The Last of the Vikings Part 15

CHAPTER XVII.

EVIL COUNSELLORS.

"All good to me is lost.

Evil, be thou my good."

Milton.

Great was the chagrin and rage manifested by Vigneau, Count de Montfort, and the Normans generally, at this unexpected rebuff; and increased cruelties and indignities were heaped upon the hapless and degraded Saxons who had accepted the yoke of villeinage. Indeed, the lives of these Saxons were of no account whatever; and the honour of the Saxon women was at the mercy of besotted and degraded Norman troopers. Very few indeed were there amongst the Saxons who had not grievous cause to cherish the most deadly hatred against these ruthless oppressors and usurpers, the Normans.

It was too much to expect that, amid the general confiscation, the monastery should continue to be governed by myself, and that monks of Saxon origin should minister to the poor and the sick, and have control of our endowments. So, as I had expected, one fateful day, my office was taken from me and bestowed upon a Norman Father, who, with a number of monks, had followed at the heels of the conquerors, and were as greedy for the emoluments of the Church, as their brethren-in-arms were for the possessions of the Saxon laymen. So one Father Vigneau, who was a brother of Baron Vigneau, became our Abbot, and degradation and much oppression was meted out to us Saxons, with the object of driving us forth to other shelter, or to become mendicant friars or mere hedge priests. Some of my subordinates went forth, like Abraham, to seek a country. Some cast in their lot with their outlawed countrymen, and, I am sorry to say, not unfrequently became as great adepts at the wielding of carnal weapons as they were at saying Ma.s.s or burying the dead. But I had so many ties, and such affection for my flock, that I resolved to stay and bear the heavy yoke; counting it no small honour to be found worthy to suffer like my Master.

I was also greatly fortified in this my resolve by the friends.h.i.+p and help which I received at the hands of Alice De Montfort, who proved to be a real friend, not only to myself, but to all who were in suffering and distress.

Our new Abbot, I found, had not been trained to the service of the Church, but had been, at one time, a soldier by profession. Latterly he had taken to the Church, as I suspect because he found the sacred calling less arduous, and could be made to serve his inordinate desire for idleness and good living. His G.o.d was indeed his belly, and his life loose and irregular to great excess. He was a man of florid countenance, and much too pursy for a man whose first duty was to crucify the flesh.

His garments, also, ill became a man in the sacred office he had a.s.sumed. He was an exceedingly vain man, and loved to adorn his person, and affect the airs and swaggering gait of a young gallant. By his side he constantly dangled a sword, and under his monk's robes he usually wore a coat of link-mail--which, I suspected, arose from a cowardly fear of a.s.sa.s.sination; for, despite his swaggering deportment, I ever found him to be an arrant coward, and, like every coward, relentless and cruel, loving to oppress and to insult those whose position made it easy for him so to do.

Amongst the monks who came with him I found not one truly holy and devoted man. Most of them were so ignorant as to be totally unable to read the sacred books in the Latin tongue. These men, like their superior, lived loose, irregular lives; habitually neglecting prayers, fasting, and abstinence from carnal indulgences. Indeed, of most of them, if it had not been for their dress they could not have been distinguished from the riotous and disorderly soldiery.

Our new Abbot and his brother, Baron Vigneau, were spending the night together, indulging in one of those nightly carousals which were a disgrace and a crying scandal to our ancient and holy monastery, which had earned itself a good repute by the piety and learning of the brotherhood, and by the wise and charitable administration of the princely revenues which appertained to it. Never had it been known, in times past, that any palmer, or wandering minstrel, had been turned away from its hospitable doors, unhoused and unfed; and any distressed or suffering peasant was sure to have sympathy in trouble, and relief in want. But since the advent of the Normans, its revenues were dissipated by rioting and drunkenness, chambering and wantonness, and in entertaining Norman riff-raff and debauching Saxons, who were willing to sell themselves for the gluttonous eating and drinking to which they were treated. In vain it was for us Saxons to preach virtue and chast.i.ty to the poor peasantry, whose cattle, implements of husbandry, and homes, had been destroyed, and who could not till the ground, knowing that they would be despoiled of their harvest. The poor were at best half starved, and subjected to most gross and cruel treatment.

To-night, however, more than ordinarily weighty matters were being discussed over their wine by the brothers.

"What progress, then, have you made in the matter?" said the Abbot.

"Well, I have, by a most determined effort, forced the Count, much against his will, to name a day for the fulfilment of his promise. But the jade, his daughter, takes high ground, and I fancy to get her nose to the grindstone will be no easy task."

"I suppose it is the old excuse the vixen makes?"

"Yes; my tongue is not smooth enough, and my manners do not suit her dainty notions. She's in a precious dudgeon just now over a Saxon wench I took a fancy to; and she's as flighty as a two-year-old filly, and as proud as Lucifer. In fact, she gets more stately and arrogant from day to day. Never mind!" said he, bringing his fist down upon the table.

"I'll take her ladys.h.i.+p down a peg or two by-and-bye. I scarcely know whether I love or hate her most, now. She's got a pretty face and figure, or I'd as soon try steel upon her as wed her."

"Well, I must confess she's a very handsome wench, brother--not a finer in Britain; but I never see her without feeling that I would give something to humble her pride. You think the Count would be out of it if he knew how to get, do you?"

"Not a shadow of a doubt of it. He would murder me at a minute's notice, if he could get possession of those letters I told you about. But he knows you are fully informed about them, and of his treachery to William, and he dare not resort to violence until he knows how to secure the letters by his effort. I have come to the conclusion to hand them over to you; they will be safer than in my possession."

"They contain conclusive evidence of his treachery, don't they?"

"No mistake about that. They are in his own handwriting, and sealed with his own crest and coat-of-arms. They make offer upon certain considerations, to sell his influence and his men to the Saxons during William's absence. He was also fool enough to give me a written promise of his daughter's hand, in consideration of my fidelity to him. Nothing in the world could be clearer and straighter than the whole thing. He sees now pretty clearly that _his_ game is up; but I'll show him that _my_ game is not up, or likely to be, until he hands over his stately daughter."

"He must have greatly miscalculated the odds when he put his head into a noose like that."

"Yes; he's not played many false cards in his life, but that was one, and he will lose his head by it if he does not play up square with the remainder. I'll promise him that much at least."

"What cause had he to quarrel with the king?"

"Oh, jealousy. He prides himself upon the services he has rendered to William, and he expected in consequence to be high in the king's favour, and in his council. He expected to have some fat lands too, near to London. William, however, did not think so highly of his services, or else he had been prejudiced against him by some courtezan, which is more probable. Anyhow, no sooner was William firmly seated on the throne than he gave De Montfort the cold shoulder. He made Odo, Lanfranc, and Fitz-Osborne his chosen counsellors.

"Now, a mortal feud existed between Odo and De Montfort, and he quickly got the cold side of his master's favours. He had given to him a paltry estate in the Fen country, where he had that Saxon devil, Hereward, hanging on to his skirts, and foraging all over his possessions, whenever hunger drove him from his infernal den in the marshes. The slight which he received rankled, I can promise you; and when the insurrection broke out whilst William was in Normandy, and when the Saxons took York, and put to the sword the garrison of three thousand Normans, with the Danes swarming into the Humber ripe for plunder, and the Atheling trooping in from Scotland--why, the cunning of the wily one was at fault for once. He thought the thing would succeed; and succeed it would have done, sure enough, if it had not been levelled against that devil's own favourite, William. He sent me with letters to Waltheof and the others, offering to put his men into the field on condition that he received ample reward. He hoped no doubt, also, that he would get a little revenge upon his enemies at Court.

"When I got to York I was not foolish enough to rush into the thing until I saw how matters looked. I had a bit of respect for my own neck, whether I had for De Montfort's or not. If he was willing to risk his head to gratify his spite, the prospect was not alluring enough for me.

Well, I did not like the look of Waltheof, and whilst I waited, William hurried across the Channel, and, with a stroke of matchless craft, he bought off the rascally Danes. The double-dyed traitor and coward, Waltheof, very soon succ.u.mbed to the same influences; and away also went the Atheling, full speed, for Scotland. I saw the thing was burst up. A few of the smaller chieftains, like this Saxon Oswald, held their ground and fought it out; but it was a nine days' wonder, and nothing more.

"Well, I thought I would try a cast of my own net. I had followed the fortunes of De Montfort to very little profit as yet. I had thought by following the fortunes of a leader like him, I should get a tolerably fair share of the spoils; and I had an understanding that I should have the hand of his daughter. But, I had already begun to notice that the damsel was not made altogether of pleasant humours, and probably she would require a good deal of persuading to complete the bargain. So I told him I had handed the letters to a brother of mine who was in the Church, and held in favour by Lanfranc; and, brother, that accounts for your being installed in such a snug crib as this. I flaunt these letters, metaphorically speaking, pretty regularly before him, to keep him to the mark. The operation makes him wince; but, whether he likes it or not, it will be done, and to greater purpose, I can a.s.sure you, if his word is not made good shortly, and his friskish daughter brought to her senses."

"Well, take the letters," said the Baron, tossing them across to his brother. "Pour out a flagon of good old sack; preaching is dry throat-work. I say, what has become of that pretty Saxon wench I found here at first? Have you any idea? I had no notion they bred cattle of that quality amongst these louts of Saxons. You have not seen anything of her about, have you, since you came?"

"No. I heard of that little stroke of yours, but I've not seen the wench at all; but I have a notion that old Saxon snake, Adhelm, knows all about it. I would have made an end of him long before this, but that minx Alice has taken him under her protection. I would take an oath he's in league with those rats on the hill, and he is making mischief among our own brotherhood! One fellow, who has half the brains of the monastery, has given utterance to sundry remonstrances which I shall not tolerate; and I find that he and Adhelm are very friendly."

"Well, take care of the letters anyhow; I shall feel safer when they are out of my custody."

CHAPTER XVIII.

LOVE IS STRONGER THAN HATE.

"True love's the gift which G.o.d has given To man alone beneath the heaven:

It is the secret sympathy, The silver link, the silken tie, Which heart to heart, and mind to mind, In body and in soul can bind."

Scott.

It is a lovely morning in August; the hush of perfect restfulness is in the air. The cattle have retired from the heat and glare of the sun, and are quietly chewing the cud beneath the sheltering foliage of the plantain trees; whilst here and there, through the long vistas between the trees, may be seen a tall stag with two or three hinds at his heels, venturing within sight of the haunts of men, as though timidly inviting man's protection against the foes of the forest. This lovely morning has tempted forth from the castle the two females who are directing their steps to a rustic house on the banks of the river, where there are housed a couple of boats. One boat is of delicate trim and dainty workmans.h.i.+p. The oars are small and carefully made, the handles having a rich silken covering, showing they are intended for delicate hands to wield.

This is Alice's favourite recreation, and dearly she loves to have a quiet hour on the still bosom of the river, with Jeannette to row, and she, book in hand, to sit and read or sit and muse in quiet rapture as she gazes on the n.o.ble scenery around. The dip and plash of the oars, as Jeannette beats up against the current, is as the soothing tones of delicate music. Then to float slowly and in perfect stillness down stream, beneath the tall trees that line the banks, where busy insects dance and sing, and where the trout leap to catch their prey; to catch the scents from the wooded bank, where breathing shrub, and plant, and flower, and tree, load the air with their perfumed exhalations. Truly to the lover of Nature the smell of a wood is "as the smell of a field which the Lord hath blessed!" On this day everything seems exceptionally lovely, and, slowly as Jeannette is pulling, the confines of the park are quickly overpa.s.sed, and the castle is cut off from view by embowering woods.

"We are already past the limits of the park, my lady," said Jeannette.

"Shall I put the boat about now, and drift back with the stream?"

"Oh, no, not just yet, Jeannette. Let us go a little farther to-day. It is such a charming morning, and I have been longing for a great while to explore a little more of this delightful river."

"But you are forgetting the Count's express commands, my lady. You know he bade us be very careful not to go beyond sight of the castle."

"Never fear, Jeannette. I think we may safely venture a little farther.

You know we have never so much as seen any human being in these excursions."

"No, my lady; but you know what horrid, wild people these Saxons are; and they may be lurking in the woods and shoot their arrows at us, and wound or kill us before the least help could reach us."

"I don't think we have any enemies amongst the Saxons, Jeannette. You and I, at least, do not merit their vengeance, and I am quite prepared to trust them."

"But it is really dangerous, my lady," remonstrated the maid. "And Paul Lazaire has told me that they really kill and eat people, do these horrid Saxons!"