CHAPTER XXI.
HOW IVO TAILLEBOIS MARCHED OUT OF SPALDING TOWN.
A proud man was Ivo Taillebois, as he rode next morning out of Spaldingtown, with hawk on fist, and hound at heel, and a dozen men-at-armsat his back, who would, on due or undue cause shown, hunt men while hehunted game.
An adventurer from Anjou, brutal, ignorant, and profligate,--low-born,too (for his own men whispered, behind his back, that he was no morethan his name hinted, a wood-cutter's son), he still had his deserts.Valiant he was, cunning, and skilled in war. He and his troop ofAngevine ruttiers had fought like tigers by William's side, at Hastings;and he had been rewarded with many a manor, which had been Earl Algar's,and should now have been Earl Edwin's, or Morcar's, or, it may be,Hereward's own.
"A fat land and fair," said he to himself; "and, after I have hanged afew more of these barbarians, a peaceful fief enough to hand down tothe lawful heirs of my body, if I had one. I must marry. Blessed Virgin!this it is to serve and honor your gracious majesty, as I have alwaysdone according to my poor humility. Who would have thought that IvoTaillebois would ever rise so high in life as to be looking out for awife,--and that a lady, too?"
Then thought he over the peerless beauties of the Lady Lucia, Edwin andMorcar's sister, almost as fair as that hapless aunt of hers,--firstmarried (though that story is now denied) to the wild Griffin, Princeof Snowdon, and then to his conqueror, and (by complicity) murderer,Harold, the hapless king. Eddeva faira, Eddeva pulcra, stands her namein Domesday-book even now, known, even to her Norman conquerors, as theBeauty of her time, as Godiva, her mother, had been before her. Scarcelyless beautiful was Lucia, as Ivo had seen her at William's court, halfcaptive and half guest: and he longed for her; love her he could not. "Ihave her father's lands," quoth he; "what more reasonable than tohave the daughter, too? And have her I will, unless the Mamzer, in hispresent merciful and politic mood, makes a Countess of her, and marriesher up to some Norman coxcomb with a long pedigree,--invented the yearbefore last. If he does throw away his daughter on that Earl Edwin, inhis fancy for petting and patting these savages into good humor, he isnot likely to throw away Edwin's sister on a Taillebois. Well, I mustput a spoke in Edwin's wheel. It will not be difficult to make him, orMorcar, or both of them, traitors. We must have a rebellion in theseparts. I will talk about it to Gilbert of Ghent. We must make thesesavages desperate, and William furious, or he will be soon giving themback their lands, beside asking them to Court; and then, how are valiantknights, like us, who have won England for him, to be paid for theirtrouble? No, no. We must have a rebellion, and a confiscation, and then,when English lasses are going cheap, perhaps the Lady Lucia may fall tomy share."
And Ivo Taillebois kept his word; and without difficulty, for he hadmany to help him. To drive the English to desperation, and get a pretextfor seizing their lands, was the game which the Normans played, and buttoo well.
As he rode out of Spalding town, a man was being hanged on the gallowsthere permanently provided.
That was so common a sight, that Ivo would not have stopped, had not apriest, who was comforting the criminal, ran forward, and almost thrownhimself under the horse's feet.
"Mercy, good my Lord, in the name of God and all his saints!"
Ivo went to ride on.
"Mercy!" and he laid hands on Ivo's bridle. "If he took a few pike outof your mere, remember that the mere was his, and his father's beforehim; and do not send a sorely tempted soul out of the world for a paltrypike."
"And where am I to get fish for Lent, Sir Priest, if every rascal netsmy waters, because his father did so before him? Take your hand offmy bridle, or, par le splendeur Dex" (Ivo thought it fine to use KingWilliam's favorite oath), "I will hew it off!"
The priest looked at him, with something of honest English fiercenessin his eyes, and dropping the bridle, muttered to himself in Latin:"The bloodthirsty and deceitful man shall not live out half his days.Nevertheless my trust shall be in Thee, O Lord!"
"What art muttering, beast? Go home to thy wife" (wife was by no meansthe word which Ivo used) "and make the most of her, before I rout outthee and thy fellow-canons, and put in good monks from Normandy inthe place of your drunken English swine. Hang him!" shouted he, as theby-standers fell on their knees before the tyrant, crouching in terror,every woman for her husband, every man for wife and daughter. "Andhearken, you fen-frogs all. Who touches pike or eel, swimming or wadingfowl, within these meres of mine, without my leave, I will hang him as Ihanged this man,--as I hanged four brothers in a row on Wrokesham bridgebut yesterday."
"Go to Wrokesham bridge and see," shouted a shrill cracked voice frombehind the crowd.
All looked round; and more than one of Ivo's men set up a yell, thehangman loudest of all.
"That's he, the heron, again! Catch him! Stop him! Shoot him!"
But that was not so easy. As Ivo pushed his horse through the crowd,careless of whom he crushed, he saw a long lean figure flying throughthe air seven feet aloft, with his heels higher than his head, on thefurther side of a deep broad ditch; and on the nearer side of the sameone of his best men lying stark, with a cloven skull.
"Go to Wrokesham!" shrieked the lean man, as he rose and showed aridiculously long nose, neck, and legs,--a type still not uncommon inthe fens,--a quilted leather coat, a double-bladed axe slung over hisshoulder by a thong, a round shield at his back, and a pole three timesas long as himself, which he dragged after him, like an unwieldy tail.
"The heron! the heron!" shouted the English.
"Follow him, men, heron or hawk!" shouted Ivo, galloping his horse up tothe ditch, and stopping short at fifteen feet of water.
"Shoot, some one! Where are the bows gone?"
The heron was gone two hundred yards, running, in spite of his pole, ata wonderful pace, before a bow could be brought to bear. He seemed toexpect an arrow; for he stopped, glanced his eye round, threw himselfflat on his face, with his shield, not over his body, but over his barelegs; sprang up as the shaft stuck in the ground beside him, ran on,planted his pole in the next dike, and flew over it.
In a few minutes he was beyond pursuit; and Ivo turned, breathless withrage, to ask who he was.
"Alas, sir! he is the man who set free the four men at Wrokesham Bridgelast night."
"Set free! Are they not hanged and dead?"
"We--we dared not tell you. But he came upon us--"
"Single-handed, you cowards?"
"Sir, he is not a man, but a witch or a devil. He asked us what we didthere. One of our men laughed at his long neck and legs, and called himheron. 'Heron I am,' says he, 'and strike like a heron, right at theeyes'; and with that he cuts the man over the face with his axe, andlaid him dead, and then another, and another.'
"Till you all ran away, villains!"
"We gave back a step,--no more. And he freed one of those four, andhe again the rest; and then they all set on us, and went to hang us intheir own stead."
"When there were ten of you, I thought?"
"Sir, as we told you, he is no mortal man, but a fiend."
"Beasts, fools! Well, I have hanged this one, at least!" growled Ivo,and then rode sullenly on.
"Who is this fellow?" cried he to the trembling English.
"Wulfric Raher, Wulfric the Heron, of Wrokesham in Norfolk."
"Aha! And I hold a manor of his," said Ivo to himself. "Look you,villains, this fellow is in league with you."
A burst of abject denial followed. "Since the French,--since SirFrederick, as they call him, drove him out of his Wrokesham lands, hewanders the country, as you see: to-day here, but Heaven only knowswhere he will be to-morrow."
"And finds, of course, a friend everywhere. Now march!" And a string ofthreats and curses followed.
It was hard to see why Wulfric should not have found friends; as hewas simply a small holder, or squire, driven out of house and land, andturned adrift on the wide world, for the offence of having fought inHarold's army at the battle of Hastings. But to give him f
ood or shelterwas, in Norman eyes, an act of rebellion against the rightful KingWilliam; and Ivo rode on, boiling over with righteous indignation, alongthe narrow drove which led toward Deeping.
A pretty lass came along the drove, driving a few sheep before her, andspinning as she walked.
"Whose lass are you?" shouted Ivo.
"The Abbot of Crowland's, please your lordship," said she, trembling.
"Much too pretty to belong to monks. Chuck her up behind you, one ofyou."
The shrieking and struggling girl was mounted behind a horseman andbound, and Ivo rode on.
A woman ran out of a turf-hut on the drove side, attracted by the girl'scries. It was her mother.
"My lass! Give me my lass, for the love of St. Mary and all saints!" andshe clung to Ivo's bridle.
He struck her down, and rode on over her.
A man cutting sedges in a punt in the lode alongside looked up at thegirl's shrieks, and leapt on shore, scythe in hand.
"Father! father!" cried she.
"I'll rid thee, lass, or die for it," said he, as he sprang up thedrove-dike and swept right and left at the horses' legs.
The men recoiled. One horse went down, lamed for life; another staggeredbackwards into the further lode, and was drowned. But an arrow wentthrough the brave serf's heart, and Ivo rode on, cursing more bitterlythan ever, and comforted himself by flying his hawks at a covey ofpatridges.
Soon a group came along the drove which promised fresh sport to theman-hunters: but as the foremost person came up, Ivo stopped in wonderat the shout of,--
"Ivo! Ivo Taillebois! Halt and have a care! The English are risen, andwe are all dead men!"
The words were spoken in French; and in French Ivo answered, laughing,--
"Thou art not a dead man yet it seems, Sir Robert; art going onpilgrimage to Jerusalem, that thou comest in this fashion? Or dost meanto return to Anjou as bare as thou camest out of it?"
For Sir Robert had, like Edgar in Shakespear's _Lear_, "reserved himselfa blanket, else had we all been shamed."
But very little more did either he, his lady, and his three childrenwear, as they trudged along the drove, in even poorer case than that
Robert of Coningsby, Who came out of Normandy, With his wife Tiffany, And his maid Maupas, And his dog Hardigras.
"For the love of heaven and all chivalry, joke me no jokes, Sir Ivo,but give me and mine clothes and food! The barbarians rose on us lastnight,--with Azer, the ruffian who owned my lands, at their head, anddrove us out into the night as we are, bidding us carry the news to you,for your turn would come next. There are forty or more of them in WestDeeping now, and coming eastward, they say, to visit you, and, what ismore than all, Hereward is come again."
"Hereward?" cried Ivo, who knew that name well.
Whereon Sir Robert told him the terrible tragedy of Bourne.
"Mount the lady on a horse, and wrap her in my cloak. Get that deadvillain's clothes for Sir Robert as we go back. Put your horses' headsabout and ride for Spalding."
"What shall we do with the lass?"
"We cannot be burdened with the jade. She has cost us two good horsesalready. Leave her in the road, bound as she is, and let us see if St.Guthlac her master will come and untie her."
So they rode back. Coming from Deeping two hours after, Azer and his menfound the girl on the road, dead.
"Another count in the long score," quoth Azer. But when, in two hoursmore, they came to Spalding town, they found all the folk upon thestreet, shouting and praising the host of Heaven. There was not aFrenchman left in the town.
For when Ivo returned home, ere yet Sir Robert and his family werewell clothed and fed, there galloped into Spalding from, the north SirAscelin, nephew and man of Thorold, would-be Abbot of Peterborough, andone of the garrison of Lincoln, which was then held by Hereward's oldfriend, Gilbert of Ghent.
"Not bad news, I hope," cried Ivo, as Ascelin clanked into the hall. "Wehave enough of our own. Here is all Kesteven, as the barbarians call it,risen, and they are murdering us right and left."
"Worse news than that, Ivo Taillebois," ("Sir," or "Sieur," Ascelinwas loath to call him, being himself a man of family and fashion; andholding the _nouveaux venus_ in deep contempt,)--"worse news than that:the North has risen again, and proclaimed Prince Edgar King."
"A king of words! What care I, or you, as long as the Mamzer, God blesshim! is a king of deeds?"
"They have done their deeds, though, too. Gospatrick and Marlesweynare back out of Scotland. They attacked Robert de Comines [Footnote:Ancestor of the Comyns of Scotland.] at Durham, and burnt him in his ownhouse. There was but one of his men got out of Durham to tell the news.And now they have marched on York; and all the chiefs, they say, havejoined them,--Archill the Thane, and Edwin and Morcar, and Waltheof too,the young traitors."
"Blessed Virgin!" cried Ivo, "thou art indeed gracious to thy mostunworthy knight!"
"What do you mean?"
"You will see some day. Now, I will tell you but one word. When foolsmake hay, wise men can build ricks. This rebellion,--if it had not comeof itself, I would have roused it. We wanted it, to cure William of thisjust and benevolent policy of his, which would have ended in sendingus back to France as poor as we left it. Now, what am I expected to do?What says Gilbert of Ghent, the wise man of Lic--nic--what the pest doyou call that outlandish place, which no civilized lips can pronounce?"
"Lic-nic-cole?" replied Ascelin, who, like the rest of the French, nevercould manage to say Lincoln. "He says, 'March to me, and with me to jointhe king at York.'"
"Then he says well. These fat acres will be none the leaner, if I leavethe English slaves to crop them for six months. Men! arm and horse SirRobert of Deeping. Then arm and horse yourselves. We march north in halfan hour, bag and baggage, scrip and scrippage. You are all bachelors,like me, and travel light. So off with you!--Sir Ascelin, you will eatand drink?"
"That will I."
"Quick, then, butler! and after that pack up the Englishman'splate-chest, which we inherited by right of fist,--the only plate andthe only title-deeds I ever possessed."
"Now, Sir Ascelin,"--as the three knights, the lady, and the poorchildren ate their fastest,--"listen to me. The art of war lies in thisone nutshell,--to put the greatest number of men into one place at onetime, and let all other places shift. To strike swiftly, and strikeheavily. That is the rule of our liege lord, King William; and by it hewill conquer England, or the world, if he will; and while he does that,he shall never say that Ivo Taillebois stayed at home to guard his ownmanors while he could join his king, and win all the manors of Englandonce and for all."
"Pardieu! whatever men may say of thy lineage or thy virtues, theycannot deny this,--that thou art a most wise and valiant captain."
"That am I," quoth Taillebois, too much pleased with the praise to careabout being _tutoye_ by younger men. "As for my lineage, my lord theking has a fellow-feeling for upstarts; and the woodman's grandson mayvery well serve the tanner's. Now, men! is the litter ready for the ladyand children? I am sorry to rattle you about thus, madame, but war hasno courtesies; and march I must."
And so the French went out of Spalding town.
"Don't be in a hurry to thank your saints!" shouted Ivo to his victims."I shall be back this day three months; and then you shall see a row ofgibbets all the way from here to Deeping, and an Englishman hanging onevery one."