The Last of the Vikings Part 22

"Hush, darling! Never think _your_ needs add to my perplexities. I never feel so like surmounting everything as when I think I live for you; to champion your cause against all comers, and flaunt defiance in the face of your enemies."

"I fear the championing of my cause will bring you into deadly peril, perhaps to death."

"If it does, dearest, you gave me my life when an ignominious death awaited me. If I die in defence of you, well, I am willing, aye, more than willing. But let us not cherish thoughts like these, for I think a merciful Providence will always reserve a blessing for one like you; so let us have faith, and never doubt the future. I am full of faith and hope. Come, tell me what new trouble distracts and disturbs your mind."

Then they sat together on an abutment, and Alice, nestling close to her virtuous knight, told of the new complications which had arisen.

"My father has been very wroth to-day, chiding me roughly because I make not preparations for my nuptials, and threatening my marriage to Vigneau by force."

"He is still determined, then, to press on this hateful and heathenish alliance?"

"Yes; but judge him not too harshly, dearest. I am well a.s.sured he loves me dearly, in spite of this seeming harshness. I have seen again and again a frown on his brow, and heard bitter words break from his lips at the intrusion of Vigneau. I am satisfied that if it were not for the hateful power he wields over my father, I should not be forced into this alliance. But Vigneau claims my hand as the price of peace."

"You still hate this man, and abhor a union with him, Alice, dear? Is it not so?"

"I loathe him with my whole heart, and would rather die a hundred deaths than marry him. But what it may be my duty to do, for my father's sake, I know not."

"And will it come to this, that, as the price of peace, you are to be offered to this devil incarnate--to one whose hands are red with the blood of murdered men and women, and whose life is one coa.r.s.e round of brutal indulgence?"

"The prospect is most sickening. But what can I do in an extremity like this?"

"Rest a.s.sured, my love, you will not do that," said Oswald, drawing his sword. "Here is a trusty friend which will cut this Gordian knot, if it be not unloosed by more peaceable means. This Vigneau owes his villainous life a hundred times told, for the foul crimes he has committed, and is committing from day to day, upon my helpless countrymen. The sword has been hanging over him a long time, and it will fall before he claims you as his bride. Though he live to stand at the altar with you, he shall not compa.s.s his vile ends, for I will confront him there; and rest a.s.sured I will make sure of _him_ if it be the last stroke my trusty sword shall ever make. Drive the matter to the utmost verge of delay, and if relief come not in the meantime, it will come ere the extremity. But come now, let us think of other things, for this matter, I see, sits like a grievous nightmare upon your spirits. I am pleased to be able to report upon the forward state of the fortress on the hill."

"But, alas! I have ill news for you with regard to that matter. It was partly on that account I summoned you from the hills to-night."

"What is it, dearest? Come, unburthen your mind of all troublesome matters. I can a.s.sure you, nevertheless, that we are now very indifferent as to what steps may be taken."

"But I am afraid this will be serious. The king is now at York with a large contingent of his men-at-arms, and a number of mercenaries, intent on quelling any attempts at insurrection on the part of the Saxons. One of his Bodes[2] arrived here this morning, asking for all information with regard to the att.i.tude of your people. My father is having a parchment writing made out, with full particulars of your doings, and asking for help to reduce your fortress, and slay your rebellious followers. I fear me if William exerts himself he will not desist, until he has captured your stronghold; and he will give no quarter to those who try to thwart him."

[Footnote 2: Messengers.]

"This is, indeed, serious news, and we must move heaven and earth to prevent this despatch reaching its destination. Do you know when the messenger will depart?"

"The day after to-morrow, I heard my father say. See, I have here a copy of the despatch. I drew it up at father's dictation."

"Many thanks, my dear. We must devise some expedient to meet this emergency. I think I know a sly rogue who will, either by hook or crook, circ.u.mvent the king's messenger. But no time must be lost. Give me a parting kiss. Ah! get you to bed, you trembling puss, and may sweet sleep enfold you in his gentle arms! Adieu, adieu, for a little while."

CHAPTER XXV.

BADGER CRACKS THE NORMAN'S PATE.

"Those who in quarrels interpose Must often wipe a b.l.o.o.d.y nose."

_The Mastiffs._

A few miles down the valley from the Norman headquarters at the castle, and following the trend of the river--because there was on its banks to be found a path, or track, very irregular, it is true, but which was made to serve the purposes of pedestrians, and which was little frequented--a Norman runner, or messenger, the bearer of De Montfort's despatch to the Conqueror, was steadily pressing on towards his destination. He had had a sharp walk along a road none of the best, and the springiness was beginning to disappear from his tread. He carried a sword by his side. Over his shoulder there was fastened a wallet containing provisions, and a long bow with a small quiver of arrows. In his right hand he carried a quarterstaff, which he used as a walking-stick. This latter weapon was much affected by the Normans, they having learnt its use from the Saxons, and it was now inseparable from their rough games and amus.e.m.e.nts, it being singularly adapted to call forth the powers of strength and dexterity of the wielders of it, whilst its vigorous application seldom resulted in anything worse than bruises and ruffled tempers. Ahead of this Norman, and quite un.o.bserved by him, there was patiently lying in wait a remarkable being, who was quietly peering over the top of a knoll which commanded a view of a turning in the road. His dress plainly proclaimed him to be a child of the forest and the chase, his weird and outlandish appearance being simply indescribable. He sprang to his feet with remarkable agility as the form of the Norman runner rounded the corner into view. He fell into the path, and affected to journey as the stranger did, though as yet the Norman had not got a glimpse of him. As he went slowly trudging along, he burst into a merry ditty, trolling it right l.u.s.tily. The burden of his doggerel ran something like the following:--

"My song is of a palmer bold, Who footed it o'er the lea.

A monkish buck to him stepp'd up, 'What's the news, my man?' quoth he.

"'Bad news! Why, wine is getting scarce, And venison, too, I trow.

And this I know the Normans vow; They are eat and drunk by you.

"'And paunches measuring a cloth-yard's girth, They tap them with lance or spear; For good old sack is kept in stock By such, the Normans swear.'

"'Then take my bottle, thou palmer bold, My venison pasty too.

I'll fast and pray, and hair-s.h.i.+rt wear, As a pious monk should do.'"

The strange singer affected to be totally oblivious of the approach of the Norman, for he accompanied his song by a vigorous twirling of his quarterstaff, ever and anon flinging it into the air and catching it again. So he kept trudging along all the while, as merrily as a cricket.

He was apparently greatly startled when the Norman accosted him in the following unceremonious fas.h.i.+on:--

"Hilloa, old weazen-face! you appear to be in a wonderfully merry mood this morning. What is't makes you wag your tail at such a rate this morning, eh?"

"I give you good morning, fair sir. My obedience to your honour. Give me a moment; you quite startle me. What was your honour saying to me?"

"What is it makes you so merry, pray?"

"Why, it is better to be merry than sad; and, begging your pardon for being so bold, but I have that about me would make a man merry if he had a foot in the grave."

"Oh, aye, that is it makes you so merry, old bogskipper, is it? I thought you were going sweethearting."

"Marry, no! Did you ever see as old a dog as I am amuse himself by catching his tail. Mark me, I have in my wallet good barley-bread, and a stout collop of venison; and in my case I have a stiff supply of old Flemish wine," said he, tapping a huge leathern bottle he carried. "So I will be merry while it lasts, anyhow."

"I warrant, too, you have had that snout of yours to the neck of that bottle pretty frequently, old fellow, eh?"

"Thou art in error, friend; grossly in error. Such words are a grave reflection upon my character for sobriety. But it is only fair to say that I have smelt at it occasionally as I came along; but I never drink except I'm thirsty, begging your pardon, fair sir--only when I'm thirsty."

"Thirsty, eh? And how oft does that sensation come on? Not a week between, I'll go bond."

"No, I grant you this much. I always seem to have a parched sensation at the pit of my stomach when wine or ale is about; and I have noticed this frequently, good wine seems to go straight to the spot. It is a very soothing medicine if it be applied regularly, and pretty oft, so as to keep my stomach nice and moist."

"Well, I think you might ask a thirsty comrade to have a taste of your wine, anyhow, old sucker. 'Tis a very small favour, that."

"Not so fast, my buck; don't jump your fence afore you come to't! First fee your priest, then have your shriving. How should I know whether thou beest a comrade or no. Dost thou see, to give good wine to a bad fellow were to waste good liquor, and there is no sin in the calendar half so bad as to waste good liquor. Marry, 'twere mortal sin."

"Ho, ho, my master's all! Dost thou know, old fellow, when an a.s.s kicks his heels he inquires for the cudgel. Come, now, what if I lay siege to thy weazen carcase, and carry off thy bottle, and flay thy carcase for thee into the bargain. How then?"

"Easy there, my hearty!" said the stranger, twirling l.u.s.tily his staff.

"I trow I would flatten thy crown with my staff ere thou take my bottle; though 'twere pity truly to flatten thee any more above thy shoulders, for, gramercy! I take it thou would be welcome where flats are wanted."

"I perceive thou art a stout rogue enough when driven to a push, and saucy into the bargain. But I can stop thy brag, my c.o.c.k-a-loup, pretty handy, I doubt not."

"That may be, or that may not be, which signifies nothing. But just let me point out to thee, by way of caution, that my staff is harder than thy pate, anyhow. So, in a friendly sort of way, I would advise thee to take no unnecessary risks."

"Risks, eh? Ha, ha, ha! And from such a swag-belly as thou art! There are not many risks, I flatter me."