguish. gurth knelt over him. "fight on," gasped the king, "conceal my death! holy crosse! england to the rescue! woe-woe!" rallying himself a moment, he sprang to his feet, clenched his right hand, and fell once more,--a corpse. at the same moment a simultaneous rush of horsemen towards the standard bore back a line of saxons, and covered the body of the king with heaps of the slain. his helmet cloven in two, his face all streaming with blood, but still calm in its ghastly hues, amidst the foremost of those slain, fell the fated haco. he fell with his head on the breast of harold, kissed the bloody cheek with bloody lips, groaned, and died. inspired by despair with superhuman strength, gurth, striding over the corpses of his kinsmen, opposed himself singly to the knights; and the entire strength of the english remnant, coming round him at the menaced danger to the standard, once more drove off the assailants. but now all the enclosure was filled with the foe, the whole space seemed gay, in the darkening air, with banderols and banners. high, through all, rose the club of the conqueror; high, through all, shone the crozier of the churchman. not one englishman fled; all now centering round the standard, they fell, slaughtering if slaughtered. man by man, under the charmed banner, fell the lithsmen of hilda. then died the faithful sexwolf. then died the gallant godrith, redeeming, by the death of many a norman, his young fantastic love of the norman manners. then died, last of such of the kent-men as had won retreat from their scattered vanguard into the circle of closing slaughter, the english-hearted vebba. even still in that age, when the teuton had yet in his veins the blood of odin, the demi-god,--even still one man could delay the might of numbers. through the crowd, the normans beheld with admiring awe,-- here, in the front of their horse, a single warrior, before whose axe spear shivered, helm drooped;--there, close by the standard, standing breast-high among the slain, one still more formidable, and even amidst ruin unvanquished. the first fell at length under the mace of roger de montgommeri. so, unknown to the norman poet (who hath preserved in his verse the deeds but not the name), fell, laughing in death, young leofwine! still by the enchanted standard towers the other; still the enchanted standard waves aloft, with its brave ensign of the solitary "fighting man" girded by the gems that had flashed in the crown of odin. "thine be the honour of lowering that haughty flag," cried william, turning to one of his favourite and most famous knights, robert de tessin. overjoyed, the knight rushed forth, to fall by the axe of that stubborn defender. "sorcery," cried fitzosborne, "sorcery. this is no man, but fiend." "spare him, spare the brave," cried in a breath bruse, d'aincourt, and de graville. william turned round in wrath at the cry of mercy, and spurring over all the corpses, with the sacred banner borne by tonstain close behind him, so that it shadowed his helmet,--he came to the foot of the standard, and for one moment there was single battle between the knight-duke and the saxon hero. nor, even then, conquered by the norman sword, but exhausted by a hundred wounds, that brave chief fell [ ], and the falchion vainly pierced him, falling. so, last man at the standard, died gurth. the sun had set, the first star was in heaven, the "fighting man" was laid low, and on that spot where now, all forlorn and shattered, amidst stagnant water, stands the altar-stone of battle abbey, rose the glittering dragon that surmounted the consecrated banner of the norman victor. chapter ix. close by his banner, amidst the piles of the dead, william the conqueror pitched his pavilion, and sate at meat. and over all the plain, far and near, torches were moving like meteors on a marsh; for the duke had permitted the saxon women to search for the bodies of their lords. and as he sate, and talked, and laughed, there entered the tent two humble monks: their lowly mien, their dejected faces, their homely serge, in mournful contrast to the joy and the splendour of the victory-feast. they came to the conqueror, and knelt. "rise up, sons of the church," said william, mildly, "for sons of the church are we! deem not that we shall invade the rights of the religion which we have come to avenge. nay, on this spot we have already sworn to build an abbey that shall be the proudest in the land, and where masses shall be sung evermore for the repose of the brave normans who fell in this field, and for mine and my consort's soul." "doubtless," said odo, sneering, "the holy men have heard already of this pious intent, and come to pray for cells in the future abbey." "not so," said osgood, mournfully, and in barbarous norman; "we have our own beloved convent at waltham, endowed by the prince whom thine arms have defeated. we come to ask but to bury in our sacred cloisters the corpse of him so lately king over all england--our benefactor, harold." the duke's brow fell. "and see," said ailred, eagerly, as he drew out a leathern pouch, "we have brought with us all the gold that our poor crypts contained, for we misdoubted this day," and he poured out the glittering pieces at the conqueror's feet. "no!" said william, fiercely, "we take no gold for a traitor's body; no, not if githa, the usurper's mother, offered us its weight in the shining metal; unburied be the accursed of the church, and let the birds of prey feed their young with his carcase!" two murmurs, distinct in tone and in meaning, were heard in that assembly: the one of approval from fierce mercenaries, insolent with triumph; the other of generous discontent and indignant amaze, from the large majority of norman nobles. but william's brow was still dark, and his eye still stern; for his policy confirmed his passions; and it was only by stigmatising, as dishonoured and accursed, the memory and cause of the dead king, that he could justify the sweeping spoliation of those who had fought against himself, and confiscate the lands to which his own quens and warriors looked for their reward. the murmurs had just died into a thrilling hush, when a woman, who had followed the monks unperceived and unheeded, passed with a swift and noiseless step to the duke's foot-stool; and, without bending knee to the ground, said, in a voice which, though low, was heard by all: "norman, in the name of the women of england, i tell thee that thou darest not do this wrong to the hero who died in defence of their hearths and their children!" before she spoke she had thrown back her hood; her hair dishevelled, fell over her shoulders, glittering like gold, in the blaze of the banquet-lights; and that wondrous beauty, without parallel amidst the dames of england, shone like the vision of an accusing angel, on the eyes of the startled duke, and the breathless knights. but twice in her life edith beheld that awful man. once, when roused from her reverie of innocent love by the holiday pomp of his trumps and banners, the childlike maid stood at the foot of the grassy knoll; and once again, when in the hour of his triumph, and amidst the wrecks of england on the field of sanguelac, with a soul surviving the crushed and broken heart, the faith of the lofty woman defended the hero dead. there, with knee unbent, and form unquailing, with marble cheek, and haughty eye, she faced the conqueror; and, as she ceased, his noble barons broke into bold applause. "who art thou?" said william, if not daunted at least amazed. "methinks i have seen thy face before; thou art not harold's wife or sister?" "dread lord," said osgood; "she was the betrothed of harold; but, as within the degrees of kin, the church forbade their union, and they obeyed the church." out from the banquet-throng stepped mallet de graville. "o my liege," said he "thou hast promised me lands and earldom; instead of these gifts undeserved, bestow on me the right to bury and to honour the remains of harold; today i took from him my life, let me give all i can in return--a grave!" william paused, but the sentiment of the assembly, so clearly pronounced, and, it may be, his own better nature, which, ere polluted by plotting craft, and hardened by despotic ire, was magnanimous and heroic, moved and won him. "lady," said he, gently, "thou appealest not in vain to norman knighthood: thy rebuke was just; and i repent me of a hasty impulse. mallet de graville, thy prayer is granted; to thy choice be consigned the place of burial, to thy care the funeral rites of him whose soul hath passed out of human judgment." the feast was over; william the conqueror slept on his couch, and round him slumbered his norman knights, dreaming of baronies to come; and still the torches moved dismally to and fro the waste of death, and through the hush of night was heard near and far the wail of women. accompanied by the brothers of waltham, and attended by link-bearers, mallet de graville was yet engaged in the search for the royal dead-- and the search was vain. deeper and stiller, the autumnal moon rose to its melancholy noon, and lent its ghastly aid to the glare of the redder lights. but, on leaving the pavilion, they had missed edith; she had gone from them alone, and was lost in that dreadful wilderness. and ailred said despondingly: "perchance we may already have seen the corpse we search for, and not recognised it; for the face may be mutilated with wounds. and therefore it is that saxon wives and mothers haunt our battle-fields, discovering those they search by signs not known without the household." [ ] "ay," said the norman, "i comprehend thee, by the letter or device, in which, according to your customs, your warriors impress on their own forms some token of affection, or some fancied charm against ill." "it is so," answered the monk; "wherefore i grieve that we have lost the guidance of the maid." while thus conversing, they had retraced their steps, almost in despair, towards the duke's pavilion. "see," said de graville, "how near yon lonely woman hath come to the tent of the duke--yea, to the foot of the holy gonfanon, which supplanted 'the fighting man!' pardex, my heart bleeds to see her striving to lift up the heavy dead!" the monks neared the spot, and osgood exclaimed in a voice almost joyful: "it is edith the fair! this way, the torches! hither, quick!" the corpses had been flung in irreverent haste from either side of the gonfanon, to make room for the banner of the conquest, and the pavilion of the feast. huddled together, they lay in that holy bed. and the woman silently, and by the help of no light save the moon, was intent on her search. she waved her hand impatiently as they approached, as if jealous of the dead; but as she had not sought, so neither did she oppose, their aid. moaning low to herself, she desisted from her task, and knelt watching them, and shaking her head mournfully, as they removed helm after helm, and lowered the torches upon stern and livid brows. at length the lights fell red and full on the ghastly face of haco--proud and sad as in life. de graville uttered an exclamation: "the king's nephew: be sure the king is near!" a shudder went over the woman's form, and the moaning ceased. they unhelmed another corpse; and the monks and the knight, after one glance, turned away sickened and awe-stricken at the sight: for the face was all defeatured and mangled with wounds; and nought could they recognise save the ravaged majesty of what had been man. but at the sight of that face a wild shriek broke from edith's heart. she started to her feet--put aside the monks with a wild and angry gesture, and bending over the face, sought with her long hair to wipe from it the clotted blood; then with convulsive fingers, she strove to loosen the buckler of the breast-mail. the knight knelt to assist her. "no, no," she gasped out. "he is mine--mine now!" her hands bled as the mail gave way to her efforts; the tunic beneath was all dabbled with blood. she rent the folds, and on the breast, just above the silenced heart, were punctured in the old saxon letters; the word "edith;" and just below, in characters more fresh, the word "england." "see, see!" she cried in piercing accents; and, clasping the dead in her arms, she kissed the lips, and called aloud, in words of the tenderest endearments, as if she addressed the living. all there knew then that the search was ended; all knew that the eyes of love had recognised the dead. "wed, wed," murmured the betrothed; "wed at last! o harold, harold! the words of the vala were true--and heaven is kind!" and laying her head gently on the breast of the dead, she smiled and died. at the east end of the choir in the abbey of waltham, was long shown the tomb of the last saxon king, inscribed with the touching words-- "harold infelix." but not under that stone, according to the chronicler who should best know the truth [ ], mouldered the dust of him in whose grave was buried an epoch in human annals. "let his corpse," said william the norman, "let his corpse guard the coasts, which his life madly defended. let the seas wail his dirge, and girdle his grave; and his spirit protect the land which hath passed to the norman's sway." and mallet de graville assented to the word of his chief, for his knightly heart turned into honour the latent taunt; and well he knew, that harold could have chosen no burial spot so worthy his english spirit and his roman end. the tomb at waltham would have excluded the faithful ashes of the betrothed, whose heart had broken on the bosom she had found; more gentle was the grave in the temple of heaven, and hallowed by the bridal death-dirge of the everlasting sea. so, in that sentiment of poetry and love, which made half the religion of a norman knight, mallet de graville suffered death to unite those whom life had divided. in the holy burial-ground that encircled a small saxon chapel, on the shore, and near the spot on which william had leapt to land, one grave received the betrothed; and the tomb of waltham only honoured an empty name. [ ] eight centuries have rolled away, and where is the norman now? or where is not the saxon? the little urn that sufficed for the mighty lord [ ] is despoiled of his very dust; but the tombless shade of the kingly freeman still guards the coasts, and rests upon the seas. in many a noiseless field, with thoughts for armies, your relics, o saxon heroes, have won back the victory from the bones of the norman saints; and whenever, with fairer fates, freedom opposes force, and justice, redeeming the old defeat, smites down the armed frauds that would consecrate the wrong,--smile, o soul of our saxon harold, smile, appeased, on the saxon's land! notes note (a) there are various accounts in the chroniclers as to the stature of william the first; some represent him as a giant, others as of just or middle height. considering the vulgar inclination to attribute to a hero's stature the qualities of the mind (and putting out of all question the arguments that rest on the pretended size of the disburied bones--for which the authorities are really less respectable than those on which we are called upon to believe that the skeleton of the mythical gawaine measured eight feet), we prefer that supposition, as to the physical proportions, which is most in harmony with the usual laws of nature. it is rare, indeed, that a great intellect is found in the form of a giant. note (b) game laws before the conquest. under the saxon kings a man might, it is true, hunt in his own grounds, but that was a privilege that could benefit few but thegns; and over cultivated ground or shire-land there was not the same sport to be found as in the vast wastes called forest-land, and which mainly belonged to the kings. edward declares, in a law recorded in a volume of the exchequer, "i will that all men do abstain from hunting in my woods, and that my will shall be obeyed under penalty of life." [ ] edgar, the darling monarch of the monks, and, indeed, one of the most popular of the anglo-saxon kings, was so rigorous in his forest-laws that the thegns murmured as well as the lower husbandmen, who had been accustomed to use the woods for pasturage and boscage. canute's forest-laws were meant as a liberal concession to public feeling on the subject; they are more definite than edgar's, but terribly stringent; if a freeman killed one of the king's deer, or struck his forester, he lost his freedom and became a penal serf (white theowe)-- that is, he ranked with felons. nevertheless, canute allowed bishops, abbots, and thegns to hunt in his woods--a privilege restored by henry iii. the nobility, after the conquest, being excluded from the royal chases, petitioned to enclose parks, as early even as the reign of william i.; and by the time of his son, henry i., parks became so common as to be at once a ridicule and a grievance. note (c) belin's gate. verstegan combats the welsh antiquaries who would appropriate this gate to the british deity bal or beli; and says, if so, it would not have been called by a name half saxon, half british, gate (geat) being saxon; but rather belinsport than belinsgate. this is no very strong argument; for, in the norman time, many compound words were half norman, half saxon. but, in truth, belin was a teuton deity, whose worship pervaded all gaul; and the saxons might either have continued, therefore, the name they found, or given it themselves from their own god. i am not inclined, however, to contend that any deity, saxon or british, gave the name, or that billing is not, after all, the right orthography. billing, like all words ending in ing, has something very danish in its sound; and the name is quite as likely to have been given by the danes as by the saxons. note (d) the question whether or not real vineyards were grown, or real wine made from them, in england has been a very vexed question among the antiquaries. but it is scarcely possible to read pegge's dispute with daines barrington in the archaeologia without deciding both questions in the affirmative.--see archaeol. vol. iii. p. . an engraving of the saxon wine-press is given in strutt's horda. vineyards fell into disuse, either by treaty with france, or gascony falling into the hands of the english. but vineyards were cultivated by private gentlemen as late as . our first wines from bordeaux-- the true country of bacchus--appear to have been imported about , by the marriage of henry ii. with eleanor of aquitaine. note (e) lanfranc, the first anglo-norman archbishop of canterbury. lanfranc was, in all respects, one of the most remarkable men of the eleventh century. he was born in pavia, about . his family was noble--his father ranked amongst the magistrature of pavia, the lombard capital. from his earliest youth he gave himself up, with all a scholar's zeal, to the liberal arts, and the special knowledge of law, civil and ecclesiastical. he studied at cologne, and afterwards taught and practised law in his own country. "while yet extremely young," says one of the lively chroniclers, "he triumphed over the ablest advocates, and the torrents of his eloquence confounded the subtlest rhetorician." his decisions were received as authorities by the italian jurisconsults and tribunals. his mind, to judge both by his history and his peculiar reputation (for probably few, if any, students of our day can pretend to more than a partial or superficial acquaintance with his writings), was one that delighted in subtleties and casuistical refinements; but a sense too large and commanding for those studies which amuse but never satisfy the higher intellect, became disgusted betimes with mere legal dialectics. those grand and absorbing mysteries connected with the christian faith and the roman church (grand and absorbing in proportion as their premises are taken by religious belief as mathematical axioms already proven) seized hold of his imagination, and tasked to the depth his inquisitive reason. the chronicle of knyghton cites an interesting anecdote of his life at this, its important, crisis. he had retired to a solitary spot, beside the seine, to meditate on the mysterious essence of the trinity, when he saw a boy ladling out the waters of the river that ran before him into a little well. his curiosity arrested, he asked "what the boy proposed to do?" the boy replied, "to empty yon deep into this well." "that canst thou never do," said the scholar. "nor canst thou," answered the boy, "exhaust the deep on which thou dost meditate into the well of thy reason." therewith the speaker vanished, and lanfranc, resigning the hope to achieve the mighty mystery, threw himself at once into the arms of faith, and took his refuge in the monastery of bec. the tale may be a legend, but not an idle one. perhaps he related it himself as a parable, and by the fiction explained the process of thought that decided his career. in the prime of his manhood, about , when he was thirty-seven years old, and in the zenith of his scholarly fame, he professed. the convent of bee had been lately founded, under herluin, the first abbot; there lanfranc opened a school, which became one of the most famous throughout the west of europe. indeed, under the lombard's influence, the then obscure convent of bee, to which the solitude of the site and the poverty of the endowment allured his choice, grew the academe of the age. "it was," says oderic, in his charming chronicle, "it was under such a master that the normans received their first notions of literature; from that school emerged the multitude of eloquent philosophers who adorned alike divinity and science. from france, gascony, bretagne, flanders, scholars thronged to receive his lessons." [ ] at first, as superficially stated in the tale, lanfranc had taken part against the marriage of william with matilda of flanders--a marriage clearly contrary to the formal canons of the roman church, and was banished by the fiery duke; though william's displeasure gave way at "the decent joke" (jocus decens), recorded in the text. at rome, however, his influence, arguments, and eloquence were all enlisted on the side of william: and it was to the scholar of pavia that the great norman owed the ultimate sanction of his marriage, and the repeal of the interdict that excommunicated his realm. [ ] at rome he assisted in the council held (the year wherein the ban of the church was finally and formally taken from normandy), at which the famous berenger, archdeacon of angers (against whom he had waged a polemical controversy that did more than all else to secure his repute at the pontifical court), abjured "his heresies" as to the real presence in the sacrament of the eucharist. in , or , duke william, against the lombard's own will (for lanfranc genuinely loved the liberty of letters more than vulgar power), raised him to the abbacy of st. stephen of caen. from that time, his ascendancy over his haughty lord was absolute. the contemporary historian (william of poitiers), says that "william respected him as a father, venerated him as a preceptor, and cherished him as a brother or son." he confided to him his own designs; and committed to him the entire superintendence of the ecclesiastical orders throughout normandy. eminent no less for his practical genius in affairs, than for his rare piety and theological learning, lanfranc attained indeed to the true ideal of the scholar; to whom, of all men, nothing that is human should be foreign; whose closet is but a hermit's cell, unless it is the microcosm that embraces the mart and the forum; who by the reflective part of his nature seizes the higher region of philosophy--by the energetic, is attracted to the central focus of action. for scholarship is but the parent of ideas; and ideas are the parents of action. after the conquest, as prelate of canterbury, lanfranc became the second man in the kingdom--happy, perhaps, for england had he been the first; for all the anecdotes recorded of him show a deep and genuine sympathy with the oppressed population. but william the king of the english escaped from the control which lanfranc had imposed on the duke of the normans. the scholar had strengthened the aspirer; he could only imperfectly influence the conqueror. lanfranc was not, it is true, a faultless character. he was a priest, a lawyer, and a man of the world--three characters hard to amalgamate into perfection, especially in the eleventh century. but he stands in gigantic and brilliant contrast to the rest of our priesthood in his own day, both in the superiority of his virtues, and in his exemption from the ordinary vices. he regarded the cruelties of odo of bayeux with detestation, opposed him with firmness, and ultimately, to the joy of all england, ruined his power. he gave a great impetus to learning; he set a high example to his monks, in his freedom from the mercenary sins of their order; he laid the foundations of a powerful and splendid church, which, only because it failed in future lanfrancs, failed in effecting the civilisation of which he designed it to be the instrument. he refused to crown william rufus, until that king had sworn to govern according to law and to right; and died, though a norman usurper, honoured and beloved by the saxon people. scholar, and morning star of light in the dark age of force and fraud, it is easier to praise thy life, than to track through the length of centuries all the measureless and invisible benefits which the life of one scholar bequeaths to the world--in the souls it awakens--in the thoughts it suggests! [ ] note (f) edward the confessor's reply to magnus of denmark who claimed his crown. on rare occasions edward was not without touches of a brave kingly nature. snorro sturleson gives us a noble and spirited reply of the confessor to magnus, who, as heir of canute, claimed the english crown; it concludes thus:--"now, he (hardicanute) died, and then it was the resolution of all the people of the country to take me, for the king here in england. so long as i had no kingly title i served my superiors in all respects, like those who had no claims by birth to land or kingdom. now, however, i have received the kingly title, and am consecrated king; i have established my royal dignity and authority, as my father before me; and while i live i will not renounce my title. if king magnus comes here with an army, i will gather no army against him; but he shall only get the opportunity of taking england when he has taken my life. tell him these words of mine." if we may consider this reply to be authentic, it is significant, as proof that edward rests his title on the resolution of the people to take him for king; and counts as nothing, in comparison, his hereditary claims. this, together with the general tone of the reply, particularly the passage in which he implies that he trusts his defence not to his army but his people--makes it probable that godwin dictated the answer; and, indeed, edward himself could not have couched it, either in saxon or danish. but the king is equally entitled to the credit of it, whether he composed it, or whether he merely approved and sanctioned its gallant tone and its princely sentiment. note (g) heralds. so much of the "pride, pomp, and circumstance" which invest the age of chivalry is borrowed from these companions of princes, and blazoners of noble deeds, that it may interest the reader, if i set briefly before him what our best antiquaries have said as to their first appearance in our own history. camden (somewhat, i fear, too rashly) says, that "their reputation, honour, and name began in the time of charlemagne." the first mention of heralds in england occurs in the reign of edward iii., a reign in which chivalry was at its dazzling zenith. whitlock says, "that some derive the name of herald from hereauld, "a saxon word (old soldier, or old master), "because anciently they were chosen from veteran soldiers." joseph holland says, "i find that malcolm, king of scots, sent a herald unto william the conqueror, to treat of a peace, when both armies were in order of battle." agard affirms, that "at the conquest there was no practice of heraldry;" and observes truly, "that the conqueror used a monk for his messenger to king harold." to this i may add, that monks or priests also fulfil the office of heralds in the old french and norman chronicles. thus charles the simple sends an archbishop to treat with rolfganger; louis the debonnair sends to mormon, chief of the bretons, "a sage and prudent abbot." but in the saxon times, the nuncius (a word still used in heraldic latin) was in the regular service both of the king and the great earls. the saxon name for such a messenger was bode, and when employed in hostile negotiations, he was styled warbode. the messengers between godwin and the king would seem, by the general sense of the chronicles, to have been certain thegns acting as mediators. note (h) the fylgia, or tutelary spirit. this lovely superstition in the scandinavian belief is the more remarkable because it does not appear in the creed of the germanic teutons, and is closely allied with the good angel, or guardian genius, of the persians. it forms, therefore, one of the arguments that favour the asiatic origin of the norsemen. the fylgia (following, or attendant, spirit) was always represented as a female. her influence was not uniformly favourable, though such was its general characteristic. she was capable of revenge if neglected, but had the devotion of her sex when properly treated. mr. grenville pigott, in his popular work, entitled "a manual of scandinavian mythology," relates an interesting legend with respect to one of these supernatural ladies: a scandinavian warrior, halfred vandraedakald, having embraced christianity, and being attacked by a disease which he thought mortal, was naturally anxious that a spirit who had accompanied him through his pagan career should not attend him into that other world, where her society might involve him in disagreeable consequences. the persevering fylgia, however; in the shape of a fair maiden, walked on the waves of the sea after her viking's ship. she came thus in sight of all the crew; and halfred, recognising his fylgia, told her point blank that their connection was at an end for ever. the forsaken fylgia had a high spirit of her own, and she then asked thorold "if he would take her." thorold ungallantly refused; but halfred the younger said, "maiden, i will take thee." [ ] in the various norse saga there are many anecdotes of these spirits, who are always charming, because, with their less earthly attributes, they always blend something of the woman. the poetry embodied in their existence is of a softer and more humane character than that common with the stern and vast demons of the scandinavian mythology. note (i) the origin of earl godwin. sharon turner quotes from the knytlinga saga what he calls "an explanation of godwin's career or parentage, which no other document affords;" viz.--"that ulf, a danish chief, after the battle of skorstein, between canute and edmund ironsides, pursued the english fugitives into a wood, lost his way, met, on the morning, a saxon youth driving cattle to their pasture, asked him to direct him in safety to canute's ships, and offered him the bribe of a gold ring for his guidance; the young herdsman refused the bribe, but sheltered the dane in the cottage of his father (who is represented as a mere peasant), and conducted him the next morning to the danish camp; previously to which, the youth's father represented to ulf, that his son, godwin, could never, after aiding a dane to escape, rest in safety with his countrymen, and besought him to befriend his son's fortunes with canute." the dane promised, and kept his word; hence godwin's rise. thierry, in his "history of the norman conquest," tells the same story, on the authority of torfaeus, hist. rer. norweg. now i need not say to any scholar in our early history, that the norse chronicles, abounding with romance and legend, are never to be received as authorities counter to our own records, though occasionally valuable to supply omissions in the latter; and, unfortunately for this pretty story, we have against it the direct statements of the very best authorities we possess, viz. the saxon chronicle and florence of worcester. the saxon chronicle expressly tells us that godwin's father was childe of sussex (florence calls him minister or thegn of sussex [ ]), and that wolnoth was nephew to edric, the all- powerful earl or duke of mercia. florence confirms this statement, and gives the pedigree, which may be deduced as follows: ________________________________ | | edric married egelric, edgith, daughter of surnamed leofwine king ethelred ii. | egelmar, | wolnoth. | godwin. thus this "old peasant," as the north chronicles call wolnoth, as, according to our most unquestionable authorities, a thegn of one of the most important divisions in england, and a member of the most powerful family in the kingdom! now, if our saxon authorities needed any aid from probabilities, it is scarcely worth asking, which is the more probable, that the son of a saxon herdsman should in a few years rise to such power as to marry the sister of the royal danish conqueror--or that that honour should be conferred on the most able member of a house already allied to saxon royalty, and which evidently retained its power after the fall of its head, the treacherous edric streone! even after the conquest, one of streone's nephews, edricus sylvaticus, is mentioned (simon. dunelm.) as "a very powerful thegn. "upon the whole, the account given of godwin's rise in the text of the work appears the most correct that conjectures, based on our scanty historical information, will allow. in a.d., wolnoth, the childe or thegn of sussex, defeats the fleets of ethelred, under his uncle brightric, and goes therefore into rebellion. thus when, in (five years afterwards), canute is chosen king by all the fleet, it is probable that wolnoth and godwin, his son, espoused his cause; and that godwin, subsequently presented to canute as a young noble of great promise, was favoured by that sagacious king, and ultimately honoured with the hand, first of his sister, secondly of his niece, as a mode of conciliating the saxon thegns. note (k) the want of fortresses in england. the saxons were sad destroyers. they destroyed the strongholds which the briton had received from the roman, and built very few others. thus the land was left open to the danes. alfred, sensible of this defect, repaired the walls of london and other cities, and urgently recommended his nobles and prelates to build fortresses, but could not persuade them. his great-souled daughter, elfleda, was the only imitator of his example. she built eight castles in three years. [ ] it was thus that in a country, in which the general features do not allow of protracted warfare, the inhabitants were always at the hazard of a single pitched battle. subsequent to the conquest, in the reign of john, it was, in truth, the strong castle of dover, on the siege of which prince louis lost so much time, that saved the realm of england from passing to a french dynasty: and as, in later periods, strongholds fell again into decay, so it is remarkable to observe how easily the country was overrun after any signal victory of one of the contending parties. in this truth, the wars of the roses abound with much instruction. the handful of foreign mercenaries with which henry vii. won his crown,--though the real heir, the earl of warwick (granting edward iv.'s children to be illegitimate, which they clearly were according to the rites of the church), had never lost his claim, by the defeat of richard at bosworth;--the march of the pretender to derby,--the dismay it spread throughout england,--and the certainty of his conquest had he proceeded;--the easy victory of william iii. at a time when certainly the bulk of the nation was opposed to his cause;-- are all facts pregnant with warnings, to which we are as blind as we were in the days of alfred. note (l) the ruins of penmaen-mawr. in camden's britannia there is an account of the remarkable relics assigned, in the text, to the last refuge of gryffyth ap llewellyn, taken from a manuscript by sir john wynne in the time of charles i. in this account are minutely described, "ruinous walls of an exceeding strong fortification, compassed with a treble wall, and, within each wall, the foundations of at least one hundred towers, about six yards in diameter within the walls. this castle seems (while it stood) impregnable; there being no way to offer any assault on it, the hill being so very high, steep, and rocky, and the walls of such strength, --the way or entrance into it ascending with many turnings, so that one hundred men might defend themselves against a whole legion; and yet it should seem that there were lodgings within those walls for twenty thousand men. "by the tradition we receive from our ancestors, this was the strongest refuge, or place of defence, that the ancient britons had in all snowdon; moreover, the greatness of the work shows that it was a princely fortification, strengthened by nature and workmanship." [ ] but in the year , governor pownall ascended penmaen-mawr, inspected these remains, and published his account in the archaeologia, vol. iii. p. , with a sketch both of the mount and the walls at the summit. the governor is of opinion that it never was a fortification. he thinks that the inward inclosure contained a carn (or arch-druid's sepulchre), that there is not room for any lodgment, that the walls are not of a kind which can form a cover, and give at the same time the advantage of fighting from them. in short, that the place was one of the druids' consecrated high places of worship. he adds, however, that "mr. pennant has gone twice over it, intends to make an actual survey, and anticipates much from that great antiquary's knowledge and accuracy." we turn next to mr. pennant, and we find him giving a flat contradiction to the governor. "i have more than once," [ ] says he, "visited this noted rock, to view the fortifications described by the editor of camden, from some notes of that sensible old baronet, sir john wynne, of gwidir, and have found his account very just. "the fronts of three, if not four walls, presented themselves very distinctly one above the other. i measured the height of one wall, which was at the time nine feet, the thickness seven feet and a half." (now, governor pownall also measured the walls, agrees pretty well with pennant as to their width, but makes them only five feet high.) "between these walls, in all parts, were innumerable small buildings, mostly circular. these had been much higher, as is evident from the fall of stones which lie scattered at their bottoms, and probably had once the form of towers, as sir john asserts. their diameter is, in general, from twelve to eighteen feet (ample room here for lodgement); the walls were in certain places intersected with others equally strong. this stronghold of the britons is exactly of the same kind with those on carn madryn, carn boduan, and tre'r caer." "this was most judiciously chosen to cover the passage into anglesey, and the remoter part of their country; and must, from its vast strength, have been invulnerable, except by famine; being inaccessible by its natural steepness towards the sea, and on the parts fortified in the manner described." so far, pennant versus pownall! "who shall decide when doctors disagree?" the opinion of both these antiquarians is liable to demur. governor pownall might probably be a better judge of military defences than pennant; but he evidently forms his notions of defence with imperfect knowledge of the forts, which would have amply sufficed for the warfare of the ancient britons; and moreover, he was one of those led astray by bryant's crotchets as to "high places," etc. what appears most probable is, that the place was both carn and fort; that the strength of the place, and the convenience of stones, suggested the surrounding the narrow area of the central sepulchre with walls, intended for refuge and defence. as to the circular buildings, which seem to have puzzled these antiquaries, it is strange that they appear to have overlooked the accounts which serve best to explain them. strabo says that "the houses of the britons were round, with a high pointed covering--," caesar says that they were only lighted by the door; in the antonine column they are represented as circular, with an arched entrance, single or double. they were always small, and seem to have contained but a single room. these circular buildings were not, therefore, necessarily druidical cells, as has been supposed; nor perhaps actual towers, as contended for by sir john wynne; but habitations, after the usual fashion of british houses, for the inmates or garrison of the enclosure. taking into account the tradition of the spot mentioned by sir john wynne, and other traditions still existing, which mark, in the immediate neighbourhood, the scenes of legendary battles, it is hoped that the reader will accept the description in the text as suggesting, amidst conflicting authorities, the most probable supposition of the nature and character of these very interesting remains in the eleventh century [ ], and during the most memorable invasion of wales (under harold), which occurred between the time of geraint, or arthur, and that of henry ii. note (m) the idol bel. mons. johanneau considers that bel, or belinus, is derived from the greek, a surname of apollo, and means the archer; from belos, a dart or arrow. [ ] i own i think this among the spurious conceits of the learned, suggested by the vague affinities of name. but it is quite as likely, (if there be anything in the conjecture,) that the celt taught the greek, as that the greek taught the celt. there are some very interesting questions, however, for scholars to discuss--viz. st, when did the celts first introduce idols? d, can we believe the classical authorities that assure us that the druids originally admitted no idol worship? if so, we find the chief idols of the druids cited by lucan; and they therefore acquired them long before lucan's time. from whom would they acquire them? not from the romans; for the roman gods are not the least similar to the celtic, when the last are fairly examined. nor from the teutons, from whose deities those of the celt equally differ. have we not given too much faith to the classic writers, who assert the original simplicity of the druid worship? and will not their popular idols be found to be as ancient as the remotest traces of the celtic existence? would not the cimmerii have transported them from the period of their first traditional immigration from the east? and is not their bel identical with the babylonian deity? note (n) unguents used by witches. lord bacon, speaking of the ointments used by the witches, supposes that they really did produce illusions by stopping the vapours and sending them to the head. it seems that all witches who attended the sabbat used these unguents, and there is something very remarkable in the concurrence of their testimonies as to the scenes they declared themselves to have witnessed, not in the body, which they left behind, but as present in the soul; as if the same anointments and preparatives produced dreams nearly similar in kind. to the believers in mesmerism i may add, that few are aware of the extraordinary degree to which somnambulism appears to be heightened by certain chemical aids; and the disbelievers in that agency, who have yet tried the experiments of some of those now neglected drugs to which the medical art of the middle ages attached peculiar virtues, will not be inclined to dispute the powerful and, as it were, systematic effect which certain drugs produce on the imagination of patients with excitable and nervous temperaments. note (o) hilda's adjurations. i. "by the urdar fount dwelling, day by day from the rill, the nornas besprinkle the ash ygg-drasill." the ash ygg-drasill.--much learning has been employed by scandinavian scholars in illustrating the symbols supposed to be couched under the myth of the ygg-drasill, or the great ash-tree. with this i shall not weary the reader; especially since large systems have been built on very small premises, and the erudition employed has been equally ingenious and unsatisfactory: i content myself with stating the simple myth. the ygg-drasill has three roots; two spring from the infernal regions --i.e. from the home of the frost-giants, and from niffl-heim, "vapour- home, or hell"--one from the heavenly abode of the asas. its branches, says the prose edda, extend over the whole universe, and its stem bears up the earth. beneath the root, which stretches through niffl-heim, and which the snake-king continually gnaws, is the fount whence flow the infernal rivers. beneath the root, which stretches in the land of the giants, is mimir's well wherein all wisdom is concealed; but under the root which lies in the land of the gods, is the well of urda, the norna--here the gods sit in judgment. near this well is a fair building, whence issue the three maidens, urda, verdandi, skulda (the past, the present, the future). daily they water the ash-tree from urda's well, that the branches may not perish. four harts constantly devour the birds and branches of the ash-tree. on its boughs sits an eagle, wise in much; and between its eyes sits a hawk. a squirrel runs up and down the tree sowing strife between the eagle and the snake. such, in brief, is the account of the myth. for the various interpretations of its symbolic meaning, the general reader is referred to mr. blackwell's edition of mallett's northern antiquities, and pigott's scandinavian manual. note (p) harold's accession. there are, as is well known, two accounts as to edward the confessor's death-bed disposition of the english crown. the norman chroniclers affirm, first, that edward promised william the crown during his exile in normandy; secondly, that siward, earl of northumbria, godwin, and leofric had taken oath, "serment de la main," to receive him as seigneur after edward's death, and that the hostages, wolnoth and haco, were given to the duke in pledge of that oath [ ]; thirdly, that edward left him the crown by will. let us see what probability there is of truth in these three assertions. first, edward promised william the crown when in normandy. this seems probable enough, and it is corroborated indirectly by the saxon chroniclers, when they unite in relating edward's warnings to harold against his visit to the norman court. edward might well be aware of william's designs on the crown (though in those warnings he refrains from mentioning them)--might remember the authority given to those designs by his own early promise, and know the secret purpose for which the hostages were retained by william, and the advantages he would seek to gain from having harold himself in his power. but this promise in itself was clearly not binding on the english people, nor on any one but edward, who, without the sanction of the witan, could not fulfil it. and that william himself could not have attached great importance to it during edward's life, is clear, because if he had, the time to urge it was when edward sent into germany for the atheling, as the heir presumptive of the throne. this was a virtual annihilation of the promise; but william took no step to urge it, made no complaint and no remonstrance. secondly, that godwin, siward, and leofric, had taken oaths of fealty to william. this appears a fable wholly without foundation. when could those oaths have been pledged? certainly not after harold's visit to william, for they were then all dead. at the accession of edward? this is obviously contradicted by the stipulation which godwin and the other chiefs of the witan exacted, that edward should not come accompanied by norman supporters--by the evident jealousy of the normans entertained by those chiefs, as by the whole english people, who regarded the alliance of ethelred with the norman emma as the cause of the greatest calamities--and by the marriage of edward himself with godwin's daughter, a marriage which that earl might naturally presume would give legitimate heirs to the throne.--in the interval between edward's accession and godwin's outlawry? no; for all the english chroniclers, and, indeed, the norman, concur in representing the ill-will borne by godwin and his house to the norman favourites, whom, if they could have anticipated william's accession, or were in any way bound to william, they would have naturally conciliated. but godwin's outlawry is the result of the breach between him and the foreigners.--in william's visit to edward? no; for that took place when godwin was an exile; and even the writers who assert edward's early promise to william, declare that nothing was then said as to the succession to the throne. to godwin's return from outlawry the norman chroniclers seem to refer the date of this pretended oath, by the assertion that the hostages were given in pledge of it. this is the most monstrous supposition of all; for godwin's return is followed by the banishment of the norman favourites--by the utter downfall of the norman party in england--by the decree of the witan, that all the troubles in england had come from the normans--by the triumphant ascendancy of godwin's house. and is it credible for a moment, that the great english earl could then have agreed to a pledge to transfer the kingdom to the very party he had expelled, and expose himself and his party to the vengeance of a foe he had thoroughly crushed for the time, and whom, without any motive or object, he himself agreed to restore to power or his own probable perdition? when examined, this assertion falls to the ground from other causes. it is not among the arguments that william uses in his embassies to harold; it rests mainly upon the authority of william of poitiers, who, though a contemporary, and a good authority on some points purely norman, is grossly ignorant as to the most accredited and acknowledged facts, in all that relate to the english. even with regard to the hostages, he makes the most extraordinary blunders. he says they were sent by edward, with the consent of his nobles, accompanied by robert, archbishop of canterbury. now robert, archbishop of canterbury, had fled from england as fast as he could fly on the return of godwin; and arrived in normandy, half drowned, before the hostages were sent, or even before the witan which reconciled edward and godwin had assembled. he says that william restored to harold "his young brother;" whereas it was haco, the nephew, who was restored; we know, by norman as well as saxon chroniclers, that wolnoth, the brother, was not released till after the conqueror's death, (he was re-imprisoned by rufus;) and his partiality may be judged by the assertions, first, that "william gave nothing to a norman that was unjustly taken from an englishman;" and secondly, that odo, whose horrible oppressions revolted even william himself, "never had an equal for justice, and that all the english obeyed him willingly." we may, therefore, dismiss this assertion as utterly groundless, on its own merits, without directly citing against it the saxon authorities. thirdly, that edward left william the crown by will. on this assertion alone, of the three, the norman conqueror himself seems to have rested a positive claim [ ]. but if so, where was the will? why was it never produced or producible? if destroyed, where were the witnesses? why were they not cited? the testamentary dispositions of an anglo-saxon king were always respected, and went far towards the succession. but it was absolutely necessary to prove them before the witan [ ]. an oral act of this kind, in the words of the dying sovereign, would be legal, but they must be confirmed by those who heard them. why, when william was master of england, and acknowledged by a national assembly convened in london, and when all who heard the dying king would have been naturally disposed to give every evidence in william's favour, not only to flatter the new sovereign, but to soothe the national pride, and justify the norman succession by a more popular plea than conquest,--why were no witnesses summoned to prove the bequest! alred, stigand, and the abbot of westminster, must have been present at the death-bed of the king, and these priests concurred in submission to william. if they had any testimony as to edward's bequest in his favour, would they not have been too glad to give it, in justification of themselves, in compliment to william, in duty to the people, in vindication of law against force! but no such attempt at proof was ventured upon. against these, the mere assertion of william, and the authority of normans who could know nothing of the truth of the matter, while they had every interest to misrepresent the facts--we have the positive assurances of the best possible authorities. the saxon chronicle (worth all the other annalists put together) says expressly, that edward left the crown to harold: "the sage, ne'ertheless, the realm committed to a highly-born man; harold's self, the noble earl. he in all time obeyed faithfully his rightful lord, by words and deeds: nor aught neglected which needful was to his sovereign king." florence of worcester, the next best authority, (valuable from supplying omissions in the anglo-saxon chronicle,) says expressly that the king chose harold for his successor before his decease [ ], that he was elected by the chief men of all england, and consecrated by alred. hoveden, simon (dunelm.), the beverley chronicler, confirm these authorities as to edward's choice of harold as his successor. william of malmesbury, who is not partial to harold, writing in the reign of henry the first, has doubts himself as to edward's bequest, (though grounded on a very bad argument, viz. "the improbability that edward would leave his crown to a man of whose power he had always been jealous;" there is no proof that edward had been jealous of harold's power--he had been of godwin's;) but malmesbury gives a more valuable authority than his own, in the concurrent opinion of his time, for he deposes that "the english say," the diadem was granted him (harold) by the king. these evidences are, to say the least, infinitely more worthy of historical credence than the one or two english chroniclers, of little comparative estimation, (such as wike,) and the prejudiced and ignorant norman chroniclers [ ], who depose on behalf of william. i assume, therefore, that edward left the crown to harold; of harold's better claim in the election of the witan, there is no doubt. but sir f. palgrave starts the notion that, "admitting that the prelates, earls, aldermen, and thanes of wessex and east-anglia had sanctioned the accession of harold, their decision could not have been obligatory on the other kingdoms (provinces); and the very short time elapsing between the death of edward and the recognition of harold, utterly precludes the supposition that their consent was even asked." this great writer must permit me, with all reverence, to suggest that he has, i think, forgotten the fact that, just prior to edward's death, an assembly, fully as numerous as ever met in any national witan, had been convened to attend the consecration of the new abbey and church of westminster, which edward considered the great work of his life; that assembly would certainly not have dispersed during a period so short and anxious as the mortal illness of the king, which appears to have prevented his attending the ceremony in person, and which ended in his death a very few days after the consecration. so that during the interval, which appears to have been at most about a week, between edward's death and harold's coronation [ ], the unusually large concourse of prelates and nobles from all parts of the kingdom assembled in london and westminster would have furnished the numbers requisite to give weight and sanction to the witan. and had it not been so, the saxon chroniclers, and still more the norman, would scarcely have omitted some remark in qualification of the election. but not a word is said as to any inadequate number in the witan. and as for the two great principalities of northumbria and mercia, harold's recent marriage with the sister of their earls might naturally tend to secure their allegiance. nor is it to be forgotten that a very numerous witan had assembled at oxford a few months before, to adjudge the rival claims of tostig and morcar; the decision of the witan proves the alliance between harold's party and that of the young earl's--ratified by the marriage with aldyth. and he who has practically engaged in the contests and cabals of party, will allow the probability, adopted as fact in the romance, that, considering edward's years and infirm health, and the urgent necessity of determining beforehand the claims to the succession--some actual, if secret, understanding was then come to by the leading chiefs. it is a common error in history to regard as sudden, that which in the nature of affairs never can be sudden. all that paved harold's way to the throne must have been silently settled long before the day in which the witan elected him unanimi omnium consensu. [ ] with the views to which my examination of the records of the time have led me in favour of harold, i can not but think that sir f. palgrave, in his admirable history of anglo-saxon england, does scanty justice to the last of its kings; and that his peculiar political and constitutional theories, and his attachment to the principle of hereditary succession, which make him consider that harold "had no clear title to the crown any way," tincture with something like the prejudice of party his estimate of harold's character and pretensions. my profound admiration for sir f. palgrave's learning and judgment would not permit me to make this remark without carefully considering and re-weighing all the contending authorities on which he himself relies. and i own that, of all modern historians, thierry seems to me to have given the most just idea of the great actors in the tragedy of the norman invasion, though i incline to believe that he has overrated the oppressive influence of the norman dynasty in which the tragedy closed. note (q) physical peculiarities of the scandinavians. "it is a singular circumstance, that in almost all the swords of those ages to be found to the collection of weapons in the antiquarian museum at copenhagen, the handles indicate a size of hand very much smaller than the hands of modern people of any class or rank. no modern dandy, with the most delicate hands, would find room for his hand to grasp or wield with ease some of the swords of these northmen." this peculiarity is by some scholars adduced, not without reason, as an argument for the eastern origin of the scandinavian. nor was it uncommon for the asiatic scythians, and indeed many of the early warlike tribes fluctuating between the east and west of europe, to be distinguished by the blue eyes and yellow hair of the north. the physical attributes of a deity, or a hero, are usually to be regarded as those of the race to which he belongs. the golden locks of apollo and achilles are the sign of a similar characteristic in the nations of which they are the types; and the blue eye of minerva belies the absurd doctrine that would identify her with the egyptian naith. the norman retained perhaps longer than the scandinavian, from whom he sprang, the somewhat effeminate peculiarity of small hands and feet; and hence, as throughout all the nobility of europe the norman was the model for imitation, and the ruling families in many lands sought to trace from him their descents, so that characteristic is, even to our day, ridiculously regarded as a sign of noble race. the norman probably retained that peculiarity longer than the dane, because his habits, as a conqueror, made him disdain all manual labour; and it was below his knightly dignity to walk, as long as a horse could be found for him to ride. but the anglo-norman (the noblest specimen of the great conquering family) became so blent with the saxon, both in blood and in habits, that such physical distinctions vanished with the age of chivalry. the saxon blood in our highest aristocracy now predominates greatly over the norman; and it would be as vain a task to identify the sons of hastings and rollo by the foot and hand of the old asiatic scythian, as by the reddish auburn hair and the high features which were no less ordinarily their type. here and there such peculiarities may all be seen amongst plain country gentlemen, settled from time immemorial in the counties peopled by the anglo- danes, and inter-marrying generally in their own provinces; but amongst the far more mixed breed of the larger landed proprietors comprehended in the peerage, the saxon attributes of race are strikingly conspicuous, and, amongst them, the large hand and foot common with all the germanic tribes. note (r) the interment of harold. here we are met by evidences of the most contradictory character. according to most of the english writers, the body of harold was given by william to githa, without ransom, and buried at waltham. there is even a story told of the generosity of the conqueror, in cashiering a soldier who gashed the corpse of the dead hero. this last, however, seems to apply to some other saxon, and not to harold. but william of poitiers, who was the duke's own chaplain, and whose narration of the battle appears to contain more internal evidence of accuracy than the rest of his chronicle, expressly says, that william refused githa's offer of its weight in gold for the supposed corpse of harold, and ordered it to be buried on the beach, with the taunt quoted in the text of this work--"let him guard the coast which he madly occupied;" and on the pretext that one, whose cupidity and avarice had been the cause that so many men were slaughtered and lay unsepultured, was not worthy himself of a tomb. orderic confirms this account, and says the body was given to william mallet, for that purpose. [ ] certainly william de poitiers ought to have known best; and the probability of his story is to a certain degree borne out by the uncertainty as to harold's positive interment, which long prevailed, and which even gave rise to a story related by giraldus cambrensis (and to be found also in the harleian mss.), that harold survived the battle, became a monk in chester, and before he died had a long and secret interview with henry the first. such a legend, however absurd, could scarcely have gained any credit if (as the usual story runs) harold had been formally buried, in the presence of many of the norman barons, in waltham abbey--but would very easily creep into belief, if his body had been carelessly consigned to a norman knight, to be buried privately by the sea-shore. the story of osgood and ailred, the childemaister (schoolmaster in the monastery), as related by palgrave, and used in this romance, is recorded in a ms. of waltham abbey, and was written somewhere about fifty or sixty years after the event--say at the beginning of the twelfth century. these two monks followed harold to the field, placed themselves so as to watch its results, offered ten marks for the body, obtained permission for the search, and could not recognise the mutilated corpse until osgood sought and returned with edith. in point of fact, according to this authority, it must have been two or three days after the battle before the discovery was made. footnotes [ ] sismondi's history of france, vol. iv. p. . [ ] "men's blinded hopes, diseases, toil, and prayer, and winged troubles peopling daily air." [ ] merely upon the obscure ms. of the waltham monastery; yet, such is the ignorance of popular criticism, that i have been as much attacked for the license i have taken with the legendary connection between harold and edith, as if that connection were a proven and authenticated fact! again, the pure attachment to which, in the romance, the loves of edith and harold are confined, has been alleged to be a sort of moral anachronism,--a sentiment wholly modern; whereas, on the contrary, an attachment so pure was infinitely more common in that day than in this, and made one of the most striking characteristics of the eleventh century; indeed of all the earlier ages, in the christian era, most subjected to monastic influences. [ ] notes less immediately necessary to the context, or too long not to interfere with the current of the narrative, are thrown to the end of the work. [ ] there is a legend attached to my friend's house, that on certain nights in the year, eric the saxon winds his horn at the door, and, in forma spectri, serves his notice of ejectment. [ ] the "edinburgh review," no. clxxix. january, . art. i. "correspondance inedite, de mabillon et de montfaucon, avec l'italie." par m. valery. paris, . [ ] and long before the date of the travesty known to us, and most popular amongst our mediaeval ancestors, it might be shown that some rude notion of homer's fable and personages had crept into the north. [ ] "the apartment in which the anglo-saxon women lived, was called gynecium."--fosbrooke, vol. ii., p. . [ ] glass, introduced about the time of bede, was more common then in the houses of the wealthy, whether for vessels or windows, than in the much later age of the gorgeous plantagenets. alfred, in one of his poems, introduces glass as a familiar illustration: "so oft the mild sea with south wind as grey glass clear becomes grimly troubled." shar. turner. [ ] skulda, the norna, or fate, that presided over the future. [ ] the historians of our literature have not done justice to the great influence which the poetry of the danes has had upon our early national muse. i have little doubt but that to that source may be traced the minstrelsy of our borders, and the scottish lowlands; while, even in the central counties, the example and exertions of canute must have had considerable effect on the taste and spirit of our scops. that great prince afforded the amplest encouragement to scandinavian poetry, and olaus names eight danish poets, who flourished at his court. [ ] "by the splendour of god." [ ] see note (a) at the end of this volume. [ ] it is noticeable that the norman dukes did not call themselves counts or dukes of normandy, but of the normans; and the first anglo- norman kings, till richard the first, styled themselves kings of the english, not of england. in both saxon and norman chronicles, william usually bears the title of count (comes), but in this tale he will be generally called duke, as a title more familiar to us. [ ] the few expressions borrowed occasionally from the romance tongue, to give individuality to the speaker, will generally be translated into modern french; for the same reason as saxon is rendered into modern english, viz., that the words may be intelligible to the reader. [ ] "roman de rou," part i., v. . [ ] the reason why the normans lost their old names is to be found in their conversion to christianity. they were baptised; and franks, as their godfathers, gave them new appellations. thus, charles the simple insists that rolf-ganger shall change his law (creed) and his name, and rolf or rou is christened robert. a few of those who retained scandinavian names at the time of the conquest will be cited hereafter. [ ] thus in , about a century after the first settlement, the danes of east anglia gave the only efficient resistance to the host of the vikings under justin and gurthmund; and brithnoth, celebrated by the saxon poet, as a saxon par excellence, the heroic defender of his native soil, was, in all probability, of danish descent. mr. laing, in his preface to his translation of the heimskringla, truly observes, "that the rebellions against william the conqueror, and his successors, appear to have been almost always raised, or mainly supported, in the counties of recent danish descent, not in those peopled by the old anglo-saxon race." the portion of mercia, consisting of the burghs of lancaster, lincoln, nottingham, stamford, and derby, became a danish state in a.d. ;-- east anglia, consisting of cambridge, suffolk, norfolk, and the isle of ely, in a.d. - ; and the vast territory of northumbria, extending all north the humber, into all that part of scotland south of the frith, in a.d. .--see palgrave's commonwealth. but besides their more allotted settlements, the danes were interspersed as landowners all over england. [ ] bromton chron--via., essex, middlesex, suffolk, norfolk, herts, cambridgeshire, hants, lincoln, notts, derby, northampton, leicestershire, bucks, beds, and the vast territory called northumbria. [ ] palgrave's history of england, p. . [ ] the laws collected by edward the confessor, and in later times so often and so fondly referred to, contained many introduced by the danes, which had grown popular with the saxon people. much which we ascribe to the norman conqueror, pre-existed in the anglo-danish, and may be found both in normandy, and parts of scandinavia, to this day. --see hakewell's treatise on the antiquity of laws in this island, in hearne's curious discourses. [ ] palgrave's history of england, p. . [ ] the name of this god is spelt odin, when referred to as the object of scandinavian worship; woden, when applied directly to the deity of the saxons. [ ] see note (b), at the end of the volume. [ ] the peregrine hawk built on the rocks of llandudno, and this breed was celebrated, even to the days of elizabeth. burleigh thanks one of the mostyns for a cast of hawks from llandudno. [ ] hlaf, loaf,--hlaford, lord, giver of bread; hleafdian, lady, server of bread.--verstegan. [ ] bedden-ale. when any man was set up in his estate by the contributions of his friends, those friends were bid to a feast, and the ale so drunk was called the bedden-ale, from bedden, to pray, or to bid. (see brand's pop. autiq.) [ ] herleve (arlotta), william's mother, married herluin de conteville, after the death of duke robert, and had by him two sons, robert, count of mortain, and odo, bishop of bayeux.-ord. vital. lib. vii. [ ] mone, monk. [ ] strutt's horda. [ ] there is an animated description of this "battle of london bridge, "which gave ample theme to the scandinavian scalds, in snorro sturleson: "london bridge is broken down; gold is won and bright renown; shields resounding, war-horns sounding, hildur shouting in the din, arrows singing, mail-coats ringing, odin makes our olaf win." laing's heimskringla, vol. ii. p. . [ ] sharon turner. [ ] hawkins, vol. ii. p. . [ ] doomsday makes mention of the moors, and the germans (the emperor's merchants) that were sojourners or settlers in london. the saracens at that time were among the great merchants of the world; marseilles, arles, avignon, montpellier, toulouse, were the wonted stapes of their active traders. what civilisers, what teachers they were--those same saracens! how much in arms and in arts we owe them! fathers of the provencal poetry they, far more than even the scandinavian scalds, have influenced the literature of christian europe. the most ancient chronicle of the cid was written in arabic, a little before the cid's death, by two of his pages, who were mnssulmans. the medical science of the moors for six centuries enlightened europe, and their metaphysics were adopted in nearly all the christian universities. [ ] billingsgate. see note (c), at the end of the volume. [ ] london received a charter from william at the instigation of the norman bishop of london; but it probably only confirmed the previous municipal constitution, since it says briefly, "i grant you all to be as law-worthy as ye were in the days of king edward." the rapid increase, however, of the commercial prosperity and political importance of london after the conquest, is attested in many chronicles, and becomes strikingly evident even on the surface of history. [ ] there seems good reason for believing that a keep did stand where the tower stands, before the conquest, and that william's edifice spared some of its remains. in the very interesting letter from john bayford relating to the city of london (lel. collect. lviii.), the writer, a thorough master of his subject, states that "the romans made a public military way, that of watling street, from the tower to ludgate, in a straight line, at the end of which they built stations or citadels, one of which was where the white tower now stands." bayford adds that "when the white tower was fitted up for the reception of records, there remained many saxon inscriptions." [ ] rude-lane. lad-lane.--bayford. [ ] fitzstephen. [ ] camden. [ ] bayford, leland's collectanea, p. lviii. [ ] ludgate (leod-gate).--verstegan. [ ] see note (d), at the end of the volume. [ ] massere, merchant, mercer. [ ] fitzstephen. [ ] meuse. apparently rather a hawk hospital, from muta (camden). du fresne, in his glossary, says, muta is in french le meue, and a disease to which the hawk was subject on changing its feathers. [ ] scotland-yard.--strype. [ ] the first bridge that connected thorney isle with the mainland is said to have been built by matilda, wife of henry i. [ ] we give him that title, which this norman noble generally bears in the chronicles, though palgrave observes that he is rather to be styled earl of the magesetan (the welch marches). [ ] eadigan.--s. turner, vol. i. p. . [ ] the comparative wealth of london was indeed considerable. when, in , all the rest of england was taxed to an amount considered stupendous, viz., , saxon pounds, london contributed , pounds besides. [ ] complin. the second vespers. [ ] camden--a church was built out of the ruins of that temple by sibert, king of the east saxons; and canute favoured much the small monastery attached to it (originally established by dunstan for twelve benedictines), on account of its abbot wulnoth, whose society pleased him. the old palace of canute, in thorney isle, had been destroyed by fire. [ ] see note to pluquet's roman de rou, p. . n.b.--whenever the roman de rou is quoted in these pages it is from the excellent edition of m. pluquet. [ ] pardex or parde, corresponding to the modern french expletive, pardie. [ ] quen, or rather quens; synonymous with count in the norman chronicles. earl godwin is strangely styled by wace, quens qwine. [ ] "good, good, pleasant son,--the words of the poet sound gracefully on the lips of the knight." [ ] a sentiment variously assigned to william and to his son henry the beau clerc. [ ] mallet is a genuine scandinavian name to this day. [ ] rou--the name given by the french to rollo, or rolf-ganger, the founder of the norman settlement. [ ] pious severity to the heterodox was a norman virtue. william of poictiers says of william, "one knows with what zeal he pursued and exterminated those who thought differently;" i.e., on transubstantiation. but the wise norman, while flattering the tastes of the roman pontiff in such matters, took special care to preserve the independence of his church from any undue dictation. [ ] a few generations later this comfortable and decent fashion of night-gear was abandoned; and our forefathers, saxon and norman, went to bed in puris naturalibus, like the laplanders. [ ] most of the chroniclers merely state the parentage within the forbidden degrees as the obstacle to william's marriage with matilda; but the betrothal or rather nuptials of her mother adele with richard iii. (though never consummated), appears to have been the true canonical objection.--see note to wace, p. . nevertheless, matilda's mother, adele, stood in the relation of aunt to william, as widow of his father's elder brother, "an affinity," as is observed by a writer in the "archaeologia," "quite near enough to account for, if not to justify, the interference of the church."--arch. vol. xxxii. p. . [ ] it might be easy to show, were this the place, that though the saxons never lost their love of liberty, yet that the victories which gradually regained the liberty from the gripe of the anglo-norman kings, were achieved by the anglo-norman aristocracy. and even to this day, the few rare descendants of that race (whatever their political faction), will generally exhibit that impatience of despotic influence, and that disdain of corruption, which characterise the homely bonders of norway, in whom we may still recognise the sturdy likeness of their fathers; while it is also remarkable that the modern inhabitants of those portions of the kingdom originally peopled by their kindred danes, are, irrespective of mere party divisions, noted for their intolerance of all oppression, and their resolute independence of character; to wit, yorkshire, norfolk, cumberland, and large districts in the scottish lowlands. [ ] ex pervetusto codice, ms. chron. bec. in vit. lanfranc, quoted in the "archaeologia," vol. xxxii. p. . the joke, which is very poor, seems to have turned upon pede and quadrupede; it is a little altered in the text. [ ] ord. vital. see note on lanfranc, at the end of the volume. [ ] siward was almost a giant (pene gigas statures). there are some curious anecdotes of this hero, immortalised by shakspere, in the bromton chronicle. his grandfather is said to have been a bear, who fell in love with a danish lady; and his father, beorn, retained some of the traces of the parental physiognomy in a pair of pointed ears. the origin of this fable seems evident. his grandfather was a berserker; for whether that name be derived, as is more generally supposed, from bare-sark,--or rather from bear-sark, that is, whether this grisly specimen of the viking genus fought in his shirt or his bearskin, the name equally lends itself to those mystifications from which half the old legends, whether of greece or norway, are derived. [ ] wace. [ ] see note (e), at the end of the volume (foot-note on the date of william's marriage). [ ] anglo-saxon chronicle. [ ] some writers say fifty. [ ] hovenden. [ ] bodes, i.e. messengers. [ ] anglo-saxon chronicle. [ ] or fleur-de-lis, which seems to have been a common form of ornament with the saxon kings. [ ] bayeux tapestry. [ ] see note (f), at the end of the volume. [ ] the york chronicle, written by an englishman, stubbs, gives this eminent person an excellent character as peacemaker. "he could make the warmest friends of foes the most hostile." "de inimicissimis, amicissimos faceret." this gentle priest had yet the courage to curse the norman conqueror in the midst of his barons. that scene is not within the range of this work, but it is very strikingly told in the chronicle. [ ] heralds, though probably the word is saxon, were not then known in the modern acceptation of the word. the name given to the messenger or envoy who fulfilled that office was bode or nuncius. see note (g), at the end of the volume. [ ] when the chronicler praises the gift of speech, he unconsciously proves the existence of constitutional freedom. [ ] recent danish historians have in vain endeavoured to detract from the reputation of canute as an english monarch. the danes are, doubtless, the best authorities for his character in denmark. but our own english authorities are sufficiently decisive as to the personal popularity of canute in this country, and the affection entertained for his laws. [ ] some of our historians erroneously represent harold as the eldest son. but florence, the best authority we have, in the silence of the saxon chronicle, as well as knyghton, distinctly states sweyn to be the eldest; harold was the second, and tostig was the third. sweyn's seniority seems corroborated by the greater importance of his earldom. the norman chroniclers, in their spite to harold, wish to make him junior to tostig--for the reasons evident at the close of this work. and the norwegian chronicler, snorro sturleson, says that harold was the youngest of all the sons; so little was really known, or cared to be accurately known, of that great house which so nearly founded a new dynasty of english kings. [ ] anglo-saxon chronicle, a. d. . "stigand was deposed from his bishopric, and all that he possessed was seized into the king's hands, because he was received to his mother's counsel, and she went just as he advised her, as people thought." the saintly confessor dealt with his bishops as summarily as henry viii. could have done, after his quarrel with the pope. [ ] the title of basileus was retained by our kings so late as the time of john, who styled himself "totius insulae britannicae basileus."--agard: on the antiquity of shires in england, op. hearne, cur. disc. [ ] sharon turner. [ ] see the introduction to palgrave's history of the anglo-saxons, from which this description of the witan is borrowed so largely, that i am left without other apology for the plagiarism, than the frank confession, that if i could have found in others, or conceived from my own resources, a description half as graphic and half as accurate, i would only have plagiarised to half the extent i have done. [ ] girald. gambrensis. [ ] palgrave omits, i presume accidentally, these members of the witan, but it is clear from the anglo-saxon chronicle that the london "lithsmen" were represented in the great national witans, and helped to decide the election even of kings. [ ] by athelstan's law, every man was to have peace going to and from the witan, unless he was a thief.--wilkins, p. . [ ] goda, edward's sister, married first rolf's father, count of nantes; secondly, the count of boulogne. [ ] more correctly of oxford, somerset, berkshire, gloucester, and hereford. [ ] yet how little safe it is for the great to despise the low-born. this very richard, son of scrob, more euphoniously styled by the normans richard fitz-scrob, settled in herefordshire (he was probably among the retainers of earl rolf), and on william's landing, became the chief and most active supporter of the invader in those districts. the sentence of banishment seems to have been mainly confined to the foreigners about the court--for it is clear that many norman landowners and priests were still left scattered throughout the country. [ ] seneca, thyest. act ii.--"he is a king who fears nothing; that kingdom every man gives to himself." [ ] scin-laeca, literally a shining corpse; a species of apparition invoked by the witch or wizard.--see sharon turner on the superstitions of the anglo-saxons, b. ii. c. . [ ] galdra, magic. [ ] fylgia, tutelary divinity. see note (h), at the end of the volume. [ ] morthwyrtha, worshipper of the dead. [ ] it is a disputed question whether the saex of the earliest saxon invaders was a long or short curved weapon,--nay, whether it was curved or straight; but the author sides with those who contend that it was a short, crooked weapon, easily concealed by a cloak, and similar to those depicted on the banner of the east saxons. [ ] see note (k), at the end of the volume. [ ] saxon chronicle, florence wigorn. sir f. palgrave says that the title of childe is equivalent to that of atheling. with that remarkable appreciation of evidence which generally makes him so invaluable as a judicial authority where accounts are contradictory, sir f. palgrave discards with silent contempt the absurd romance of godwin's station of herdsman, to which, upon such very fallacious and flimsy authorities, thierry and sharon turner have been betrayed into lending their distinguished names. [ ] this first wife thyra, was of very unpopular repute with the saxons. she was accused of sending young english persons as slaves into denmark, and is said to have been killed by lightning. [ ] it is just, however, to godwin to say, that there is no proof of his share in this barbarous transaction; the presumptions, on the contrary, are in his favour; but the authorities are too contradictory, and the whole event too obscure, to enable us unhesitatingly to confirm the acquittal he received in his own age, and from his own national tribunal. [ ] anglo-saxon chronicle. [ ] william of malmesbury. [ ] so robert of gloucester says pithily of william, "kyng wylliam was to mild men debonnere ynou."--hearne, v. ii. p. . [ ] this kiss of peace was held singularly sacred by the normans, and all the more knightly races of the continent. even the craftiest dissimulator, designing fraud, and stratagem, and murder to a foe, would not, to gain his ends, betray the pledge of the kiss of peace. when henry ii. consented to meet becket after his return from rome, and promised to remedy all of which his prelate complained, he struck prophetic dismay into becket's heart by evading the kiss of peace. [ ] snorro sturleson's heimskringla.--laing's translation, p. - . [ ] the gre-hound was so called from hunting the gre or badger. [ ] the spear and the hawk were as the badges of saxon nobility; and a thegn was seldom seen abroad without the one on his left wrist, the other in his right hand. [ ] bed epist. ad egbert. [ ] tegner's frithiof. [ ] some of the chroniclers say that he married the daughter of gryffyth, the king of north wales, but gryffyth certainly married algar's daughter, and that double alliance could not have been permitted. it was probably, therefore, some more distant kinswoman of gryffyth's that was united to algar. [ ] the title of queen is employed in these pages, as one which our historians have unhesitatingly given to the consorts of our saxon kings; but the usual and correct designation of edward's royal wife, in her own time, would be, edith the lady. [ ] ethel. de gen. reg. ang. [ ] ailred, de vit. edward confess. [ ] ingulfus. [ ] the clergy (says malmesbury), contented with a very slight share of learning, could scarcely stammer out the words of the sacraments; and a person who understood grammar was an object of wonder and astonishment. other authorities, likely to be impartial, speak quite as strongly as to the prevalent ignorance of the time. [ ] house-carles in the royal court were the body-guard, mostly, if not all, of danish origin. they appear to have been first formed, or at least employed, in that capacity by canute. with the great earls, the house-carles probably exercised the same functions; but in the ordinary acceptation of the word in families of lower rank, house- carle was a domestic servant. [ ] this was cheap. for agelnoth, archbishop of canterbury, gave the pope lb. weight of silver for the arm of st. augustine.-- malmesbury. [ ] william of malmesbury says, that the english, at the time of the conquest, loaded their arms with gold bracelets, and adorned their skins with punctured designs, i.e., a sort of tattooing. he says, that they then wore short garments, reaching to the mid-knee; but that was a norman fashion, and the loose robes assigned in the text to algar were the old saxon fashion, which made but little distinction between the dress of women and that of men. [ ] and in england, to this day, the descendants of the anglo- danes, in cumberland and yorkshire, are still a taller and bonier race than those of the anglo-saxons, as in surrey and sussex. [ ] very few of the greater saxon nobles could pretend to a lengthened succession in their demesnes. the wars with the danes, the many revolutions which threw new families uppermost, the confiscations and banishments, and the invariable rule of rejecting the heir, if not of mature years at his father's death, caused rapid changes of dynasty in the several earldoms. but the family of leofric had just claims to a very rare antiquity in their mercian lordship. leofric was the sixth earl of chester and coventry, in lineal descent from his namesake, leofric the first; he extended the supremacy of his hereditary lordship over all mercia. see dugdale, monast. vol. iii. p. ; and palgrave's commonwealth, proofs and illustrations, p. . [ ] ailred de vit. edw. [ ] dunwich, now swallowed up by the sea.--hostile element to the house of godwin. [ ] windsor. [ ] the chronicler, however, laments that the household ties, formerly so strong with the anglo-saxon, had been much weakened in the age prior to the conquest. [ ] some authorities state winchester as the scene of these memorable festivities. old windsor castle is supposed by mr. lysons to have occupied the site of a farm of mr. isherwood's surrounded by a moat, about two miles distant from new windsor. he conjectures that it was still occasionally inhabited by the norman kings till . the ville surrounding it only contained ninety-five houses, paying gabel-tax, in the norman survey. [ ] ailred, de vit. edward. confess. [ ] "is it astonishing," asked the people (referring to edward's preference of the normans), "that the author and support of edward's reign should be indignant at seeing new men from a foreign nation raised above him, and yet never does he utter one harsh word to the man whom he himself created king?"--hazlitt's thierry, vol. i. p. . this is the english account (versus the norman). there can be little doubt that it is the true one. [ ] henry of huntingdon, etc. [ ] henry of huntingdon; bromt. chron., etc. [ ] hoveden. [ ] the origin of the word leach (physician), which has puzzled some inquirers, is from lids or leac, a body. leich is the old saxon word for surgeon. [ ] sharon turner, vol. i. p. . [ ] fosbrooke. [ ] aegir, the scandinavian god of the ocean. not one of the aser, or asas (the celestial race), but sprung from the giants. ran or rana, his wife, a more malignant character, who caused shipwrecks, and drew to herself, by a net, all that fell into the sea. the offspring of this marriage were nine daughters, who became the billows, the currents, and the storms. [ ] frilla, the danish word for a lady who, often with the wife's consent, was added to the domestic circle by the husband. the word is here used by hilda in a general sense of reproach. both marriage and concubinage were common amongst the anglo-saxon priesthood, despite the unheeded canons; and so, indeed, they were with the french clergy. [ ] hilda, not only as a heathen, but as a dane, would be no favourer of monks; they were unknown in denmark at that time, and the danes held them in odium.--ord vital., lib. vii. [ ] chron. knyghton. [ ] weyd-month. meadow month, june. [ ] cumen-hus. tavern. [ ] fitzstephen. [ ] william of malmesbury speaks with just indignation of the anglo-saxon custom of selling female servants, either to public prostitution, or foreign slavery. [ ] it will be remembered that algar governed wessex, which principality included kent, during the year of godwin's outlawry. [ ] trulofa, from which comes our popular corruption "true lover's knot;" a vetere danico trulofa, i.e., fidem do, to pledge faith.-- hicke's thesaur. "a knot, among the ancient northern nations, seems to have been the emblem of love, faith, and friendship."--brande's pop. antiq. [ ] the saxon chronicle contradicts itself as to algar's outlawry, stating in one passage that he was outlawed without any kind of guilt, and in another that he was outlawed as swike, or traitor, and that he made a confession of it before all the men there gathered. his treason, however, seems naturally occasioned by his close connection with gryffyth, and proved by his share in that king's rebellion. some of our historians have unfairly assumed that his outlawry was at harold's instigation. of this there is not only no proof, but one of the best authorities among the chroniclers says just the contrary-- that harold did all he could to intercede for him; and it is certain that he was fairly tried and condemned by the witan, and afterwards restored by the concurrent articles of agreement between harold and leofric. harold's policy with his own countrymen stands out very markedly prominent in the annals of the time; it was invariably that of conciliation. [ ] saxon chron., verbatim. [ ] hume. [ ] "the chaste who blameless keep unsullied fame, transcend all other worth, all other praise. the spirit, high enthroned, has made their hearts his sacred temple." sharon turner's translation of aldhelm, vol. iii. p. . it is curious to see how, even in latin, the poet preserves the alliterations that characterised the saxon muse. [ ] slightly altered from aldhelm. [ ] it is impossible to form any just view of the state of parties, and the position of harold in the later portions of this work, unless the reader will bear constantly in mind the fact that, from the earliest period, minors were set aside as a matter of course, by the saxon customs. henry observes that, in the whole history of the heptarchy, there is but one example of a minority, and that a short and unfortunate one; so, in the later times, the great alfred takes the throne, to the exclusion of the infant son of his elder brother. only under very peculiar circumstances, backed, as in the case of edmund ironsides, by precocious talents and manhood on the part of the minor, were there exceptions to the general laws of succession. the same rule obtained with the earldoms; the fame, power, and popularity of siward could not transmit his northumbrian earldom to his infant son waltheof, so gloomily renowned in a subsequent reign. [ ] bayeux tapestry. [ ] indeed, apparently the only monastic order in england. [ ] see note to robert of gloucester, vol. ii. p. . [ ] the saxon priests were strictly forbidden to bear arms.--spelm. concil. p. . it is mentioned in the english chronicles, as a very extraordinary circumstance, that a bishop of hereford, who had been harold's chaplain, did actually take sword and shield against the welch. unluckily, this valiant prelate was slain so soon, that it was no encouraging example. [ ] see note (k), at the end of the volume. [ ] the normans and french detested each other; and it was the norman who taught to the saxon his own animosities against the frank. a very eminent antiquary, indeed, de la rue, considered that the bayeux tapestry could not be the work of matilda, or her age, because in it the normans are called french. but that is a gross blunder on his part; for william, in his own charters, calls the normans "franci." wace, in his "roman de rou," often styles the normans "french;" and william of poitiers, a contemporary of the conqueror, gives them also in one passage the same name. still, it is true that the normans were generally very tenacious of their distinction from their gallant but hostile neighbours. [ ] the present town and castle of conway. [ ] see camden's britannia, "caernarvonshire." [ ] when (a.d. ) the bishops, germanicus, and lupus, headed the britons against the picts and saxons, in easter week, fresh from their baptism in the alyn, germanicus ordered them to attend to his war-cry, and repeat it; he gave "alleluia." the hills so loudly re-echoed the cry, that the enemy caught panic, and fled with great slaughter. maes garmon, in flintshire, was the scene of the victory. [ ] the cry of the english at the onset of battle was "holy crosse, god almighty;" afterwards in fight, "ouct, ouct," out, out.--hearne's disc. antiquity of motts. the latter cry, probably, originated in the habit of defending their standard and central posts with barricades and closed shields; and thus, idiomatically and vulgarly, signified "get out." [ ] certain high places in wales, of which this might well be one, were so sacred, that even the dwellers in the immediate neighbourhood never presumed to approach them. [ ] see note (l), at the end of the volume. [ ] see note (m), at the end of the volume. [ ] the welch seem to have had a profusion of the precious metals very disproportioned to the scarcity of their coined money. to say nothing of the torques, bracelets, and even breastplates of gold, common with their numerous chiefs, their laws affix to offences penalties which attest the prevalent waste both of gold and silver. thus, an insult to a sub-king of aberfraw is atoned by a silver rod as thick as the king's little finger, which is in length to reach from the ground to his mouth when sitting; and a gold cup, with a cover as broad as the king's face, and the thickness of a ploughman's nail, or the shell of a goose's egg. i suspect that it was precisely because the welch coined little or no money, that the metals they possessed became thus common in domestic use. gold would have been more rarely seen, even amongst the peruvians, had they coined it into money. [ ] leges wallicae. [ ] mona, or anglesea. [ ] ireland. [ ] the welch were then, and still are, remarkable for the beauty of their teeth. giraldus cambrensis observes, as something very extraordinary, that they cleaned them. [ ] i believe it was not till the last century that a good road took the place of this pass. [ ] the saxons of wessex seem to have adopted the dragon for their ensign, from an early period. it was probably for this reason that it was assumed by edward ironsides, as the hero of the saxons; the principality of wessex forming the most important portion of the pure saxon race, while its founder was the ancestor of the imperial house of the basileus of britain. the dragon seems also to have been a norman ensign. the lions or leopards, popularly assigned to the conqueror, are certainly a later invention. there is no appearance of them on the banners and shields of the norman army in the bayeux tapestry. armorial bearings were in use amongst the welch, and even the saxons, long before heraldry was reduced to a science by the franks and normans. and the dragon, which is supposed by many critics to be borrowed from the east, through the saracens, certainly existed as an armorial ensign with the cymrians before they could have had any obligation to the songs and legends of that people. [ ] "in whose time the earth brought forth double, and there was neither beggar nor poor man from the north to the south sea." powell's hist. of wales, p. . [ ] "during the military expeditions made in our days against south wales, an old welchman, at pencadair, who had faithfully adhered to him (henry ii.), being desired to give his opinion about the royal army, and whether he thought that of the rebels would make resistance, and what he thought would be the final event of this war, replied: 'this nation, o king, may now, as in former times, be harassed, and, in a great measure, be weakened and destroyed by you and other powers; and it will often prevail by its laudable exertions, but it can never be totally subdued by the wrath of man, unless the wrath of god shall concur. nor do i think that any other nation than this of wales, or any other language (whatever may hereafter come to pass), shall in the day of severe examination before the supreme judge answer for this corner of the earth!'"--hoare's giraldus cambrensis, vol. i. p. . [ ] gryffyth left a son, caradoc; but he was put aside as a minor, according to the saxon customs. [ ] bromton chron., knyghton, walsingham, hoveden, etc. [ ] bromton, knyghton, etc. [ ] the word "decimated" is the one generally applied by the historians to the massacre in question; and it is therefore retained here. but it is not correctly applied, for that butchery was perpetrated, not upon one out of ten, but nine out of ten. [ ] the above reasons for harold's memorable expedition are sketched at this length, because they suggest the most probable motives which induced it, and furnish, in no rash and inconsiderate policy, that key to his visit, which is not to be found in chronicler or historian. [ ] see note (n). [ ] faul was an evil spirit much dreaded by the saxons. zabulus and diabolus (the devil) seem to have been the same. [ ] ygg-drassill, the mystic ash-tree of life, or symbol of the earth, watered by the fates.--see note (o.) [ ] mimir, the most celebrated of the giants. the vaner, with whom he was left as a hostage, cut off his head. odin embalmed it by his seid, or magic art, pronounced over it mystic runes, and, ever after, consulted it on critical occasions. [ ] asa-lok or loke--(distinct from utgard-lok, the demon of the infernal regions)--descended from the giants, but received among the celestial deities; a treacherous and malignant power fond of assuming disguises and plotting evil-corresponding in his attributes with our "lucifer." one of his progeny was hela, the queen of hell. [ ] "a hag dwells in a wood called janvid, the iron wood, the mother of many gigantic sons shaped like wolves; there is one of a race more fearful than all, named 'managarm.' he will be filled with the blood of men who draw near their end, and will swallow up the moon and stain the heavens and the hearth with blood."--from the prose edda. in the scandinavian poetry, managarm is sometimes the symbol of war, and the "iron wood" a metaphor for spears. [ ] "wolf month," january. [ ] bayeux tapestry. [ ] roman de rou, see part ii. . [ ] belrem, the present beaurain, near montreuil. [ ] roman de rou, part ii. . [ ] william of poitiers, "apud aucense castrum." [ ] as soon as the rude fort of the middle ages admitted something of magnificence and display, the state rooms were placed in the third story of the inner court, as being the most secure. [ ] a manor (but not, alas! in normandy) was held by one of his cooks, on the tenure of supplying william with a dish of dillegrout. [ ] the council of cloveshoe forbade the clergy to harbour poets, harpers, musicians, and buffoons. [ ] ord. vital. [ ] canute made his inferior strength and stature his excuse for not meeting edward ironsides in single combat. [ ] odo's licentiousness was, at a later period, one of the alleged causes of his downfall, or rather against his release from the prison to which he had been consigned. he had a son named john, who distinguished himself under henry i.--ord. vital. lib. iv. [ ] william of poitiers, the contemporary norman chronicler, says of harold, that he was a man to whom imprisonment was more odious than shipwreck. [ ] in the environs of bayeux still may perhaps linger the sole remains of the scandinavian normans, apart from the gentry. for centuries the inhabitants of bayeux and its vicinity were a class distinct from the franco-normans, or the rest of neustria; they submitted with great reluctance to the ducal authority, and retained their old heathen cry of thor-aide, instead of dieu-aide! [ ] similar was the answer of goodyn the bishop of winchester, ambassador from henry viii. to the french king. to this day the english entertain the same notion of forts as harold and goodyn. [ ] see mr. wright's very interesting article on the "condition of the english peasantry," etc., archaeologia, vol. xxx. pp. - . i must, however, observe, that one very important fact seems to have been generally overlooked by all inquirers, or, at least, not sufficiently enforced, viz., that it was the norman's contempt for the general mass of the subject population which more, perhaps, than any other cause, broke up positive slavery in england. thus the norman very soon lost sight of that distinction the anglo-saxons had made between the agricultural ceorl and the theowe; i.e., between the serf of the soil and the personal slave. hence these classes became fused in each other, and were gradually emancipated by the same circumstances. this, be it remarked, could never have taken place under the anglo-saxon laws, which kept constantly feeding the class of slaves by adding to it convicted felons and their children. the subject population became too necessary to the norman barons, in their feuds with each other, or their king, to be long oppressed; and, in the time of froissart, that worthy chronicler ascribes the insolence, or high spirit, of le menu peuple to their grand aise, et abondance de biens. [ ] twelve o'clock. [ ] six a.m. [ ] a celebrated antiquary, in his treatise in the "archaeologia," on the authenticity of the bayeux tapestry, very justly invites attention to the rude attempt of the artist to preserve individuality in his portraits; and especially to the singularly erect bearing of the duke, by which he is at once recognised wherever he is introduced. less pains are taken with the portrait of harold; but even in that a certain elegance of proportion, and length of limb, as well as height of stature, are generally preserved. [ ] bayeux tapestry. [ ] ail. de vit. edw.--many other chroniclers mention this legend, of which the stones of westminster abbey itself prated, in the statues of edward and the pilgrim, placed over the arch in dean's yard. [ ] this ancient saxon lay, apparently of the date of the tenth or eleventh century, may be found, admirably translated by mr. george stephens, in the archaeologia, vol. xxx. p. . in the text the poem is much abridged, reduced into rhythm, and in some stanzas wholly altered from the original. but it is, nevertheless, greatly indebted to mr. stephens's translation, from which several lines are borrowed verbatim. the more careful reader will note the great aid given to a rhymeless metre by alliteration. i am not sure that this old saxon mode of verse might not be profitably restored to our national muse. [ ] people. [ ] heaven. [ ] omen. [ ] the eastern word satraps (satrapes) made one of the ordinary and most inappropriate titles (borrowed, no doubt, from the byzantine court), by which the saxons, in their latinity, honoured their simple nobles. [ ] afterwards married to malcolm of scotland, through whom, by the female line, the present royal dynasty of england assumes descent from the anglo-saxon kings. [ ] by his first wife; aldyth was his second. [ ] flor. wig. [ ] this truth has been overlooked by writers, who have maintained the atheling's right as if incontestable. "an opinion prevailed," says palgrave, "eng. commonwealth," pp. , , "that if the atheling was born before his father and mother were ordained to the royal dignity, the crown did not descend to the child of uncrowned ancestors. "our great legal historian quotes eadmer, "de vit. sanct. dunstan," p. , for the objection made to the succession of edward the martyr, on this score. [ ] see the judicious remarks of henry, "hist. of britain," on this head. from the lavish abuse of oaths, perjury had come to be reckoned one of the national vices of the saxon. [ ] and so, from gryffyth, beheaded by his subjects, descended charles stuart. [ ] brompt. chron. [ ] see note p. [ ] it seems by the coronation service of ethelred ii. still extant, that two bishops officiated in the crowning of the king; and hence, perhaps, the discrepancy in the chronicles, some contending that harold was crowned by alred, others, by stigand. it is noticeable, however, that it is the apologists of the normans who assign that office to stigand, who was in disgrace with the pope, and deemed no lawful bishop. thus in the bayeux tapestry the label, "stigand," is significantly affixed to the officiating prelate, as if to convey insinuation that harold was not lawfully crowned. florence, by far the best authority, says distinctly, that harold was crowned by alred. the ceremonial of the coronation described in the text, is for the most part given on the authority of the "cotton ms." quoted by sharon turner, vol. iii. p. . [ ] introduced into our churches in the ninth century. [ ] the wyn-month: october. [ ] "snorro sturleson." laing. [ ] the vaeringers, or varangi, mostly northmen; this redoubtable force, the janissaries of the byzantine empire, afforded brilliant field, both of fortune and war, to the discontented spirits, or outlawed heroes of the north. it was joined afterwards by many of the bravest and best born of the saxon nobles, refusing to dwell under the yoke of the norman. scott, in "count robert of paris," which, if not one of his best romances, is yet full of truth and beauty, has described this renowned band with much poetical vigor and historical fidelity. [ ] laing's snorro sturleson.--"the old norwegian ell was less than the present ell; and thorlasius reckons, in a note on this chapter, that harold's stature would be about four danish ells; viz. about eight feet."--laing's note to the text. allowing for the exaggeration of the chronicler, it seems probable, at least, that hardrada exceeded seven feet. since (as laing remarks in the same note), and as we shall see hereafter, "our english harold offered him, according to both english and danish authority, seven feet of land for a grave, or as much more as his stature, exceeding that of other men, might require." [ ] snorro sturleson. see note q. [ ] snorro sturleson. [ ] hoveden. [ ] holinshed. nearly all chroniclers (even, with scarce an exception, those most favouring the normans), concur in the abilities and merits of harold as a king. [ ] "vit. harold. chron. ang. norm." ii, . [ ] hoveden. [ ] malmesbury. [ ] supposed to be our first port for shipbuilding.--fosbrooke, p. . [ ] pax. [ ] some of the norman chroniclers state that robert, archbishop of canterbury, who had been expelled from england at godwin's return, was lanfranc's companion in this mission; but more trustworthy authorities assure us that robert had been dead some years before, not long surviving his return into normandy. [ ] saxon chronicle. [ ] saxon chronicle.--"when it was the nativity of st. mary, then were the men's provisions gone, and no man could any longer keep them there." [ ] it is curious to notice how england was represented as a country almost heathen; its conquest was regarded quite as a pious, benevolent act of charity--a sort of mission for converting the savages. and all this while england was under the most slavish ecclesiastical domination, and the priesthood possessed a third of its land! but the heart of england never forgave that league of the pope with the conqueror; and the seeds of the reformed religion were trampled deep into the saxon soil by the feet of the invading norman. [ ] william of poitiers.--the naive sagacity of this bandit argument, and the norman's contempt for harold's deficiency in "strength of mind," are exquisite illustrations of character. [ ] snorro sturleson. [ ] does any scandinavian scholar know why the trough was so associated with the images of scandinavian witchcraft? a witch was known, when seen behind, by a kind of trough-like shape; there must be some symbol, of very ancient mythology, in this superstition! [ ] snorro sturleson. [ ] snorro sturleson. [ ] so thierry translates the word: others, the land-ravager. in danish, the word is land-ode, in icelandic, land-eydo.--note to thierry's "hist. of the conq. of england," book iii. vol. vi. p. (of hazlitt's translation). [ ] snorro sturleson. [ ] see snorro sturleson for this parley between harold in person and tostig. the account differs from the saxon chroniclers, but in this particular instance is likely to be as accurate. [ ] snorro sturleson. [ ] snorro sturleson. [ ] sharon turner's anglo-saxons, vol. ii. p. . snorro sturleson. [ ] snorro sturleson. [ ] the quick succession of events allowed the saxon army no time to bury the slain; and the bones of the invaders whitened the field of battle for many years afterwards. [ ] it may be said indeed, that, in the following reign, the danes under osbiorn (brother of king sweyn), sailed up the humber; but it was to assist the english, not to invade them. they were bought off by the normans,--not conquered. [ ] the saxons sat at meals with their heads covered. [ ] henry. [ ] palgrave--"hist. of anglo-saxons." [ ] palgrave--"hist. of anglo-saxons." [ ] the battle-field of hastings seems to have been called senlac, before the conquest, sanguelac after it. [ ] traitor-messenger. [ ] "ne meinent od els chevalier, varlet a pie de eskuier; ne nul d'els n'a armes portee, forz sol escu, lance, et espee." roman de rou, second part, v. , . [ ] "ke d'une angarde [eminence] u ils 'estuient cels de l'ost virent, ki pres furent." roman de rou, second part, v. , . [ ] midnight. [ ] this counsel the norman chronicler ascribes to gurth, but it is so at variance with the character of that hero, that it is here assigned to the unscrupulous intellect of haco. [ ] osborne--(asbiorn),--one of the most common of danish and norwegian names. tonstain, toustain, or tostain, the same as tosti, or tostig,--danish. (harold's brother is called tostain or toustain, in the norman chronicles). brand, a name common to dane or norwegian --bulmer is a norwegian name, and so is bulver or bolvaer--which is, indeed, so purely scandinavian that it is one of the warlike names given to odin himself by the norse-scalds. bulverhithe still commemorates the landing of a norwegian son of the war-god. bruce, the ancestor of the deathless scot, also bears in that name, more illustrious than all, the proof of his scandinavian birth. [ ] this mail appears in that age to have been sewn upon linen or cloth. in the later age of the crusaders, it was more artful, and the links supported each other, without being attached to any other material. [ ] bayeux tapestry. [ ] the cross-bow is not to be seen in the bayeux tapestry--the norman bows are not long. [ ] roman de rou. [ ] william of poitiers. [ ] dieu nous aide. [ ] thus, when at the battle of barnet, earl warwick, the king- maker, slew his horse and fought on foot, he followed the old traditional customs of saxon chiefs. [ ] "devant li dus alout cantant de karlemaine e de rollant, ed 'olever e des vassalls ki morurent en ronchevals." roman de rou, part ii. i. , . much research has been made by french antiquaries, to discover the old chant de roland, but in vain. [ ] w. pict. chron. de nor. [ ] for, as sir f. palgrave shrewdly conjectures, upon the dismemberment of the vast earldom of wessex, on harold's accession to the throne, that portion of it comprising sussex (the old government of his grandfather wolnoth) seems to have been assigned to gurth. [ ] harold's birthday was certainly the th of october. according to mr. roscoe, in his "life of william the conqueror," william was born also on the th of october. [ ] william pict. [ ] thus wace, "guert (gurth) vit engleiz amenuisier, vi k'il n'i ont nul recovrier," etc. "gurth saw the english diminish, and that there was no hope to retrieve the day; the duke pushed forth with such force, that he reached him, and struck him with great violence (par grant air). i know not if he died by the stroke, but it is said that it laid him low." [ ] the suggestions implied in the text will probably be admitted as correct; when we read in the saxon annals of the recognition of the dead, by peculiar marks on their bodies; the obvious, or at least the most natural explanation of those signs, is to be found in the habit of puncturing the skin, mentioned by the malmesbury chronicler. [ ] the contemporary norman chronicler, william of poitiers. see note (r). [ ] see note (r). [ ] "rex magnus parva jacet hic gulielmus in urna-- sufficit et magno parva domus domino." from william the conqueror's epitaph (ap-gemiticen). his bones are said to have been disinterred some centuries after his death. [ ] thomson's essay on magna charta. [ ] orderic. vital. lib. . [ ] the date of william's marriage has been variously stated in english and norman history, but is usually fixed in - . m. pluquet, however, in a note to his edition of the "roman de rou," says that the only authority for the date of that marriage is in the chronicle of tours, and it is there referred to . it would seem that the papal excommunication was not actually taken off till ; nor the formal dispensation for the marriage granted till . [ ] for authorities for the above sketch, and for many interesting details of lanfranc's character, see orderic. vital. hen. de knyghton, lib. ii. gervasius; and the life of lanfranc, to be found in the collection of his works, etc. [ ] pigott's scand. mythol. p. . half. vand. saga. [ ] "suthsaxonum ministrum wolfnothem." flor. wig. [ ] asser. de reb. gest. alf. pp. , . [ ] camden, caernarvonshire. [ ] pennant's wales, vol. ii. p. . [ ] the ruins still extant are much diminished since the time even of pownall or pennant; and must be indeed inconsiderable, compared with the buildings or walls which existed at the date of my tale. [ ] johann. ap. acad. celt. tom. iii. p. . [ ] william of poitiers. [ ] he is considered to refer to such bequest in one of his charters: "devicto harlodo rege cum suis complicibus qui michi regnum prudentia domini destinatum, et beneficio concessionis domini et cognati mei gloriosi regis edwardi concessum conati sunt auferre."-- forestina, a. . but william's word is certainly not to be taken, for he never scrupled to break it; and even in these words he does not state that it was left him by edward's will, but destined and given to him--words founded, perhaps, solely on the promise referred to, before edward came to the throne, corroborated by some messages in the earlier years of his reign, through the norman archbishop of canterbury, who seems to have been a notable intriguer to that end. [ ] palgrave, "commonwealth," . [ ] "quo tumulato, subregulus haroldus godwin ducis filius, quem rex ante suam decessionem regni successorem elegerat, a totius angliae primatibus, ad regale culmen electus, die eodem ab aldredo eboracensi archiepiscopo in regem est honorifice consecratus."--flor. wig. [ ] some of these norman chroniclers tell an absurd story of harold's seizing the crown from the hand of the bishop, and putting it himself on his head. the bayeux tapestry, which is william's most connected apology for his claim, shows no such violence; but harold is represented as crowned very peaceably. with more art, (as i have observed elsewhere,) the tapestry represents stigand as crowning him instead of alred; stigand being at that time under the pope's interdict. [ ] edward died jan. th. harold's coronation is said to have taken place jan. the th; but there is no very satisfactory evidence as to the precise day; indeed some writers would imply that he was crowned the day after edward's death, which is scarcely possible. [ ] vit. harold. chron. ang. norm. [ ] laing's note to snorro sturleson, vol. iii. p. . [ ] this william mallet was the father of robert mallet, founder of the priory of eye, in suffolk (a branch of the house of mallet de graville).--pluquet. he was also the ancestor of the great william mallet (or malet, as the old scandinavian name was now corruptly spelt), one of the illustrious twenty-five "conservators" of magna charta. the family is still extant; and i have to apologise to sir alexander malet, bart. (her majesty's minister at stutgard), lieut.- col. charles st. lo malet, the rev. william windham malet (vicar of ardley), and other members of that ancient house, for the liberty taken with the name of their gallant forefather. the end. this ebook was produced by tapio riikonen and david widger book vii. the welch king. chapter i. the sun had just cast his last beams over the breadth of water into which conway, or rather cyn-wy, "the great river," emerges its winding waves. not at that time existed the matchless castle, which is now the monument of edward plantagenet, and the boast of wales. but besides all the beauty the spot took from nature, it had even some claim from ancient art. a rude fortress rose above the stream of gyffin, out of the wrecks of some greater roman hold [ ], and vast ruins of a former town lay round it; while opposite the fort, on the huge and ragged promontory of gogarth, might still be seen, forlorn and grey, the wrecks of the imperial city, destroyed ages before by lightning. all these remains of a power and a pomp that rome in vain had bequeathed to the briton, were full of pathetic and solemn interest, when blent with the thought, that on yonder steep, the brave prince of a race of heroes, whose line transcended, by ages, all the other royalties of the north, awaited, amidst the ruins of man, and in the stronghold which nature yet gave, the hour of his doom. but these were not the sentiments of the martial and observant norman, with the fresh blood of a new race of conquerors. "in this land," thought he, "far more even than in that of the saxon, there are the ruins of old; and when the present can neither maintain nor repair the past, its future is subjection or despair." agreeably to the peculiar uses of saxon military skill, which seems to have placed all strength in dykes and ditches, as being perhaps the cheapest and readiest outworks, a new trench had been made round the fort, on two sides, connecting it on the third and fourth with the streams of gyffin and the conway. but the boat was rowed up to the very walls, and the norman, springing to land, was soon ushered into the presence of the earl. harold was seated before a rude table, and bending over a rough map of the great mountain of penmaen; a lamp of iron stood beside the map, though the air was yet clear. the earl rose, as de graville, entering with the proud but easy grace habitual to his countrymen, said, in his best saxon: "hail to earl harold! william mallet de graville, the norman, greets him, and brings him news from beyond the seas." there was only one seat in that bare room--the seat from which the earl had risen. he placed it with simple courtesy before his visitor, and leaning, himself, against the table, said, in the norman tongue, which he spoke fluently: "it is no slight thanks that i owe to the sire de graville, that he hath undertaken voyage and journey on my behalf; but before you impart your news, i pray you to take rest and food." "rest will not be unwelcome; and food, if unrestricted to goats' cheese, and kid-flesh,--luxuries new to my palate,--will not be untempting; but neither food nor rest can i take, noble harold, before i excuse myself, as a foreigner, for thus somewhat infringing your laws by which we are banished, and acknowledging gratefully the courteous behavior i have met from thy countrymen notwithstanding." "fair sir," answered harold, "pardon us if, jealous of our laws, we have seemed inhospitable to those who would meddle with them. but the saxon is never more pleased than when the foreigner visits him only as the friend: to the many who settle amongst us for commerce--fleming, lombard, german, and saracen--we proffer shelter and welcome; to the few who, like thee, sir norman, venture over the seas but to serve us, we give frank cheer and free hand." agreeably surprised at this gracious reception from the son of godwin, the norman pressed the hand extended to him, and then drew forth a small case, and related accurately, and with feeling, the meeting of his cousin with sweyn, and sweyn's dying charge. the earl listened, with eyes bent on the ground, and face turned from the lamp; and, when mallet had concluded his recital, harold said, with an emotion he struggled in vain to repress: "i thank you cordially gentle norman, for kindness kindly rendered! i--i--" the voice faltered. "sweyn was very dear to me in his sorrows! we heard that he had died in lycia, and grieved much and long. so, after he had thus spoken to your cousin, he--he----alas! o sweyn, my brother!" "he died," said the norman, soothingly; "but shriven and absolved; and my cousin says, calm and hopeful, as they die ever who have knelt at the saviour's tomb!" harold bowed his head, and turned the case that held the letter again and again in his hand, but would not venture to open it. the knight himself, touched by a grief so simple and manly, rose with the delicate instinct that belongs to sympathy, and retired to the door, without which yet waited the officer who had conducted him. harold did not attempt to detain him, but followed him across the threshold, and briefly commanding the officer to attend to his guest as to himself, said: "with the morning, sire de granville, we shall meet again; i see that you are one to whom i need not excuse man's natural emotions." "a noble presence!" muttered the knight, as he descended the stairs; "but he hath norman, at least norse, blood in his veins on the distaff side.--fair sir!"--(this aloud to the officer)--"any meat save the kid-flesh, i pray thee; and any drink save the mead!" "fear not, guest" said the officer; "for tostig the earl hath two ships in yon bay, and hath sent us supplies that would please bishop william of london; for tostig the earl is a toothsome man." "commend me, then, to tostig the earl," said the knight; "he is an earl after my own heart." chapter ii. on re-entering the room, harold drew the large bolt across the door, opened the case, and took forth the distained and tattered scroll: "when this comes to thee, harold, the brother of thy childish days will sleep in the flesh, and be lost to men's judgment and earth's woe in the spirit. i have knelt at the tomb; but no dove hath come forth from the cloud,--no stream of grace hath re-baptised the child of wrath! they tell me now--monk and priest tell me--that i have atoned all my sins; that the dread weregeld is paid; that i may enter the world of men with a spirit free from the load, and a name redeemed from the stain. think so, o brother!--bid my father (if he still lives, the dear old man!) think so;--tell githa to think it; and oh, teach haco, my son, to hold the belief as a truth! harold, again i commend to thee my son; be to him as a father! my death surely releases him as a hostage. let him not grow up in the court of the stranger, in the land of our foes. let his feet, in his youth, climb the green holts of england;--let his eyes, resin dims them, drink the blue of her skies! when this shall reach thee, thou in thy calm, effortless strength, wilt be more great than godwin our father. power came to him with travail and through toil, the geld of craft and of force. power is born to thee as strength to the strong man; it gathers around thee as thou movest; it is not thine aim, it is thy nature, to be great. shield my child with thy might; lead him forth from the prison-house by thy serene right hand! i ask not for lordships and earldoms, as the appanage of his father; train him not to be rival to thee:--i ask but for freedom, and english air! so counting on thee, o harold, i turn my face to the wall, and hush my wild heart to peace!" the scroll dropped noiseless from harold's hand. "thus," said he, mournfully, "hath passed away less a life than a dream! yet of sweyn, in our childhood, was godwin most proud; who so lovely in peace, and so terrible in wrath? my mother taught him the songs of the baltic, and hilda led his steps through the woodland with tales of hero and scald. alone of our house, he had the gift of the dane in the flow of fierce song, and for him things lifeless had being. stately tree, from which all the birds of heaven sent their carol; where the falcon took roost, whence the mavis flew forth in its glee,--how art thou blasted and seared, bough and core!--smit by the lightning and consumed by the worm!" he paused, and, though none were by, he long shaded his brow with his hand. "now," thought he, as he rose and slowly paced the chamber, "now to what lives yet on earth--his son! often hath my mother urged me in behalf of these hostages; and often have i sent to reclaim them. smooth and false pretexts have met my own demand, and even the remonstrance of edward himself. but, surely, now that william hath permitted this norman to bring over the letter, he will assent to what it hath become a wrong and an insult to refuse; and haco will return to his father's land, and wolnoth to his mother's arms." chapter iii. messire mallet de graville (as becomes a man bred up to arms, and snatching sleep with quick grasp whenever that blessing be his to command) no sooner laid his head on the pallet to which he had been consigned, than his eyes closed, and his senses were deaf even to dreams. but at the dead of the midnight he was wakened by sounds that might have roused the seven sleepers--shouts, cries, and yells, the blast of horns, the tramp of feet, and the more distant roar of hurrying multitudes. he leaped from his bed, and the whole chamber was filled with a lurid bloodred air. his first thought was that the fort was on fire. but springing upon the settle along the wall, and looking through the loophole of the tower, it seemed as if not the fort but the whole land was one flame, and through the glowing atmosphere he beheld all the ground, near and far, swarming with men. hundreds were swimming the rivulet, clambering up dyke mounds, rushing on the levelled spears of the defenders, breaking through line and palisade, pouring into the enclosures; some in half-armour of helm and corselet--others in linen tunics--many almost naked. loud sharp shrieks of "alleluia!" [ ] blended with those of "out! out! holy crosse!" [ ] he divined at once that the welch were storming the saxon hold. short time indeed sufficed for that active knight to case himself in his mail; and, sword in hand, he burst through the door, cleared the stairs, and gained the hall below, which was filled with men arming in haste. "where is harold?" he exclaimed. "on the trenches already," answered sexwolf, buckling his corslet of hide. "this welch hell hath broke loose." "and you are their beacon-fires? then the whole land is upon us!" "prate less," quoth sexwolf; "those are the hills now held by the warders of harold: our spies gave them notice, and the watch-fires prepared us ere the fiends came in sight, otherwise we had been lying here limbless or headless. now, men, draw up, and march forth." "hold! hold!" cried the pious knight, crossing himself, "is there no priest here to bless us? first a prayer and a psalm!" "prayer and psalm!" cried sexwolf, astonished, "an thou hadst said ale and mead, i could have understood thee.--out! out!--holyrood, holyrood!" "the godless paynims!" muttered the norman, borne away with the crowd. once in the open space, the scene was terrific. brief as had been the onslaught the carnage was already unspeakable. by dint of sheer physical numbers, animated by a valour that seemed as the frenzy of madmen or the hunger of wolves, hosts of the britons had crossed trench and stream, seizing with their hands the points of the spears opposed to them, bounding over the corpses of their countrymen, and with yells of wild joy rushing upon the close serried lines drawn up before the fort. the stream seemed literally to run gore; pierced by javelins and arrows, corpses floated and vanished, while numbers, undeterred by the havoc, leaped into the waves from the opposite banks. like bears that surround the ship of a sea-king beneath the polar meteors, or the midnight sun of the north, came the savage warriors through that glaring atmosphere. amidst all, two forms were pre-eminent: the one, tall and towering, stood by the trench, and behind a banner, that now drooped round the stave, now streamed wide and broad, stirred by the rush of men--for the night in itself was breezeless. with a vast danish axe wielded by both hands, stood this man, confronting hundreds, and at each stroke, rapid as the levin, fell a foe. all round him was a wall of his own-- the dead. but in the centre of the space, leading on a fresh troop of shouting welchmen who had forced their way from another part, was a form which seemed charmed against arrow and spear. for the defensive arms of this chief were as slight as if worn but for ornament: a small corselet of gold covered only the centre of his breast, a gold collar of twisted wires circled his throat, and a gold bracelet adorned his bare arm, dropping gore, not his own, from the wrist to the elbow. he was small and slight-shaped--below the common standard of men--but he seemed as one made a giant by the sublime inspiration of war. he wore no helmet, merely a golden circlet; and his hair, of deep red (longer than was usual with the welch), hung like the mane of a lion over his shoulders, tossing loose with each stride. his eyes glared like the tiger's at night, and he leaped on the spears with a bound. lost a moment amidst hostile ranks, save by the swift glitter of his short sword, he made, amidst all, a path for himself and his followers, and emerged from the heart of the steel unscathed and loud-breathing; while, round the line he had broken, wheeled and closed his wild men, striking, rushing, slaying, slain. "pardex, this is war worth the sharing," said the knight. "and now, worthy sexwolf, thou shalt see if the norman is the vaunter thou deemest him. dieu nous aide! notre dame!--take the foe in the rear." but turning round, he perceived that sexwolf had already led his men towards the standard, which showed them where stood the earl, almost alone in his peril. the knight, thus left to himself, did not hesitate:--a minute more, and he was in the midst of the welch force, headed by the chief with the golden panoply. secure in his ring mail against the light weapons of the welch, the sweep of the norman sword was as the scythe of death. right and left he smote through the throng which he took in the flank, and had almost gained the small phalanx of saxons, that lay firm in the midst, when the cymrian chief's flashing eye was drawn to his new and strange foe, by the roar and the groan round the norman's way; and with the half-naked breast against the shirt of mail, and the short roman sword against the long norman falchion, the lion king of wales fronted the knight. unequal as seems the encounter, so quick was the spring of the briton, so pliant his arm, and so rapid his weapon, that that good knight (who rather from skill and valour than brute physical strength, ranked amongst the prowest of william's band of martial brothers) would willingly have preferred to see before him fitzosborne or montgommeri, all clad in steel and armed with mace and lance, than parried those dazzling strokes, and fronted the angry majesty of that helmless brow. already the strong rings of his mail had been twice pierced, and his blood trickled fast, while his great sword had but smitten the air in its sweeps at the foe; when the saxon phalanx, taking advantage of the breach in the ring that girt them, caused by this diversion, and recognising with fierce ire the gold torque and breastplate of the welch king, made their desperate charge. then for some minutes the pele mele was confused and indistinct--blows blind and at random-- death coming no man knew whence or how; till discipline and steadfast order (which the saxons kept, as by mechanism, through the discord) obstinately prevailed. the wedge forced its way; and, though reduced in numbers and sore wounded, the saxon troop cleared the ring, and joined the main force drawn up by the fort, and guarded in the rear by its wall. meanwhile harold, supported by the band under sexwolf, had succeeded at length in repelling farther reinforcements of the welch at the more accessible part of the trenches; and casting now his practised eye over the field, he issued orders for some of the men to regain the fort, and open from the battlements, and from every loophole, the batteries of stone and javelin, which then (with the saxons, unskilled in sieges,) formed the main artillery of forts. these orders given, he planted sexwolf and most of his band to keep watch round the trenches; and shading his eye with his hand, and looking towards the moon, all waning and dimmed in the watchfires, he said, calmly, "now patience fights for us. ere the moon reaches yon hill-top, the troops of aber and caer-hen will be on the slopes of penmaen, and cut off the retreat of the walloons. advance my flag to the thick of yon strife." but as the earl, with his axe swung over his shoulder, and followed but by some half-score or more with his banner, strode on where the wild war was now mainly concentred, just midway between trench and fort, gryffyth caught sight both of the banner and the earl, and left the press at the very moment when he had gained the greatest advantage; and when indeed, but for the norman, who, wounded as he was, and unused to fight on foot, stood resolute in the van, the saxons, wearied out by numbers, and falling fast beneath the javelins, would have fled into their walls, and so sealed their fate,--for the welch would have entered at their heels. but it was the misfortune of the welch heroes never to learn that war is a science; and instead of now centering all force on the point most weakened, the whole field vanished from the fierce eye of the welch king, when he saw the banner and form of harold. the earl beheld the coming foe, wheeling round, as the hawk on the heron;--halted, drew up his few men in a semicircle, with their large shields as a rampart, and their levelled spears as a palisade; and before them all, as a tower, stood harold with his axe. in a minute more he was surrounded; and through the rain of javelins that poured upon him, hissed and glittered the sword of gryffyth. but harold, more practised than the sire de graville in the sword-play of the welch, and unencumbered by other defensive armour (save only the helm, which was shaped like the norman's,) than his light coat of hide, opposed quickness to quickness, and suddenly dropping his axe, sprang upon his foe, and clasping him round with his left arm, with the right hand griped at his throat: "yield and quarter!--yield, for thy life, son of llewellyn!" strong was that embrace, and deathlike that gripe; yet, as the snake from the hand of the dervise--as a ghost from the grasp of the dreamer, the lithe cymrian glided away, and the broken torque was all that remained in the clutch of harold. at this moment a mighty yell of despair broke from the welch near the fort: stones and javelins rained upon them from the walls, and the fierce norman was in the midst, with his sword drinking blood; but not for javelin, stone, and sword, shrank and shouted the welchmen. on the other side of the trenches were marching against them their own countrymen, the rival tribes that helped the stranger to rend the land: and far to the right were seen the spears of the saxon from aber, and to the left was heard the shout of the forces under godrith from caer-hen; and they who had sought the leopard in his lair were now themselves the prey caught in the toils. with new heart, as they beheld these reinforcements, the saxons pressed on; tumult, and flight, and indiscriminate slaughter, wrapped the field. the welch rushed to the stream and the trenches; and in the bustle and hurlabaloo, gryffyth was swept along, as a bull by a torrent; still facing the foe, now chiding, now smiting his own men, now rushing alone on the pursuers, and halting their onslaught, he gained, still unwounded, the stream, paused a moment, laughed loud, and sprang into the wave. a hundred javelins hissed into the sullen and bloody waters. "hold!" cried harold the earl, lifting his hand on high, "no dastard dart at the brave!" chapter iv. the fugitive britons, scarce one-tenth of the number that had first rushed to the attack,--performed their flight with the same parthian rapidity that characterised the assault; and escaping both welch foe and saxon, though the former broke ground to pursue them, they gained the steeps of penmaen. there was no further thought of slumber that night within the walls. while the wounded were tended, and the dead were cleared from the soil, harold, with three of his chiefs, and mallet de graville, whose feats rendered it more than ungracious to refuse his request that he might assist in the council, conferred upon the means of terminating the war with the next day. two of the thegns, their blood hot with strife and revenge, proposed to scale the mountain with the whole force the reinforcements had brought them, and put all they found to the sword. the third, old and prudent, and inured to welch warfare, thought otherwise. "none of us," said he, "know what is the true strength of the place which ye propose to storm. not even one welchman have we found who hath ever himself gained the summit, or examined the castle which is said to exist there." [ ] "said!" echoed de graville, who, relieved of his mail, and with his wounds bandaged, reclined on his furs on the floor. "said, noble sir! cannot our eyes perceive the towers?" the old thegn shook his head. "at a distance, and through mists, stones loom large, and crags themselves take strange shapes. it may be castle, may be rock, may be old roofless temples of heathenesse that we see. but to repeat (and, as i am slow, i pray not again to be put out in my speech)--none of us know what, there, exists of defence, man-made or nature-built. not even thy welch spies, son of godwin, have gained to the heights. in the midst lie the scouts of the welch king, and those on the top can see the bird fly, the goat climb. few of thy spies, indeed, have ever returned with life; their heads have been left at the foot of the hill, with the scroll in their lips,-- 'dic ad inferos--quid in superis novisti.' tell to the shades below what thou hast seen in the heights above." "and the walloons know latin!" muttered the knight; "i respect them!" the slow thegn frowned, stammered, and renewed: "one thing at least is clear; that the rock is well nigh insurmountable to those who know not the passes; that strict watch, baffling even welch spies, is kept night and day; that the men on the summit are desperate and fierce; that our own troops are awed and terrified by the belief of the welch, that the spot is haunted and the towers fiend-founded. one single defeat may lose us two years of victory. gryffyth may break from the eyrie, regain what he hath lost, win back our welch allies, ever faithless and hollow. wherefore, i say, go on as we have begun. beset all the country round; cut off all supplies, and let the foe rot by famine--or waste, as he hath done this night, his strength by vain onslaught and sally." "thy counsel is good," said harold, "but there is yet something to add to it, which may shorten the strife, and gain the end with less sacrifice of life. the defeat of tonight will have humbled the spirits of the welch; take them yet in the hour of despair and disaster. i wish, therefore, to send to their outposts a nuncius, with these terms: 'life and pardon to all who lay down arms and surrender.'" "what, after such havoc and gore?" cried one of the thegns. "they defend their own soil," replied the earl simply: "had not we done the same?" "but the rebel gryffyth?" asked the old thegn, "thou canst not accept him again as crowned sub-king of edward?" "no," said the earl, "i propose to exempt gryffyth alone from the pardon, with promise, natheless, of life if he give himself up as prisoner; and count, without further condition, on the king's mercy." there was a prolonged silence. none spoke against the earl's proposal, though the two younger thegns misliked it much. at last said the elder, "but hast thou thought who will carry this message? fierce and wild are yon blood-dogs; and man must needs shrive soul and make will, if he will go to their kennel." "i feel sure that my bode will be safe," answered harold: for gryffyth has all the pride of a king, and, sparing neither man nor child in the onslaught, will respect what the roman taught his sires to respect-- envoy from chief to chief--as a head scatheless and sacred." "choose whom thou wilt, harold," said one of the young thegns, laughing, "but spare thy friends; and whomsoever thou choosest, pay his widow the weregeld." "fair sirs," then said de graville, "if ye think that i, though a stranger, could serve you as nuncius, it would be a pleasure to me to undertake this mission. first, because, being curious as concerns forts and castles, i would fain see if mine eyes have deceived me in taking yon towers for a hold of great might. secondly, because that same wild-cat of a king must have a court rare to visit. and the only reflection that withholds my pressing the offer as a personal suit is, that though i have some words of the breton jargon at my tongue's need, i cannot pretend to be a tully in welch; howbeit, since it seems that one, at least, among them knows something of latin, i doubt not but what i shall get out my meaning!" "nay, as to that, sire de graville," said harold, who seemed well pleased with the knight's offer, "there shall be no hindrance or let, as i will make clear to you; and in spite of what you have just heard, gryffyth shall harm you not in limb or in life. but, kindly and courteous sir, will your wounds permit the journey, not long, but steep and laborious, and only to be made on foot?" "on foot!" said the knight, a little staggered, "pardex! well and truly, i did not count upon that!" "enough," said harold, turning away in evident disappointment, "think of it no more." "nay, by your leave, what i have once said i stand to," returned the knight; "albeit, you may as well cleave in two one of those respectable centaurs of which we have read in our youth, as part norman and horse. i will forthwith go to my chamber, and apparel myself becomingly--not forgetting, in case of the worst, to wear my mail under my robe. vouchsafe me but an armourer, just to rivet up the rings through which scratched so felinely the paw of that well- appelled griffin." "i accept your offer frankly," said harold, "and all shall be prepared for you, as soon as you yourself will re-seek me here." the knight rose, and though somewhat stiff and smarting with his wounds, left the room lightly, summoned his armourer and squire, and having dressed with all the care and pomp habitual to a norman, his gold chain round his neck, and his vest stiff with broidery, he re- entered the apartment of harold. the earl received him alone, and came up to him with a cordial face. "i thank thee more, brave norman, than i ventured to say before my thegns, for i tell thee frankly, that my intent and aim are to save the life of this brave king; and thou canst well understand that every saxon amongst us must have his blood warmed by contest, and his eyes blind with national hate. you alone, as a stranger, see the valiant warrior and hunted prince, and as such you can feel for him the noble pity of manly foes." "that is true," said de graville, a little surprised, "though we normans are at least as fierce as you saxons, when we have once tasted blood; and i own nothing would please me better than to dress that catamaran in mail, put a spear in its claws, and a horse under its legs, and thus fight out my disgrace at being so clawed and mauled by its griffes. and though i respect a brave knight in distress, i can scarce extend my compassion to a thing that fights against all rule, martial and kingly." the earl smiled gravely. "it is the mode in which his ancestors rushed on the spears of caesar. pardon him." "i pardon him, at your gracious request," quoth the knight, with a grand air, and waving his hands; "say on." "you will proceed with a welch monk--whom, though not of the faction of gryffyth, all welchmen respect--to the mouth of a frightful pass, skirting the river; the monk will bear aloft the holy rood in signal of peace. arrived at that pass, you will doubtless be stopped. the monk here will be spokesman; and ask safe-conduct to gryffyth to deliver my message; he will also bear certain tokens, which will no doubt win the way for you." "arrived before gryffyth, the monk will accost him; mark and heed well his gestures, since thou wilt know not the welch tongue he employs. and when he raises the rood, thou,--in the mean while, having artfully approached close to gryffyth,--wilt whisper in saxon, which he well understands, and pressing the ring i now give thee into his hand, 'obey, by this pledge; thou knowest harold is true, and thy head is sold by thine own people.' if he asks more thou knowest nought." "so far, this is as should be from chief to chief," said the norman, touched, "and thus had fitzosborne done to his foe. i thank thee for this mission, and the more that thou hast not asked me to note the strength of the bulwark, and number the men that may keep it." again harold smiled. "praise me not for this, noble norman--we plain saxons have not your refinements. if ye are led to the summit, which i think ye will not be, the monk at least will have eyes to see, and tongue to relate. but to thee i confide this much;--i know already, that gryffyth's strongholds are not his walls and his towers, but the superstition of our men, and the despair of his own. i could win those heights, as i have won heights as cloudcapt, but with fearful loss of my own troops, and the massacre of every foe. both i would spare, if i may." "yet thou hast not shown such value for life, in the solitudes i passed," said the knight bluntly. harold turned pale, but said firmly, "sire de graville, a stern thing is duty, and resistless is its voice. these welchmen, unless curbed to their mountains, eat into the strength of england, as the tide gnaws into a shore. merciless were they in their ravages on our borders, and ghastly and torturing their fell revenge. but it is one thing to grapple with a foe fierce and strong, and another to smite when his power is gone, fang and talon. and when i see before me the faded king of a great race, and the last band of doomed heroes, too few and too feeble to make head against my arms,--when the land is already my own, and the sword is that of the deathsman, not of the warrior,--verily, sir norman, duty releases its iron tool, and man becomes man again." "i go," said the norman, inclining his head low as to his own great duke, and turning to the door; yet there he paused, and looking at the ring which he had placed on his finger, he said, "but one word more, if not indiscreet--your answer may help argument, if argument be needed. what tale lies hid in this token?" harold coloured and paused a moment, then answered: "simply this. gryffyth's wife, the lady aldyth, a saxon by birth, fell into my hands. we were storming rhadlan, at the farther end of the isle; she was there. we war not against women; i feared the license of my own soldiers, and i sent the lady to gryffyth. aldyth gave me this ring on parting; and i bade her tell gryffyth that whenever, at the hour of his last peril and sorest need, i sent that ring back to him, he might hold it the pledge of his life." "is this lady, think you, in the stronghold with her lord?" "i am not sure, but i fear yes," answered harold. "yet one word: and if gryffyth refuse, despite all warning?" harold's eyes drooped. "if so, he dies; but not by the saxon sword. god and our lady speed you!" chapter v. on the height called pen-y-dinas (or "head of the city") forming one of the summits of penmaen-mawr, and in the heart of that supposed fortress which no eye in the saxon camp had surveyed [ ], reclined gryffyth, the hunted king. nor is it marvellous that at that day there should be disputes as to the nature and strength of the supposed bulwark, since, in times the most recent, and among antiquaries the most learned, the greatest discrepancies exist, not only as to theoretical opinion, but plain matter of observation, and simple measurement. the place, however, i need scarcely say, was not as we see it now, with its foundations of gigantic ruin, affording ample space for conjecture; yet, even then, a wreck as of titans, its date and purpose were lost in remote antiquity. the central area (in which the welch king now reclined) formed an oval barrow of loose stones: whether so left from the origin, or the relics of some vanished building, was unknown even to bard and diviner. round this space were four strong circumvallations of loose stones, with a space about eighty yards between each; the walls themselves generally about eight feet wide, but of various height, as the stones had fallen by time and blast. along these walls rose numerous and almost countless circular buildings, which might pass for towers, though only a few had been recently and rudely roofed in. to the whole of this quadruple enclosure there was but one narrow entrance, now left open as if in scorn of assault; and a winding narrow pass down the mountain, with innumerable curves, alone led to the single threshold. far down the hill, walls again were visible; and the whole surface of the steep soil, more than half way in the descent, was heaped with vast loose stones, as if the bones of a dead city. but beyond the innermost enclosure of the fort (if fort, or sacred enclosure, be the correcter name), rose, thick and frequent, other mementos of the briton; many cromlechs, already shattered and shapeless; the ruins of stone houses; and high over all, those upraised, mighty amber piles, as at stonehenge, once reared, if our dim learning be true, in honour to bel, or bal-huan [ ], the idol of the sun. all, in short, showed that the name of the place, "the head of the city," told its tale; all announced that, there, once the celt had his home, and the gods of the druid their worship. and musing amidst these skeletons of the past, lay the doomed son of pen-dragon. beside him a kind of throne had been raised with stones, and over it was spread a tattered and faded velvet pall. on this throne sat aldyth the queen; and about the royal pair was still that mockery of a court which the jealous pride of the celt king retained amidst all the horrors of carnage and famine. most of the officers indeed (originally in number twenty-four), whose duties attached them to the king and queen of the cymry, were already feeding the crow or the worm. but still, with gaunt hawk on his wrist, the penhebogydd (grand falconer) stood at a distance; still, with beard sweeping his breast, and rod in hand, leant against a projecting shaft of the wall, the noiseless gosdegwr, whose duty it was to command silence in the king's hall; and still the penbard bent over his bruised harp, which once had thrilled, through the fair vaults of caerleon and rhaldan, in high praise of god, and the king, and the hero dead. in the pomp of gold dish and vessel [ ] the board was spread on the stones for the king and queen; and on the dish was the last fragment of black bread, and in the vessel full and clear, the water from the spring that bubbled up everlastingly through the bones of the dead city. beyond this innermost space, round a basin of rock, through which the stream overflowed as from an artificial conduit, lay the wounded and exhausted, crawling, turn by turn, to the lips of the basin, and happy that the thirst of fever saved them from the gnawing desire of food. a wan and spectral figure glided listlessly to and fro amidst those mangled, and parched, and dying groups. this personage, in happier times, filled the office of physician to the court, and was placed twelfth in rank amidst the chiefs of the household. and for cure of the "three deadly wounds," the cloven skull, or the gaping viscera, or the broken limb (all three classed alike), large should have been his fee [ ]. but feeless went he now from man to man, with his red ointment and his muttered charm; and those over whom he shook his lean face and matted locks, smiled ghastly at that sign that release and death were near. within the enclosures, either lay supine, or stalked restless, the withered remains of the wild army. a sheep, and a horse, and a clog, were yet left them all to share for the day's meal. and the fire of flickering and crackling brushwood burned bright from a hollow amidst the loose stones; but the animals were yet unslain, and the dog crept by the fire, winking at it with dim eyes. but over the lower part of the wall nearest to the barrow, leant three men. the wall there was so broken, that they could gaze over it on that grotesque yet dismal court; and the eyes of the three men, with a fierce and wolfish glare, were bent on gryffyth. three princes were they of the great old line; far as gryffyth they traced the fabulous honours of their race, to hu-gadarn and prydain, and each thought it shame that gryffyth should be lord over him! each had had throne and court of his own; each his "white palace" of peeled willow wands--poor substitutes, o kings, for the palaces and towers that the arts of rome had bequeathed your fathers! and each had been subjugated by the son of llewellyn, when, in his day of might, he re- united under his sole sway all the multiform principalities of wales, and regained, for a moment's splendour, the throne of roderic the great. "is it," said owain, in a hollow whisper, "for yon man, whom heaven hath deserted, who could not keep his very torque from the gripe of the saxon, that we are to die on these hills, gnawing the flesh from our bones? think ye not the hour is come?" "the hour will come, when the sheep, and the horse, and the dog are devoured," replied modred, "and when the whole force, as one man, will cry to gryffyth, 'thou a king!--give us bread!'" "it is well," said the third, an old man, leaning on a wand of solid silver, while the mountain wind, sweeping between the walls, played with the rags of his robe,--"it is well that the night's sally, less of war than of hunger, was foiled even of forage and food. had the saints been with gryffyth, who had dared to keep faith with tostig the saxon." owain laughed, a laugh hollow and false. "art thou cymrian, and talkest of faith with a saxon? faith with the spoiler, the ravisher and butcher? but a cymrian keeps faith with revenge; and gryffyth's trunk should be still crownless and headless, though tostig had never proffered the barter of safety and food. hist! gryffyth wakes from the black dream, and his eyes glow from under his hair." and indeed at this moment the king raised himself on his elbow, and looked round with a haggard and fierce despair in his glittering eyes. "play to us, harper; sing some song of the deeds of old!" the bard mournfully strove to sweep the harp, but the chords were broken, and the note came discordant and shrill as the sigh of a wailing fiend. "o king!" said the bard, "the music hath left the harp." "ha!" murmured gryffyth, "and hope the earth! bard, answer the son of llewellyn. oft in my halls hast thou sung the praise of the men that have been. in the halls of the race to come, will bards yet unborn sweep their harps to the deeds of thy king? shall they tell of the day of torques, by llyn-afangc, when the princes of powys fled from his sword as the clouds from the blast of the wind? shall they sing, as the hirlas goes round, of his steeds of the sea, when no flag came in sight of his prows between the dark isle of the druid [ ] and the green pastures of huerdan? [ ] or the towns that he fired, on the lands of the saxon, when rolf and the nortbmen ran fast from his javelin and spear? or say, child of truth, if all that is told of gryffyth thy king shall be his woe and his shame?" the bard swept his hand over his eyes, and answered: "bards unborn shall sing of gryffyth the son of llewellyn. but the song shall not dwell on the pomp of his power, when twenty sub-kings knelt at his throne, and his beacon was lighted in the holds of the norman and saxon. bards shall sing of the hero, who fought every inch of crag and morass in the front of his men,--and on the heights of penmaen-mawr, fame recovers thy crown!" "then i have lived as my fathers in life, and shall live with their glory in death!" said gryffyth; "and so the shadow hath passed from my soul." then turning round, still propped upon his elbow, he fixed his proud eye upon aldyth, and said gravely, "wife, pale is thy face, and gloomy thy brow; mournest thou the throne or the man?" aldyth cast on her wild lord a look of more terror than compassion, a look without the grief that is gentle, or the love that reveres; and answered: "what matter to thee my thoughts or my sufferings? the sword or the famine is the doom thou hast chosen. listening to vain dreams from thy bard, or thine own pride as idle, thou disdainest life for us both: be it so; let us die!" a strange blending of fondness and wrath troubled the pride on gryffyth's features, uncouth and half savage as they were, but still noble and kingly. "and what terror has death, if thou lovest me?" said he. aldyth shivered and turned aside. the unhappy king gazed hard on that face, which, despite sore trial and recent exposure to rough wind and weather, still retained the proverbial beauty of the saxon women--but beauty without the glow of the heart, as a landscape from which sunlight has vanished; and as he gazed, at the colour went and came fitfully over his swarthy cheeks whose hue contrasted the blue of his eye and the red tawny gold of his shaggy hair. "thou wouldst have me," he said at length, "send to harold thy countryman; thou wouldst have me, me--rightful lord of all britain-- beg for mercy, and sue for life. ah, traitress, and child of robber- sires, fair as rowena art thou, but no vortimer am i! thou turnest in loathing from the lord whose marriage-gift was a crown; and the sleek form of thy saxon harold rises up through the clouds of the carnage." all the fierce and dangerous jealousy of man's most human passion-- when man loves and hates in a breath--trembled in the cymrian's voice, and fired his troubled eye; for aldyth's pale cheek blushed like the rose, but she folded her arms haughtily on her breast, and made no reply. "no," said gryffyth, grinding teeth, white [ ] and strong as those of a young hound. "no, harold in vain sent me the casket; the jewel was gone. in vain thy form returned to my side; thy heart was away with thy captor: and not to save my life (were i so base as to seek it), but to see once more the face of him to whom this cold hand, in whose veins no pulse answers my own, had been given, if thy house had consulted its daughter, wouldst thou have me crouch like a lashed dog at the feet of my foe! oh shame! shame! shame! oh worst perfidy of all! oh sharp--sharper than saxon sword or serpent's tooth, is--is--" tears gushed to those fierce eyes, and the proud king dared not trust to his voice. aldyth rose coldly. "slay me if thou wilt--not insult me. i have said, 'let us die!'" with these words, and vouchsafing no look on her lord, she moved away towards the largest tower or cell, in which the single and rude chamber it contained had been set apart for her. gryffyth's eye followed her, softening gradually as her form receded, till lost to his sight. and then that peculiar household love, which in uncultivated breasts often survives trust and esteem, rushed back on his rough heart, and weakened it, as woman only can weaken the strong to whom death is a thought of scorn. he signed to his bard, who, during the conference between wife and lord, had retired to a distance, and said, with a writhing attempt to smile: "was there truth, thinkest thou, in the legend, that guenever was false to king arthur?" "no," answered the bard, divining his lord's thought, for guenever survived not the king, and they were buried side by side in the vale of avallon." "thou art wise in the lore of the heart, and love hath been thy study from youth to grey hairs. is it love, is it hate, that prefers death for the loved one, to the thought of her life as another's?" a look of the tenderest compassion passed over the bard's wan face, but vanished in reverence, as he bowed his head and answered: "o king, who shall say what note the wind calls from the harp, what impulse love wakes in the soul--now soft and now stern? but," he added, raising his form, and, with a dread calm on his brow, "but the love of a king brooks no thought of dishonour; and she who hath laid her head on his breast should sleep in his grave." "thou wilt outlive me," said gryffyth, abruptly. "this carn be my tomb!" "and if so," said the bard, "thou shalt sleep not alone. in this carn what thou lovest best shall be buried by thy side; the bard shall raise his song over thy grave, and the bosses of shields shall be placed at intervals, as rises and falls the sound of song. over the grave of two shall a new mound arise, and we will bid the mound speak to others in the fair days to come. but distant yet be the hour when the mighty shall be laid low! and the tongue of thy bard may yet chant the rush of the lion from the toils and the spears. hope still!" gryffyth, for answer, leant on the harper's shoulder, and pointed silently to the sea, that lay, lake-like at the distance, dark-studded with the saxon fleet. then turning, his hands stretched over the forms that, hollow-eyed and ghost-like, flitted between the walls, or lay dying, but mute, around the waterspring. his hand then dropped, and rested on the hilt of his sword. at this moment there was a sudden commotion at the outer entrance of the wall; the crowd gathered to one spot, and there was a loud hum of voices. in a few moments one of the welch scouts came into the enclosure, and the chiefs of the royal tribes followed him to the carn on which the king stood. "of what tellest thou?" said gryffyth, resuming on the instant all the royalty of his bearing. "at the mouth of the pass," said the scout, kneeling, "there are a monk bearing the holy rood, and a chief, unarmed. and the monk is evan, the cymrian, of gwentland; and the chief, by his voice, seemeth not to be saxon. the monk bade me give thee these tokens" (and the scout displayed the broken torque which the king had left in the grasp of harold, together with a live falcon belled and blinded), "and bade me say thus to the king: harold the earl greets gryffyth, son of llewellyn, and sends him, in proof of good will, the richest prize he hath ever won from a foe; and a hawk, from llandudno;--that bird which chief and equal give to equal and chief. and he prays gryffyth, son of llewellyn, for the sake of his realm and his people, to grant hearing to his nuncius." a murmur broke from the chiefs--a murmur of joy and surprise from all, save the three conspirators, who interchanged anxious and fiery glances. gryffyth's hand had already closed, while he uttered a cry that seemed of rapture, on the collar of gold; for the loss of that collar had stung him, perhaps more than the loss of the crown of all wales. and his heart, so generous and large, amidst all its rude passions, was touched by the speech and the tokens that honoured the fallen outlaw both as foe and as king. yet in his face there was still seen a moody and proud struggle; he paused before he turned to the chiefs. "what counsel ye--ye strong in battle, and wise in debate?" said he. with one voice all, save the fatal three, exclaimed: "hear the monk, o king!" "shall we dissuade?" whispered modred to the old chief, his accomplice. "no; for so doing, we shall offend all:--and we must win all." then the bard stepped into the ring. and the ring was hushed, for wise is ever the counsel of him whose book is the human heart. "hear the saxons," said he, briefly, and with an air of command when addressing others, which contrasted strongly his tender respect to the king; "hear the saxons, but not in these walls. let no man from the foe see our strength or our weakness. we are still mighty and impregnable, while our dwelling is in the realm of the unknown. let the king, and his officers of state, and his chieftains of battle, descend to the pass. and behind, at the distance, let the spearmen range from cliff to cliff, as a ladder of steel; so will their numbers seem the greater." "thou speakest well," said the king. meanwhile the knight and the monk waited below at that terrible pass [ ], which then lay between mountain and river, and over which the precipices frowned, with a sense of horror and weight. looking up, the knight murmured: "with those stones and crags to roll down on a marching army, the place well defies storm and assault; and a hundred on the height would overmatch thousands below." he then turned to address a few words, with all the far-famed courtesy of norman and frank, to the welch guards at the outpost. they were picked men; the strongest and best armed and best fed of the group. but they shook their heads and answered not, gazing at him fiercely, and showing their white teeth, as dogs at a bear before they are loosened from the band. "they understand me not, poor languageless savages!" said mallet de graville, turning to the monk, who stood by with the lifted rood; "speak to them in their own jargon." "nay," said the welch monk, who, though of a rival tribe from south wales, and at the service of harold, was esteemed throughout the land for piety and learning, "they will not open mouth till the king's orders come to receive or dismiss us unheard." "dismiss us unheard!" repeated the punctilious norman; "even this poor barbarous king can scarcely be so strange to all comely and gentle usage, as to put such insult on guillaume mallet de graville. but," added the knight, colouring, "i forgot that he is not advised of my name and land; and, indeed, sith thou art to be spokesman, i marvel why harold should have prayed my service at all, at the risk of subjecting a norman knight to affronts contumelious." "peradventure," replied evan, "peradventure thou hast something to whisper apart to the king, which, as stranger and warrior, none will venture to question; but which from me, as countryman and priest, would excite the jealous suspicions of those around him." "i conceive thee," said de graville. "and see, spears are gleaming down the path; and per pedes domini, yon chief with the mantle, and circlet of gold on his head, is the cat-king that so spitted and scratched in the melee last night." "heed well thy tongue," said evan, alarmed; "no jests with the leader of men." "knowest thou, good monk, that a facete and most gentil roman (if the saintly writer from whom i take the citation reports aright--for, alas! i know not where myself to purchase, or to steal, one copy of horatius flaccus) hath said 'dulce est desipere in loco.' it is sweet to jest, but not within reach of claws, whether of kaisars or cats." therewith the knight drew up his spare but stately figure, and arranging his robe with grace and dignity, awaited the coming chief. down the paths, one by one, came first the chiefs, privileged by birth to attend the king; and each, as he reached the mouth of the pass, drew on the upper side, among the stones of the rough ground. then a banner, tattered and torn, with the lion ensign that the welch princes had substituted for the old national dragon, which the saxon of wessex had appropriated to themselves [ ], preceded the steps of the king. behind him came his falconer and bard, and the rest of his scanty household. the king halted in the pass, a few steps from the norman knight; and mallet de graville, though accustomed to the majestic mien of duke william, and the practised state of the princes of france and flanders, felt an involuntary thrill of admiration at the bearing of the great child of nature with his foot on his father's soil. small and slight as was his stature, worn and ragged his mantle of state, there was that in the erect mien and steady eye of the cymrian hero, which showed one conscious of authority, and potent in will; and the wave of his hand to the knight was the gesture of a prince on his throne. nor, indeed, was that brave and ill-fated chief without some irregular gleams of mental cultivation, which under happier auspices, might have centred into steadfast light. though the learning which had once existed in wales (the last legacy of rome) had long since expired in broil and blood, and youths no longer flocked to the colleges of caerleon, and priests no longer adorned the casuistical theology of the age, gryffyth himself, the son of a wise and famous father [ ], had received an education beyond the average of saxon kings. but, intensely national, his mind had turned from all other literature, to the legends, and songs, and chronicles of his land; and if he is the best scholar who best understands his own tongue and its treasures, gryffyth was the most erudite prince of his age. his natural talents, for war especially, were considerable; and judged fairly--not as mated with an empty treasury, without other army than the capricious will of his subjects afforded, and amidst his bitterest foes in the jealous chiefs of his own country, against the disciplined force and comparative civilisation of the saxon--but as compared with all the other princes of wales, in warfare, to which he was habituated, and in which chances were even, the fallen son of llewellyn had been the most renowned leader that cymry had known since the death of the great roderic. so there he stood; his attendants ghastly with famine, drawn up on the unequal ground; above, on the heights, and rising from the stone crags, long lines of spears artfully placed; and, watching him with deathful eyes, somewhat in his rear, the traitor three. "speak, father, or chief," said the welch king in his native tongue; "what would harold the earl of gryffyth the king?" then the monk took up the word and spoke. "health to gryffyth-ap-llewellyn, his chiefs and his people! thus saith harold, king edward's thegn: by land all the passes are watched; by sea all the waves are our own. our swords rest in our sheaths; but famine marches each hour to gride and to slay. instead of sure death from the hunger, take sure life from the foe. free pardon to all, chiefs and people, and safe return to their homes,-- save gryffyth alone. let him come forth, not as victim and outlaw, not with bent form and clasped hands, but as chief meeting chief, with his household of state. harold will meet him, in honour, at the gates of the fort. let gryffyth submit to king edward, and ride with harold to the court of the basileus. harold promises him life, and will plead for his pardon. and though the peace of this realm, and the fortune of war, forbid harold to say, 'thou shalt yet be a king;' yet thy crown, son of llewellyn, shall at least be assured in the line of thy fathers, and the race of cadwallader shall still reign in cymry." the monk paused, and hope and joy were in the faces of the famished chiefs; while two of the traitor three suddenly left their post, and sped to tell the message to the spearmen and multitudes above. modred, the third conspirator, laid his hand on his hilt, and stole near to see the face of the king;--the face of the king was dark and angry, as a midnight of storm. then, raising the cross on high, evan resumed. "and i, though of the people of gwentland, which the arms of gryffyth have wasted, and whose prince fell beneath gryffyth's sword on the hearth of his hall--i, as god's servant, the brother of all i behold, and, as son of the soil, mourning over the slaughter of its latest defenders--i, by this symbol of love and command, which i raise to the heaven, adjure thee, o king, to give ear to the mission of peace,--to cast down the grim pride of earth. and instead of the crown of a day, fix thy hopes on the crown everlasting. for much shall be pardoned to thee in thine hour of pomp and of conquest, if now thou savest from doom and from death the last lives over which thou art lord." it was during this solemn appeal that the knight, marking the sign announced to him, and drawing close to gryffyth, pressed the ring into the king's hand, and whispered: "obey by this pledge. thou knowest harold is true, and thy head is sold by thine own people." the king cast a haggard eye at the speaker, and then at the ring, over which his hand closed with a convulsive spasm. and at that dread instant the man prevailed over the king; and far away from people and monk, from adjuration and duty, fled his heart on the wings of the storm--fled to the cold wife he distrusted: and the pledge that should assure him of life, seemed as a love-token insulting his fall:--amidst all the roar of roused passions, loudest of all was the hiss of the jealous fiend. as the monk ceased, the thrill of the audience was perceptible, and a deep silence was followed by a general murmur, as if to constrain the king. then the pride of the despot chief rose up to second the wrath of the suspecting man. the red spot flushed the dark cheek, and he tossed the neglected hair from his brow. he made one stride towards the monk, and said, in a voice loud, and deep, and slow, rolling far up the hill: "monk, thou hast said; and now hear the reply of the son of llewellyn, the true heir of roderic the great, who from the heights of eryri saw all the lands of the cymrian sleeping under the dragon of uther. king was i born, and king will i die. i will not ride by the side of the saxon to the feet of edward, the son of the spoiler. i will not, to purchase base life, surrender the claim, vain before men and the hour, but solemn before god and posterity--the claim of my line and my people. all britain is ours--all the island of pines. and the children of hengist are traitors and rebels--not the heirs of ambrosius and uther. say to harold the saxon, ye have left us but the tomb of the druid and the hills of the eagle; but freedom and royalty are ours, in life and in death--not for you to demand them, not for us to betray. nor fear ye, o my chiefs, few, but unmatched in glory and truth; fear not ye to perish by the hunger thus denounced as our doom, on these heights that command the fruits of our own fields! no, die we may, but not mute and revengeless. go back, whispering warrior; go back, false son of cymry--and tell harold to look well to his walls and his trenches. we will vouchsafe him grace for his grace--we will not take him by surprise, nor under cloud of the night. with the gleam of our spears and the clash of our shields, we will come from the hill: and, famine-worn as he deems us, hold a feast in his walls which the eagles of snowdon spread their pinions to share!" "rash man and unhappy!" cried the monk; "what curse drawest thou down on thy head! wilt thou be the murtherer of thy men, in strife unavailing and vain? heaven holds thee guilty of all the blood thou shalt cause to be shed." "be dumb!--hush thy screech, lying raven!" exclaimed gryffyth, his eyes darting fire and, his slight form dilating. "once, priest and monk went before us to inspire, not to daunt; and our cry, alleluia! was taught us by the saints of the church, on the day when saxons, fierce and many as harold's, fell on the field of maes-garmon. no, the curse is on the head of the invader, not on those who defend hearth and altar. yea, as the song to the bard, the curse leaps through my veins, and rushes forth from my lips. by the land they have ravaged; by the gore they have spilt; on these crags, our last refuge; below the carn on yon heights, where the dead stir to hear me,--i launch the curse of the wronged and the doomed on the children of hengist! they in turn shall know the steel of the stranger--their crown shall be shivered as glass, and their nobles be as slaves in the land. and the line of hengist and cerdic shall be rased from the roll of empire. and the ghosts of our fathers shall glide, appeased, over the grave of their nation. but we--we, though weak in the body, in the soul shall be strong to the last! the ploughshare may pass over our cities, but the soil shall be trod by our steps, and our deeds keep our language alive in the songs of our bards. nor in the great judgment day, shall any race but the race of cymry rise from their graves in this corner of earth, to answer for the sins of the brave!" [ ] so impressive the voice, so grand the brow, and sublime the wild gesture of the king, as he thus spoke, that not only the monk himself was awed; not only, though he understood not the words, did the norman knight bow his head, as a child when the lightning he fears as by instinct flashes out from the cloud,--but even the sullen and wide- spreading discontent at work among most of the chiefs was arrested for a moment. but the spearmen and multitude above, excited by the tidings of safety to life, and worn out by repeated defeat, and the dread fear of famine, too remote to hear the king, were listening eagerly to the insidious addresses of the two stealthy conspirators, creeping from rank to rank; and already they began to sway and move, and sweep slowly down towards the king. recovering his surprise, the norman again neared gryffyth, and began to re-urge his mission of peace. but the chief waved him back sternly, and said aloud, though in saxon: "no secrets can pass between harold and me. this much alone, take thou back as answer: i thank the earl, for myself, my queen, and my people. noble have been his courtesies, as foe; as foe i thank him-- as king, defy. the torque he hath returned to my hand, he shall see again ere the sun set. messengers, ye are answered. withdraw, and speed fast, that we may pass not your steps on the road." the monk sighed, and cast a look of holy compassion over the circle; and a pleased man was he to see in the faces of most there, that the king was alone in his fierce defiance. then lifting again the rood, he turned away, and with him went the norman. the retirement of the messengers was the signal for one burst of remonstrance from the chiefs--the signal for the voice and the deeds of the fatal three. down from the heights sprang and rushed the angry and turbulent multitudes; round the king came the bard and the falconer, and some faithful few. the great uproar of many voices caused the monk and the knight to pause abruptly in their descent, and turn to look behind. they could see the crowd rushing down from the higher steeps; but on the spot itself which they had so lately left, the nature of the ground only permitted a confused view of spear points, lifted swords, and heads crowned with shaggy locks, swaying to and fro. "what means all this commotion?" asked the knight, with his hand on his sword. "hist!" said the monk, pale as ashes, and leaning for support upon the cross. suddenly, above the hubbub, was heard the voice of the king, in accents of menace and wrath, singularly distinct and clear; it was followed by a moment's silence--a moment's silence followed by the clatter of arms, a yell, and a howl, and the indescribable shock of men. and suddenly again was heard a voice that seemed that of the king, but no longer distinct and clear!--was it laugh?--was it groan? all was hushed; the monk was on his knees in prayer; the knight's sword was bare in his hand. all was hushed--and the spears stood still in the air; when there was again a cry, as multitudinous, but less savage than before. and the welch came down the pass, and down the crags. the knight placed his back to a rock. "they have orders to murther us," he murmured; "but woe to the first who come within reach of my sword!" down swarmed the welchmen, nearer and nearer; and in the midst of them three chiefs--the fatal three. and the old chief bore in his hand a pole or spear, and on the top of that spear, trickling gore step by step, was the trunkless head of gryffyth the king. "this," said the old chief, as he drew near, "this is our answer to harold the earl. we will go with ye." "food! food!" cried the multitude. and the three chiefs (one on either side the trunkless head that the third bore aloft) whispered, "we are avenged!" this ebook was produced by tapio riikonen and david widger harold by edward bulwer lytton dedicatory epistle to the right hon. c. t. d'eyncourt, m.p. i dedicate to you, my dear friend, a work, principally composed under your hospitable roof; and to the materials of which your library, rich in the authorities i most needed, largely contributed. the idea of founding an historical romance on an event so important and so national as the norman invasion, i had long entertained, and the chronicles of that time had long been familiar to me. but it is an old habit of mine, to linger over the plan and subject of a work, for years, perhaps, before the work has, in truth, advanced a sentence; "busying myself," as old burton saith, "with this playing labour--otiosaque diligentia ut vitarem torporen feriendi." the main consideration which long withheld me from the task, was in my sense of the unfamiliarity of the ordinary reader with the characters, events, and, so to speak, with the very physiognomy of a period ante agamemnona; before the brilliant age of matured chivalry, which has given to song and romance the deeds of the later knighthood, and the glorious frenzy of the crusades. the norman conquest was our trojan war; an epoch beyond which our learning seldom induces our imagination to ascend. in venturing on ground so new to fiction, i saw before me the option of apparent pedantry, in the obtrusion of such research as might carry the reader along with the author, fairly and truly into the real records of the time; or of throwing aside pretensions to accuracy altogether;--and so rest contented to turn history into flagrant romance, rather than pursue my own conception of extracting its natural romance from the actual history. finally, not without some encouragement from you, (whereof take your due share of blame!) i decided to hazard the attempt, and to adopt that mode of treatment which, if making larger demand on the attention of the reader, seemed the more complimentary to his judgment. the age itself, once duly examined, is full of those elements which should awaken interest, and appeal to the imagination. not untruly has sismondi said, that the "eleventh century has a right to be considered a great age. it was a period of life and of creation; all that there was of noble, heroic, and vigorous in the middle ages commenced at that epoch." [ ] but to us englishmen in especial, besides the more animated interest in that spirit of adventure, enterprise, and improvement, of which the norman chivalry was the noblest type, there is an interest more touching and deep in those last glimpses of the old saxon monarchy, which open upon us in the mournful pages of our chroniclers. i have sought in this work, less to portray mere manners, which modern researches have rendered familiar to ordinary students in our history, than to bring forward the great characters, so carelessly dismissed in the long and loose record of centuries; to show more clearly the motives and policy of the agents in an event the most memorable in europe; and to convey a definite, if general, notion of the human beings, whose brains schemed, and whose hearts beat, in that realm of shadows which lies behind the norman conquest; "spes hominum caecos, morbos, votumque, labores, et passim toto volitantes aethere curas." [ ] i have thus been faithful to the leading historical incidents in the grand tragedy of harold, and as careful as contradictory evidences will permit, both as to accuracy in the delineation of character, and correctness in that chronological chain of dates without which there can be no historical philosophy; that is, no tangible link between the cause and the effect. the fictitious part of my narrative is, as in "rienzi," and the "last of the barons," confined chiefly to the private life, with its domain of incident and passion, which is the legitimate appanage of novelist or poet. the love story of harold and edith is told differently from the well-known legend, which implies a less pure connection. but the whole legend respecting the edeva faira (edith the fair) whose name meets us in the "domesday" roll, rests upon very slight authority considering its popular acceptance [ ]; and the reasons for my alterations will be sufficiently obvious in a work intended not only for general perusal, but which on many accounts, i hope, may be entrusted fearlessly to the young; while those alterations are in strict accordance with the spirit of the time, and tend to illustrate one of its most marked peculiarities. more apology is perhaps due for the liberal use to which i have applied the superstitions of the age. but with the age itself those superstitions are so interwoven--they meet us so constantly, whether in the pages of our own chroniclers, or the records of the kindred scandinavians--they are so intruded into the very laws, so blended with the very life, of our saxon forefathers, that without employing them, in somewhat of the same credulous spirit with which they were originally conceived, no vivid impression of the people they influenced can be conveyed. not without truth has an italian writer remarked, "that he who would depict philosophically an unphilosophical age, should remember that, to be familiar with children, one must sometimes think and feel as a child." yet it has not been my main endeavour to make these ghostly agencies conducive to the ordinary poetical purposes of terror, and if that effect be at all created by them, it will be, i apprehend, rather subsidiary to the more historical sources of interest than, in itself, a leading or popular characteristic of the work. my object, indeed, in the introduction of the danish vala especially, has been perhaps as much addressed to the reason as to the fancy, in showing what large, if dim, remains of the ancient "heathenesse" still kept their ground on the saxon soil, contending with and contrasting the monkish superstitions, by which they were ultimately replaced. hilda is not in history; but without the romantic impersonation of that which hilda represents, the history of the time would be imperfectly understood. in the character of harold--while i have carefully examined and weighed the scanty evidences of its distinguishing attributes which are yet preserved to us--and, in spite of no unnatural partiality, have not concealed what appear to me its deficiencies, and still less the great error of the life it illustrates,--i have attempted, somewhat and slightly, to shadow out the ideal of the pure saxon character, such as it was then, with its large qualities undeveloped, but marked already by patient endurance, love of justice, and freedom --the manly sense of duty rather than the chivalric sentiment of honour--and that indestructible element of practical purpose and courageous will, which, defying all conquest, and steadfast in all peril, was ordained to achieve so vast an influence over the destinies of the world. to the norman duke, i believe, i have been as lenient as justice will permit, though it is as impossible to deny his craft as to dispute his genius; and so far as the scope of my work would allow, i trust that i have indicated fairly the grand characteristics of his countrymen, more truly chivalric than their lord. it has happened, unfortunately for that illustrious race of men, that they have seemed to us, in england, represented by the anglo-norman kings. the fierce and plotting william, the vain and worthless rufus, the cold-blooded and relentless henry, are no adequate representatives of the far nobler norman vavasours, whom even the english chronicler admits to have been "kind masters," and to whom, in spite of their kings, the after liberties of england were so largely indebted. but this work closes on the field of hastings; and in that noble struggle for national independence, the sympathies of every true son of the land, even if tracing his lineage back to the norman victor, must be on the side of the patriot harold. in the notes, which i have thought necessary aids to the better comprehension of these volumes, my only wish has been to convey to the general reader such illustrative information as may familiarise him. more easily with the subject-matter of the book, or refresh his memory on incidental details not without a national interest. in the mere references to authorities i do not pretend to arrogate to a fiction the proper character of a history; the references are chiefly used either where wishing pointedly to distinguish from invention what was borrowed from a chronicle, or when differing from some popular historian to whom the reader might be likely to refer, it seemed well to state the authority upon which the difference was founded. [ ] in fact, my main object has been one that compelled me to admit graver matter than is common in romance, but which i would fain hope may be saved from the charge of dulness by some national sympathy between author and reader; my object is attained, and attained only, if, in closing the last page of this work, the reader shall find that, in spite of the fictitious materials admitted, he has formed a clearer and more intimate acquaintance with a time, heroic though remote, and characters which ought to have a household interest to englishmen, than the succinct accounts of the mere historian could possibly afford him. thus, my dear d'eyncourt, under cover of an address to yourself, have i made to the public those explanations which authors in general (and i not the least so) are often overanxious to render. this task done, my thoughts naturally fly back to the associations i connected with your name when i placed it at the head of this epistle. again i seem to find myself under your friendly roof; again to greet my provident host entering that gothic chamber in which i had been permitted to establish my unsocial study, heralding the advent of majestic folios, and heaping libraries round the unworthy work. again, pausing from my labour, i look through that castle casement, and beyond that feudal moat, over the broad landscapes which, if i err not, took their name from the proud brother of the conqueror himself; or when, in those winter nights, the grim old tapestry waved in the dim recesses, i hear again the saxon thegn winding his horn at the turret door, and demanding admittance to the halls from which the prelate of bayeux had so unrighteously expelled him [ ]--what marvel, that i lived in the times of which i wrote, saxon with the saxon, norman with the norman--that i entered into no gossip less venerable than that current at the court of the confessor, or startled my fellow-guests (when i deigned to meet them) with the last news which harold's spies had brought over from the camp at st. valery? with all those folios, giants of the gone world, rising around me daily, more and more, higher and higher--ossa upon pelion--on chair and table, hearth and floor; invasive as normans, indomitable as saxons, and tall as the tallest danes (ruthless host, i behold them still!)--with all those disburied spectres rampant in the chamber, all the armour rusting in thy galleries, all those mutilated statues of early english kings (including st. edward himself)--niched into thy grey, ivied walls--say in thy conscience, o host, (if indeed that conscience be not wholly callous!) shall i ever return to the nineteenth century again? but far beyond these recent associations of a single winter (for which heaven assoil thee!) goes the memory of a friendship of many winters, and proof to the storms of all. often have i come for advice to your wisdom, and sympathy to your heart, bearing back with me, in all such seasons, new increase to that pleasurable gratitude which is, perhaps, the rarest, nor the least happy sentiment, that experience leaves to man. some differences, it may be,--whether on those public questions which we see, every day, alienating friendships that should have been beyond the reach of laws and kings;--or on the more scholastic controversies which as keenly interest the minds of educated men,--may at times deny to us the idem velle, atque idem nolle; but the firma amicitia needs not those common links; the sunshine does not leave the wave for the slight ripple which the casual stone brings a moment to the surface. accept, in this dedication of a work which has lain so long on my mind, and been endeared to me from many causes, the token of an affection for you and yours, strong as the ties of kindred, and lasting as the belief in truth. e. b. l. preface to the third edition. the author of an able and learned article on mabillon [ ] in the "edinburgh review," has accurately described my aim in this work; although, with that generous courtesy which characterises the true scholar, in referring to the labours of a contemporary, he has overrated my success. it was indeed my aim "to solve the problem how to produce the greatest amount of dramatic effect at the least expense of historical truth"--i borrow the words of the reviewer, since none other could so tersely express my design, or so clearly account for the leading characteristics in its conduct and completion. there are two ways of employing the materials of history in the service of romance: the one consists in lending to ideal personages, and to an imaginary fable, the additional interest to be derived from historical groupings: the other, in extracting the main interest of romantic narrative from history itself. those who adopt the former mode are at liberty to exclude all that does not contribute to theatrical effect or picturesque composition; their fidelity to the period they select is towards the manners and costume, not towards the precise order of events, the moral causes from which the events proceeded, and the physical agencies by which they were influenced and controlled. the plan thus adopted is unquestionably the more popular and attractive, and, being favoured by the most illustrious writers of historical romance, there is presumptive reason for supposing it to be also that which is the more agreeable to the art of fiction. but he who wishes to avoid the ground pre-occupied by others, and claim in the world of literature some spot, however humble, which he may "plough with his own heifer," will seek to establish himself not where the land is the most fertile, but where it is the least enclosed. so, when i first turned my attention to historical romance, my main aim was to avoid as much as possible those fairer portions of the soil that had been appropriated by the first discoverers. the great author of ivanhoe, and those amongst whom, abroad and at home, his mantle was divided, had employed history to aid romance; i contented myself with the humbler task to employ romance in the aid of history,--to extract from authentic but neglected chronicles, and the unfrequented storehouse of archaeology, the incidents and details that enliven the dry narrative of facts to which the general historian is confined,--construct my plot from the actual events themselves, and place the staple of such interest as i could create in reciting the struggles, and delineating the characters, of those who had been the living actors in the real drama. for the main materials of the three historical romances i have composed, i consulted the original authorities of the time with a care as scrupulous, as if intending to write, not a fiction but a history. and having formed the best judgment i could of the events and characters of the age, i adhered faithfully to what, as an historian, i should have held to be the true course and true causes of the great political events, and the essential attributes of the principal agents. solely in that inward life which, not only as apart from the more public and historical, but which, as almost wholly unknown, becomes the fair domain of the poet, did i claim the legitimate privileges of fiction, and even here i employed the agency of the passions only so far as they served to illustrate what i believed to be the genuine natures of the beings who had actually lived, and to restore the warmth of the human heart to the images recalled from the grave. thus, even had i the gifts of my most illustrious predecessors, i should be precluded the use of many of the more brilliant. i shut myself out from the wider scope permitted to their fancy, and denied myself the license to choose or select materials, alter dates, vary causes and effects according to the convenience of that more imperial fiction which invents the probable where it discards the real. the mode i have adopted has perhaps only this merit, that it is my own-- mine by discovery and mine by labour. and if i can raise not the spirits that obeyed the great master of romance, nor gain the key to the fairyland that opened to his spell,--at least i have not rifled the tomb of the wizard to steal my art from the book that lies clasped on his breast. in treating of an age with which the general reader is so unfamiliar as that preceding the norman conquest, it is impossible to avoid (especially in the earlier portions of my tale) those explanations of the very character of the time which would have been unnecessary if i had only sought in history the picturesque accompaniments to romance. i have to do more than present an amusing picture of national manners --detail the dress, and describe the banquet. according to the plan i adopt, i have to make the reader acquainted with the imperfect fusion of races in saxon england, familiarise him with the contests of parties and the ambition of chiefs, show him the strength and the weakness of a kindly but ignorant church; of a brave but turbulent aristocracy; of a people partially free, and naturally energetic, but disunited by successive immigrations, and having lost much of the proud jealousies of national liberty by submission to the preceding conquests of the dane; acquiescent in the sway of foreign kings, and with that bulwark against invasion which an hereditary order of aristocracy usually erects, loosened to its very foundations by the copious admixture of foreign nobles. i have to present to the reader, here, the imbecile priestcraft of the illiterate monk, there, the dark superstition that still consulted the deities of the north by runes on the elm bark and adjurations of the dead. and in contrast to those pictures of a decrepit monarchy and a fated race, i have to bring forcibly before the reader the vigorous attributes of the coming conquerors,--the stern will and deep guile of the norman chief--the comparative knowledge of the rising norman church--the nascent spirit of chivalry in the norman vavasours; a spirit destined to emancipate the very people it contributed to enslave, associated, as it imperfectly was, with the sense of freedom: disdainful, it is true, of the villein, but proudly curbing, though into feudal limits, the domination of the liege. in a word, i must place fully before the reader, if i would be faithful to the plan of my work, the political and moral features of the age, as well as its lighter and livelier attributes, and so lead him to perceive, when he has closed the book, why england was conquered, and how england survived the conquest. in accomplishing this task, i inevitably incur the objections which the task itself raises up,--objections to the labour it has cost; to the information which the labour was undertaken in order to bestow; objections to passages which seem to interrupt the narrative, but which in reality prepare for the incidents it embraces, or explain the position of the persons whose characters it illustrates,--whose fate it involves; objections to the reference to authorities, where a fact might be disputed, or mistaken for fiction; objections to the use of saxon words, for which no accurate synonyms could be exchanged; objections, in short, to the colouring, conduct, and composition of the whole work; objections to all that separate it from the common crowd of romances, and stamp on it, for good or for bad, a character peculiarly its own. objections of this kind i cannot remove, though i have carefully weighed them all. and with regard to the objection most important to story-teller and novel reader--viz., the dryness of some of the earlier portions, though i have thrice gone over those passages, with the stern determination to inflict summary justice upon every unnecessary line, i must own to my regret that i have found but little which it was possible to omit without rendering the after narrative obscure, and without injuring whatever of more stirring interest the story, as it opens, may afford to the general reader of romance. as to the saxon words used, an explanation of all those that can be presumed unintelligible to a person of ordinary education, is given either in the text or a foot-note. such archaisms are much less numerous than certain critics would fain represent them to be: and they have rarely indeed been admitted where other words could have been employed without a glaring anachronism, or a tedious periphrase. would it indeed be possible, for instance, to convey a notion of the customs and manners of our saxon forefathers without employing words so mixed up with their daily usages and modes of thinking as "weregeld" and "niddering"? would any words from the modern vocabulary suggest the same idea, or embody the same meaning? one critic good-humouredly exclaims, "we have a full attendance of thegns and cnehts, but we should have liked much better our old friends and approved good masters thanes and knights." nothing could be more apposite for my justification than the instances here quoted in censure; nothing could more plainly vindicate the necessity of employing the saxon words. for i should sadly indeed have misled the reader if i had used the word knight in an age when knights were wholly unknown to the anglo-saxon and cneht no more means what we understand by knight, than a templar in modern phrase means a man in chain mail vowed to celibacy, and the redemption of the holy sepulchre from the hands of the mussulman. while, since thegn and thane are both archaisms, i prefer the former; not only for the same reason that induces sir francis palgrave to prefer it, viz., because it is the more etymologically correct; but because we take from our neighbours the scotch, not only the word thane, but the sense in which we apply it; and that sense is not the same that we ought to attach to the various and complicated notions of nobility which the anglo-saxon comprehended in the title of thegn. it has been peremptorily said by more than one writer in periodicals, that i have overrated the erudition of william, in permitting him to know latin; nay, to have read the comments of caesar at the age of eight.--where these gentlemen find the authorities to confute my statement i know not; all i know is, that in the statement i have followed the original authorities usually deemed the best. and i content myself with referring the disputants to a work not so difficult to procure as (and certainly more pleasant to read than) the old chronicles. in miss strickland's "lives of the queens of england," (matilda of flanders,) the same statement is made, and no doubt upon the same authorities. more surprised should i be (if modern criticism had not taught me in all matter's of assumption the nil admirari), to find it alleged that i have overstated not only the learning of the norman duke, but that which flourished in normandy under his reign; for i should have thought that the fact of the learning which sprung up in the most thriving period of that principality; the rapidity of its growth; the benefits it derived from lanfranc; the encouragement it received from william, had been phenomena too remarkable in the annals of the age, and in the history of literature, to have met with an incredulity which the most moderate amount of information would have sufficed to dispel. not to refer such sceptics to graver authorities, historical and ecclesiastical, in order to justify my representations of that learning which, under william the bastard, made the schools of normandy the popular academies of europe, a page or two in a book so accessible as villemain's "tableau du moyen age," will perhaps suffice to convince them of the hastiness of their censure, and the error of their impressions. it is stated in the athenaeum, and, i believe, by a writer whose authority on the merits of opera singers i am far from contesting but of whose competence to instruct the world in any other department of human industry or knowledge i am less persuaded, "that i am much mistaken when i represent not merely the clergy but the young soldiers and courtiers of the reign of the confessor, as well acquainted with the literature of greece and rome." the remark, to say the least of it, is disingenuous. i have done no such thing. this general animadversion is only justified by a reference to the pedantry of the norman mallet de graville--and it is expressly stated in the text that mallet de graville was originally intended for the church, and that it was the peculiarity of his literary information, rare in a soldier (but for which his earlier studies for the ecclesiastical calling readily account, at a time when the norman convent of bec was already so famous for the erudition of its teachers, and the number of its scholars,) that attracted towards him the notice of lanfranc, and founded his fortunes. pedantry is made one of his characteristics (as it generally was the characteristic of any man with some pretensions to scholarship, in the earlier ages;) and if he indulges in a classical allusion, whether in taunting a courtier or conversing with a "saxon from the wealds of kent," it is no more out of keeping with the pedantry ascribed to him, than it is unnatural in dominie sampson to rail at meg merrilies in latin, or james the first to examine a young courtier in the same unfamiliar language. nor should the critic in question, when inviting his readers to condemn me for making mallet de graville quote horace, have omitted to state that de graville expressly laments that he had never read, nor could even procure, a copy of the roman poet--judging only of the merits of horace by an extract in some monkish author, who was equally likely to have picked up his quotation second-hand. so, when a reference is made either by graville, or by any one else in the romance, to homeric fables and personages, a critic who had gone through the ordinary education of an english gentleman would never thereby have assumed that the person so referring had read the poems of homer themselves--he would have known that homeric fables, or personages, though not the homeric poems, were made familiar, by quaint travesties [ ], even to the most illiterate audience of the gothic age. it was scarcely more necessary to know homer then than now, in order to have heard of ulysses. the writer in the athenaeum is acquainted with homeric personages, but who on earth would ever presume to assert that he is acquainted with homer? some doubt has been thrown upon my accuracy in ascribing to the anglo- saxon the enjoyments of certain luxuries (gold and silver plate--the use of glass, etc.), which were extremely rare in an age much more recent. there is no ground for that doubt; nor is there a single article of such luxury named in the text, for the mention of which i have not ample authority. i have indeed devoted to this work a degree of research which, if unusual to romance, i cannot consider superfluous when illustrating an age so remote, and events unparalleled in their influence over the destinies of england. nor am i without the hope, that what the romance-reader at first regards as a defect, he may ultimately acknowledge as a merit;--forgiving me that strain on his attention by which alone i could leave distinct in his memory the action and the actors in that solemn tragedy which closed on the field of hastings, over the corpse of the last saxon king. contents book first the norman visitor, the saxon king, and the danish prophetess book second lanfranc the scholar book third the house of godwin book fourth the heathen altar and the saxon church book fifth death and love book sixth ambition book seventh the welch king book eighth fate book ninth the bones of the dead book tenth the sacrifice on the altar book eleventh the norman schemer, and the norwegian sea-king book twelfth the battle of hastings harold, the last of the saxon kings by edward bulwer lytton book i. the norman visitor, the saxon king, and the danish prophetess. chapter i. merry was the month of may in the year of our lord . few were the boys, and few the lasses, who overslept themselves on the first of that buxom month. long ere the dawn, the crowds had sought mead and woodland, to cut poles and wreathe flowers. many a mead then lay fair and green beyond the village of charing, and behind the isle of thorney, (amidst the brakes and briars of which were then rising fast and fair the hall and abbey of westminster;) many a wood lay dark in the starlight, along the higher ground that sloped from the dank strand, with its numerous canals or dykes;--and on either side of the great road into kent:--flutes and horns sounded far and near through the green places, and laughter and song, and the crash of breaking boughs. as the dawn came grey up the east, arch and blooming faces bowed down to bathe in the may dew. patient oxen stood dozing by the hedge-rows, all fragrant with blossoms, till the gay spoilers of the may came forth from the woods with lusty poles, followed by girls with laps full of flowers, which they had caught asleep. the poles were pranked with nosegays, and a chaplet was hung round the horns of every ox. then towards daybreak, the processions streamed back into the city, through all its gates; boys with their may-gads (peeled willow wands twined with cowslips) going before; and clear through the lively din of the horns and flutes, and amidst the moving grove of branches, choral voices, singing some early saxon stave, precursor of the later song-- "we have brought the summer home." often in the good old days before the monk-king reigned, kings and ealdermen had thus gone forth a-maying; but these merriments, savouring of heathenesse, that good prince misliked: nevertheless the song was as blithe, and the boughs were as green, as if king and ealderman had walked in the train. on the great kent road, the fairest meads for the cowslip, and the greenest woods for the bough, surrounded a large building that once had belonged to some voluptuous roman, now all defaced and despoiled; but the boys and the lasses shunned those demesnes; and even in their mirth, as they passed homeward along the road, and saw near the ruined walls, and timbered outbuildings, grey druid stones (that spoke of an age before either saxon or roman invader) gleaming through the dawn-- the song was hushed--the very youngest crossed themselves; and the elder, in solemn whispers, suggested the precaution of changing the song into a psalm. for in that old building dwelt hilda, of famous and dark repute; hilda, who, despite all law and canon, was still believed to practise the dismal arts of the wicca and morthwyrtha (the witch and worshipper of the dead). but once out of sight of those fearful precincts, the psalm was forgotten, and again broke, loud, clear, and silvery, the joyous chorus. so, entering london about sunrise, doors and windows were duly wreathed with garlands; and every village in the suburbs had its may- pole, which stood in its place all the year. on that happy day labour rested; ceorl and theowe had alike a holiday to dance, and tumble round the may-pole; and thus, on the first of may--youth, and mirth, and music, "brought the summer home." the next day you might still see where the buxom bands had been; you might track their way by fallen flowers, and green leaves, and the deep ruts made by oxen (yoked often in teams from twenty to forty, in the wains that carried home the poles); and fair and frequent throughout the land, from any eminence, you might behold the hamlet swards still crowned with the may trees, and air still seemed fragrant with their garlands. it is on that second day of may, , that my story opens, at the house of hilda, the reputed morthwyrtha. it stood upon a gentle and verdant height; and, even through all the barbarous mutilation it had undergone from barbarian hands, enough was left strikingly to contrast the ordinary abodes of the saxon. the remains of roman art were indeed still numerous throughout england, but it happened rarely that the saxon had chosen his home amidst the villas of those noble and primal conquerors. our first forefathers were more inclined to destroy than to adapt. by what chance this building became an exception to the ordinary rule, it is now impossible to conjecture, but from a very remote period it had sheltered successive races of teuton lords. the changes wrought in the edifice were mournful and grotesque. what was now the hall, had evidently been the atrium; the round shield, with its pointed boss, the spear, sword, and small curved saex of the early teuton, were suspended from the columns on which once had been wreathed the flowers; in the centre of the floor, where fragments of the old mosaic still glistened from the hard-pressed paving of clay and lime, what now was the fire-place had been the impluvium, and the smoke went sullenly through the aperture in the roof, made of old to receive the rains of heaven. around the hall were still left the old cubicula or dormitories, (small, high, and lighted but from the doors,) which now served for the sleeping-rooms of the humbler guest or the household servant; while at the farther end of the hall, the wide space between the columns, which had once given ample vista from graceful awnings into tablinum and viridarium, was filled up with rude rubble and roman bricks, leaving but a low, round, arched door, that still led into the tablinum. but that tablinum, formerly the gayest state-room of the roman lord, was now filled with various lumber, piles of faggots, and farming utensils. on either side of this desecrated apartment, stretched, to the right, the old lararium, stripped of its ancient images of ancestor and god; to the left, what had been the gynoecium (women's apartment). one side of the ancient peristyle, which was of vast extent, was now converted into stabling, sties for swine, and stalls for oxen. on the other side was constructed a christian chapel, made of rough oak planks, fastened by plates at the top, and with a roof of thatched reeds. the columns and wall at the extreme end of the peristyle were a mass of ruins, through the gigantic rents of which loomed a grassy hillock, its sides partially covered with clumps of furze. on this hillock were the mutilated remains of an ancient druidical crommel, in the centre of which (near a funeral mound, or barrow, with the bautastean, or gravestone, of some early saxon chief at one end) had been sacrilegiously placed an altar to thor, as was apparent both from the shape, from a rude, half-obliterated, sculptured relief of the god, with his lifted hammer, and a few runic letters. amidst the temple of the briton the saxon had reared the shrine of his triumphant war-god. now still, amidst the ruins of that extreme side of the peristyle which opened to this hillock were left, first, an ancient roman fountain, that now served to water the swine, and next, a small sacellum, or fane to bacchus (as relief and frieze, yet spared, betokened): thus the eye, at one survey, beheld the shrines of four creeds: the druid, mystical and symbolical; the roman, sensual, but humane; the teutonic, ruthless and destroying; and, latest riser and surviving all, though as yet with but little of its gentler influence over the deeds of men, the edifice of the faith of peace. across the peristyle, theowes and swineherds passed to and fro:--in the atrium, men of a higher class, half-armed, were, some drinking, some at dice, some playing with huge hounds, or caressing the hawks that stood grave and solemn on their perches. the lararium was deserted; the gynoecium was still, as in the roman time, the favoured apartment of the female portion of the household, and indeed bore the same name [ ], and with the group there assembled we have now to do. the appliances of the chamber showed the rank and wealth of the owner. at that period the domestic luxury of the rich was infinitely greater than has been generally supposed. the industry of the women decorated wall and furniture with needlework and hangings: and as a thegn forfeited his rank if he lost his lands, so the higher orders of an aristocracy rather of wealth than birth had, usually, a certain portion of superfluous riches, which served to flow towards the bazaars of the east and the nearer markets of flanders and saracenic spain. in this room the walls were draped with silken hangings richly embroidered. the single window was glazed with a dull grey glass [ ]. on a beaufet were ranged horns tipped with silver, and a few vessels of pure gold. a small circular table in the centre was supported by symbolical monsters quaintly carved. at one side of the wall, on a long settle, some half-a-dozen handmaids were employed in spinning; remote from them, and near the window, sat a woman advanced in years, and of a mien and aspect singularly majestic. upon a small tripod before her was a runic manuscript, and an inkstand of elegant form, with a silver graphium, or pen. at her feet reclined a girl somewhat about the age of sixteen, her long hair parted across her forehead and falling far down her shoulders. her dress was a linen under-tunic, with long sleeves, rising high to the throat, and without one of the modern artificial restraints of the shape, the simple belt sufficed to show the slender proportions and delicate outline of the wearer. the colour of the dress was of the purest white, but its hems, or borders, were richly embroidered. this girl's beauty was something marvellous. in a land proverbial for fair women, it had already obtained her the name of "the fair." in that beauty were blended, not as yet without a struggle for mastery, the two expressions seldom united in one countenance, the soft and the noble; indeed in the whole aspect there was the evidence of some internal struggle; the intelligence was not yet complete; the soul and heart were not yet united: and edith the christian maid dwelt in the home of hilda the heathen prophetess. the girl's blue eyes, rendered dark by the shade of their long lashes, were fixed intently upon the stern and troubled countenance which was bent upon her own, but bent with that abstract gaze which shows that the soul is absent from the sight. so sate hilda, and so reclined her grandchild edith. "grandam," said the girl in a low voice and after a long pause; and the sound of her voice so startled the handmaids, that every spindle stopped for a moment and then plied with renewed activity; "grandam, what troubles you--are you not thinking of the great earl and his fair sons, now outlawed far over the wide seas?" as the girl spoke, hilda started slightly, like one awakened from a dream; and when edith had concluded her question, she rose slowly to the height of a statue, unbowed by her years, and far towering above even the ordinary standard of men; and turning from the child, her eye fell upon the row of silent maids, each at her rapid, noiseless, stealthy work. "ho!" said she; her cold and haughty eye gleaming as she spoke; "yesterday they brought home the summer--to-day, ye aid to bring home the winter. weave well--heed well warf and woof; skulda [ ] is amongst ye, and her pale fingers guide the web!" the maidens lifted not their eyes, though in every cheek the colour paled at the words of the mistress. the spindles revolved, the thread shot, and again there was silence more freezing than before. "askest thou," said hilda at length, passing to the child, as if the question so long addressed to her ear had only just reached her mind; "askest thou if i thought of the earl and his fair sons?--yea, i heard the smith welding arms on the anvil, and the hammer of the shipwright shaping strong ribs for the horses of the sea. ere the reaper has bound his sheaves, earl godwin will scare the normans in the halls of the monk-king, as the hawk scares the brood in the dovecot. weave well, heed well warf and woof, nimble maidens--strong be the texture, for biting is the worm." "what weave they, then, good grandmother?" asked the girl, with wonder and awe in her soft mild eyes. "the winding-sheet of the great!" hilda's lips closed, but her eyes, yet brighter than before, gazed upon space, and her pale hand seemed tracing letters, like runes, in the air. then slowly she turned, and looked forth through the dull window. "give me my coverchief and my staff," said she quickly. every one of the handmaids, blithe for excuse to quit a task which seemed recently commenced, and was certainly not endeared to them by the knowledge of its purpose communicated to them by the lady, rose to obey. unheeding the hands that vied with each other, hilda took the hood, and drew it partially over her brow. leaning lightly on a long staff, the head of which formed a raven, carved from some wood stained black, she passed into the hall, and thence through the desecrated tablinum, into the mighty court formed by the shattered peristyle; there she stopped, mused a moment, and called on edith. the girl was soon by her side. "come with me.--there is a face you shall see but twice in life;--this day,"--and hilda paused, and the rigid and almost colossal beauty of her countenance softened. "and when again, my grandmother?" "child, put thy warm hand in mine. so! the vision darkens from me.-- when again, saidst thou, edith?--alas, i know not." while thus speaking, hilda passed slowly by the roman fountain and the heathen fane, and ascended the little hillock. there on the opposite side of the summit, backed by the druid crommel and the teuton altar, she seated herself deliberately on the sward. a few daisies, primroses, and cowslips, grew around; these edith began to pluck. singing, as she wove, a simple song, that, not more by the dialect than the sentiment, betrayed its origin in the ballad of the norse [ ], which had, in its more careless composition, a character quite distinct from the artificial poetry of the saxons. the song may be thus imperfectly rendered: "merrily the throstle sings amid the merry may; the throstle signs but to my ear; my heart is far away! blithely bloometh mead and bank; and blithely buds the tree; and hark!--they bring the summer home; it has no home with me! they have outlawed him--my summer! an outlaw far away! the birds may sing, the flowers may bloom, o, give me back my may!" as she came to the last line, her soft low voice seemed to awaken a chorus of sprightly horns and trumpets, and certain other wind instruments peculiar to the music of that day. the hillock bordered the high road to london--which then wound through wastes of forest land--and now emerging from the trees to the left appeared a goodly company. first came two riders abreast, each holding a banner. on the one was depicted the cross and five martlets, the device of edward, afterwards surnamed the confessor: on the other, a plain broad cross with a deep border round it, and the streamer shaped into sharp points. the first was familiar to edith, who dropped her garland to gaze on the approaching pageant; the last was strange to her. she had been accustomed to see the banner of the great earl godwin by the side of the saxon king; and she said, almost indignantly,-- "who dares, sweet grandam, to place banner or pennon where earl godwin's ought to float?" "peace," said hilda, "peace and look." immediately behind the standard-bearers came two figures--strangely dissimilar indeed in mien, in years, in bearing: each bore on his left wrist a hawk. the one was mounted on a milk-white palfrey, with housings inlaid with gold and uncut jewels. though not really old-- for he was much on this side of sixty--both his countenance and carriage evinced age. his complexion, indeed, was extremely fair, and his cheeks ruddy; but the visage was long and deeply furrowed, and from beneath a bonnet not dissimilar to those in use among the scotch, streamed hair long and white as snow, mingling with a large and forked beard. white seemed his chosen colour. white was the upper tunic clasped on his shoulder with a broad ouche or brooch; white the woollen leggings fitted to somewhat emaciated limbs; and white the mantle, though broidered with a broad hem of gold and purple. the fashion of his dress was that which well became a noble person, but it suited ill the somewhat frail and graceless figure of the rider. nevertheless, as edith saw him, she rose, with an expression of deep reverence on her countenance, and saying, "it is our lord the king," advanced some steps down the hillock, and there stood, her arms folded on her breast, and quite forgetful, in her innocence and youth, that she had left the house without the cloak and coverchief which were deemed indispensable to the fitting appearance of maid and matron when they were seen abroad. "fair sir, and brother mine," said the deep voice of the younger rider, in the romance or norman tongue, "i have heard that the small people of whom my neighbours, the breton tell us much, abound greatly in this fair land of yours; and if i were not by the side of one whom no creature unassoilzed and unbaptised dare approach, by sweet st. valery i should say--yonder stands one of those same gentilles fees!" king edward's eye followed the direction of his companion's outstretched hand, and his quiet brow slightly contracted as he beheld the young form of edith standing motionless a few yards before him, with the warm may wind lifting and playing with her long golden locks. he checked his palfrey, and murmured some latin words which the knight beside him recognised as a prayer, and to which, doffing his cap, he added an amen, in a tone of such unctuous gravity, that the royal saint rewarded him with a faint approving smile, and an affectionate "bene vene, piosissime." then inclining his palfrey's head towards the knoll, he motioned to the girl to approach him. edith, with a heightened colour, obeyed, and came to the roadside. the standard-bearers halted, as did the king and his comrade--the procession behind halted--thirty knights, two bishops, eight abbots, all on fiery steeds and in norman garb-- squires and attendants on foot--a long and pompous retinue--they halted all. only a stray hound or two broke from the rest, and wandered into the forest land with heads trailing. "edith, my child," said edward, still in norman-french, for he spoke his own language with hesitation, and the romance tongue, which had long been familiar to the higher classes in england, had, since his accession, become the only language in use at court, and as such every one of 'eorl-kind' was supposed to speak it;--"edith, my child, thou hast not forgotten my lessons, i trow; thou singest the hymns i gave thee, and neglectest not to wear the relic round thy neck." the girl hung her head, and spoke not. "how comes it, then," continued the king, with a voice to which he in vain endeavoured to impart an accent of severity, "how comes it, o little one, that thou, whose thoughts should be lifted already above this carnal world, and eager for the service of mary the chaste and blessed, standest thus hoodless and alone on the waysides, a mark for the eyes of men? go to, it is naught." thus reproved, and in presence of so large and brilliant a company, the girl's colour went and came, her breast heaved high, but with an effort beyond her age she checked her tears, and said meekly, "my grandmother, hilda, bade me come with her, and i came." "hilda!" said the king, backing his palfrey with apparent perturbation, "but hilda is not with thee; i see her not." as he spoke, hilda rose, and so suddenly did her tall form appear on the brow of the hill, that it seemed as if she had emerged from the earth. with a light and rapid stride she gained the side of her grandchild; and after a slight and haughty reverence, said, "hilda is here; what wants edward the king with his servant hilda?" "nought, nought," said the king, hastily; and something like fear passed over his placid countenance; "save, indeed," he added, with a reluctant tone, as that of a man who obeys his conscience against his inclination, "that i would pray thee to keep this child pure to threshold and altar, as is meet for one whom our lady, the virgin, in due time, will elect to her service." "not so, son of etheldred, son of woden, the last descendant of penda should live, not to glide a ghost amidst cloisters, but to rock children for war in their father's shield. few men are there yet like the men of old; and while the foot of the foreigner is on the saxon soil no branch of the stem of woden should be nipped in the leaf." "per la resplendar de [ ], bold dame," cried the knight by the side of edward, while a lurid flush passed over his cheek of bronze; "but thou art too glib of tongue for a subject, and pratest overmuch of woden, the paynim, for the lips of a christian matron." hilda met the flashing eye of the knight with a brow of lofty scorn, on which still a certain terror was visible. "child," she said, putting her hand upon edith's fair locks; "this is the man thou shalt see but twice in thy life;--look up, and mark well!" edith instinctively raised her eyes, and, once fixed upon the knight, they seemed chained as by a spell. his vest, of a cramoisay so dark, that it seemed black beside the snowy garb of the confessor, was edged by a deep band of embroidered gold; leaving perfectly bare his firm, full throat--firm and full as a column of granite,--a short jacket or manteline of fur, pendant from the shoulders, left developed in all its breadth a breast, that seemed meet to stay the march of an army; and on the left arm, curved to support the falcon, the vast muscles rose, round and gnarled, through the close sleeve. in height, he was really but little above the stature of many of those present; nevertheless, so did his port [ ], his air, the nobility of his large proportions, fill the eye, that he seemed to tower immeasurably above the rest. his countenance was yet more remarkable than his form; still in the prime of youth, he seemed at the first glance younger, at the second older, than he was. at the first glance younger; for his face was perfectly shaven, without even the moustache which the saxon courtier, in imitating the norman, still declined to surrender; and the smooth visage and bare throat sufficed in themselves to give the air of youth to that dominant and imperious presence. his small skull-cap left unconcealed his forehead, shaded with short thick hair, uncurled, but black and glossy as the wings of a raven. it was on that forehead that time had set its trace; it was knit into a frown over the eyebrows; lines deep as furrows crossed its broad, but not elevated expanse. that frown spoke of hasty ire and the habit of stern command; those furrows spoke of deep thought and plotting scheme; the one betrayed but temper and circumstance; the other, more noble, spoke of the character and the intellect. the face was square, and the regard lion-like; the mouth--small, and even beautiful in outline--had a sinister expression in its exceeding firmness; and the jaw--vast, solid, as if bound in iron--showed obstinate, ruthless, determined will; such a jaw as belongs to the tiger amongst beasts, and the conqueror amongst men; such as it is seen in the effigies of caesar, of cortes, of napoleon. that presence was well calculated to command the admiration of women, not less than the awe of men. but no admiration mingled with the terror that seized the girl as she gazed long and wistful upon the knight. the fascination of the serpent on the bird held her mute and frozen. never was that face forgotten; often in after-life it haunted her in the noon-day, it frowned upon her dreams. "fair child," said the knight, fatigued at length by the obstinacy of the gaze, while that smile peculiar to those who have commanded men relaxed his brow, and restored the native beauty to his lip, "fair child, learn not from thy peevish grandam so uncourteous a lesson as hate of the foreigner. as thou growest into womanhood, know that norman knight is sworn slave to lady fair;" and, doffing his cap, he took from it an uncut jewel, set in byzantine filigree work. "hold out thy lap, my child; and when thou nearest the foreigner scoffed, set this bauble in thy locks, and think kindly of william, count of the normans." [ ] he dropped the jewel on the ground as he spoke; for edith, shrinking and unsoftened towards him, held no lap to receive it; and hilda, to whom edward had been speaking in a low voice, advanced to the spot and struck the jewel with her staff under the hoofs of the king's palfrey. "son of emma, the norman woman, who sent thy youth into exile, trample on the gifts of thy norman kinsman. and if, as men say, thou art of such gifted holiness that heaven grants thy hand the power to heal, and thy voice the power to curse, heal thy country, and curse the stranger!" she extended her right arm to william as she spoke, and such was the dignity of her passion, and such its force, that an awe fell upon all. then dropping her hood over her face, she slowly turned away, regained the summit of the knoll, and stood erect beside the altar of the northern god, her face invisible through the hood drawn completely over it, and her form motionless as a statue. "ride on," said edward, crossing himself. "now by the bones of st. valery," said william, after a pause, in which his dark keen eye noted the gloom upon the king's gentle face, "it moves much my simple wonder how even presence so saintly can hear without wrath words so unleal and foul. gramercy, an the proudest dame in normandy (and i take her to be wife to my stoutest baron, william fitzosborne) had spoken thus to me--" "thou wouldst have done as i, my brother," interrupted edward; "prayed to our lord to pardon her, and rode on pitying." william's lip quivered with ire, yet he curbed the reply that sprang to it, and he looked with affection genuinely more akin to admiration than scorn, upon his fellow-prince. for, fierce and relentless as the duke's deeds were, his faith was notably sincere; and while this made, indeed, the prince's chief attraction to the pious edward, so, on the other hand, this bowed the duke in a kind of involuntary and superstitious homage to the man who sought to square deeds to faith. it is ever the case with stern and stormy spirits, that the meek ones which contrast them steal strangely into their affections. this principle of human nature can alone account for the enthusiastic devotion which the mild sufferings of the saviour awoke in the fiercest exterminators of the north. in proportion, often, to the warrior's ferocity, was his love to that divine model, at whose sufferings he wept, to whose tomb he wandered barefoot, and whose example of compassionate forgiveness he would have thought himself the basest of men to follow! "now, by my halidame, i honour and love thee, edward," cried the duke, with a heartiness more frank than was usual to him: "and were i thy subject, woe to man or woman that wagged tongue to wound thee by a breath. but who and what is this same hilda? one of thy kith and kin?--surely not less than kingly blood runs so bold?" "william, bien aime," [ ] said the king, "it is true that hilda, whom the saints assoil, is of kingly blood, though not of our kingly line. it is feared," added edward, in a timid whisper, as he cast a hurried glance around him, "that this unhappy woman has ever been more addicted to the rites of her pagan ancestors than to those of holy church; and men do say that she hath thus acquired from fiend or charm secrets devoutly to be eschewed by the righteous. nathless, let us rather hope that her mind is somewhat distraught with her misfortunes." the king sighed, and the duke sighed too, but the duke's sigh spoke impatience. he swept behind him a stern and withering look towards the proud figure of hilda, still seen through the glades, and said in a sinister voice: "of kingly blood; but this witch of woden hath no sons or kinsmen, i trust, who pretend to the throne of the saxon:" "she is sibbe to githa, wife of godwin," answered the king, "and that is her most perilous connection; for the banished earl, as thou knowest, did not pretend to fill the throne, but he was content with nought less than governing our people." the king then proceeded to sketch an outline of the history of hilda, but his narrative was so deformed both by his superstitions and prejudices, and his imperfect information in all the leading events and characters in his own kingdom, that we will venture to take upon ourselves his task; and while the train ride on through glade and mead, we will briefly narrate, from our own special sources of knowledge, the chronicle of hilda, the scandinavian vala. chapter ii. a magnificent race of men were those war sons of the old north, whom our popular histories, so superficial in their accounts of this age, include in the common name of the "danes." they replunged into barbarism the nations over which they swept; but from that barbarism they reproduced the noblest elements of civilisation. swede, norwegian, and dane, differing in some minor points, when closely examined, had yet one common character viewed at a distance. they had the same prodigious energy, the same passion for freedom, individual and civil, the same splendid errors in the thirst for fame and the "point of honour;" and above all, as a main cause of civilisation, they were wonderfully pliant and malleable in their admixtures with the peoples they overran. this is their true distinction from the stubborn celt, who refuses to mingle, and disdains to improve. frankes, the archbishop, baptised rolf-ganger [ ]: and within a little more than a century afterwards, the descendants of those terrible heathens who had spared neither priest nor altar, were the most redoubtable defenders of the christian church; their old language forgotten (save by a few in the town of bayeux), their ancestral names [ ] (save among a few of the noblest) changed into french titles, and little else but the indomitable valour of the scandinavian remained unaltered amongst the arts and manners of the frankish-norman. in like manner their kindred tribes, who had poured into saxon england to ravage and lay desolate, had no sooner obtained from alfred the great permanent homes, than they became perhaps the most powerful, and in a short time not the least patriotic, part of the anglo-saxon population [ ]. at the time our story opens, these northmen, under the common name of danes, were peaceably settled in no less than fifteen [ ] counties in england; their nobles abounded in towns and cities beyond the boundaries of those counties which bore the distinct appellation of danelagh. they were numerous in london: in the precincts of which they had their own burial-place, to the chief municipal court of which they gave their own appellation--the hustings [ ]. their power in the national assembly of the witan had decided the choice of kings. thus, with some differences of law and dialect, these once turbulent invaders had amalgamated amicably with the native race [ ]. and to this day, the gentry, traders, and farmers of more than one-third of england, and in those counties most confessed to be in the van of improvement, descend from saxon mothers indeed, but from viking fathers. there was in reality little difference in race between the norman knight of the time of henry i. and the saxon franklin of norfolk and york. both on the mother's side would most probably have been saxon, both on the father's would have traced to the scandinavian. but though this character of adaptability was general, exceptions in some points were necessarily found, and these were obstinate in proportion to the adherence to the old pagan faith, or the sincere conversion to christianity. the norwegian chronicles, and passages in our own history, show how false and hollow was the assumed christianity of many of these fierce odin-worshippers. they willingly enough accepted the outward sign of baptism, but the holy water changed little of the inner man. even harold, the son of canute, scarce seventeen years before the date we have now entered, being unable to obtain from the archbishop of canterbury--who had espoused the cause of his brother hardicanute--the consecrating benediction, lived and reigned as one who had abjured christianity. [ ] the priests, especially on the scandinavian continent, were often forced to compound with their grim converts, by indulgence to certain habits, such as indiscriminate polygamy. to eat horse-flesh in honour of odin, and to marry wives ad libitum, were the main stipulations of the neophytes. and the puzzled monks, often driven to a choice, yielded the point of the wives, but stood firm on the graver article of the horse-flesh. with their new religion, very imperfectly understood, even when genuinely received, they retained all that host of heathen superstition which knits itself with the most obstinate instincts in the human breast. not many years before the reign of the confessor, the laws of the great canute against witchcraft and charms, the worship of stones, fountains, runes by ash and elm, and the incantations that do homage to the dead, were obviously rather intended to apply to the recent danish converts, than to the anglo- saxons, already subjugated for centuries, body and soul, to the domination of the christian monks. hilda, a daughter of the royalty of denmark, and cousin to githa (niece to canute, whom that king had bestowed in second spousals upon godwin), had come over to england with a fierce jarl, her husband, a year after canute's accession to the throne--both converted nominally, both secret believers in thor and odin. hilda's husband had fallen in one of the actions in the northern seas, between canute and st. olave, king of norway (that saint himself, by the bye, a most ruthless persecutor of his forefathers' faith, and a most unqualified assertor of his heathen privilege to extend his domestic affections beyond the severe pale which should have confined them to a single wife. his natural son magnus then sat on the danish throne). the jarl died as he had wished to die, the last man on board his ship, with the soothing conviction that the valkyrs would bear him to valhalla. hilda was left with an only daughter, whom canute bestowed on ethelwolf, a saxon earl of large domains, and tracing his descent from penda, that old king of mercia who refused to be converted, but said so discreetly, that he had no objection to his neighbours being christians, if they would practise that peace and forgiveness which the monks told him were the elements of the faith. ethelwolf fell under the displeasure of hardicanute, perhaps because he was more saxon than danish; and though that savage king did not dare openly to arraign him before the witan, he gave secret orders by which he was butchered on his own hearthstone, in the arms of his wife, who died shortly afterwards of grief and terror. the only orphan of this unhappy pair, edith, was thus consigned to the charge of hilda. it was a necessary and invaluable characteristic of that "adaptability" which distinguished the danes, that they transferred to the land in which they settled all the love they had borne to that of their ancestors; and so far as attachment to soil was concerned, hilda had grown no less in heart an englishwoman than if she had been born and reared amidst the glades and knolls from which the smoke of her hearth rose through the old roman compluvium. but in all else she was a dane. dane in her creed and her habits-- dane in her intense and brooding imagination--in the poetry that filled her soul, peopled the air with spectres, and covered the leaves of the trees with charms. living in austere seclusion after the death of her lord, to whom she had borne a scandinavian woman's devoted but heroic love,--sorrowing, indeed, for his death, but rejoicing that he fell amidst the feast of ravens,--her mind settled more and more year by year, and day by day, upon those visions of the unknown world, which in every faith conjure up the companions of solitude and grief. witchcraft in the scandinavian north assumed many forms, and was connected by many degrees. there was the old and withered hag, on whom, in our later mediaeval ages the character was mainly bestowed; there was the terrific witch-wife, or wolf-witch, who seems wholly apart from human birth and attributes, like the weird sisters of macbeth--creatures who entered the house at night and seized warriors to devour them, who might be seen gliding over the sea, with the carcase of the wolf dripping blood from their giant jaws; and there was the more serene, classical, and awful vala, or sibyl, who, honoured by chiefs and revered by nations, foretold the future, and advised the deeds of heroes. of these last, the norse chronicles tell us much. they were often of rank and wealth, they were accompanied by trains of handmaids and servants--kings led them (when their counsel was sought) to the place of honour in the hall, and their heads were sacred, as those of ministers to the gods. this last state in the grisly realm of the wig-laer (wizard-lore) was the one naturally appertaining to the high rank, and the soul, lofty though blind and perverted, of the daughter of warrior-kings. all practice of the art to which now for long years she had devoted herself, that touched upon the humble destinies of the vulgar, the child of odin [ ] haughtily disdained. her reveries were upon the fate of kings and kingdoms; she aspired to save or to rear the dynasties which should rule the races yet unborn. in youth proud and ambitious,--common faults with her countrywomen,--on her entrance into the darker world, she carried with her the prejudices and passions that she had known in that coloured by the external sun. all her human affections were centred in her grandchild edith, the last of a race royal on either side. her researches into the future had assured her, that the life and death of this fair child were entwined with the fates of a king, and the same oracles had intimated a mysterious and inseparable connection between her own shattered house and the flourishing one of earl godwin, the spouse of her kinswoman githa: so that with this great family she was as intimately bound by the links of superstition as by the ties of blood. the eldest born of godwin, sweyn, had been at first especially her care and her favourite; and he, of more poetic temperament than his brothers, had willingly submitted to her influence. but of all the brethren, as will be seen hereafter, the career of sweyn had been most noxious and ill-omened; and at that moment, while the rest of the house carried with it into exile the deep and indignant sympathy of england, no man said of sweyn, "god bless him!" but as the second son, harold, had grown from childhood into youth, hilda had singled him out with a preference even more marked than that she had bestowed upon sweyn. the stars and the runes assured her of his future greatness, and the qualities and talents of the young earl had, at the very onset of his career, confirmed the accuracy of their predictions. her interest in harold became the more intense, partly because whenever she consulted the future for the lot of her grandchild edith, she invariably found it associated with the fate of harold--partly because all her arts had failed to penetrate beyond a certain point in their joint destinies, and left her mind agitated and perplexed between hope and terror. as yet, however, she had wholly failed in gaining any ascendancy over the young earl's vigorous and healthful mind: and though, before his exile, he came more often than any of godwin's sons to the old roman house, he had smiled with proud incredulity at her vague prophecies, and rejected all her offers of aid from invisible agencies with the calm reply--"the brave man wants no charms to encourage him to his duty, and the good man scorns all warnings that would deter him from fulfilling it." indeed, though hilda's magic was not of the malevolent kind, and sought the source of its oracles not in fiends but gods, (at least the gods in whom she believed,) it was noticeable that all over whom her influence had prevailed had come to miserable and untimely ends;--not alone her husband and her son-in-law, (both of whom had been as wax to her counsel,) but such other chiefs as rank or ambition permitted to appeal to her lore. nevertheless, such was the ascendancy she had gained over the popular mind, that it would have been dangerous in the highest degree to put into execution against her the laws condemnatory of witch craft. in her, all the more powerful danish families reverenced, and would have protected, the blood of their ancient kings, and the widow of one of their most renowned heroes. hospitable, liberal, and beneficent to the poor; and an easy mistress over numerous ceorls, while the vulgar dreaded, they would yet have defended her. proofs of her art it would have been hard to establish; hosts of compurgators to attest her innocence would have sprung up. even if subjected to the ordeal, her gold could easily have bribed the priests with whom the power of evading its dangers rested. and with that worldly wisdom which persons of genius in their wildest chimeras rarely lack, she had already freed herself from the chance of active persecution from the church, by ample donations to all the neighbouring monasteries. hilda, in fine, was a woman of sublime desires and extraordinary gifts; terrible, indeed, but as the passive agent of the fates she invoked, and rather commanding for herself a certain troubled admiration and mysterious pity; no fiend-hag, beyond humanity in malice and in power, but essentially human, even when aspiring most to the secrets of a god. assuming, for the moment, that by the aid of intense imagination, persons of a peculiar idiosyncrasy of nerves and temperament might attain to such dim affinities with a world beyond our ordinary senses, as forbid entire rejection of the magnetism and magic of old times--it was on no foul and mephitic pool, overhung with the poisonous nightshade, and excluded from the beams of heaven, but on the living stream on which the star trembled, and beside whose banks the green herbage waved, that the demon shadows fell dark and dread. thus safe and thus awful, lived hilda; and under her care, a rose beneath the funeral cedar, bloomed her grandchild edith, goddaughter of the lady of england. it was the anxious wish, both of edward and his virgin wife, pious as himself, to save this orphan from the contamination of a house more than suspected of heathen faith, and give to her youth the refuge of the convent. but this, without her guardian's consent or her own expressed will, could not be legally done; and edith as yet had expressed no desire to disobey her grandmother, who treated the idea of the convent with lofty scorn. this beautiful child grew up under the influence, as it were, of two contending creeds; all her notions on both were necessarily confused and vague. but her heart was so genuinely mild, simple, tender, and devoted,--there was in her so much of the inborn excellence of the sex, that in every impulse of that heart struggled for clearer light and for purer air the unquiet soul. in manner, in thought, and in person as yet almost an infant, deep in her heart lay yet one woman's secret, known scarcely to herself, but which taught her, more powerfully than hilda's proud and scoffing tongue, to shudder at the thought of the barren cloister and the eternal vow. chapter iii. while king edward was narrating to the norman duke all that he knew, and all that he knew not, of hilda's history and secret arts, the road wound through lands as wild and wold-like as if the metropolis of england lay a hundred miles distant. even to this day patches of such land, in the neighbourhood of norwood, may betray what the country was in the old time:--when a mighty forest, "abounding with wild beasts"-- "the bull and the boar"--skirted the suburbs of london, and afforded pastime to king and thegn. for the norman kings have been maligned by the popular notion that assigns to them all the odium of the forest laws. harsh and severe were those laws in the reign of the anglo- saxon; as harsh and severe, perhaps, against the ceorl and the poor man, as in the days of rufus, though more mild unquestionably to the nobles. to all beneath the rank of abbot and thegn, the king's woods were made, even by the mild confessor, as sacred as the groves of the druids: and no less penalty than that of life was incurred by the lowborn huntsman who violated their recesses. [ ] edward's only mundane passion was the chase; and a day rarely passed, but what after mass he went forth with hawk or hound. so that, though the regular season for hawking did not commence till october, he had ever on his wrist some young falcon to essay, or some old favourite to exercise. and now, just as william was beginning to grow weary of his good cousin's prolix recitals, the hounds suddenly gave tongue, and from a sedge-grown pool by the way-side, with solemn wing and harsh boom, rose a bittern. "holy st. peter!" exclaimed the saint-king, spurring his palfrey, and loosing his famous peregrine falcon [ ]. william was not slow in following that animated example, and the whole company rode at half speed across the rough forest-land, straining their eyes upon the soaring quarry, and the large wheels of the falcons. riding thus, with his eyes in the air, edward was nearly pitched over his palfrey's head, as the animal stopped suddenly, checked by a high gate, set deep in a half embattled wall of brick and rubble. upon this gate sate, quite unmoved and apathetic, a tall ceorl, or labourer, while behind it was a gazing curious group of men of the same rank, clad in those blue tunics of which our peasant's smock is the successor, and leaning on scythes and flails. sour and ominous were the looks they bent upon that norman cavalcade. the men were at least as well clad as those of the same condition are now; and their robust limbs and ruddy cheeks showed no lack of the fare that supports labour. indeed, the working man of that day, if not one of the absolute theowes or slaves, was, physically speaking, better off, perhaps, than he has ever since been in england, more especially if he appertained to some wealthy thegn of pure saxon lineage, whose very title of lord came to him in his quality of dispenser of bread [ ]; and these men had been ceorls under harold, son of godwin, now banished from the land. "open the gate, open quick, my merry men," said the gentle edward (speaking in saxon, though with a strong foreign accent), after he had recovered his seat, murmured a benediction, and crossed himself three times. the men stirred not. "no horse tramps the seeds we have sown for harold the earl to reap;" said the ceorl, doggedly, still seated on the gate. and the group behind him gave a shout of applause. moved more than ever he had been known to be before, edward spurred his steed up to the boor, and lifted his hand. at that signal twenty swords flashed in the air behind, as the norman nobles spurred to the place. putting back with one hand his fierce attendants, edward shook the other at the saxon. "knave, knave," he cried, "i would hurt you, if i could!" there was something in these words, fated to drift down into history, at once ludicrous and touching. the normans saw them only in the former light, and turned aside to conceal their laughter; the saxon felt them in the latter and truer sense, and stood rebuked. that great king, whom he now recognised, with all those drawn swords at his back, could not do him hurt; that king had not the heart to hurt him. the ceorl sprang from the gate, and opened it, bending low. "ride first, count william, my cousin," said the king, calmly. the saxon ceorl's eyes glared as he heard the norman's name uttered in the norman tongue, but he kept open the gate, and the train passed through, edward lingering last. then said the king, in a low voice,-- "bold man, thou spokest of harold the earl and his harvests; knowest thou not that his lands have passed from him, and that he is outlawed, and that his harvests are not for the scythes of his ceorls to reap?" "may it please you, dread lord and king," replied the saxon simply, "these lands that were harold the earl's, are now clapa's, the sixhaendman's." "how is that?" quoth edward, hastily; "we gave them neither to sixhaendman nor to saxon. all the lands of harold hereabout were divided amongst sacred abbots and noble chevaliers--normans all." "fulke the norman had these fair fields, yon orchards and tynen; fulke sold them to clapa, the earl's sixhaendman, and what in mancusses and pence clapa lacked of the price, we, the ceorls of the earl, made up from our own earnings in the earl's noble service. and this very day, in token thereof, have we quaffed the bedden-ale [ ]. wherefore, please god and our lady, we hold these lands part and parcel with clapa; and when earl harold comes again, as come he will, here at least he will have his own." edward, who, despite a singular simplicity of character, which at times seemed to border on imbecility, was by no means wanting in penetration when his attention was fairly roused, changed countenance at this proof of rough and homely affection on the part of these men to his banished earl and brother-in-law. he mused a little while in grave thought, and then said, kindly-- "well, man, i think not the worse of you for loyal love to your thegn, but there are those who would do so, and i advise you, brotherlike, that ears and nose are in peril if thou talkest thus indiscreetly." "steel to steel, and hand to hand," said the saxon, bluntly, touching the long knife in his leathern belt, "and he who sets gripe on sexwolf son of elfhelm, shall pay his weregeld twice over." "forewarned, foolish man, thou are forewarned. peace," said the king; and, shaking his head, he rode on to join the normans, who now, in a broad field, where the corn sprang green, and which they seemed to delight in wantonly trampling, as they curvetted their steeds to and fro, watched the movements of the bittern and the pursuit of the two falcons. "a wager, lord king!" said a prelate, whose strong family likeness to william proclaimed him to be the duke's bold and haughty brother, odo [ ], bishop of bayeux;--"a wager. my steed to your palfrey that the duke's falcon first fixes the bittern." "holy father," answered edward, in that slight change of voice which alone showed his displeasure, "these wagers all savour of heathenesse, and our canons forbid them to mone [ ] and priest. go to, it is naught." the bishop, who brooked no rebuke, even from his terrible brother, knit his brows, and was about to make no gentle rejoinder, when william, whose profound craft or sagacity was always at watch, lest his followers should displease the king, interposed, and taking the word out of the prelate's mouth, said: "thou reprovest us well, sir and king; we normans are too inclined to such levities. and see, your falcon is first in pride of place. by the bones of st. valery, how nobly he towers! see him cover the bittern!--see him rest on the wing!--down he swoops! gallant bird!" "with his heart split in two on the bittern's bill," said the bishop; and down, rolling one over the other, fell bittern and hawk, while william's norway falcon, smaller of size than the king's, descended rapidly, and hovered over the two. both were dead. "i accept the omen," muttered the gazing duke; "let the natives destroy each other!" he placed his whistle to his lips, and his falcon flew back to his wrist. "now home," said king edward. chapter iv. the royal party entered london by the great bridge which divided southwark from the capital; and we must pause to gaze a moment on the animated scene which the immemorial thoroughfare presented. the whole suburb before entering southwark was rich in orchards and gardens, lying round the detached houses of the wealthier merchants and citizens. approaching the river-side, to the left, the eye might see the two circular spaces set apart, the one for bear, the other for bull-baiting. to the right, upon a green mound of waste, within sight of the populous bridge, the gleemen were exercising their art. here one dexterous juggler threw three balls and three knives alternately in the air, catching them one by one as they fell [ ]. there, another was gravely leading a great bear to dance on its hind legs, while his coadjutor kept time with a sort of flute or flageolet. the lazy bystanders, in great concourse, stared and laughed; but the laugh was hushed at the tramp of the norman steeds; and the famous count by the king's side, as, with a smiling lip, but observant eye, he rode along, drew all attention from the bear. on now approaching that bridge which, not many years before, had been the scene of terrible contest between the invading danes and ethelred's ally, olave of norway [ ], you might still see, though neglected and already in decay, the double fortifications that had wisely guarded that vista into the city. on both sides of the bridge, which was of wood, were forts, partly of timber, partly of stone, and breastworks, and by the forts a little chapel. the bridge, broad enough to admit two vehicles abreast [ ], was crowded with passengers, and lively with stalls and booths. here was the favourite spot of the popular ballad-singer [ ]. here, too, might be seen the swarthy saracen, with wares from spain and afric [ ]. here, the german merchant from the steel-yard swept along on his way to his suburban home. here, on some holy office, went quick the muffled monk. here, the city gallant paused to laugh with the country girl, her basket full of may-boughs and cowslips. in short, all bespoke that activity, whether in business or pastime, which was destined to render that city the mart of the world, and which had already knit the trade of the anglo-saxon to the remoter corners of commercial europe. the deep dark eye of william dwelt admiringly on the bustling groups, on the broad river, and the forest of masts which rose by the indented marge near belin's gate [ ]. and he to whom, whatever his faults, or rather crimes, to the unfortunate people he not only oppressed but deceived--london at least may yet be grateful, not only for chartered franchise [ ], but for advancing, in one short vigorous reign, her commerce and wealth, beyond what centuries of anglo-saxon domination, with its inherent feebleness, had effected, exclaimed aloud: "by rood and mass, o dear king, thy lot hath fallen on a goodly heritage." "hem!" said edward, lazily; "thou knowest not how troublesome these saxons are. and while thou speakest, lo, in yon shattered walls, built first, they say, by alfred of holy memory, are the evidences of the danes. bethink thee how often they have sailed up this river. how know i but what the next year the raven flag may stream over these waters? magnus of denmark hath already claimed my crown as heir to the royalties of canute, and" (here edward hesitated), "godwin and harold, whom alone of my thegns dane and northman fear, are far away." "miss not them, edward, my cousin," cried the duke, in haste. "send for me if danger threat thee. ships enow await thy best in my new port of cherbourg. and i tell thee this for thy comfort, that were i king of the english, and lord of this river, the citizens of london might sleep from vespers to prime, without fear of the dane. never again should the raven flag be seen by this bridge! never, i swear, by the splendour divine." not without purpose spoke william thus stoutly; and he turned on the king those glittering eyes (micantes oculos), which the chroniclers have praised and noted. for it was his hope and his aim in this visit, that his cousin edward should formally promise him that goodly heritage of england. but the king made no rejoinder, and they now neared the end of the bridge. "what old ruin looms yonder?" [ ] asked william, hiding his disappointment at edward's silence; "it seemeth the remains of some stately keape, which, by its fashion, i should pronounce roman." "ay!" said edward, "and it is said to have been built by the romans; and one of the old lombard freemasons employed on my new palace of westminster, giveth that, and some others in my domain, the name of the juillet tower." "those romans were our masters in all things gallant and wise," said william; "and i predict that, some day or other, on that site, a king of england will re-erect palace and tower. and yon castle towards the west?" "is the tower palatine, where our predecessors have lodged, and ourself sometimes; but the sweet loneliness of thorney isle pleaseth me more now." thus talking, they entered london, a rude, dark city, built mainly of timbered houses; streets narrow and winding; windows rarely glazed, but protected chiefly by linen blinds; vistas opening, however, at times into broad spaces, round the various convents, where green trees grew up behind low palisades. tall roods, and holy images, to which we owe the names of existing thoroughfares (rood-lane and lady-lane [ ]), where the ways crossed, attracted the curious and detained the pious. spires there were not then, but blunt, cone-headed turrets, pyramidal, denoting the houses of god, rose often from the low, thatched, and reeded roofs. but every now and then, a scholar's, if not an ordinary, eye could behold the relics of roman splendour, traces of that elder city which now lies buried under our thoroughfares, and of which, year by year, are dug up the stately skeletons. along the thames still rose, though much mutilated, the wall of constantine [ ]. round the humble and barbarous church of st. paul's (wherein lay the dust of sebba, that king of the east saxons who quitted his throne for the sake of christ, and of edward's feeble and luckless father, ethelred) might be seen, still gigantic in decay, the ruins of the vast temple of diana [ ]. many a church, and many a convent, pierced their mingled brick and timber work with roman capital and shaft. still by the tower, to which was afterwards given the saracen name of barbican, were the wrecks of the roman station, where cohorts watched night and day, in case of fire within or foe without. [ ] in a niche, near the aldersgate, stood the headless statue of fortitude, which monks and pilgrims deemed some unknown saint in the old time, and halted to honour. and in the midst of bishopsgate- street, sate on his desecrated throne a mangled jupiter, his eagle at his feet. many a half-converted dane there lingered, and mistook the thunderer and the bird for odin and his hawk. by leod-gate (the people's gate [ ]) still too were seen the arches of one of those mighty aqueducts which the roman learned from the etrurian. and close by the still-yard, occupied by "the emperor's cheap men" (the german merchants), stood, almost entire, the roman temple, extant in the time of geoffrey of monmouth. without the walls, the old roman vineyards [ ] still put forth their green leaves and crude clusters, in the plains of east smithfield, in the fields of st. giles's, and on the site where now stands hatton garden. still massere [ ] and cheapmen chaffered and bargained, at booth and stall, in mart-lane, where the romans had bartered before them. with every encroachment on new soil, within the walls and without, urn, vase, weapon, human bones, were shovelled out, and lay disregarded amidst heaps of rubbish. not on such evidences of the past civilisation looked the practical eye of the norman count; not on things, but on men, looked he; and as silently he rode on from street to street, out of those men, stalwart and tall, busy, active, toiling, the man-ruler saw the civilisation that was to come. so, gravely through the small city, and over the bridge that spanned the little river of the fleet, rode the train along the strand; to the left, smooth sands; to the right, fair pastures below green holts, thinly studded with houses; over numerous cuts and inlets running into the river, rode they on. the hour and the season were those in which youth enjoyed its holiday, and gay groups resorted to the then [ ] fashionable haunts of the fountain of holywell, "streaming forth among glistening pebbles." so they gained at length the village of charing, which edward had lately bestowed on his abbey of westminster, and which was now filled with workmen, native and foreign, employed on that edifice and the contiguous palace. here they loitered awhile at the mews [ ] (where the hawks were kept), passed by the rude palace of stone and rubble, appropriated to the tributary kings of scotland [ ]--a gift from edgar to kenneth--and finally, reaching the inlet of the river, which, winding round the isle of thorney (now westminster), separated the rising church, abbey, and palace of the saint-king from the main-land, dismounted--and were ferried across [ ] the narrow stream to the broad space round the royal residence. chapter v. the new palace of edward the confessor, the palace of westminster, opened its gates, to receive the saxon king and the norman duke, remounting on the margin of the isle, and now riding side by side. and as the duke glanced, from brows habitually knit, first over the pile, stately, though not yet completed, with its long rows of round arched windows, cased by indented fringes and fraet (or tooth) work, its sweep of solid columns with circling cloisters, and its ponderous towers of simple grandeur; then over the groups of courtiers, with close vests, and short mantles, and beardless cheeks, that filled up the wide space, to gaze in homage on the renowned guest, his heart swelled within him, and, checking his rein, he drew near to his brother of bayeux, and whispered,-- "is not this already the court of the norman? behold yon nobles and earls, how they mimic our garb! behold the very stones in yon gate, how they range themselves, as if carved by the hand of the norman mason! verily and indeed, brother, the shadow of the rising sun rests already on these halls." "had england no people," said the bishop, "england were yours already. but saw you not, as we rode along, the lowering brows? and heard you not the angry murmurs? the villeins are many, and their hate is strong." "strong is the roan i bestride," said the duke; "but a bold rider curbs it with the steel of the bit, and guides it with the goad of the heel." and now, as they neared the gate, a band of minstrels in the pay of the norman touched their instruments, and woke their song--the household song of the norman--the battle hymn of roland, the paladin of charles the great. at the first word of the song, the norman knights and youths profusely scattered amongst the normanised saxons caught up the lay, and with sparkling eyes, and choral voices, they welcomed the mighty duke into the palace of the last meek successor of woden. by the porch of the inner court the duke flung himself from his saddle, and held the stirrup for edward to dismount. the king placed his hand gently on his guest's broad shoulder, and, having somewhat slowly reached the ground, embraced and kissed him in the sight of the gorgeous assemblage; then led him by the hand towards the fair chamber which was set apart for the duke, and so left him to his attendants. william, lost in thought, suffered himself to be disrobed in silence; but when fitzosborne, his favourite confidant and haughtiest baron, who yet deemed himself but honoured by personal attendance on his chief, conducted him towards the bath, which adjoined the chamber, he drew back, and wrapping round him more closely the gown of fur that had been thrown over his shoulders, he muttered low,--"nay, if there be on me yet one speck of english dust, let it rest there!--seizin, fitzosborne, seizin, of the english land." then, waving his hand, he dismissed all his attendants except fitzosborne, and rolf, earl of hereford [ ], nephew to edward, but french on the father's side, and thoroughly in the duke's councils. twice the duke paced the chamber without vouchsafing a word to either, then paused by the round window that overlooked the thames. the scene was fair; the sun, towards its decline, glittered on numerous small pleasure-boats, which shot to and fro between westminster and london or towards the opposite shores of lambeth. his eye sought eagerly, along the curves of the river, the grey remains of the fabled tower of julius, and the walls, gates, and turrets, that rose by the stream, or above the dense mass of silent roofs; then it strained hard to descry the tops of the more distant masts of the infant navy, fostered under alfred, the far-seeing, for the future civilisation of wastes unknown, and the empire of seas untracked. the duke breathed hard, and opened and closed the hand which he stretched forth into space as if to grasp the city he beheld. "rolf," said he, abruptly, "thou knowest, no doubt, the wealth of the london traders, one and all; for, foi de gaillaume, my gentil chevalier, thou art a true norman, and scentest the smell of gold as a hound the boar!" rolf smiled, as if pleased with a compliment which simpler men might have deemed, at the best, equivocal, and replied: "it is true, my liege; and gramercy, the air of england sharpens the scent; for in this villein and motley country, made up of all races,-- saxon and fin, dane and fleming, pict and walloon,--it is not as with us, where the brave man and the pure descent are held chief in honour: here, gold and land are, in truth, name and lordship; even their popular name for their national assembly of the witan is, 'the wealthy.' [ ] he who is but a ceorl to-day, let him be rich, and he may be earl to-morrow, marry in king's blood, and rule armies under a gonfanon statelier than a king's; while he whose fathers were ealdermen and princes, if, by force or by fraud, by waste or by largess, he become poor, falls at once into contempt, and out of his state,--sinks into a class they call 'six-hundred men,' in their barbarous tongue, and his children will probably sink still lower, into ceorls. wherefore gold is the thing here most coveted; and by st. michael, the sin is infectious." william listened to the speech with close attention. "good," said he, rubbing slowly the palm of his right hand over the back of the left; "a land all compact with the power of one race, a race of conquering men, as our fathers were, whom nought but cowardice or treason can degrade,--such a land, o rolf of hereford, it were hard indeed to subjugate, or decoy, or tame--" "so has my lord the duke found the bretons; and so also do i find the welch upon my marches of hereford." "but," continued william, not heeding the interruption, "where wealth is more than blood and race, chiefs may be bribed or menaced; and the multitude--by'r lady, the multitude are the same in all lands, mighty under valiant and faithful leaders, powerless as sheep without them. but to my question, my gentle rolf; this london must be rich?" [ ] "rich enow," answered rolf, "to coin into armed men, that should stretch from rouen to flanders on the one hand, and paris on the other." "in the veins of matilda, whom thou wooest for wife," said fitzosborne, abruptly, "flows the blood of charlemagne. god grant his empire to the children she shall bear thee!" the duke bowed his head, and kissed a relic suspended from his throat. farther sign of approval of his counsellor's words he gave not, but after a pause, he said: "when i depart, rolf, thou wendest back to thy marches. these welch are brave and fierce, and shape work enow for thy hands." "ay, by my halidame! poor sleep by the side of the beehive you have stricken down." "marry, then," said william, "let the welch prey on saxon, saxon on welch; let neither win too easily. remember our omens to-day, welch hawk and saxon bittern, and over their corpses, duke william's norway falcon! now dress we for the complin [ ] and the banquet." this ebook was produced by tapio riikonen and david widger book viii. fate. chapter i. some days after the tragical event with which the last chapter closed, the ships of the saxons were assembled in the wide waters of conway; and on the small fore-deck of the stateliest vessel, stood harold, bareheaded, before aldyth, the widowed queen. for the faithful bard had fallen by the side of his lord; . . . the dark promise was unfulfilled, and the mangled clay of the jealous gryffyth slept alone in the narrow bed. a chair of state, with dossel and canopy, was set for the daughter of algar, and behind stood maidens of wales, selected in haste for her attendants. but aldyth had not seated herself; and, side by side with her dead lord's great victor, thus she spoke: "woe worth the day and the hour when aldyth left the hall of her fathers and the land of her birth! her robe of a queen has been rent and torn over an aching heart, and the air she has breathed has reeked as with blood. i go forth, widowed, and homeless, and lonely; but my feet shall press the soil of my sires, and my lips draw the breath which came sweet and pure to my childhood. and thou, o harold, standest beside me, like the shape of my own youth, and the dreams of old come back at the sound of thy voice. fare thee well, noble heart and true saxon. thou hast twice saved the child of thy foe--first from shame, then from famine. thou wouldst have saved my dread lord from open force, and dark murder; but the saints were wroth, the blood of my kinsfolk, shed by his hand, called for vengeance, and the shrines he had pillaged and burned murmured doom from their desolate altars. peace be with the dead, and peace with the living! i shall go back to my father and brethren; and if the fame and life of child and sister be dear to them, their swords will never more leave their sheaths against harold. so thy hand, and god guard thee!" harold raised to his lips the hand which the queen extended to him; and to aldyth now seemed restored the rare beauty of her youth; as pride and sorrow gave her the charm of emotion, which love and duty had failed to bestow. "life and health to thee, noble lady," said the earl. "tell thy kindred from me, that for thy sake, and thy grandsire's, i would fain be their brother and friend; were they but united with me, all england were now safe against every foe, and each peril. thy daughter already awaits thee in the halls of morcar; and when time has scarred the wounds of the past, may thy joys re-bloom in the face of thy child. farewell, noble aldyth!" he dropped the hand he had held till then, turned slowly to the side of the vessel, and re-entered his boat. as he was rowed back to shore, the horn gave the signal for raising anchor, and the ship, righting itself, moved majestically through the midst of the fleet. but aldyth still stood erect, and her eyes followed the boat that bore away the secret love of her youth. as harold reached the shore, tostig and the norman, who had been conversing amicably together on the beach, advanced towards the earl. "brother," said tostig, smiling, "it were easy for thee to console the fair widow, and bring to our house all the force of east anglia and mercia." harold's face slightly changed, but he made no answer. "a marvellous fair dame," said the norman, "notwithstanding her cheek be somewhat pinched, and the hue sun-burnt. and i wonder not that the poor cat-king kept her so close to his side." "sir norman," said the earl, hastening to change the subject, "the war is now over, and, for long years, wales will leave our marches in peace.--this eve i propose to ride hence towards london, and we will converse by the way." "go you so soon?" cried the knight, surprised. "shall you not take means utterly to subjugate this troublesome race, parcel out the lands among your thegns, to hold as martial fiefs at need, build towers and forts on the heights, and at the river mouths?--where a site, like this, for some fair castle and vawmure? in a word, do you saxons merely overrun, and neglect to hold what you win?" "we fight in self-defence, not for conquest, sir norman. we have no skill in building castles; and i pray you not to hint to my thegns the conceit of dividing a land, as thieves would their plunder. king gryffyth is dead, and his brothers will reign in his stead. england has guarded her realm, and chastised the aggressors. what need england do more? we are not like our first barbarous fathers, carving out homes with the scythe of their saexes. the wave settles after the flood, and the races of men after lawless convulsions." tostig smiled, in disdain, at the knight, who mused a little over the strange words he had heard, and then silently followed the earl to the fort. but when harold gained his chamber, he found there an express, arrived in haste from chester, with the news that algar, the sole enemy and single rival of his power, was no more. fever, occasioned by neglected wounds, had stretched him impotent on a bed of sickness, and his fierce passions had aided the march of disease; the restless and profitless race was run. the first emotion which these tidings called forth was that of pain. the bold sympathise with the bold; and in great hearts, there is always a certain friendship for a gallant foe. but recovering the shock of that first impression, harold could not but feel that england was free from its most dangerous subject--himself from the only obstacle apparent to the fulfilment of his luminous career. "now, then, to london," whispered the voice of his ambition. "not a foe rests to trouble the peace of that empire which thy conquests, o harold, have made more secure and compact than ever yet has been the realm of the saxon kings. thy way through the country that thou hast henceforth delivered from the fire and sword of the mountain ravager, will be one march of triumph, like a roman's of old; and the voice of the people will echo the hearts of the army; those hearts are thine own. verily hilda is a prophetess; and when edward rests with the saints, from what english heart will not burst the cry, 'long live harold the king?'" chapter ii. the norman rode by the side of harold, in the rear of the victorious armament. the ships sailed to their havens, and tostig departed to his northern earldom. "and now," said harold, "i am at leisure to thank thee, brave norman, for more than thine aid in council and war;--at leisure now to turn to the last prayer of sweyn, and the often-shed tears of githa my mother, for wolnoth the exile. thou seest with thine own eyes that there is no longer pretext or plea for thy count to detain these hostages. thou shalt hear from edward himself that he no longer asks sureties for the faith of the house of godwin; and i cannot think that duke william would have suffered thee to bring me over this news from the dead if he were not prepared to do justice to the living." "your speech, earl of wessex, goes near to the truth. but, to speak plainly and frankly, i think william, my lord, hath a keen desire to welcome in person a chief so illustrious as harold, and i guess that he keeps the hostages to make thee come to claim them." the knight, as he spoke, smiled gaily; but the cunning of the norman gleamed in the quick glance of his clear hazel eye. "fain must i feel pride at such wish, if you flatter me not," said harold; "and i would gladly myself, now the land is in peace, and my presence not needful, visit a court of such fame. i hear high praise from cheapman and pilgrim of count william's wise care for barter and trade, and might learn much from the ports of the seine that would profit the marts of the thames. much, too, i hear of count william's zeal to revive the learning of the church, aided by lanfranc the lombard; much i hear of the pomp of his buildings, and the grace of his court. all this would i cheerfully cross the ocean to see; but all this would but sadden my heart if i returned without haco and wolnoth." "i dare not speak so as to plight faith for the duke," said the norman, who, though sharp to deceive, had that rein on his conscience that it did not let him openly lie; "but this i do know, that there are few things in his countdom which my lord would not give to clasp the right hand of harold and feel assured of his friendship." though wise and farseeing, harold was not suspicious;--no englishman, unless it were edward himself, knew the secret pretensions of william to the english throne; and he answered simply: "it were well, indeed, both for normandy and england, both against foes and for trade, to be allied and well-liking. i will think over your words, sire de graville, and it shall not be my fault if old feuds be not forgotten, and those now in thy court be the last hostages ever kept by the norman for the faith of the saxon." with that he turned the discourse; and the aspiring and able envoy, exhilarated by the hope of a successful mission, animated the way by remarks--alternately lively and shrewd--which drew the brooding earl from those musings, which had now grown habitual to a mind once clear and open as the day. harold had not miscalculated the enthusiasm his victories had excited. where he passed, all the towns poured forth their populations to see and to hail him; and on arriving at the metropolis, the rejoicings in his honour seemed to equal those which had greeted, at the accession of edward, the restoration of the line of cerdic. according to the barbarous custom of the age, the head of the unfortunate sub-king, and the prow of his special war-ship, had been sent to edward as the trophies of conquest: but harold's uniform moderation respected the living. the race of gryffyth [ ] were re- established on the tributary throne of that hero, in the persons of his brothers, blethgent and rigwatle, "and they swore oaths," says the graphic old chronicler, "and delivered hostages to the king and the earl that they would be faithful to him in all things, and be everywhere ready for him, by water, and by land, and make such renders from the land as had been done before to any other king." not long after this, mallet de graville returned to normandy, with gifts for william from king edward, and special requests from that prince, as well as from the earl, to restore the hostages. but mallet's acuteness readily perceived, that in much edward's mind had been alienated from william. it was clear, that the duke's marriage and the pledges that had crowned the union were distasteful to the asceticism of the saint king: and with godwin's death, and tostig's absence from the court, seemed to have expired all edward's bitterness towards that powerful family of which harold was now the head. still, as no subject out of the house of cerdic had ever yet been elected to the saxon throne, there was no apprehension on mallet's mind that in harold was the true rival to william's cherished aspirations. though edward the atheling was dead, his son edgar lived, the natural heir to the throne; and the norman, (whose liege had succeeded to the duchy at the age of eight,) was not sufficiently cognisant of the invariable custom of the anglo-saxons, to set aside, whether for kingdoms or for earldoms, all claimants unfitted for rule by their tender years. he could indeed perceive that the young atheling's minority was in favour of his norman liege, and would render him but a weak defender of the realm, and that there seemed no popular attachment to the infant orphan of the germanised exile: his name was never mentioned at the court, nor had edward acknowledged him as heir,--a circumstance which he interpreted auspiciously for william. nevertheless, it was clear that, both at court and amongst the people, the norman influence in england was at the lowest ebb; and that the only man who could restore it, and realise the cherished dreams of his grasping lord, was harold the all-powerful. chapter iii. trusting, for the time, to the success of edward's urgent demand for the release of his kinsmen, as well as his own, harold was now detained at the court by all those arrears of business which had accumulated fast under the inert hands of the monk-king during the prolonged campaigns against the welch; but he had leisure at least for frequent visits to the old roman house; and those visits were not more grateful to his love than to the harder and more engrossing passion which divided his heart. the nearer he grew to the dazzling object, to the possession of which fate seemed to have shaped all circumstances, the more he felt the charm of those mystic influences which his colder reason had disdained. he who is ambitious of things afar, and uncertain, passes at once into the poet-land of imagination; to aspire and to imagine are yearnings twin-born. when in his fresh youth and his calm lofty manhood, harold saw action, how adventurous soever, limited to the barriers of noble duty; when he lived but for his country, all spread clear before his vision in the sunlight of day; but as the barriers receded, while the horizon extended, his eye left the certain to rest on the vague. as self, though still half concealed from his conscience, gradually assumed the wide space love of country had filled, the maze of delusion commenced: he was to shape fate out of circumstance,--no longer defy fate through virtue; and thus hilda became to him as a voice that answered the questions of his own restless heart. he needed encouragement from the unknown to sanction his desires and confirm his ends. but edith, rejoicing in the fair fame of her betrothed, and content in the pure rapture of beholding him again, reposed in the divine credulity of the happy hour; she marked not, in harold's visits, that, on entrance, the earl's eye sought first the stern face of the vala--she wondered not why those two conversed in whispers together, or stood so often at moonlight by the runic grave. alone, of all womankind, she felt that harold loved her, that that love had braved time, absence, change, and hope deferred; and she knew not that what love has most to dread in the wild heart of aspiring man, is not persons, but things,--is not things, but their symbols. so weeks and months rolled on, and duke william returned no answer to the demands for his hostages. and harold's heart smote him, that he neglected his brother's prayer and his mother's accusing tears. now githa, since the death of her husband, had lived in seclusion and apart from town; and one day harold was surprised by her unexpected arrival at the large timbered house in london, which had passed to his possession. as she abruptly entered the room in which he sate, he sprang forward to welcome and embrace her; but she waved him back with a grave and mournful gesture, and sinking on one knee, she said thus: "see, the mother is a suppliant to the son for the son. no, harold, no--i will not rise till thou hast heard me. for years, long and lonely, have i lingered and pined,--long years! will my boy know his mother again? thou hast said to me, 'wait till the messenger returns.' i have waited. thou hast said, 'this time the count cannot resist the demand of the king.' i bowed my head and submitted to thee as i had done to godwin my lord. and i have not till now claimed thy promise; for i allowed thy country, thy king, and thy fame to have claims more strong than a mother. now i tarry no more; now no more will i be amused and deceived. thine hours are thine own--free thy coming and thy going. harold, i claim thine oath. harold, i touch thy right hand. harold, i remind thee of thy troth and thy plight, to cross the seas thyself, and restore the child to the mother." "oh, rise, rise!" exclaimed harold, deeply moved. "patient hast thou been, o my mother, and now i will linger no more, nor hearken to other voice than your own. i will see the king this day, and ask his leave to cross the sea to duke william." then githa rose, and fell on the earl's breast weeping. chapter iv. it so chanced, while this interview took place between githa and the earl, that gurth, hawking in the woodlands round hilda's house, turned aside to visit his danish kinswoman. the prophetess was absent, but he was told that edith was within; and gurth, about to be united to a maiden who had long won his noble affections, cherished a brother's love for his brother's fair betrothed. he entered the gynoecium, and there still, as when we were first made present in that chamber, sate the maids, employed on a work more brilliant to the eye, and more pleasing to the labour, than that which had then tasked their active hands. they were broidering into a tissue of the purest gold the effigy of a fighting warrior, designed by hilda for the banner of earl harold: and, removed from the awe of their mistress, as they worked their tongues sang gaily, and it was in the midst of song and laughter that the fair young saxon lord entered the chamber. the babble and the mirth ceased at his entrance; each voice was stilled, each eye cast down demurely. edith was not amongst them, and in answer to his inquiry the eldest of the maidens pointed towards the peristyle without the house. the winning and kindly thegn paused a few moments, to admire the tissue and commend the work, and then sought the peristyle. near the water-spring that gushed free and bright through the roman fountain, he found edith, seated in an attitude of deep thought and gloomy dejection. she started as he approached, and, springing forward to meet him, exclaimed: "o gurth, heaven hath sent thee to me, i know well, though i cannot explain to thee why, for i cannot explain it to myself; but know i do, by the mysterious bodements of my own soul, that some great danger is at this moment encircling thy brother harold. go to him, i pray, i implore thee, forthwith; and let thy clear sense and warm heart be by his side." "i will go instantly," said gurth, startled. "but do not suffer, i adjure thee, sweet kinswoman, the superstition that wraps this place, as a mist wraps a marsh, to infect thy pure spirit. in my early youth i submitted to the influence of hilda; i became man, and outgrew it. much, secretly, has it grieved me of late, to see that our kinswoman's danish lore has brought even the strong heart of harold under his spell; and where once he only spoke of duty, i now hear him speak of fate." "alas! alas!" answered edith, wringing her hands; "when the bird hides its head in the brake, doth it shut out the track of the hound? can we baffle fate by refusing to heed its approaches? but we waste precious moments. go, gurth, dear gurth! heavier and darker, while we speak, gathers the cloud on my heart." gurth said no more, but hastened to remount his steed; and edith remained alone by the roman fountain, motionless and sad, as if the nymph of the old religion stood there to see the lessening stream well away from the shattered stone, and know that the life of the nymph was measured by the ebb of the stream. gurth arrived in london just as harold was taking a boat for the palace of westminster, to seek the king; and, after interchanging a hurried embrace with his mother, he accompanied harold to the palace, and learned his errand by the way. while harold spoke, he did not foresee any danger to be incurred by a friendly visit to the norman court; and the interval that elapsed between harold's communication and their entrance into the king's chamber, allowed no time for mature and careful reflection. edward, on whom years and infirmity had increased of late with rapid ravage, heard harold's request with a grave and deep attention, which he seldom vouchsafed to earthly affairs. and he remained long silent after his brother-in-law had finished;--so long silent, that the earl, at first, deemed that he was absorbed in one of those mystic and abstracted reveries, in which, more and more as he grew nearer to the borders of the world unseen, edward so strangely indulged. but, looking more close, both he and gurth were struck by the evident dismay on the king's face, while the collected light of edward's cold eye showed that his mind was awake to the human world. in truth, it is probable that edward, at that moment, was recalling rash hints, if not promises, to his rapacious cousin of normandy, made during his exile. and, sensible of his own declining health, and the tender years of the young edgar, he might be musing over the terrible pretender to the english throne, whose claims his earlier indiscretion might seem to sanction. whatever his thoughts, they were dark and sinister, as at length he said, slowly: "is thine oath indeed given to thy mother, and doth she keep thee to it?" "both, o king," answered harold, briefly. "then i can gainsay thee not. and thou, harold, art a man of this living world; thou playest here the part of a centurion; thou sayst 'come,' and men come--'go,' and men move at thy will. therefore thou mayest well judge for thyself. i gainsay thee not, nor interfere between man and his vow. but think not," continued the king in a more solemn voice, and with increasing emotion, "think not that i will charge my soul that i counselled or encouraged this errand. yea, i foresee that thy journey will lead but to great evil to england, and sore grief or dire loss to thee." [ ] "how so, dear lord and king?" said harold, startled by edward's unwonted earnestness, though deeming it but one of the visionary chimeras habitual to the saint. "how so? william thy cousin hath ever borne the name of one fair to friend, though fierce to foe. and foul indeed his dishonour, if he could meditate harm to a man trusting his faith, and sheltered by his own roof-tree." "harold, harold," said edward, impatiently, "i know william of old. nor is he so simple of mind, that he will cede aught for thy pleasure, or even to my will, unless it bring some gain to himself [ ]. i say no more.--thou art cautioned, and i leave the rest to heaven." it is the misfortune of men little famous for worldly lore, that in those few occasions when, in that sagacity caused by their very freedom from the strife and passion of those around, they seem almost prophetically inspired,--it is their misfortune to lack the power of conveying to others their own convictions; they may divine, but they cannot reason: and harold could detect nothing to deter his purpose, in a vague fear, based on no other argument than as vague a perception of the duke's general character. but gurth, listening less to his reason than his devoted love for his brother, took alarm, and said, after a pause: "thinkest thou, good my king, that the same danger were incurred if gurth, instead of harold, crossed the seas to demand the hostages?" "no," said edward, eagerly, "and so would i counsel. william would not have the same objects to gain in practising his worldly guile upon thee. no; methinks that were the prudent course." "and the ignoble one for harold," said the elder brother, almost indignantly. "howbeit, i thank thee, gratefully, dear king, for thy affectionate heed and care. and so the saints guard thee!" on leaving the king, a warm discussion between the brothers took place. but gurth's arguments were stronger than those of harold, and the earl was driven to rest his persistence on his own special pledge to githa. as soon, however, as they had gained their home, that plea was taken from him; for the moment gurth related to his mother edward's fears and cautions, she, ever mindful of godwin's preference for the earl, and his last commands to her, hastened to release harold from his pledge; and to implore him at least to suffer gurth to be his substitute to the norman court. "listen dispassionately," said gurth; "rely upon it that edward has reasons for his fears, more rational than those he has given to us. he knows william from his youth upward, and hath loved him too well to hint doubts of his good faith without just foundation. are there no reasons why danger from william should be special against thyself? while the normans abounded in the court, there were rumours that the duke had some designs on england, which edward's preference seemed to sanction: such designs now, in the altered state of england, were absurd--too frantic, for a prince of william's reputed wisdom to entertain. yet he may not unnaturally seek to regain the former norman influence in these realms. he knows that in you he receives the most powerful man in england; that your detention alone would convulse the country from one end of it to the other; and enable him, perhaps, to extort from edward some measures dishonourable to us all. but against me he can harbour no ill design --my detention would avail him nothing. and, in truth, if harold be safe in england, gurth must be safe in rouen? thy presence here at the head of our armies guarantees me from wrong. but reverse the case, and with gurth in england, is harold safe in rouen? i, but a simple soldier, and homely lord, with slight influence over edward, no command in the country, and little practised of speech in the stormy witan,--i am just so great that william dare not harm me, but not so great that he should even wish to harm me." "he detains our kinsmen, why not thee!" said harold. "because with our kinsmen he has at least the pretext that they were pledged as hostages: because i go simply as guest and envoy. no, to me danger cannot come. be ruled, dear harold." "be ruled, o my son," cried githa, clasping the earl's knees, "and do not let me dread in the depth of the night to see the shade of godwin, and hear his voice say, 'woman, where is harold?'" it was impossible for the earl's strong understanding to resist the arguments addressed to it; and, to say truth, he had been more disturbed that he liked to confess by edward's sinister forewarnings. yet, on the other hand, there were reasons against his acquiescence in gurth's proposal. the primary, and, to do him justice, the strongest, was in his native courage and his generous pride. should he for the first time in his life shrink from a peril in the discharge of his duty; a peril, too, so uncertain and vague? should he suffer gurth to fulfil the pledge he himself had taken? and granting even that gurth were safe from whatever danger he individually might incur, did it become him to accept the proxy? would gurth's voice, too, be as potent as his own in effecting the return of the hostages? the next reasons that swayed him were those he could not avow. in clearing his way to the english throne, it would be of no mean importance to secure the friendship of the norman duke, and the norman acquiescence in his pretensions; it would be of infinite service to remove those prepossessions against his house, which were still rife with the normans, who retained a bitter remembrance of their countrymen decimated [ ], it was said, with the concurrence if not at the order of godwin, when they accompanied the ill-fated alfred to the english shore, and who were yet sore with their old expulsion from the english court at the return of his father and himself. though it could not enter into his head that william, possessing no party whatever in england, could himself aspire to the english crown, yet at edward's death, there might be pretenders whom the norman arms could find ready excuse to sanction. there was the boy atheling, on the one side, there was the valiant norwegian king hardrada on the other, who might revive the claims of his predecessor magnus as heir to the rights of canute. so near and so formidable a neighbour as the court of the normans, every object of policy led him to propitiate; and gurth, with his unbending hate of all that was norman, was not, at least, the most politic envoy he could select for that end. add to this, that despite their present reconciliation, harold could never long count upon amity with tostig: and tostig's connection with william, through their marriages into the house of baldwin, was full of danger to a new throne, to which tostig would probably be the most turbulent subject: the influence of this connection how desirable to counteract! [ ] nor could harold, who, as patriot and statesman, felt deeply the necessity of reform and regeneration in the decayed edifice of the english monarchy, willingly lose an occasion to witness all that william had done to raise so high in renown and civilisation, in martial fame and commercial prosperity, that petty duchy, which he had placed on a level with the kingdoms of the teuton and the frank. lastly, the normans were the special darlings of the roman church. william had obtained the dispensation to his own marriage with matilda; and might not the norman influence, duly conciliated, back the prayer which harold trusted one day to address to the pontiff, and secure to him the hallowed blessing, without which ambition lost its charm, and even a throne its splendour? all these considerations, therefore, urged the earl to persist in his original purpose: but a warning voice in his heart, more powerful than all, sided with the prayer of githa, and the arguments of gurth. in this state of irresolution, gurth said seasonably: "bethink thee, harold, if menaced but with peril to thyself, thou wouldst have a brave man's right to resist us; but it was of 'great evil to england' that edward spoke, and thy reflection must tell thee, that in this crisis of our country, danger to thee is evil to england --evil to england thou hast no right to incur." "dear mother, and generous gurth," said harold, then joining the two in one embrace, "ye have well nigh conquered. give me but two days to ponder well, and be assured that i will not decide from the rash promptings of an ill-considered judgment." farther than this they could not then move the earl; but gurth was pleased shortly afterwards to see him depart to edith, whose fears, from whatever source they sprang, would, he was certain, come in aid of his own pleadings. but as the earl rode alone towards the once stately home of the perished roman, and entered at twilight the darkening forest-land, his thoughts were less on edith than on the vala, with whom his ambition had more and more connected his soul. perplexed by his doubts, and left dim in the waning lights of human reason, never more involuntarily did he fly to some guide to interpret the future, and decide his path. as if fate itself responded to the cry of his heart, he suddenly came in sight of hilda herself, gathering leaves from elm and ash amidst the woodland. he sprang from his horse and approached her. "hilda," said he, in a low but firm voice, "thou hast often told me that the dead can advise the living. raise thou the scin-laeca of the hero of old--raise the ghost, which mine eye, or my fancy, beheld before, vast and dim by the silent bautastein, and i will stand by thy side. fain would i know if thou hast deceived me and thyself; or if, in truth, to man's guidance heaven doth vouchsafe saga and rede from those who have passed into the secret shores of eternity." "the dead," answered hilda, "will not reveal themselves to eyes uninitiate save at their own will, uncompelled by charm and rune. to me their forms can appear distinct through the airy flame; to me, duly prepared by spells that purge the eye of the spirit, and loosen the walls of the flesh. i cannot say that what i see in the trance and the travail of my soul, thou also wilt behold; or even when the vision hath passed from my sight, and the voice from my ear, only memories, confused and dim, of what i saw and heard, remain to guide the waking and common life. but thou shalt stand by my side while i invoke the phantom, and hear and interpret the words which rush from my lips, and the runes that take meaning from the sparks of the charmed fire. i knew ere thou camest, by the darkness and trouble of edith's soul, that some shade from the ash-tree of life had fallen upon thine." then harold related what had passed, and placed before hilda the doubts that beset him. the prophetess listened with earnest attention; but her mind, when not under its more mystic influences, being strongly biassed by its natural courage and ambition, she saw at a glance all the advantages towards securing the throne predestined to harold, which might be effected by his visit to the norman court, and she held in too great disdain both the worldly sense and the mystic reveries of the monkish king (for the believer in odin was naturally incredulous of the visitation of the christian saints) to attach much weight to his dreary predictions. the short reply she made was therefore not calculated to deter harold from the expedition in dispute. but she deferred till the following night, and to wisdom more dread than her own, the counsels that should sway his decision. with a strange satisfaction at the thought that he should, at least, test personally the reality of those assumptions of preternatural power which had of late coloured his resolves and oppressed his heart, harold then took leave of the vala, who returned mechanically to her employment; and, leading his horse by the reins, lowly continued his musing way towards the green knoll and its heathen ruins. but ere he gained the hillock, and while his thoughtful eyes were bent on the ground, he felt his arm seized tenderly--turned--and beheld edith's face full of unutterable and anxious love. with that love, indeed, there was blended so much wistfulness, so much fear, that harold exclaimed: "soul of my soul, what hath chanced? what affects thee thus?" "hath no danger befallen thee?" asked edith falteringly, and gazing on his face with wistful, searching eyes. "danger! none, sweet trembler," answered the earl, evasively. edith dropped her eager looks, and clinging to his arm, drew him on silently into the forest land. she paused at last where the old fantastic trees shut out the view of the ancient ruins; and when, looking round, she saw not those grey gigantic shafts which mortal hand seemed never to have piled together, she breathed more freely. "speak to me," then said harold, bending his face to hers; "why this silence?" "ah, harold!" answered his betrothed, "thou knowest that ever since we have loved one another, my existence hath been but a shadow of thine; by some weird and strange mystery, which hilda would explain by the stars or the fates, that have made me a part of thee, i know by the lightness or gloom of my own spirit when good or ill shall befall thee. how often, in thine absence, hath a joy suddenly broke upon me; and i felt by that joy, as by the smile of a good angel, that thou hast passed safe through some peril, or triumphed over some foe! and now thou askest me why i am so sad;--i can only answer thee by saying, that the sadness is cast upon me by some thunder gloom on thine own destiny." harold had sought edith to speak of his meditated journey, but seeing her dejection he did not dare; so he drew her to his breast, and chid her soothingly for her vain apprehensions. but edith would not be comforted; there seemed something weighing on her mind and struggling to her lips, not accounted for merely by sympathetic forebodings; and at length, as he pressed her to tell all, she gathered courage and spoke: "do not mock me," she said, "but what secret, whether of vain folly or of meaning fate, should i hold from thee? all this day i struggled in vain against the heaviness of my forebodings. how i hailed the sight of gurth thy brother! i besought him to seek thee--thou hast seen him." "i have!" said harold. "but thou wert about to tell me of something more than this dejection." "well," resumed edith, "after gurth left me, my feet sought involuntarily the hill on which we have met so often. i sate down near the old tomb, a strange weariness crept on my eyes, and a sleep that seemed not wholly sleep fell over me. i struggled against it, as if conscious of some coming terror; and as i struggled, and ere i slept, harold,--yes, ere i slept,--i saw distinctly a pale and glimmering figure rise from the saxon's grave. i saw--i see it still! oh, that livid front, those glassy eyes!" "the figure of a warrior?" said harold, startled. "of a warrior, armed as in the ancient days, armed like the warrior that hilda's maids are working for thy banner. i saw it; and in one hand it held a spear, and in the other a crown." "a crown!--say on, say on." "i saw no more; sleep, in spite of myself, fell on me, a sleep full of confused and painful--rapid and shapeless images, still at last this dream rose clear. i beheld a bright and starry shape, that seemed as a spirit, yet wore thine aspect, standing on a rock; and an angry torrent rolled between the rock and the dry safe land. the waves began to invade the rock, and the spirit unfurled its wings as to flee. and then foul things climbed up from the slime of the rock, and descended from the mists of the troubled skies, and they coiled round the wings and clogged them." "then a voice cried in my ear,--'seest thou not on the perilous rock the soul of harold the brave?--seest thou not that the waters engulf it, if the wings fail to flee? up, truth, whose strength is in purity, whose image is woman, and aid the soul of the brave!' i sought to spring to thy side; but i was powerless, and behold, close beside me, through my sleep as through a veil, appeared the shafts of the ruined temple in which i lay reclined. and, methought, i saw hilda sitting alone by the saxon's grave, and pouring from a crystal vessel black drops into a human heart which she held in her hands: and out of that heart grew a child, and out of that child a youth, with dark mournful brow. and the youth stood by thy side and whispered to thee: and from his lips there came a reeking smoke, and in that smoke as in a blight the wings withered up. and i heard the voice say, 'hilda, it is thou that hast destroyed the good angel, and reared from the poisoned heart the loathsome tempter!' and i cried aloud, but it was too late; the waves swept over thee, and above the waves there floated an iron helmet, and on the helmet was a golden crown--the crown i had seen in the hand of the spectre!" "but this is no evil dream, my edith," said harold, gaily. edith, unheeding him, continued: "i started from my sleep. the sun was still high--the air lulled and windless. then through the shafts and down the hill there glided in that clear waking daylight, a grisly shape like that which i have heard our maidens say the witch-hags, sometimes seen in the forest, assume; yet in truth, it seemed neither of man nor woman. it turned its face once towards me, and on that hideous face were the glee and hate of a triumphant fiend. oh, harold, what should all this portend?" "hast thou not asked thy kinswoman, the diviner of dreams?" "i asked hilda, and she, like thee, only murmured, 'the saxon crown!' but if there be faith in those airy children of the night, surely, o adored one, the vision forebodes danger, not to life, but to soul; and the words i heard seemed to say that thy wings were thy valour, and the fylgia thou hadst lost was,--no, that were impossible--" "that my fylgia was truth, which losing, i were indeed lost to thee. thou dost well," said harold, loftily, "to hold that among the lies of the fancy. all else may, perchance, desert me, but never mine own free soul. self-reliant hath hilda called me in mine earlier days, and wherever fate casts me,--in my truth, and my love, and my dauntless heart, i dare both man and the fiend." edith gazed a moment in devout admiration on the mien of her hero- lover, then she drew closer and closer to his breast, consoled and believing. chapter v. with all her persuasion of her own powers in penetrating the future, we have seen that hilda had never consulted her oracles on the fate of harold, without a dark and awful sense of the ambiguity of their responses. that fate, involving the mightiest interests of a great race, and connected with events operating on the farthest times and the remotest lands, lost itself to her prophetic ken amidst omens the most contradictory, shadows and lights the most conflicting, meshes the most entangled. her human heart, devotedly attached to the earl, through her love for edith,--her pride obstinately bent on securing to the last daughter of her princely race that throne, which all her vaticinations, even when most gloomy, assured her was destined to the man with whom edith's doom was interwoven, combined to induce her to the most favourable interpretation of all that seemed sinister and doubtful. but according to the tenets of that peculiar form of magic cultivated by hilda, the comprehension became obscured by whatever partook of human sympathy. it was a magic wholly distinct from the malignant witchcraft more popularly known to us, and which was equally common to the germanic and scandinavian heathens. the magic of hilda was rather akin to the old cimbrian alirones, or sacred prophetesses; and, as with them, it demanded the priestess-- that is, the person without human ties or emotions, a spirit clear as a mirror, upon which the great images of destiny might be cast untroubled. however the natural gifts and native character of hilda might be perverted by the visionary and delusive studies habitual to her, there was in her very infirmities a grandeur, not without its pathos. in this position which she had assumed between the earth and the heaven, she stood so solitary and in such chilling air,--all the doubts that beset her lonely and daring soul came in such gigantic forms of terror and menace!--on the verge of the mighty heathenesse sinking fast into the night of ages, she towered amidst the shades, a shade herself; and round her gathered the last demons of the dire belief, defying the march of their luminous foe, and concentering round their mortal priestess, the wrecks of their horrent empire over a world redeemed. all the night that succeeded her last brief conference with harold, the vala wandered through the wild forest land, seeking haunts or employed in collecting herbs, hallowed to her dubious yet solemn lore; and the last stars were receding into the cold grey skies, when, returning homeward, she beheld within the circle of the druid temple a motionless object, stretched on the ground near the teuton's grave; she approached, and perceived what seemed a corpse, it was so still and stiff in its repose, and the face upturned to the stars was so haggard and death-like;--a face horrible to behold; the evidence of extreme age was written on the shrivelled livid skin and the deep furrows, but the expression retained that intense malignity which belongs to a power of life that extreme age rarely knows. the garb, which was that of a remote fashion, was foul and ragged, and neither by the garb, nor by the face, was it easy to guess what was the sex of this seeming corpse. but by a strange and peculiar odour that rose from the form [ ], and a certain glistening on the face, and the lean folded hands, hilda knew that the creature was one of those witches, esteemed of all the most deadly and abhorred, who, by the application of certain ointments, were supposed to possess the art of separating soul from body, and, leaving the last as dead, to dismiss the first to the dismal orgies of the sabbat. it was a frequent custom to select for the place of such trances, heathen temples and ancient graves. and hilda seated herself beside the witch to await the waking. the cock crowed thrice, heavy mists began to arise from the glades, covering the gnarled roots of the forest trees, when the dread face on which hilda calmly gazed, showed symptoms of returning life! a strong convulsion shook the vague indefinite form under its huddled garments, the eyes opened, closed,--opened again; and what had a few moments before seemed a dead thing sate up and looked round. "wicca," said the danish prophetess, with an accent between contempt and curiosity, "for what mischief to beast or man hast thou followed the noiseless path of the dreams through the airs of night?" the creature gazed hard upon the questioner, from its bleared but fiery eyes, and replied slowly, "hail, hilda, the morthwyrtha! why art thou not of us, why comest thou not to our revels? gay sport have we had to-night with faul and zabulus [ ]; but gayer far shall our sport be in the wassail hall of senlac, when thy grandchild shall come in the torchlight to the bridal bed of her lord. a buxom bride is edith the fair, and fair looked her face in her sleep on yester noon, when i sate by her side, and breathed on her brow, and murmured the verse that blackens the dream; but fairer still shall she look in her sleep by her lord. ha! ha! ho! we shall be there, with zabulus and faul; we shall be there!" "how!" said hilda, thrilled to learn that the secret ambition she cherished was known to this loathed sister in the art. "how dost thou pretend to that mystery of the future, which is dim and clouded even to me? canst thou tell when and where the daughter of the norse kings shall sleep on the breast of her lord?" a sound that partook of laughter, but was so unearthly in its malignant glee that it seemed not to come from a human lip, answered the vala; and as the laugh died the witch rose, and said: "go and question thy dead, o morthwyrtha! thou deemest thyself wiser than we are; we wretched hags, whom the ceorl seeks when his herd has the murrain, or the girl when her false love forsakes her; we, who have no dwelling known to man; but are found at need in the wold or the cave, or the side of dull slimy streams where the murderess-mother hath drowned her babe. askest thou, o hilda, the rich and the learned, askest thou counsel and lore from the daughter of faul?" "no," answered the vala, haughtily, "not to such as thou do the great nornas unfold the future. what knowest thou of the runes of old, whispered by the trunkless skull to the mighty odin? runes that control the elements, and conjure up the shining shadows of the grave. not with thee will the stars confer; and thy dreams are foul with revelries obscene, not solemn and haunted with the bodements of things to come! only i marvelled, while i beheld thee on the saxon's grave, what joy such as thou can find in that life above life, which draws upward the soul of the true vala." "the joy," replied the witch, "the joy which comes from wisdom and power, higher than you ever won with your spells from the rune or the star. wrath gives the venom to the slaver of the clog, and death to the curse of the witch. when wilt thou be as wise as the hag thou despisest? when will all the clouds that beset thee roll away from thy ken? when thy hopes are all crushed, when thy passions lie dead, when thy pride is abased, when thou art but a wreck, like the shafts of this temple, through which the starlight can shine. then only, thy soul will see clearly the sense of the runes, and then, thou and i will meet on the verge of the black shoreless sea!" so, despite all her haughtiness and disdain, did these words startle the lofty prophetess, that she remained gazing into space long after that fearful apparition had vanished, and up from the grass, which those obscene steps had profaned, sprang the lark carolling. but ere the sun had dispelled the dews on the forest sward, hilda had recovered her wonted calm, and, locked within her own secret chamber, prepared the seid and the runes for the invocation of the dead. chapter vi. resolving, should the auguries consulted permit him to depart, to entrust gurth with the charge of informing edith, harold parted from his betrothed, without hint of his suspended designs; and he passed the day in making all preparations for his absence and his journey, promising gurth to give his final answer on the morrow,--when either himself or his brother should depart for rouen. but more and more impressed with the arguments of gurth, and his own sober reason, and somewhat perhaps influenced by the forebodings of edith (for that mind, once so constitutionally firm, had become tremulously alive to such airy influences), he had almost predetermined to assent to his brother's prayer, when he departed to keep his dismal appointment with the morthwyrtha. the night was dim, but not dark; no moon shone, but the stars, wan though frequent, gleamed pale, as from the farthest deeps of the heaven; clouds grey and fleecy rolled slowly across the welkin, veiling and disclosing, by turns, the melancholy orbs. the morthwyrtha, in her dark dress, stood within the circle of stones. she had already kindled a fire at the foot of the bautastein, and its glare shone redly on the grey shafts; playing through their forlorn gaps upon the sward. by her side was a vessel, seemingly of pure water, filled from the old roman fountain, and its clear surface flashed blood-red in the beams. behind them, in a circle round both fire and water, were fragments of bark, cut in a peculiar form, like the head of an arrow, and inscribed with the mystic letters; nine were the fragments, and on each fragment were graved the runes. in her right hand the morthwyrtha held her seid-staff, her feet were bare, and her loins girt by the hunnish belt inscribed with mystic letters; from the belt hung a pouch or gipsire of bearskin, with plates of silver. her face, as harold entered the circle, had lost its usual calm--it was wild and troubled. she seemed unconscious of harold's presence, and her eye fixed and rigid, was as that of one in a trance. slowly, as if constrained by some power not her own, she began to move round the ring with a measured pace, and at last her voice broke low, hollow, and internal, into a rugged chaunt, which may be thus imperfectly translated-- "by the urdar-fount dwelling, day by day from the rill, the nornas besprinkle the ash ygg-drassill, [ ] the hart bites the buds, and the snake gnaws the root, but the eagle all-seeing keeps watch on the fruit. these drops on thy tomb from the fountain i pour; with the rune i invoke thee, with flame i restore. dread father of men, in the land of thy grave, give voice to the vala, and light to the brave." as she thus chaunted, the morthwyrtha now sprinkled the drops from the vessel over the bautastein,--now, one by one, cast the fragments of bark scrawled with runes on the fire. then, whether or not some glutinous or other chemical material had been mingled in the water, a pale gleam broke from the gravestone thus sprinkled, and the whole tomb glistened in the light of the leaping fire. from this light a mist or thin smoke gradually rose, and took, though vaguely, the outline of a vast human form. but so indefinite was the outline to harold's eye, that gazing on it steadily, and stilling with strong effort his loud heart, he knew not whether it was a phantom or a vapour that he beheld. the vala paused, leaning on her staff, and gazing in awe on the glowing stone, while the earl, with his arms folded on his broad breast, stood hushed and motionless. the sorceress recommenced: "mighty dead, i revere thee, dim-shaped from the cloud, with the light of thy deeds for the web of thy shroud. as odin consulted mimir's skull hollow-eyed, [ ] odin's heir comes to seek in the phantom a guide." as the morthwyrtha ceased, the fire crackled loud, and from its flame flew one of the fragments of bark to the feet of the sorceress:--the runic letters all indented with sparks. the sorceress uttered a loud cry, which, despite his courage and his natural strong sense, thrilled through the earl's heart to his marrow and bones, so appalling was it with wrath and terror; and while she gazed aghast on the blazing letters, she burst forth: "no warrior art thou, and no child of the tomb; i know thee, and shudder, great asa of doom. thou constrainest my lips and thou crushest my spell; bright son of the giant dark father of hell!" [ ] the whole form of the morthwyrtha then became convulsed and agitated, as if with the tempest of frenzy; the foam gathered to her lips, and her voice rang forth like a shriek: "in the iron wood rages the weaver of harm, the giant blood-drinker hag-born managarm. [ ] a keel nears the shoal; from the slime and the mud crawl the newt and the adder, the spawn the of flood. thou stand'st on the rock where the dreamer beheld thee. o soul, spread thy wings, ere the glamour hath spell'd thee. o, dread is the tempter, and strong the control; but conquer'd the tempter, if firm be the soul" the vala paused; and though it was evident that in her frenzy she was still unconscious of harold's presence, and seemed but to be the compelled and passive voice to some power, real or imaginary, beyond her own existence, the proud man approached, and said: "firm shall be my soul, nor of the dangers which beset it would i ask the dead or the living. if plain answers to mortal sense can come from these airy shadows or these mystic charms, reply, o interpreter of fate; reply but to the questions i demand. if i go to the court of the norman, shall i return unscathed?" the vala stood rigid as a shape of stone while harold thus spoke; and her voice came so low and strange as if forced from her scarce-moving lips: "thou shalt return unscathed." "shall the hostages of godwin, my father, be released" "the hostages of godwin shall be released," answered the same voice; "the hostages of harold be retained." "wherefore hostage from me?" "in pledge of alliance with the norman." "ha! then the norman and harold shall plight friendship and troth?" "yes!" answered the vala; but this time a visible shudder passed over her rigid form. "two questions more, and i have done. the norman priests have the ear of the roman pontiff. shall my league with william the norman avail to win me my bride?" "it will win thee the bride thou wouldst never have wedded but for thy league with william the norman. peace with thy questions, peace!" continued the voice, trembling as with some fearful struggle; "for it is the demon that forces my words, and they wither my soul to speak them." "but one question more remains; shall i live to wear the crown of england; and if so, when shall i be a king?" at these words the face of the prophetess kindled, the fire suddenly leapt up higher and brighter; again, vivid sparks lighted the runes on the fragments of bark that were shot from the flame; over these last the morthwyrtha bowed her head, and then, lifting it, triumphantly burst once more into song. "when the wolf month [ ], grim and still, heaps the snow-mass on the hill; when, through white air, sharp and bitter, mocking sunbeams freeze and glitter; when the ice-gems, bright and barbed, deck the boughs the leaves had garbed then the measure shall be meted, and the circle be completed. cerdic's race, the thor-descended, in the monk-king's tomb be ended; and no saxon brow but thine wear the crown of woden's line. where thou wendest, wend unfearing, every step thy throne is nearing. fraud may plot, and force assail thee,-- shall the soul thou trusteth fail thee? if it fail thee, scornful hearer, still the throne shines near and nearer. guile with guile oppose, and never crown and brow shall force dissever: till the dead men unforgiving loose the war steeds on the living; till a sun whose race is ending sees the rival stars contending; where the dead men, unforgiving, wheel the war steeds round the living. where thou wendest, wend unfearing; every step thy throne is nearing. never shall thy house decay, nor thy sceptre pass away, while the saxon name endureth in the land thy throne secureth; saxon name and throne together, leaf and root, shall wax and wither; so the measure shall be meted, and the circle close completed. art thou answer'd, dauntless seeker? go, thy bark shall ride the breaker, every billow high and higher, waft thee up to thy desire; and a force beyond thine own, drift and strand thee on the throne. when the wolf month, grim and still, piles the snow-mass on the hill, in the white air sharp and bitter shall thy kingly sceptre glitter: when the ice-gems barb the bough shall the jewels clasp thy brow; winter-wind, the oak uprending, with the altar-anthem blending; wind shall howl, and mone shall sing, 'hail to harold--hail the king!'" an exultation that seemed more than human, so intense it was and so solemn,--thrilled in the voice which thus closed predictions that seemed signally to belie the more vague and menacing warnings with which the dreary incantation had commenced. the morthwyrtha stood erect and stately, still gazing on the pale blue flame that rose from the burial stone, still slowly the flame waned and paled, and at last died with a sudden flicker, leaving the grey tomb standing forth all weatherworn and desolate, while a wind rose from the north and sighed through the roofless columns. then as the light over the grave expired, hilda gave a deep sigh, and fell to the ground senseless. harold lifted his eyes towards the stars and murmured: "if it be a sin, as the priests say, to pierce the dark walls which surround us here, and read the future in the dim world beyond, why gavest thou, o heaven, the reason, ever resting, save when it explores? why hast thou set in the heart the mystic law of desire, ever toiling to the high, ever grasping at the far?" heaven answered not the unquiet soul. the clouds passed to and fro in their wanderings, the wind still sighed through the hollow stones, the fire shot with vain sparks towards the distant stars. in the cloud and the wind and the fire couldst thou read no answer from heaven, unquiet soul? the next day, with a gallant company, the falcon on his wrist [ ], the sprightly hound gamboling before his steed, blithe of heart and high in hope, earl harold took his way to the norman court. this ebook was produced by tapio riikonen and david widger book vi. ambition. chapter i. there was great rejoicing in england. king edward had been induced to send alred the prelate [ ] to the court of the german emperor, for his kinsman and namesake, edward atheling, the son of the great ironsides. in his childhood, this prince, with his brother edmund, had been committed by canute to the charge of his vassal, the king of sweden; and it has been said (though without sufficient authority), that canute's design was, that they should be secretly made away with. the king of sweden, however, forwarded the children to the court of hungary; they were there honourably reared and received. edmund died young, without issue. edward married a daughter of the german emperor, and during the commotions in england, and the successive reigns of harold harefoot, hardicanute, and the confessor, had remained forgotten in his exile, until now suddenly recalled to england as the heir presumptive of his childless namesake. he arrived with agatha his wife, one infant son, edgar, and two daughters, margaret and christina. great were the rejoicings. the vast crowd that had followed the royal visitors in their procession to the old london palace (not far from st. paul's) in which they were lodged, yet swarmed through the streets, when two thegns who had personally accompanied the atheling from dover, and had just taken leave of him, now emerged from the palace, and with some difficulty made their way through the crowded streets. the one in the dress and short hair imitated from the norman,--was our old friend godrith, whom the reader may remember as the rebuker of taillefer, and the friend of mallet de graville; the other, in a plain linen saxon tunic, and the gonna worn on state occasions, to which he seemed unfamiliar, but with heavy gold bracelets on his arms, long haired and bearded, was vebba, the kentish thegn, who had served as nuncius from godwin to edward. "troth and faith!" said vebba, wiping his brow, "this crowd is enow to make plain roan stark wode. i would not live in london for all the gauds in the goldsmith's shops, or all the treasures in king edward's vaults. my tongue is as parched as a hay-field in the weyd-month. [ ] holy mother be blessed! i see a cumen-hus [ ] open; let us in and refresh ourselves with a horn of ale." "nay, friend," quoth godrith, with a slight disdain, "such are not the resorts of men of our rank. tarry yet awhile, till we arrive near the bridge by the river-side; there, indeed, you will find worthy company and dainty cheer." "well, well, i am at your hest, godrith," said the kent man, sighing; "my wife and my sons will be sure to ask me what sights i have seen, and i may as well know from thee the last tricks and ways of this burly-burly town." godrith, who was master of all the fashions in the reign of our lord king edward, smiled graciously, and the two proceeded in silence, only broken by the sturdy kent man's exclamations; now of anger when rudely jostled, now of wonder and delight when, amidst the throng, he caught sight of a gleeman, with his bear or monkey, who took advantage of some space near convent garden, or roman ruin, to exhibit his craft; till they gained a long low row of booths, most pleasantly situated to the left of this side london bridge, and which was appropriated to the celebrated cookshops, that even to the time of fitzstephen retained their fame and their fashion. between the shops and the river was a space of grass worn brown and bare by the feet of the customers, with a few clipped trees with vines trained from one to the other in arcades, under cover of which were set tables and settles. the place was thickly crowded, and but for godrith's popularity amongst the attendants, they might have found it difficult to obtain accommodation. however, a new table was soon brought forth, placed close by the cool margin of the water, and covered in a trice with tankards of hippocras, pigment, ale, and some gascon, as well as british wines: varieties of the delicious cake- bread for which england was then renowned; while viands, strange to the honest eye and taste of the wealthy kent man, were served on spits. "what bird is this?" said he, grumbling. "o enviable man, it is a phrygian attagen [ ] that thou art about to taste for the first time; and when thou hast recovered that delight, i commend to thee a moorish compound, made of eggs and roes of carp from the old southweorc stewponds, which the cooks here dress notably." "moorish!--holy virgin!" cried vebba, with his mouth full of the phrygian attagen, "how came anything moorish in our christian island?" godrith laughed outright. "why, our cook here is moorish; the best singers in london are moors. look yonder! see those grave comely saracens!" "comely, quotha, burnt and black as a charred pine-pole!" grunted vebba; "well, who are they?" "wealthy traders; thanks to whom, our pretty maids have risen high in the market." [ ] "more the shame," said the kent man; "that selling of english youth to foreign masters, whether male or female, is a blot on the saxon name." "so saith harold our earl, and so preach the monks," returned godrith. "but thou, my good friend, who art fond of all things that our ancestors did, and hast sneered more than once at my norman robe and cropped hair, thou shouldst not be the one to find fault with what our fathers have done since the days of cerdic." "hem," said the kent man, a little perplexed, "certainly old manners are the best, and i suppose there is some good reason for this practice, which i, who never trouble myself about matters that concern me not, do not see." "well, vebba, and how likest thou the atheling? he is of the old line," said godrith. again the kent man looked perplexed, and had recourse to the ale, which he preferred to all more delicate liquor, before he replied: "why, he speaks english worse than king edward! and as for his boy edgar, the child can scarce speak english at all. and then their german carles and cnehts!--an i had known what manner of folk they were, i had not spent my mancuses in running from my homestead to give them the welcome. but they told me that harold the good earl had made the king send for them: and whatever the earl counselled must, i thought, be wise, and to the weal of sweet england." "that is true," said godrith with earnest emphasis, for, with all his affectation of norman manners, he was thoroughly english at heart, and now among the staunchest supporters of harold, who had become no less the pattern and pride of the young nobles than the darling of the humbler population,--"that is true--and harold showed us his noble english heart when he so urged the king to his own loss." as godrith thus spoke, nay, from the first mention of harold's name, two men richly clad, but with their bonnets drawn far over their brows, and their long gonnas so worn as to hide their forms, who were seated at a table behind godrith and had thus escaped his attention, had paused from their wine-cups, and they now listened with much earnestness to the conversation that followed. "how to the earl's loss?" asked vebba. "why, simple thegn," answered godrith, "why, suppose that edward had refused to acknowledge the atheling as his heir, suppose the atheling had remained in the german court, and our good king died suddenly,-- who, thinkest thou, could succeed to the english throne?" "marry, i have never thought of that at all," said the kent man, scratching his head. "no, nor have the english generally; yet whom could we choose but harold?" a sudden start from one of the listeners was checked by the warning finger of the other; and the kent man exclaimed: "body o' me! but we have never chosen king (save the danes) out of the line of cerdic. these be new cranks, with a vengeance; we shall be choosing german, or saracen, or norman next!" "out of the line of cerdic! but that line is gone, root and branch, save the atheling, and he thou seest is more german than english. again i say, failing the atheling, whom could we choose but harold, brother-in-law to the king: descended through githa from the royalties of the norse, the head of all armies under the herr-ban, the chief who has never fought without victory, yet who has always preferred conciliation to conquest--the first counsellor in the witan--the first man in the realm--who but harold? answer me, staring vebba?" "i take in thy words slowly," said the kent man, shaking his head, "and after all, it matters little who is king, so he be a good one. yes, i see now that the earl was a just and generous man when he made the king send for the atheling. drink-hael! long life to them both!" "was-hael," answered godrith, draining his hippocras to vebba's more potent ale. "long life to them both! may edward the atheling reign, but harold the earl rule! ah, then, indeed, we may sleep without fear of fierce algar and still fiercer gryffyth the walloon--who now, it is true, are stilled for the moment, thanks to harold--but not more still than the smooth waters in gwyned, that lie just above the rush of a torrent." "so little news hear i," said vebba, "and in kent so little are we plagued with the troubles elsewhere, (for there harold governs us, and the hawks come not where the eagles hold eyrie!)--that i will thank thee to tell me something about our old earl for a year [ ], algar the restless, and this gryffyth the welch king, so that i may seem a wise man when i go back to my homestead." "why, thou knowest at least that algar and harold were ever opposed in the witan, and hot words thou hast heard pass between them!" "marry, yes! but algar was as little match for earl harold in speech as in sword play." now again one of the listeners started, (but it was not the same as the one before,) and muttered an angry exclamation. "yet is he a troublesome foe," said godrith, who did not hear the sound vebba had provoked, "and a thorn in the side both of the earl and of england; and sorrowful for both england and earl was it, that harold refused to marry aldyth, as it is said his father, wise godwin, counselled and wished." "ah! but i have heard scops and harpers sing pretty songs that harold loves edith the fair, a wondrous proper maiden, they say!" "it is true; and for the sake of his love, he played ill for his ambition." "i like him the better for that," said the honest kent man: "why does he not marry the girl at once? she hath broad lands, i know, for they run from the sussex shore into kent." "but they are cousins five times removed, and the church forbids the marriage; nevertheless harold lives only for edith; they have exchanged the true-lofa [ ], and it is whispered that harold hopes the atheling, when he comes to be king, will get him the pope's dispensation. but to return to algar; in a day most unlucky he gave his daughter to gryffyth, the most turbulent sub-king the land ever knew, who, it is said, will not be content till he has won all wales for himself without homage or service, and the marches to boot. some letters between him and earl algar, to whom harold had secured the earldom of the east angles, were discovered, and in a witan at winchester thou wilt doubtless have heard, (for thou didst not, i know, leave thy lands to attend it,) that algar [ ] was outlawed." "oh, yes, these are stale tidings; i heard thus much from a palmer-- and then algar got ships from the irish, sailed to north wales, and beat rolf, the norman earl, at hereford. oh, yes, i heard that, and," added the kent man, laughing, "i was not sorry to hear that my old earl algar, since he is a good and true saxon, beat the cowardly norman,--more shame to the king for giving a norman the ward of the marches!" "it was a sore defeat to the king and to england," said godrith, gravely. "the great minster of hereford built by king athelstan was burned and sacked by the welch; and the crown itself was in danger, when harold came up at the head of the fyrd. hard is it to tell the distress and the marching and the camping, and the travail, and destruction of men, and also of horses, which the english endured [ ] till harold came; and then luckily came also the good old leofric, and bishop alred the peacemaker, and so strife was patched up--gryffyth swore oaths of faith to king edward, and algar was inlawed; and there for the nonce rests the matter now. but well i ween that gryffyth will never keep troth with the english, and that no hand less strong than harold's can keep in check a spirit as fiery as algar's: therefore did i wish that harold might be king." "well," quoth the honest kent man, "i hope, nevertheless, that algar, will sow his wild oats, and leave the walloons to grow the hemp for their own halters; for, though he is not of the height of our harold, he is a true saxon, and we liked him well enow when he ruled us. and how is our earl's brother tostig esteemed by the northmen? it must be hard to please those who had siward of the strong arm for their earl before." "why, at first, when (at siward's death in the wars for young malcolm) harold secured to tostig the northumbrian earldom, tostig went by his brother's counsel, and ruled well and won favour. of late i hear that the northmen murmur. tostig is a man indeed dour and haughty." after a few more questions and answers on the news of the day, vebba rose and said: "thanks for thy good fellowship; it is time for me now to be jogging homeward. i left my ceorls and horses on the other side the river, and must go after them. and now forgive me my bluntness, fellow- thegn, but ye young courtiers have plenty of need for your mancuses, and when a plain countryman like me comes sight-seeing, he ought to stand payment; wherefore," here he took from his belt a great leathern purse, "wherefore, as these outlandish birds and heathenish puddings must be dear fare--" "how!" said godrith, reddening, "thinkest thou so meanly of us thegns of middlesex as to deem we cannot entertain thus humbly a friend from a distance? ye kent men i know are rich. but keep your pennies to buy stuffs for your wife, my friend." the kent man, seeing he had displeased his companion, did not press his liberal offer,--put up his purse, and suffered godrith to pay the reckoning. then, as the two thegns shook hands, he said: "but i should like to have said a kind word or so to earl harold--for he was too busy and too great for me to come across him in the old palace yonder. i have a mind to go back and look for him at his own house." "you will not find him there," said godrith, "for i know that as soon as he hath finished his conference with the atheling, he will leave the city; and i shall be at his own favourite manse over the water at sunset, to take orders for repairing the forts and dykes on the marches. you can tarry awhile and meet us; you know his old lodge in the forest land?" "nay, i must be back and at home ere night, for all things go wrong when the master is away. yet, indeed, my good wife will scold me for not having shaken hands with the handsome earl." "thou shalt not come under that sad infliction," said the good-natured godrith, who was pleased with the thegn's devotion to harold, and who, knowing the great weight which vebba (homely as he seemed) carried in his important county, was politically anxious that the earl should humour so sturdy a friend,--"thou shalt not sour thy wife's kiss, man. for look you, as you ride back you will pass by a large old house, with broken columns at the back." "i have marked it well," said the thegn, "when i have gone that way, with a heap of queer stones, on a little hillock, which they say the witches or the britons heaped together." "the same. when harold leaves london, i trow well towards that house will his road wend; for there lives edith the swan's-neck, with her awful grandam the wicca. if thou art there a little after noon, depend on it thou wilt see harold riding that way." "thank thee heartily, friend godrith," said vebba, taking his leave, "and forgive my bluntness if i laughed at thy cropped head, for i see thou art as good a saxon as e'er a franklin of kent--and so the saints keep thee." vebba then strode briskly over the bridge; and godrith, animated by the wine he had drunk, turned gaily on his heel to look amongst the crowded tables for some chance friend with whom to while away an hour or so at the games of hazard then in vogue. scarce had he turned, when the two listeners, who, having paid their reckoning, had moved under shade of one of the arcades, dropped into a boat which they had summoned to the margin by a noiseless signal, and were rowed over the water. they preserved a silence which seemed thoughtful and gloomy until they reached the opposite shore; then one of them, pushing back his bonnet, showed the sharp and haughty features of algar. "well, friend of gryffyth," said he, with a bitter accent, "thou hearest that earl harold counts so little on the oaths of thy king, that he intends to fortify the marches against him; and thou hearest also, that nought save a life, as fragile as the reed which thy feet are trampling, stands between the throne of england and the only englishman who could ever have humbled my son-in-law to swear oath of service to edward." "shame upon that hour," said the other, whose speech, as well as the gold collar round his neck, and the peculiar fashion of his hair, betokened him to be welch. "little did i think that the great son of llewellyn, whom our bards had set above roderic mawr, would ever have acknowledged the sovereignty of the saxon over the hills of cymry." "tut, meredydd," answered algar, "thou knowest well that no cymrian ever deems himself dishonoured by breaking faith with the saxon; and we shall yet see the lions of gryffyth scaring the sheepfolds of hereford." "so be it," said meredydd, fiercely. "and harold shall give to his atheling the saxon land, shorn at least of the cymrian kingdom." "meredydd," said algar, with a seriousness that seemed almost solemn, no atheling will live to rule these realms! thou knowest that i was one of the first to hail the news of his coming--i hastened to dover to meet him. methought i saw death writ on his countenance, and i bribed the german leach who attends him to answer my questions; the atheling knows it not, but he bears within him the seeds of a mortal complaint. thou wottest well what cause i have to hate earl harold; and were i the only man to oppose his way to the throne, he should not ascend it but over my corpse. but when godrith, his creature, spoke, i felt that he spoke the truth; and, the atheling dead, on no head but harold's can fall the crown of edward." "ha!" said the cymrian chief, gloomily; "thinkest thou so indeed?" "i think it not; i know it. and for that reason, meredydd, we must wait not till he wields against us all the royalty of england. as yet, while edward lives, there is hope. for the king loves to spend wealth on relics and priests, and is slow when the mancuses are wanted for fighting men. the king too, poor man! is not so ill-pleased at my outbursts as he would fain have it thought; he thinks, by pitting earl against earl, that he himself is the stronger [ ]. while edward lives, therefore, harold's arm is half crippled; wherefore, meredydd, ride thou, with good speed, back to king gryffyth, and tell him all i have told thee. tell him that our time to strike the blow and renew the war will be amidst the dismay and confusion that the atheling's death will occasion. tell him, that if we can entangle harold himself in the welch defiles, it will go hard but what we shall find some arrow or dagger to pierce the heart of the invader. and were harold but slain--who then would be king in england? the line of cerdic gone--the house of godwin lost in earl harold, (for tostig is hated in his own domain, leofwine is too light, and gurth is too saintly for such ambition)--who then, i say, can be king in england but algar, the heir of the great leofric? and i, as king of england, will set all cymry free, and restore to the realm of gryffyth the shires of hereford and worcester. ride fast, o meredydd, and heed well all i have said." "dost thou promise and swear, that wert thou king of england, cymry should be free from all service?" "free as air, free as under arthur and uther: i swear it. and remember well how harold addressed the cymrian chiefs, when he accepted gryffyth's oaths of service." "remember it--ay," cried meredydd, his face lighting up with intense ire and revenge; "the stern saxon said, 'heed well, ye chiefs of cymry, and thou gryffyth the king, that if again ye force, by ravage and rapine, by sacrilege and murther, the majesty of england to enter your borders, duty must be done: god grant that your cymrian lion may leave us in peace--if not, it is mercy to human life that bids us cut the talons, and draw the fangs." "harold, like all calm and mild men, ever says less than he means," returned algar; "and were harold king, small pretext would he need for cutting the talons and drawing the fangs." "it is well," said meredydd, with a fierce smile. "i will now go to my men who are lodged yonder; and it is better that thou shouldst not be seen with me." "right; so st. david be with you--and forget not a word of my message to gryffyth my son-in-law." "not a word," returned meredydd, as with a wave of his hand he moved towards an hostelry, to which, as kept by one of their own countrymen, the welch habitually resorted in the visits to the capital which the various intrigues and dissensions in their unhappy land made frequent. the chief's train, which consisted of ten men, all of high birth, were not drinking in the tavern--for sorry customers to mine host were the abstemious welch. stretched on the grass under the trees of an orchard that backed the hostelry, and utterly indifferent to all the rejoicings that animated the population of southwark and london, they were listening to a wild song of the old hero-days from one of their number; and round them grazed the rough shagged ponies which they had used for their journey. meredydd, approaching, gazed round, and seeing no stranger was present, raised his hand to hush the song, and then addressed his countrymen briefly in welch--briefly, but with a passion that was evident in his flashing eyes and vehement gestures. the passion was contagious; they all sprang to their feet with a low but fierce cry, and in a few moments they had caught and saddled their diminutive palfreys, while one of the band, who seemed singled out by meredydd, sallied forth alone from the orchard, and took his way, on foot, to the bridge. he did not tarry there long; at the sight of a single horseman, whom a shout of welcome, on that swarming thoroughfare, proclaimed to be earl harold, the welcbman turned, and with a fleet foot regained his companions. meanwhile harold, smilingly, returned the greetings he received, cleared the bridge, passed the suburbs, and soon gained the wild forest land that lay along the great kentish road. he rode somewhat slowly, for he was evidently in deep thought; and he had arrived about half-way towards hilda's house when he heard behind quick pattering sounds, as of small unshod hoofs: he turned, and saw the welchmen at the distance of some fifty yards. but at that moment there passed, along the road in front, several persons bustling into london to share in the festivities of the day. this seemed to disconcert the welch in the rear, and, after a few whispered words, they left the high road and entered the forest land. various groups from time to time continued to pass along the thoroughfare. but still, ever through the glades, harold caught glimpses of the riders; now distant, now near. sometimes he heard the snort of their small horses, and saw a fierce eye glaring through the bushes; then, as at the sight or sound of approaching passengers, the riders wheeled, and shot off through the brakes. the earl's suspicions were aroused; for (though he knew of no enemy to apprehend, and the extreme severity of the laws against robbers made the high roads much safer in the latter days of the saxon domination than they were for centuries under that of the subsequent dynasty, when saxon thegns themselves had turned kings of the greenwood,) the various insurrections in edward's reign had necessarily thrown upon society many turbulent disbanded mercenaries. harold was unarmed, save the spear which, even on occasions of state, the saxon noble rarely laid aside, and the ateghar in his belt; and, seeing now that the road had become deserted, he set spurs to his horse, and was just in sight of the druid temple, when a javelin whizzed close by his breast, and another transfixed his horse, which fell head foremost to the ground. the earl gained his feet in an instant, and that haste was needed to save his life; for while he rose ten swords flashed around him. the welchmen had sprung from their palfreys as harold's horse fell. fortunately for him, only two of the party bore javelins, (a weapon which the welch wielded with deadly skill,) and those already wasted, they drew their short swords, which were probably imitated from the romans, and rushed upon him in simultaneous onset. versed in all the weapons of the time, with his right hand seeking by his spear to keep off the rush, with the ateghar in his left parrying the strokes aimed at him, the brave earl transfixed the first assailant, and sore wounded the next; but his tunic was dyed red with three gashes, and his sole chance of life was in the power yet left him to force his way through the ring. dropping his spear, shifting his ateghar into the right hand, wrapping round his left arm his gonna as a shield, he sprang fiercely on the onslaught, and on the flashing swords. pierced to the heart fell one of his foes--dashed to the earth another--from the hand of a third (dropping his own ateghar) he wrenched the sword. loud rose harold's cry for aid, and swiftly he strode towards the hillock, turning back, and striking as he turned; and again fell a foe, and again new blood oozed through his own garb. at that moment his cry was echoed by a shriek so sharp and so piercing that it startled the assailants, it arrested the assault; and, ere the unequal strife could be resumed, a woman was in the midst of the fray; a woman stood dauntless between the earl and his foes. "back! edith. oh, god! back, back!" cried the earl, recovering all his strength in the sole fear which that strife had yet stricken into his bold heart; and drawing edith aside with his strong arm, he again confronted the assailants. "die!" cried, in the cymrian tongue, the fiercest of the foes, whose sword had already twice drawn the earl's blood; "die, that cymry may be free!" meredydd sprang, with him sprang the survivors of his band; and, by a sudden movement, edith had thrown herself on harold's breast, leaving his right arm free, but sheltering his form with her own. at that sight every sword rested still in air. these cymrians, hesitating not at the murder of the man whose death seemed to their false virtue a sacrifice due to their hopes of freedom, were still the descendants of heroes, and the children of noble song, and their swords were harmless against a woman. the same pause which saved the life of harold, saved that of meredydd; for the cymrian's lifted sword had left his breast defenceless, and harold, despite his wrath, and his fears for edith, touched by that sudden forbearance, forbore himself the blow. "why seek ye my life?" said he. "whom in broad england hath harold wronged?" that speech broke the charm, revived the suspense of vengeance. with a sudden aim, meredydd smote at the head which edith's embrace left unprotected. the sword shivered on the steel of that which parried the stroke, and the next moment, pierced to the heart, meredydd fell to the earth, bathed in his gore. even as he fell, aid was at hand. the ceorls in the roman house had caught the alarm, and were hurrying down the knoll, with arms snatched in haste, while a loud whoop broke from the forest land hard by; and a troop of horse, headed by vebba, rushed through the bushes and brakes. those of the welch still surviving, no longer animated by their fiery chief, turned on the instant, and fled with that wonderful speed of foot which characterised their active race; calling, as they fled, to their welch pigmy steeds, which, snorting loud, and lashing out, came at once to the call. seizing the nearest at hand, the fugitives sprang to selle, while the animals unchosen paused by the corpses of their former riders, neighing piteously, and shaking their long manes. and then, after wheeling round and round the coming horsemen, with many a plunge, and lash, and savage cry, they darted after their companions, and disappeared amongst the bushwood. some of the kentish men gave chase to the fugitives, but in vain; for the nature of the ground favoured flight. vebba, and the rest, now joined by hilda's lithsmen, gained the spot where harold, bleeding fast, yet strove to keep his footing, and, forgetful of his own wounds, was joyfully assuring himself of edith's safety. vebba dismounted, and recognising the earl, exclaimed: "saints in heaven! are we in tine? you bleed--you faint!--speak, lord harold. how fares it?" "blood enow yet left here for our merrie england!" said harold, with a smile. but as he spoke, his head drooped, and he was borne senseless into the house of hilda. chapter ii. the vala met them at the threshold, and testified so little surprise at the sight of the bleeding and unconscious earl, that vebba, who had heard strange tales of hilda's unlawful arts, half-suspected that those wild-looking foes, with their uncanny diminutive horses, were imps conjured by her to punish a wooer to her grandchild--who had been perhaps too successful in the wooing. and fears so reasonable were not a little increased when hilda, after leading the way up the steep ladder to the chamber in which harold had dreamed his fearful dream, bade them all depart, and leave the wounded man to her care. "not so," said vebba, bluffly. "a life like this is not to be left in the hands of woman, or wicca. i shall go back to the great town, and summon the earl's own leach. and i beg thee to heed, meanwhile, that every head in this house shall answer for harold's." the great vala, and highborn hleafdian, little accustomed to be accosted thus, turned round abruptly, with so stern an eye and so imperious a mien, that even the stout kent man felt abashed. she pointed to the door opening on the ladder, and said, briefly: "depart! thy lord's life hath been saved already, and by woman. depart!" "depart, and fear not for the earl, brave and true friend in need," said edith, looking up from harold's pale lips, over which she bent; and her sweet voice so touched the good thegn, that, murmuring a blessing on her fair face, he turned and departed. hilda then proceeded, with a light and skilful hand, to examine the wounds of her patient. she opened the tunic, and washed away the blood from four gaping orifices on the breast and shoulders. and as she did so, edith uttered a faint cry, and falling on her knees, bowed her head over the drooping hand, and kissed it with stifling emotions, of which perhaps grateful joy was the strongest; for over the heart of harold was punctured, after the fashion of the saxons, a device--and that device was the knot of betrothal, and in the centre of the knot was graven the word "edith." chapter iii. whether, owing to hilda's runes, or to the merely human arts which accompanied them, the earl's recovery was rapid, though the great loss of blood he had sustained left him awhile weak and exhausted. but, perhaps, he blessed the excuse which detained him still in the house of hilda, and under the eyes of edith. he dismissed the leach sent to him by vebba, and confided, not without reason, to the vala's skill. and how happily went his hours beneath the old roman roof! it was not without a superstition, more characterised, however, by tenderness than awe, that harold learned that edith had been undefinably impressed with a foreboding of danger to her betrothed, and all that morning she had watched his coming from the old legendary hill. was it not in that watch that his good fylgia had saved his life? indeed, there seemed a strange truth in hilda's assertions, that in the form of his betrothed, his tutelary spirit lived and guarded. for smooth every step, and bright every day, in his career, since their troth had been plighted. and gradually the sweet superstition had mingled with human passion to hallow and refine it. there was a purity and a depth in the love of these two, which, if not uncommon in women, is most rare in men. harold, in sober truth, had learned to look on edith as on his better angel; and, calming his strong manly heart in the hour of temptation, would have recoiled, as a sacrilege, from aught that could have sullied that image of celestial love. with a noble and sublime patience, of which perhaps only a character so thoroughly english in its habits of self-control and steadfast endurance could have been capable, he saw the months and the years glide away, and still contented himself with hope;--hope, the sole godlike joy that belongs to men! as the opinion of an age influences even those who affect to despise it, so, perhaps, this holy and unselfish passion was preserved and guarded by that peculiar veneration for purity which formed the characteristic fanaticism of the last days of the anglo-saxons,--when still, as aldhelm had previously sung in latin less barbarous than perhaps any priest in the reign of edward could command: "virginitas castam servans sine crimine carnem caetera virtutem vincit praeconia laudi-- spiritus altithroni templum sibi vindicat almus;" [ ] when, amidst a great dissoluteness of manners, alike common to church and laity, the opposite virtues were, as is invariable in such epochs of society, carried by the few purer natures into heroic extremes. "and as gold, the adorner of the world, springs from the sordid bosom of earth, so chastity, the image of gold, rose bright and unsullied from the clay of human desire." [ ] and edith, though yet in the tenderest flush of beautiful youth, had, under the influence of that sanctifying and scarce earthly affection, perfected her full nature as woman. she had learned so to live in harold's life, that--less, it seemed, by study than intuition--a knowledge graver than that which belonged to her sex and her time, seemed to fall upon her soul--fall as the sunlight falls on the blossoms, expanding their petals, and brightening the glory of their hues. hitherto, living under the shade of hilda's dreary creed, edith, as we have seen, had been rather christian by name and instinct than acquainted with the doctrines of the gospel, or penetrated by its faith. but the soul of harold lifted her own out of the valley of the shadow up to the heavenly hill. for the character of their love was so pre-eminently christian, so, by the circumstances that surrounded it--so by hope and self-denial, elevated out of the empire, not only of the senses, but even of that sentiment which springs from them, and which made the sole refined and poetic element of the heathen's love, that but for christianity it would have withered and died. it required all the aliment of prayer; it needed that patient endurance which comes from the soul's consciousness of immortality; it could not have resisted earth, but from the forts and armies it won from heaven. thus from harold might edith be said to have taken her very soul. and with the soul, and through the soul, woke the mind from the mists of childhood. in the intense desire to be worthy the love of the foremost man of her land; to be the companion of his mind, as well as the mistress of his heart, she had acquired, she knew not how, strange stores of thought, and intelligence, and pure, gentle wisdom. in opening to her confidence his own high aims and projects, he himself was scarcely conscious how often he confided but to consult--how often and how insensibly she coloured his reflections and shaped his designs. whatever was highest and purest, that, edith ever, as by instinct, beheld as the wisest. she grew to him like a second conscience, diviner than his own. each, therefore, reflected virtue on the other, as planet illumines planet. all these years of probation then, which might have soured a love less holy, changed into weariness a love less intense, had only served to wed them more intimately soul to soul; and in that spotless union what happiness there was! what rapture in word and glance, and the slight, restrained caress of innocence, beyond all the transports love only human can bestow! chapter iv. it was a bright still summer noon, when harold sate with edith amidst the columns of the druid temple, and in the shade which those vast and mournful relics of a faith departed cast along the sward. and there, conversing over the past, and planning the future, they had sate long, when hilda approached from the house, and entering the circle, leant her arm upon the altar of the war-god, and gazing on harold with a calm triumph in her aspect, said: "did i not smile, son of godwin, when, with thy short-sighted wisdom, thou didst think to guard thy land and secure thy love, by urging the monk-king to send over the seas for the atheling? did i not tell thee, 'thou dost right, for in obeying thy judgment thou art but the instrument of fate; and the coming of the atheling shall speed thee nearer to the ends of thy life, but not from the atheling shalt thou take the crown of thy love, and not by the atheling shall the throne of athelstan be filled'?" "alas," said harold, rising in agitation, "let me not hear of mischance to that noble prince. he seemed sick and feeble when i parted from him; but joy is a great restorer, and the air of the native land gives quick health to the exile." "hark!" said hilda, "you hear the passing bell for the soul of the son of ironsides!" the mournful knell, as she spoke, came dull from the roofs of the city afar, borne to their ears by the exceeding stillness of the atmosphere. edith crossed herself, and murmured a prayer according to the custom of the age; then raising her eyes to harold, she murmured, as she clasped her hands: "be not saddened, harold; hope still." "hope!" repeated hilda, rising proudly from her recumbent position, "hope! in that knell from st. paul's, dull indeed is thine ear, o harold, if thou hearest not the joy-bells that inaugurate a future king!" the earl started; his eyes shot fire; his breast heaved. "leave us, edith," said hilda, in a low voice; and after watching her grandchild's slow reluctant steps descend the knoll, she turned to harold, and leading him towards the gravestone of the saxon chief, said: "rememberest thou the spectre that rose from this mound?--rememberest thou the dream that followed it?" "the spectre, or deceit of mine eye, i remember well," answered the earl; "the dream, not;--or only in confused and jarring fragments." "i told thee then, that i could not unriddle the dream by the light of the moment; and that the dead who slept below never appeared to men, save for some portent of doom to the house of cerdic. the portent is fulfilled; the heir of cerdic is no more. to whom appeared the great scin-laeca, but to him who shall lead a new race of kings to the saxon throne!" harold breathed hard, and the colour mounted bright and glowing to his cheek and brow. "i cannot gainsay thee, vala. unless, despite all conjecture, edward should be spared to earth till the atheling's infant son acquires the age when bearded men will acknowledge a chief [ ], i look round in england for the coming king, and all england reflects but mine own image." his head rose erect as he spoke, and already the brow seemed august, as if circled by the diadem of the basileus. "and if it be so," he added, "i accept that solemn trust, and england shall grow greater in my greatness." "the flame breaks at last from the smouldering fuel!" cried the vala, "and the hour i so long foretold to thee hath come!" harold answered not, for high and kindling emotions deafened him to all but the voice of a grand ambition, and the awakening joy of a noble heart. "and then--and then," he exclaimed, "i shall need no mediator between nature and monkcraft;--then, o edith, the life thou hast saved will indeed be thine!" he paused, and it was a sign of the change that an ambition long repressed, but now rushing into the vent legitimately open to it, had already begun to work in the character hitherto so self-reliant, when he said in a low voice, "but that dream which hath so long lain locked, not lost, in my mind; that dream of which i recall only vague remembrances of danger yet defiance, trouble yet triumph,--canst thou unriddle it, o vala, into auguries of success?" "harold," answered hilda, "thou didst hear at the close of thy dream, the music of the hymns that are chaunted at the crowning of a king,-- and a crowned king shalt thou be; yet fearful foes shall assail thee-- foreshown in the shapes of a lion and raven, that came in menace over the bloodred sea. the two stars in the heaven betoken that the day of thy birth was also the birthday of a foe, whose star is fatal to thine; and they warn thee against a battle-field, fought on the day when those stars shall meet. farther than this the mystery of thy dream escapes from my lore;--wouldst thou learn thyself, from the phantom that sent the dream;--stand by my side at the grave of the saxon hero, and i will summon the scin-laeca to counsel the living. for what to the vala the dead may deny, the soul of the brave on the brave may bestow!" harold listened with a serious and musing attention which his pride or his reason had never before accorded to the warnings of hilda. but his sense was not yet fascinated by the voice of the charmer, and he answered with his wonted smile, so sweet yet so haughty: "a hand outstretched to a crown should be armed for the foe; and the eye that would guard the living should not be dimmed by the vapours that encircle the dead." chapter v. but from that date changes, slight, yet noticeable and important, were at work both in the conduct and character of the great earl. hitherto he had advanced on his career without calculation; and nature, not policy, had achieved his power. but henceforth he began thoughtfully to cement the foundations of his house, to extend the area, to strengthen the props. policy now mingled with the justice that had made him esteemed, and the generosity that had won him love. before, though by temper conciliatory, yet, through honesty, indifferent to the enmities he provoked, in his adherence to what his conscience approved, he now laid himself out to propitiate all ancient feuds, soothe all jealousies, and convert foes into friends. he opened constant and friendly communication with his uncle sweyn, king of denmark; he availed himself sedulously of all the influence over the anglo-danes which his mother's birth made so facile. he strove also, and wisely, to conciliate the animosities which the church had cherished against godwin's house: he concealed his disdain of the monks and monkridden: he showed himself the church's patron and friend; he endowed largely the convents, and especially one at waltham, which had fallen into decay, though favourably known for the piety of its brotherhood. but if in this he played a part not natural to his opinions, harold could not, even in simulation, administer to evil. the monasteries he favoured were those distinguished for purity of life, for benevolence to the poor, for bold denunciation of the excesses of the great. he had not, like the norman, the grand design of creating in the priesthood a college of learning, a school of arts; such notions were unfamiliar in homely, unlettered england. and harold, though for his time and his land no mean scholar, would have recoiled from favouring a learning always made subservient to rome; always at once haughty and scheming, and aspiring to complete domination over both the souls of men and the thrones of kings. but his aim was, out of the elements he found in the natural kindliness existing between saxon priest and saxon flock, to rear a modest, virtuous, homely clergy, not above tender sympathy with an ignorant population. he selected as examples for his monastery at waltham, two low-born humble brothers, osgood and ailred; the one known for the courage with which he had gone through the land, preaching to abbot and thegn the emancipation of the theowes, as the most meritorious act the safety of the soul could impose; the other, who, originally a clerk, had, according to the common custom of the saxon clergy, contracted the bonds of marriage, and with some eloquence had vindicated that custom against the canons of rome, and refused the offer of large endowments and thegn's rank to put away his wife. but on the death of that spouse he had adopted the cowl, and while still persisting in the lawfulness of marriage to the unmonastic clerks, had become famous for denouncing the open concubinage which desecrated the holy office, and violated the solemn vows, of many a proud prelate and abbot. to these two men (both of whom refused the abbacy of waltham) harold committed the charge of selecting the new brotherhood established there. and the monks of waltham were honoured as saints throughout the neighbouring district, and cited as examples to all the church. but though in themselves the new politic arts of harold seemed blameless enough, arts they were, and as such they corrupted the genuine simplicity of his earlier nature. he had conceived for the first time an ambition apart from that of service to his country. it was no longer only to serve the land, it was to serve it as its ruler, that animated his heart and coloured his thoughts. expediencies began to dim to his conscience the healthful loveliness of truth. and now, too, gradually, that empire which hilda had gained over his brother sweyn began to sway this man, heretofore so strong in his sturdy sense. the future became to him a dazzling mystery, into which his conjectures plunged themselves more and more. he had not yet stood in the runic circle and invoked the dead; but the spells were around his heart, and in his own soul had grown up the familiar demon. still edith reigned alone, if not in his thoughts at least in his affections; and perhaps it was the hope of conquering all obstacles to his marriage that mainly induced him to propitiate the church, through whose agency the object he sought must be attained; and still that hope gave the brightest lustre to the distant crown. but he who admits ambition to the companionship of love, admits a giant that outstrides the gentler footsteps of its comrade. harold's brow lost its benign calm. he became thoughtful and abstracted. he consulted edith less, hilda more. edith seemed to him now not wise enough to counsel. the smile of his fylgia, like the light of the star upon a stream, lit the surface, but could not pierce to the deep. meanwhile, however, the policy of harold throve and prospered. he had already arrived at that height, that the least effort to make power popular redoubled its extent. gradually all voices swelled the chorus in his praise; gradually men became familiar to the question, "if edward dies before edgar, the grandson of ironsides, is of age to succeed, where can we find a king like harold?" in the midst of this quiet but deepening sunshine of his fate, there burst a storm, which seemed destined either to darken his day or to disperse every cloud from the horizon. algar, the only possible rival to his power--the only opponent no arts could soften--algar, whose hereditary name endeared him to the saxon laity, whose father's most powerful legacy was the love of the saxon church, whose martial and turbulent spirit had only the more elevated him in the esteem of the warlike danes in east anglia (the earldom in which he had succeeded harold), by his father's death, lord of the great principality of mercia--availed himself of that new power to break out again into rebellion. again he was outlawed, again he leagued with the fiery gryffyth. all wales was in revolt; the marches were invaded and laid waste. rolf, the feeble earl of hereford, died at this critical juncture, and the normans and hirelings under him mutinied against other leaders; a fleet of vikings from norway ravaged the western coasts, and sailing up the menai, joined the ships of gryffyth, and the whole empire seemed menaced with dissolution, when edward issued his herr-bane, and harold at the head of the royal armies marched on the foe. dread and dangerous were those defiles of wales; amidst them had been foiled or slaughtered all the warriors under rolf the norman; no saxon armies had won laurels in the cymrian's own mountain home within the memory of man; nor had any saxon ships borne the palm from the terrible vikings of norway. fail, harold, and farewell the crown!-- succeed, and thou hast on thy side the ultimam rationem regum (the last argument of kings), the heart of the army over which thou art chief. chapter vi. it was one day in the height of summer that two horsemen rode slowly, and conversing with each other in friendly wise, notwithstanding an evident difference of rank and of nation, through the lovely country which formed the marches of wales. the younger of these men was unmistakably a norman; his cap only partially covered the head, which was shaven from the crown to the nape of the neck [ ], while in front the hair, closely cropped, curled short and thick round a haughty but intelligent brow. his dress fitted close to his shape, and was worn without mantle; his leggings were curiously crossed in the fashion of a tartan, and on his heels were spurs of gold. he was wholly unarmed; but behind him and his companion, at a little distance, his war-horse, completely caparisoned, was led by a single squire, mounted on a good norman steed; while six saxon theowes, themselves on foot, conducted three sumpter-mules, somewhat heavily laden, not only with the armour of the norman knight, but panniers containing rich robes, wines, and provender. at a few paces farther behind, marched a troop, light-armed, in tough hides, curiously tanned, with axes swung over their shoulders, and bows in their hands. the companion of the knight was as evidently a saxon, as the knight was unequivocally a norman. his square short features, contrasting the oval visage and aquiline profile of his close-shaven comrade, were half concealed beneath a bushy beard and immense moustache. his tunic, also, was of hide, and, tightened at the waist, fell loose to his knee; while a kind of cloak, fastened to the right shoulder by a large round button or brooch, flowed behind and in front, but left both arms free. his cap differed in shape from the norman's, being round and full at the sides, somewhat in shape like a turban. his bare, brawny throat was curiously punctured with sundry devices, and a verse from the psalms. his countenance, though without the high and haughty brow, and the acute, observant eye of his comrade, had a pride and intelligence of its own--a pride somewhat sullen, and an intelligence somewhat slow. "my good friend, sexwolf," quoth the norman in very tolerable saxon, "i pray you not so to misesteem us. after all, we normans are of your own race: our fathers spoke the same language as yours." "that may be," said the saxon, bluntly, "and so did the danes, with little difference, when they burned our houses and cut our throats." "old tales, those," replied the knight, "and i thank thee for the comparison; for the danes, thou seest, are now settled amongst ye, peaceful subjects and quiet men, and in a few generations it will be hard to guess who comes from saxon, who from dane." "we waste time, talking such matters," returned the saxon, feeling himself instinctively no match in argument for his lettered companion; and seeing, with his native strong sense; that some ulterior object, though he guessed not what, lay hid in the conciliatory language of his companion; "nor do i believe, master mallet or gravel--forgive me if i miss of the right forms to address you--that norman will ever love saxon, or saxon norman; so let us cut our words short. there stands the convent, at which you would like to rest and refresh yourself." the saxon pointed to a low, clumsy building of timber, forlorn and decayed, close by a rank marsh, over which swarmed gnats, and all foul animalcules. mallet de graville, for it was he, shrugged his shoulders, and said, with an air of pity and contempt: "i would, friend sexwolf, that thou couldst but see the houses we build to god and his saints in our normandy; fabrics of stately stone, on the fairest sites. our countess matilda hath a notable taste for the masonry; and our workmen are the brethren of lombardy, who know all the mysteries thereof." "i pray thee, dan-norman," cried the saxon, "not to put such ideas into the soft head of king edward. we pay enow for the church, though built but of timber; saints help us indeed, if it were builded of stone!" the norman crossed himself, as if he had heard some signal impiety, and then said: "thou lovest not mother church, worthy sexwolf?" "i was brought up," replied the sturdy saxon, "to work and sweat hard, and i love not the lazy who devour my substance, and say, 'the saints gave it them.' knowest thou not, master mallet, that one-third of all the lands of england is in the hands of the priests?" "hem!" said the acute norman, who, with all his devotion, could stoop to wring worldly advantage from each admission of his comrade; "then in this merrie england of thine thou hast still thy grievances and cause of complaint?" "yea indeed, and i trow it," quoth the saxon, even in that day a grumbler; "but i take it, the main difference between thee and me is, that i can say what mislikes me out like a man; and it would fare ill with thy limbs or thy life if thou wert as frank in the grim land of thy heretogh." "now, notre dame stop thy prating," said the norman, in high disdain, while his brow frowned and his eye sparkled. "strong judge and great captain as is william the norman, his barons and knights hold their heads high in his presence, and not a grievance weighs on the heart that we give not out with the lip." "so have i heard," said the saxon, chuckling; "i have heard, indeed, that ye thegns, or great men, are free enow, and plainspoken. but what of the commons--the sixhaendmen and the ceorls, master norman? dare they speak as we speak of king and of law, of thegn and of captain?" the norman wisely curbed the scornful "no, indeed," that rushed to his lips, and said, all sweet and debonnair: "each land hath its customs, dear sexwolf: and if the norman were king of england, he would take the laws as he finds them, and the ceorls would be as safe with william as edward." "the norman king of england!" cried the saxon, reddening to the tips of his great ears, "what dost thou babble of, stranger? the norman!-- how could that ever be?" "nay, i did but suggest--but suppose such a case," replied the knight, still smothering his wrath. "and why thinkest thou the conceit so outrageous? thy king is childless; william is his next of kin, and dear to him as a brother; and if edward did leave him the throne--" "the throne is for no man to leave," almost roared the saxon. "thinkest thou the people of england are like cattle and sheep, and chattels and theowes, to be left by will, as man fancies? the king's wish has its weight, no doubt, but the witan hath its yea or its nay, and the witan and commons are seldom at issue thereon. thy duke king of england! marry! ha! ha!" "brute!" muttered the knight to himself; then adding aloud, with his old tone of irony (now much habitually subdued by years and discretion), "why takest thou so the part of the ceorls? thou a captain, and well-nigh a thegn!" "i was born a ceorl, and my father before me," returned sexwolf, "and i feel with my class; though my grandson may rank with the thegns, and, for aught i know, with the earls." the sire de graville involuntarily drew off from the saxon's side, as if made suddenly aware that he had grossly demeaned himself in such unwitting familiarity with a ceorl, and a ceorl's son; and he said, with a much more careless accent and lofty port than before: "good man, thou wert a ceorl, and now thou leadest earl harold's men to the war! how is this? i do not quite comprehend it." "how shouldst thou, poor norman?" replied the saxon, compassionately. "the tale is soon told. know that when harold our earl was banished, and his lands taken, we his ceorls helped with his sixhaendman, clapa, to purchase his land, nigh by london, and the house wherein thou didst find me, of a stranger, thy countryman, to whom they were lawlessly given. and we tilled the land, we tended the herds, and we kept the house till the earl came back." "ye had moneys then, moneys of your own, ye ceorls!" said the norman, avariciously. "how else could we buy our freedom? every ceorl hath some hours to himself to employ to his profit, and can lay by for his own ends. these savings we gave up for our earl, and when the earl came back, he gave the sixhaendman hides of land enow to make him a thegn; and he gave the ceorls who hade holpen clapa, their freedom and broad shares of his boc-land, and most of them now hold their own ploughs and feed their own herds. but i loved the earl (having no wife) better than swine and glebe, and i prayed him to let me serve him in arms. and so i have risen, as with us ceorls can rise." "i am answered," said mallet de graville, thoughtfully, and still somewhat perplexed. "but these theowes, (they are slaves,) never rise. it cannot matter to them whether shaven norman or bearded saxon sit on the throne?" "thou art right there," answered the saxon; "it matters as little to them as it doth to thy thieves and felons, for many of them are felons and thieves, or the children of such; and most of those who are not, it is said, are not saxons, but the barbarous folks whom the saxons subdued. no, wretched things, and scarce men, they care nought for the land. howbeit, even they are not without hope, for the church takes their part; and that, at least, i for one think church-worthy," added the saxon with a softened eye. "and every abbot is bound to set free three theowes on his lands, and few who own theowes die without freeing some by their will; so that the sons of theowes may be thegns, and thegns some of them are at this day." "marvels!" cried the norman. "but surely they bear a stain and stigma, and their fellow-thegns flout them?" "not a whit--why so? land is land, money money. little, i trow, care we what a man's father may have been, if the man himself hath his ten hides or more of good boc-land." "ye value land and the moneys," said the norman, "so do we, but we value more name and birth." "ye are still in your leading-strings, norman," replied the saxon, waxing good-humoured in his contempt. "we have an old saying and a wise one, 'all come from adam except tib the ploughman: but when tib grows rich all call him "dear brother."'" "with such pestilent notions," quoth the sire de graville, no longer keeping temper, "i do not wonder that our fathers of norway and daneland beat ye so easily. the love for things ancient--creed, lineage, and name, is better steel against the stranger than your smiths ever welded." therewith, and not waiting for sexwolf's reply, he clapped spurs to his palfrey, and soon entered the courtyard of the convent. a monk of the order of st. benedict, then most in favour [ ], ushered the noble visitor into the cell of the abbot; who, after gazing at him a moment in wonder and delight, clasped him to his breast and kissed him heartily on brow and cheek. "ah, guillaume," he exclaimed in the norman tongue, this is indeed a grace for which to sing jubilate. thou canst not guess how welcome is the face of a countryman in this horrible land of ill-cooking and exile." "talking of grace, my dear father, and food," said de graville, loosening the cincture of the tight vest which gave him the shape of a wasp--for even at that early period, small waists were in vogue with the warlike fops of the french continent--"talking of grace, the sooner thou say'st it over some friendly refection, the more will the latin sound unctuous and musical. i have journeyed since daybreak, and am now hungered and faint." "alack, alack!" cried the abbot, plaintively, "thou knowest little, my son, what hardships we endure in these parts, how larded our larders, and how nefarious our fare. the flesh of swine salted--" "the flesh of beelzebub," cried mallet de graville, aghast. "but comfort thee, i have stores on my sumpter-mules--poulardes and fishes, and other not despicable comestibles, and a few flasks of wine, not pressed, laud the saints! from the vines of this country: wherefore, wilt thou see to it, and instruct thy cooks how to season the cheer?" "no cooks have i to trust to," replied the abbot; "of cooking know they here as much as of latin; nathless, i will go and do my best with the stew-pans. meanwhile, thou wilt at least have rest and the bath. for the saxons, even in their convents, are a clean race, and learned the bath from the dane." "that i have noted," said the knight, "for even at the smallest house at which i lodged in my way from london, the host hath courteously offered me the bath, and the hostess linen curious and fragrant; and to say truth, the poor people are hospitable and kind, despite their uncouth hate of the foreigner; nor is their meat to be despised, plentiful and succulent; but pardex, as thou sayest, little helped by the art of dressing. wherefore, my father, i will while the time till the poulardes be roasted, and the fish broiled or stewed, by the ablutions thou profferest me. i shall tarry with thee some hours, for i have much to learn." the abbot then led the sire de graville by the hand to the cell of honour and guestship, and having seen that the bath prepared was of warmth sufficient, for both norman and saxon (hardy men as they seem to us from afar) so shuddered at the touch of cold water, that a bath of natural temperature (as well as a hard bed) was sometimes imposed as a penance,--the good father went his way, to examine the sumpter- mules, and admonish the much suffering and bewildered lay-brother who officiated as cook,--and who, speaking neither norman nor latin, scarce made out one word in ten of his superior's elaborate exhortations. mallet's squire, with a change of raiment, and goodly coffers of soaps, unguents, and odours, took his way to the knight, for a norman of birth was accustomed to much personal attendance, and had all respect for the body; and it was nearly an hour before, in long gown of fur, reshaven, dainty, and decked, the sire de graville bowed, and sighed, and prayed before the refection set out in the abbot's cell. the two normans, despite the sharp appetite of the layman, ate with great gravity and decorum, drawing forth the morsels served to them on spits with silent examination; seldom more than tasting, with looks of patient dissatisfaction, each of the comestibles; sipping rather than drinking, nibbling rather than devouring, washing their fingers in rose water with nice care at the close, and waving them afterwards gracefully in the air, to allow the moisture somewhat to exhale before they wiped off the lingering dews with their napkins. then they exchanged looks and sighed in concert, as if recalling the polished manners of normandy, still retained in that desolate exile. and their temperate meal thus concluded, dishes, wines, and attendants vanished, and their talk commenced. "how camest thou in england?" asked the abbot abruptly. "sauf your reverence," answered de graville, "not wholly for reason different from those that bring thee hither. when, after the death of that truculent and orgulous godwin, king edward entreated harold to let him have back some of his dear norman favourites, thou, then little pleased with the plain fare and sharp discipline of the convent of bec, didst pray bishop william of london to accompany such train as harold, moved by his poor king's supplication, was pleased to permit. the bishop consented, and thou wert enabled to change monk's cowl for abbot's mitre. in a word, ambition brought thee to england, and ambition brings me hither." "hem! and how? mayst thou thrive better than i in this swine-sty!" "you remember," renewed de graville, "that lanfranc, the lombard, was pleased to take interest in my fortunes, then not the most flourishing, and after his return from rome, with the pope's dispensation for count william's marriage with his cousin, he became william's most trusted adviser. both william and lanfranc were desirous to set an example of learning to our latinless nobles, and therefore my scholarship found grace in their eyes. in brief since then i have prospered and thriven. i have fair lands by the seine, free from clutch of merchant and jew. i have founded a convent, and slain some hundreds of breton marauders. need i say that i am in high favour? now it so chanced that a cousin of mine, hugo de magnaville, a brave lance and franc-rider, chanced to murder his brother in a little domestic affray, and, being of conscience tender and nice, the deed preyed on him, and he gave his lands to odo of bayeux, and set off to jerusalem. there, having prayed at the tomb," (the knight crossed himself,) "he felt at once miraculously cheered and relieved; but, journeying back, mishaps befell him. he was made slave by some infidel, to one of whose wives he sought to be gallant, par amours, and only escaped at last by setting fire to paynim and prison. now, by the aid of the virgin, he has got back to rouen, and holds his own land again in fief from proud odo, as a knight of the bishop's. it so happened that, passing homeward through lycia, before these misfortunes befell him, he made friends with a fellow-pilgrim who had just returned, like himself, from the sepulchre, but not lightened, like him, of the load of his crime. this poor palmer lay broken- hearted and dying in the hut of an eremite, where my cousin took shelter; and, learning that hugo was on his way to normandy, he made himself known as sweyn, the once fair and proud earl of england, eldest son to old godwin, and father to haco, whom our count still holds as a hostage. he besought hugo to intercede with the count for haco's release and return, if king edward assented thereto; and charged my cousin, moreover, with a letter to harold, his brother, which hugo undertook to send over. by good luck, it so chanced that, through all his sore trials, cousin hugo kept safe round his neck a leaden effigy of the virgin. the infidels disdained to rob him of lead, little dreaming the worth which the sanctity gave to the metal. to the back of the image hugo fastened the letter, and so, though somewhat tattered and damaged, he had it still with him on arriving in rouen." "knowing, then, my grace with the count, and not, despite absolution and pilgrimage, much wishing to trust himself in the presence of william, who thinks gravely of fratricide, he prayed me to deliver the message, and ask leave to send to england the letter." "it is a long tale," quoth the abbot. "patience, my father! i am nearly at the end. nothing more in season could chance for my fortunes. know that william has been long moody and anxious as to matters in england. the secret accounts he receives from the bishop of london make him see that edward's heart is much alienated from him, especially since the count has had daughters and sons; for, as thou knowest, william and edward both took vows of chastity in youth [ ], and william got absolved from his, while edward hath kept firm to the plight. not long ere my cousin came back, william had heard that edward had acknowledged his kinsman as natural heir to his throne. grieved and troubled at this, william had said in my hearing, 'would that amidst yon statues of steel, there were some cool head and wise tongue i could trust with my interests in england! and would that i could devise fitting plea and excuse for an envoy to harold the earl!' much had i mused over these words, and a light-hearted man was mallet de graville when, with sweyn's letter in hand, he went to lanfranc the abbot and said, 'patron and father! thou knowest that i, almost alone of the norman knights, have studied the saxon language. and if the duke wants messenger and plea, here stands the messenger, and in his hand is the plea. then i told my tale. lanfranc went at once to duke william. by this time, news of the atheling's death had arrived, and things looked more bright to my liege. duke william was pleased to summon me straightway, and give me his instructions. so over the sea i came alone, save a single squire, reached london, learned the king and his court were at winchester (but with them i had little to do), and that harold the earl was at the head of his forces in wales against gryffyth the lion king. the earl had sent in haste for a picked and chosen band of his own retainers, on his demesnes near the city. these i joined, and learning thy name at the monastery at gloucester, i stopped here to tell thee my news and hear thine." "dear brother," said the abbot, looking enviously on the knight, "would that, like thee, instead of entering the church, i had taken up arms! alike once was our lot, well born and penniless. ah me!--thou art now as the swan on the river, and i as the shell on the rock." "but," quoth the knight, "though the canons, it is true, forbid monks to knock people on the head, except in self-preservation, thou knowest well that, even in normandy, (which, i take it, is the sacred college of all priestly lore, on this side the alps,) those canons are deemed too rigorous for practice: and, at all events, it is not forbidden thee to look on the pastime with sword or mace by thy side in case of need. wherefore, remembering thee in times past, i little counted on finding thee--like a slug in thy cell! no; but with mail on thy back, the canons clean forgotten, and helping stout harold to sliver and brain these turbulent welchmen." "ah me! ah me! no such good fortune!" sighed the tall abbot. "little, despite thy former sojourn in london, and thy lore of their tongue, knowest thou of these unmannerly saxons. rarely indeed do abbot and prelate ride to the battle [ ]; and were it not for a huge danish monk, who took refuge here to escape mutilation for robbery, and who mistakes the virgin for a valkyr, and st. peter for thor,-- were it not, i say, that we now and then have a bout at sword-play together, my arm would be quite out of practice." "cheer thee, old friend," said the knight, pityingly, "better times may come yet. meanwhile, now to affairs. for all i hear strengthens all william has heard, that harold the earl is the first man in england. is it not so?" "truly, and without dispute." "is he married, or celibate? for that is a question which even his own men seem to answer equivocally." "why, all the wandering minstrels have songs, i am told by those who comprehend this poor barbarous tongue, of the beauty of editha pulchra, to whom it is said the earl is betrothed, or it may be worse. but he is certainly not married, for the dame is akin to him within the degrees of the church." "hem, not married! that is well; and this algar, or elgar, he is not now with the welch, i hear." "no; sore ill at chester with wounds and much chafing, for he hath sense to see that his cause is lost. the norwegian fleet have been scattered over the seas by the earl's ships, like birds in a storm. the rebel saxons who joined gryffyth under algar have been so beaten, that those who survive have deserted their chief, and gryffyth himself is penned up in his last defiles, and cannot much longer resist the stout foe, who, by valorous st. michael, is truly a great captain. as soon as gryffyth is subdued, algar will be crushed in his retreat, like a bloated spider in his web; and then england will have rest, unless our liege, as thou hintest, set her to work again." the norman knight mused a few moments, before he said: "i understand, then, that there is no man in the land who is peer to harold:--not, i suppose, tostig his brother?" "not tostig, surely, whom nought but harold's repute keeps a day in his earldom. but of late--for he is brave and skilful in war--he hath done much to command the respect, though he cannot win back the love, of his fierce northumbrians, for he hath holpen the earl gallantly in this invasion of wales, both by sea and by land. but tostig shines only from his brother's light; and if gurth were more ambitious, gurth alone could be harold's rival." the norman, much satisfied with the information thus gleaned from the abbot, who, despite his ignorance of the saxon tongue, was, like all his countrymen, acute and curious, now rose to depart. the abbot, detaining him a few moments, and looking at him wistfully, said, in a low voice: "what thinkest thou are count william's chances of england?" "good, if he have recourse to stratagem; sure, if he can win harold." "yet, take my word, the english love not the normans, and will fight stiffly." "that i believe. but if fighting must be, i see that it will be the fight of a single battle, for there is neither fortress nor mountain to admit of long warfare. and look you, my friend, everything here is worn out! the royal line is extinct with edward, save in a child, whom i hear no man name as a successor; the old nobility are gone, there is no reverence for old names; the church is as decrepit in the spirit as thy lath monastery is decayed in its timbers; the martial spirit of the saxon is half rotted away in the subjugation to a clergy, not brave and learned, but timid and ignorant; the desire for money eats up all manhood; the people have been accustomed to foreign monarchs under the danes; and william, once victor, would have but to promise to retain the old laws and liberties, to establish himself as firmly as canute. the anglo-danes might trouble him somewhat, but rebellion would become a weapon in the hands of a schemer like william. he would bristle all the land with castles and forts, and hold it as a camp. my poor friend, we shall live yet to exchange gratulations,--thou prelate of some fair english see, and i baron of broad english lands." "i think thou art right," said the tall abbot, cheerily, and marry, when the day comes, i will at least fight for the duke. yea--thou art right," he continued, looking round the dilapidated walls of the cell; "all here is worn out, and naught can restore the realm, save the norman william, or----" "or who?" "or the saxon harold. but thou goest to see him--judge for thyself." "i will do so, and heedfully," said the sire de graville; and embracing his friend he renewed his journey. chapter vii. messire mallet de graville possessed in perfection that cunning astuteness which characterised the normans, as it did all the old pirate races of the baltic; and if, o reader, thou, peradveuture, shouldst ever in this remote day have dealings with the tall men of ebor or yorkshire, there wilt thou yet find the old dane-father's wit --it may be to thy cost--more especially if treating for those animals which the ancestors ate, and which the sons, without eating, still manage to fatten on. but though the crafty knight did his best, during his progress from london into wales, to extract from sexwolf all such particulars respecting harold and his brethren as he had reasons for wishing to learn, he found the stubborn sagacity or caution of the saxon more than a match for him. sexwolf had a dog's instinct in all that related to his master; and he felt, though he scarce knew why, that the norman cloaked some design upon harold in all the cross- questionings so carelessly ventured. and his stiff silence, or bluff replies, when harold was mentioned, contrasted much the unreserve of his talk when it turned upon the general topics of the day, or the peculiarities of saxon manners. by degrees, therefore, the knight, chafed and foiled, drew into himself; and seeing no farther use could be made of the saxon, suffered his own national scorn of villein companionship to replace his artificial urbanity. he therefore rode alone, and a little in advance of the rest, noticing with a soldier's eye the characteristics of the country, and marvelling, while he rejoiced, at the insignificance of the defences which, even on the marches, guarded the english country from the cymrian ravager [ ]. in musings of no very auspicious and friendly nature towards the land he thus visited, the norman, on the second day from that in which he had conversed with the abbot, found himself amongst the savage defiles of north wales. pausing there in a narrow pass overhung with wild and desolate rocks, the knight deliberately summoned his squires, clad himself in his ring mail, and mounted his great destrier. "thou dost wrong, norman," said sexwolf, "thou fatiguest thyself in vain--heavy arms here are needless. i have fought in this country before: and as for thy steed, thou wilt soon have to forsake it, and march on foot." "know, friend," retorted the knight, "that i come not here to learn the horn-book of war; and for the rest, know also, that a noble of normandy parts with his life ere he forsakes his good steed." "ye outlanders and frenchmen," said sexwolf, showing the whole of his teeth through his forest of beard, "love boast and big talk; and, on my troth, thou mayest have thy belly full of them yet; for we are still in the track of harold, and harold never leaves behind him a foe. thou art as safe here, as if singing psalms in a convent." "for thy jests, let them pass, courteous sir," said the norman; "but i pray thee only not to call me frenchman [ ]. i impute it to thy ignorance in things comely and martial, and not to thy design to insult me. though my own mother was french, learn that a norman despises a frank only less than he doth a jew." "crave your grace," said the saxon, "but i thought all ye outlanders were the same, rib and rib, sibbe and sibbe." "thou wilt know better, one of these days. march on, master sexwolf." the pass gradually opened on a wide patch of rugged and herbless waste; and sexwolf, riding up to the knight, directed his attention to a stone, on which was inscribed the words, "hic victor fuit haroldus,"--here harold conquered. "in sight of a stone like that, no walloon dare come," said the saxon. "a simple and classical trophy," remarked the norman, complacently, "and saith much. i am glad to see thy lord knows the latin." "i say not that he knows latin," replied the prudent saxon; fearing that that could be no wholesome information on his lord's part, which was of a kind to give gladness to the norman--"ride on while the road lets ye--in god's name." on the confines of caernarvonshire, the troop halted at a small village, round which had been newly dug a deep military-trench. bristling with palisades, and within its confines might be seen,--some reclined on the grass, some at dice, some drinking,--many men, whose garbs of tanned hide, as well as a pennon waving from a little mound in the midst, bearing the tiger heads of earl harold's insignia, showed them to be saxons. "here we shall learn," said sexwolf, "what the earl is about--and here, at present, ends my journey." "are these the earl's headquarters, then?--no castle, even of wood--no wall, nought but ditch and palisades?" asked mallet de graville in a tone between surprise and contempt. "norman," said sexwolf, "the castle is there, though you see it not, and so are the walls. the castle is harold's name, which no walloon will dare to confront; and the walls are the heaps of the slain which lie in every valley around." so saying, he wound his horn, which was speedily answered, and led the way over a plank which admitted across the trench. "not even a drawbridge!" groaned the knight. sexwolf exchanged a few words with one who seemed the head of the small garrison, and then regaining the norman, said: "the earl and his men have advanced into the mountainous regions of snowdon; and there, it is said, the blood-lusting gryffyth is at length driven to bay. harold hath left orders that, after as brief a refreshment as may be, i and my men, taking the guide he hath left for us, join him on foot. there may now be danger: for though gryffyth himself may be pinned to his heights, he may have met some friends in these parts to start up from crag and combe. the way on horse is impassable: wherefore, master norman, as our quarrel is not thine nor thine our lord, i commend thee to halt here in peace and in safety, with the sick and the prisoners." "it is a merry companionship, doubtless," said the norman; "but one travels to learn, and i would fain see somewhat of thine uncivil skirmishings with these men of the mountains; wherefore, as i fear my poor mules are light of the provender, give me to eat and to drink. and then shalt thou see, should we come in sight of the enemy, if a norman's big words are the sauce of small deeds." "well spoken, and better than i reckoned on," said sexwolf, heartily. while de graville, alighting, sauntered about the village, the rest of the troop exchanged greetings with their countrymen. it was, even to the warrior's eye, a mournful scene. here and there, heaps of ashes and ruin-houses riddled and burned--the small, humble church, untouched indeed by war, but looking desolate and forlorn--with sheep grazing on large recent mounds thrown over the brave dead, who slept in the ancestral spot they had defended. the air was fragrant with spicy smells of the gale or bog myrtle; and the village lay sequestered in a scene wild indeed and savage, but prodigal of a stern beauty to which the norman, poet by race, and scholar by culture, was not insensible. seating himself on a rude stone, apart from all the warlike and murmuring groups, he looked forth on the dim and vast mountain peaks, and the rivulet that rushed below, intersecting the village, and lost amidst copses of mountain ash. from these more refined contemplations he was roused by sexwolf, who, with greater courtesy than was habitual to him, accompanied the theowes who brought the knight a repast, consisting of cheese, and small pieces of seethed kid, with a large horn of very indifferent mead. "the earl puts all his men on welch diet," said the captain, apologetically. "for indeed, in this lengthy warfare, nought else is to be had!" the knight curiously inspected the cheese, and bent earnestly over the kid. "it sufficeth, good sexwolf," said he, suppressing a natural sigh. "but instead of this honey-drink, which is more fit for bees than for men, get me a draught of fresh water: water is your only safe drink before fighting." "thou hast never drank ale, then!" said the saxon; "but thy foreign tastes shall be heeded, strange man." a little after noon, the horns were sounded, and the troop prepared to depart. but the norman observed that they had left behind all their horses: and his squire, approaching, informed him that sexwolf had positively forbidden the knight's steed to be brought forth. "was it ever heard before," cried sire mallet de graville, "that a norman knight was expected to walk, and to walk against a foe too! call hither the villein,--that is, the captain." but sexwolf himself here appeared, and to him de graville addressed his indignant remonstrance. the saxon stood firm, and to each argument replied simply, "it is the earl's orders;" and finally wound up with a bluff--"go or let alone: stay here with thy horse, or march with us on thy feet." "my horse is a gentleman," answered the knight, "and, as such, would be my more fitting companion. but as it is, i yield to compulsion--i bid thee solemnly observe, by compulsion; so that it may never be said of william mallet de graville, that he walked, bon gre, to battle." with that, he loosened his sword in the sheath, and, still retaining his ring mail, fitting close as a shirt, strode on with the rest. a welch guide, subject to one of the underkings (who was in allegiance to england, and animated, as many of those petty chiefs were, with a vindictive jealousy against the rival tribe of gryffyth, far more intense than his dislike of the saxon), led the way. the road wound for some time along the course of the river conway; penmaen-mawr loomed before them. not a human being came in sight, not a goat was seen on the distant ridges, not a sheep on the pastures. the solitude in the glare of the broad august sun was oppressive. some houses they passed--if buildings of rough stones, containing but a single room, can be called houses--but they were deserted. desolation preceded their way, for they were on the track of harold the victor. at length, they passed the cold conovium, now caer-hen, lying low near the river. there were still (not as we now scarcely discern them, after centuries of havoc,) the mighty ruins of the romans,--vast shattered walls, a tower half demolished, visible remnants of gigantic baths, and, proudly rising near the present ferry of tal-y-cafn, the fortress, almost unmutilated, of castell-y-bryn. on the castle waved the pennon of harold. many large flat-bottomed boats were moored to the river-side, and the whole place bristled with spears and javelins. much comforted, (for,--though he disdained to murmur, and rather than forego his mail, would have died therein a martyr,--mallet de graville was mightily wearied by the weight of his steel,) and hoping now to see harold himself, the knight sprang forward with a spasmodic effort at liveliness, and found himself in the midst of a group, among whom he recognised at a glance his old acquaintance, godrith. doffing his helm with its long nose-piece, he caught the thegn's hand, and exclaimed: "well met, ventre de guillaume! well met, o godree the debonnair! thou rememberest mallet de graville, and in this unseemly guise, on foot, and with villeins, sweating under the eyes of plebeian phoebus, thou beholdest that much-suffering man!" "welcome indeed," returned godrith, with some embarrassment; "but how camest thou hither, and whom seekest thou?" "harold, thy count, man--and i trust he is here." "not so, but not far distant--at a place by the mouth of the river called caer gyffin [ ]. thou shalt take boat, and be there ere the sunset." "is a battle at hand? yon churl disappointed and tricked me; he promised me danger, and not a soul have we met." "harold's besom sweeps clean," answered godrith, smiling. "but thou art like, perhaps, to be in at the death. we have driven this welch lion to bay at last. he is ours, or grim famine's. look yonder;" and godrith pointed to the heights of penmaen-mawr. "even at this distance, you may yet descry something grey and dim against the sky." "deemest thou my eye so ill practised in siege, as not to see towers? tall and massive they are, though they seem here as airy as roasts, and as dwarfish as landmarks." "on that hill-top, and in those towers, is gryffyth, the welch king, with the last of his force. he cannot escape us; our ships guard all the coasts of the shore; our troops, as here, surround every pass. spies, night and day, keep watch. the welch moels (or beacon-rocks) are manned by our warders. and, were the welch king to descend, signals would blaze from post to post, and gird him with fire and sword. from land to land, from hill to hill, from hereford to caerleon, from caerleon to milford, from milford to snowdon, through snowdon to yonder fort, built, they say, by the fiends or the giants, --through defile and through forest, over rock, through morass, we have pressed on his heels. battle and foray alike have drawn the blood from his heart; and thou wilt have seen the drops yet red on the way, where the stone tells that harold was victor." "a brave man and true king, then, this gryffyth," said the norman, with some admiration; "but," he added in a colder tone, "i confess, for my own part, that though i pity the valiant man beaten, i honour the brave man who wins; and though i have seen but little of this rough land as yet, i can well judge from what i have seen, that no captain, not of patience unwearied, and skill most consummate, could conquer a bold enemy in a country where every rock is a fort." "so i fear," answered godrith, "that thy countryman rolf found; for the welch beat him sadly, and the reason was plain. he insisted on using horses where no horses could climb, and attiring men in full armour to fight against men light and nimble as swallows, that skim the earth, then are lost in clouds. harold, more wise, turned our saxons into welchmen, flying as they flew, climbing where they climbed; it has been as a war of the birds. and now there rests but the eagle, in his last lonely eyrie." "thy battles have improved thy eloquence much, messire godree," said the norman, condescendingly. "nevertheless, i cannot but think a few light horse----" "could scale yon mountain-brow?" said godrith, laughing, and pointing to penmaen-mawr. the norman looked and was silent, though he thought to himself, "that sexwolf was no such dolt after all!"