CHAPTER IV
Other incidents which occurred on the last night of Geoffroi de la Bourne
In the early Middle Ages, no less than now, men and women believed inominous happenings to those about to die. Strange things were known tooccur in monasteries when a priest was going, and it was said that thenight before a battle soldiers would sometimes feel an icy cold windupon their faces, which fell from Death himself, beating his greatwings.
There were no materialists in England in those times, and the unseenworld was very near and present to men's minds.
On this night of thunder and alarms, there was to happen another ofthose supernatural occurrences which are so difficult to explain away.
About the time the jongleur was brought into the hall--a little elderlyman, very pleasant and merry, but yet with something greedy, brutal,and dangerous in his face--the enclosure of the serfs began to beagitated by new and terrible emotions. Tragedy, indeed, had oftenentered there, but it was at the bidding of some one in the outsideworld. To-night she was to be invoked by the downtrodden and oppressedthemselves.
When men are gathered together, set upon some fearful act of retributionor revenge, the very air seems instinct with the thoughts that are intheir hearts, and fluid with the electricity of the great deed to bedone.
In the centre of the stoke the common fire burnt without flame, for therain had tamed it. Round the fire sat the conspirators, and in thestillness, for the rain was over and there was no wind, the murmuring oftheir voice seemed like the note of an organ hidden in the wood.
Round the stoke the giant trees made a tremendous sable wall, grim andsilent, and even the dark sky above was brighter and more hopeful thanthe silent company of trees. The sky was full of flickeringlightnings--white, green, and amethyst--and ever and again the thundermurmured from somewhere over against Ely. Sometimes a spear oflightning came right into the stoke, cracking like a whip.
The little group of inky figures round the embers seemed in no waydisturbed by the elements, but only drew closer and fell into moreearnest talk.
Hyla, Cerdic, Harl, Gurth, and Richard, sat planning the murder ofGeoffroi. On the morrow the Baron was to ride after a great boar whichthe foresters knew of in the wood. This was settled, and it was thoughtthere would be a great hunt, for the boar was cunning, fierce, and old.
Now Geoffroi was skilled in all the elaborate science of woodcraft. Heknew every word of the pedantic Norman jargon of the hunt in all itsextravagance. He could wind upon his horn every mot known to the chase,and no man could use the dissecting dagger upon a dead stag morescientifically than he. More than all this, he rode better and with moreardour than either his son or squires. Often it would happen that hewould gallop far into the forest after game, outstripping all his train.They were used to that, and would often start another quarry forthemselves. Geoffroi was a moody man, happy alone, privy to himself,and it had become somewhat of a custom to let him ride alone.
Now the serfs plotted that they should lie hidden in the underwood andturn the boar towards a distant glade called Monkshood. In that openspace--for the trees were sparse there and studded the turf at wideintervals--it was probable that Geoffroi would wind the death mot of thequarry. It was to be his last mellow call in this world, for Hylaplanned to take him as he stood over the dead boar and kill him in theride.
Then when he had done the work, he was to return through the brushwoodtowards the village. Provided only that the other hunters were far awaywhile he was killing the Baron, his presence in the wood would excitelittle comment, even if he was seen returning. Moreover, he purposed tocarry an armful of dry sticks, so that he might appear as if he weregathering kindling wood.
He would reach the stoke, he thought, just about the time that thehuntsmen would discover the Baron lying stark. He was to go through thevillage, down the hill to the river, and embark in a small punt. Hewould fly for his life then, poling swiftly through all the waterways ofthe fen till he reached Icombe in the heart of the waters, where heshould find sanctuary and lie hid till happier times.
Hyla sat among them curiously confident. He never for a moment doubtedthe result of the enterprise. None of them did. The resolution whichthey had taken was too overwhelming to allow a suspicion of failure.
There was something terrible in this grim certainty.
In an hour or two, Gruach and Frija, with the two little prattling boys,were to be taken down to the river and to set out for the Priorybeforehand, so that Hyla should find them waiting him. Harl was to puntthroughout the night, hoping to reach safety by dawn. It was a hardjourney, for the Priory was fifteen miles away.
"It is near time to set out," said Harl. "My heart is gride at thisnight's work."
"Sore things always happen in time of wracke," said Cerdic. "See thatyou protect Gruach and Frija in their unlustiness."
"The boat shall speed as boat never did before, and they shall be safeat dawning."
Hyla had been sitting in silence staring at the red heart of the fire asif he saw pictures there. "I am nothing accoyed," he said at length, "Ifear nothing save for Elgifu."
Harl beat upon the ground with his fist. "An you kill Geoffroi, I have amind to deal with Fulke also in sic a way. Little Elgifu!"
"She was always a little fool," said Hyla roughly. "She has made choysand lies in the arms of a lord. Think no more of her, Harl. I hope theywill not hurt her, that is all."
"They will not hurt her, I wote," Cerdic broke in cheerfully. "They willgain nothing by that. She is a piece of goods of value. They will nothurt her."
The arrangements were all made for the flight of Gruach and Frija; theplot was planned in every detail, and a silence fell upon them. Few ofthem had the art of conversation or knew how to talk. Hyla sat silent,with nothing in his brain to say. Although he was in a state of fierceexcitement, of exultation at a revelation of self, which appearedmiraculous in its freshness--as if he had been suddenly given a newpersonality--he had never a word to say. Cerdic was his firm andfaithful friend, but he could express none of the thoughts surging overhim even to Cerdic. The poor toiling, tired souls had never learnt thegift of speech; they were cut off from each other, except in the rarestinstances.
For example, a combination, such as the one we are discussing, wasunheard of. Of course, only a few of the serfs had been told of theplot, for it would not have been safe in the hands of many of them. Yet,that eight or nine men, with all the stumbling blocks of inheritedslavery, a miserable life, and an incredible lack of opportunity, shouldhave learnt and put in practice the lesson of combination, is a moststartling fact.
"Combination," indeed, was born that night, and stood ready to beclothed with a vigorous life, and to supply the means for a slow butglorious revolution. The direct effects of the proceedings at Hilgayhave affected our whole history to this day.
After a half-hour of silence, broken only by an occasionalword-of-course, the women, who had been sleeping to gain strength, weresummoned for departure.
The great enterprise seemed to knit the men at the fire together in awonderful way. They felt they must keep with each other, and all rose toaccompany the fugitives to the river. The little boys, sleepilyprotesting, were carried in the arms of two of the men, and themelancholy procession stole out into the warm darkness. The other serfswere all asleep, and deep breathings resounded as they passed the huts.At the entrance to the stoke a mongrel dog barked at them, but a blowwith a stick sent him away whining.
In a few minutes, treading very quietly, they were passing along thegreen by the castle. There were still points of light in the toweringblack walls, and distant sounds of revelry coming to them sent themalong with faster steps.
Now that the enterprise was actually embarked upon, most of them feltvery uneasy. The mere sight of that enormous pile brought before theirminds the tremendous power they were going up against. It was so visibleand tangible a thing, such a symbol of their own poor estate.
But Frija, as she passed the castle, spat toward
s the palisades andground her teeth in fury. That heartened them up a little. They hadwives and daughters also. As Gruach passed, she wept bitterly for Elgifuwithin. They went without mishap through the village. All the houseswere silent and showed no sign of life. The way was very dark, thoughthe white chalk of the road helped them a little to find it. Also, nowand then, the lightning lit up the scene strangely, showing the membersof the group to each other, hurrying, very furtive and white of face.
The fens opened before them as a wall of white vapour. No stranger wouldhave imagined the vast flat expanses beyond. The mist might haveconcealed any other kind of scenery. Standing on the hill they could seethe mysterious blue lights dancing over the fen. They crossed themselvesat that. It was thought that restless souls danced over the waters atnight, and that many evil things were abroad after dark.
They were quite close to the landing-stage and, encircled by the mist,walking very warily, when Harl, who was a pioneer, was heard to give aquick shout of alarm.
Another voice was heard roughly challenging. They passed through thevapour and came suddenly upon Pierce, the man-at-arms. At his feet lay aheap of fish, phosphorescent in the dark. He looked at them with deepamazement. "What are you?" he said.
As he spoke, and his voice gave clue to his identity, Hyla gatheredhimself together and leapt upon him. The two men fell with a greatclatter on to the very edge of the landing-stage, slipping andstruggling among the great heap of wet fish. Had not the others come totheir assistance both would have been in the water.
Hyla rose bleeding from scratches on the face. Gurth had a great bonyhand over the soldier's mouth, and the others held him pinned to theground, so that he was quite powerless.
"Get the women away," said Cerdic, "get the women away."
Harl stepped from punt to punt until he came to a long light boat ofoak, low in the water, and built for speed. He cast off the rope whichtied it to one of the other punts, and brought it alongside the steps.He put a bundle of clothing and food in the centre, and waited forGruach and her daughter.
Hyla lifted the little boys, wrapped in cat-skins, into the boat, andturned to Gruach. She lay sobbing in his arms, pressing her wet face tohis.
"Pray Lord Christ that I am with you on the morrow, wife," he said, "andfare you well!" He embraced Frija, and helped both women into the boat.Harl took up the pole.
"Farewell!" came in a deep, low chorus from the group of serfs, and,with no further words, the boat shot away into the dark. They could hearthe splash of the pole and the wailing of the women, and then thedarkness closed up and hid them utterly.
The men closed round Pierce. There seemed no hesitation in theirmovements. It was felt by every one that he must die. Despite hisfrantic struggles, they unbuckled his belt and dagger. Cerdic pulleddown the neck of his tunic and laid bare the flesh beneath. Hylaunsheathed the dagger, trembling with joy as his enemy lay beneathhim----
It was as easy as killing a cat, and they took the body and sank it inmid-stream. Then they stood upon the landing-stage speechless, huddledclose together--torn by exultation and fear.
Cerdic saw that they were terrified at what had been done. "Come,friends," said he, "fall upon your knees with me, and pray the BlessedVirgin to shed her favour upon Hyla and his work to-morrow. The fish areat one black knave already, to-morrow a greater shall meet his man inhell. Our Lady and my Lords the Saints are with us; get you to praying."
In a moment a sudden flash of lightning, which leapt across the greatarch of heaven, showed a group of kneeling forms, silent, with bendedheads.
Soon they went stealing up the hill again, but not before Gurth haddelivered himself of a grim, though practical pleasantry. "I'll have thedivell's fish," he said, and with that he slung them over his shoulder,for they were threaded upon a string.
* * * * *
The jongleur in the hall played upon his crowth, and sang themServentes, Lays, and songs of battle. Between each song he rested hisfiddle upon the floor and drank a draught of morat, till his lips andchin were all purple with the mulberry juice. Then he would say that hewould give them a little something which dealt with the great surquedyand outrecuidance of a certain baron, the son of a lady of ill-fame, andhow, being in his cups, this man was minded to go up in fight against arock. So, forthwith, the hero got him up on his destrier and ran fulltilt against the rock. "Then," the jongleur would conclude in quite theapproved modern music-hall style, "the sward was all besprent with whatremained." Vulgar wit then was own brother to coarse wit to-day, and avulgar fool in the twelfth century differed but little from a vulgarfool in the nineteenth.
A broad grin sat solid upon the faces of the soldiers. When the jongleurbegan to sing little catches in couplets, plucking the string of hiscrowth the while for accompaniment, they nudged each other with delightat each coarse suggestion. They were exactly like a group of littlefoolish boys in the fourth form of a public school, just initiated intothe newness of cheap wit, whispering ancient rhymes to each other.
Perhaps there was not much harm in it. When we grow to the handling ofour own brain unadorned vulgarity revolts us, as a rule, but there ishardly a man, before his brain has ripened, who has not sniggered uponoccasion at unpleasant trivialities. It is no manner of use ignoring thefact. Put the question to yourself, if you are a man, and remember, notwithout gratitude for the present, what an unprofitable little beast youwere.
They were children, these men-at-arms. They had the cruelty ofwolves--or children, the light-heartedness of children. Imagine whatSociety would be if children of fourteen were as strong and powerful astheir elders. If you can conceive that, you can get a little nearer tothe men-at-arms.
But as the grotesque little man mouthed and chattered, his teethflashing white in his purple-stained jaws, like some ape, the morepowerful brains at the high table had no excuse for their laughter.
The hedge priest roared with delight, Fulke sniggered meaningly, and asardonic grin lit up the stern countenance of Geoffroi de la Bourne.Lewin must be given credit for a finer attitude. He seemed insufferablybored by the whole thing, and longing to be in bed.
The night wore on, and they drank deep, till more than one head lay low.Geoffroi filled his cup again and again, but each potation left himclearer in brain, affecting him not at all. At last he rose to seek hiscouch. Dom Anselm was snoring heavily, Lewin had already departed, andFulke was playing dice with the squire.
"I have no mind to sleep for a while," Geoffroi said, "the night ishot. Bring a torch," he said to a serf; and then turning to thejongleur, "come with me, Sir Jester, to my bed-side, and relate to mesome merry tales till I fall upon sleep, for I am like to wake long thisnight."
Preceded by the flickering of the torch, and followed by the minstrel,he left the hall. They descended the steps in red light and deepestshadow, and came out into the courtyard which was very still. Every onewas asleep save one lean dog, who, hearing footsteps, padded up andthrust his cold nose into Geoffroi's hand. He fondled the creature,standing still for a moment, sending a keen eye round the big emptyspace, as who should find some enemy lurking there. The two otherswaited his pleasure.
"Come, come," he said at length in curiously detached tones, extremelyand noticeably unlike his usual quick incisiveness, "we will get tobed."
He turned towards Outfangthef. They had taken some three paces towardsthe tower, when a lightning flash of dazzling brilliancy leapt rightover the sky from pole to pole, and showed the whole scene as bright asin the day. Geoffroi stopped suddenly, as did the others, expecting agreat peal of thunder. Suddenly the Baron began to shiver and bend. Hewheeled round tottering, and caught the minstrel by the shoulder. Thelittle man squeaked like a rat in the jaws of a dog.
"Hist!" said Geoffroi, "What do you hear? What do you hear, man?"
"Nothing, my lord," said the jongleur in deep amazement.
"Listen, jongleur. What do you hear now?" said he.
"My lord, I can hear nothing," answered the littl
e man.
"I have drunken too deep," said the Baron; "surely I am most devilishlydrunk, for I can hear, I can hear"--he leant in the manner of a manlistening--"I can hear now as I speak to you, voices as of a greatcompany of men praying to Our Lady--listen! their voices are prayingdeeply. I think they must be monks."
"Lord, look you to this," whispered the serf, terror-stricken.
The dog, perhaps because he felt the three men were going in fear, orperhaps from some deeper and more hidden reason which men do not yetunderstand, crouched low on the ground and hid his head between hispaws, whining.
"They are praying to the Blessed Virgin," said Geoffroi. "Can you hearnothing--those deep voices?"
"My lord," said the jongleur with more confidence, "the night is late,and I have known many sounds appear like human voices in the night. Acow loweth or a beetle boometh in the orchard flowers."
"What it may be I do not know," answered he, "but I know that it is noox a-lowing or fly upon the wing. I am not mocked. There is somethingwrong with the night."
"The more reason, Sir Geoffroi, that I should divert you with tales andjests. These fearful nights of strange lights in the sky and noises fromthe fen lands need some light business to fill the mind. To bed, mylord!"
"Come then," said Geoffroi. "God shield us, it is very hot," and as heturned, the sweat stood in great drops upon his brow.
At the exact moment the little party entered the door of Outfangthef,the serfs, far down in the fen, rose from their knees, and began tosteal swiftly and noiselessly up the hill.
The Baron's sleeping chamber was an octagonal stone room with a groinedroof. A faldestol, the great-grandfather of our own armchair, spreadwith cushions, stood by a tall candlestick. The bed boasted curtains anda roof, though its occupant lay upon nothing more luxurious than straw.On a low table near the faldestol were some vessels of glass and silver.Arms hung upon the walls, and a litter of shavings on the floor showedthe Baron had been carving at some time during the day. On the perch bythe bed head sat Geoffroi's favourite hawk, now sunk in motionless andsinister sleep.
Taken as a whole, the apartment was extremely comfortable and evenluxurious in its appearance. To reconstruct it nowadays would cost themodern aesthete an enormous sum of money.
The serf knelt at the threshold and delivered the torch to the jongleur,who lit the candle from it. Then Geoffroi shut the door, and, removinghis tunic and short cloak, flung himself on the bed.
"Sit there," he said to the man, pointing to the faldestol. "There iswine upon the table if you are thirsty." Then he added with a change ofmanner, "you are well found in faery tales and sic like. What means thenoise I have heard to-night?"
"They say, my lord, that souls that cannot rest may be heard singing andwailing in the fen, calling on each other in reproach."
"The pot upbraiding the kettle for the soot on't! Well, well, that sweetmorat is bad for a man, I think. Better stick to wine. The honey makesthe brain mad."
"There is poison in many flowers," said the jongleur, "and what likes abee's belly well enough may be bad for a man. It was the drink in you,my lord, for I heard no sound."
"It does not matter much. It is done and over. For the minute I wasaccoyed. Tell me a story."
"The night before the great fight of Senlac," said the jongleur, "istold of as a most wonderful strange night. The minstrel, Taillefer, wenta-wandering round the camp fires, cheering the hearts of the soldierswith songs, by the order of Duke William himself. The Duke had madeorder that but little wine was to be given to the troops, and that theywere to ride into battle shriven and fasting. So he sent Taillefer tocheer them with songs. The minstrel wandered from fire to fire over thehill till he was weary and would sleep. He came, as he went, to the oldfort of the Haestingas, and there, under a ruined wall, he laid himdown.
"Now my lord, Sir Taillefer was a very evil man. By the rood, but he wasan evil man! Whatever deviltry a could lay his mind to, that did he, andhe was in great favour with the Duke.
"Now two days before the battle the Norman army had come sailing fromSaint Valeri, and had landed on the sands of England at Bulverhithe,near Pevensey, or Anderida, as some will have it. No Saxon came tooppose the landing, for the fighting men were all at the northern war onDerwent banks. In the village, Taillefer came upon a farmhouse, wherethe farmer was away at the war, for all the houses were empty of men.There did he find and ill-use a beautiful Saxon girl, who did resist himwith many tears. He was a gay fellow, with ever a song in's mouth, butfor all that, his dwelling that night was besprent with tears andwailing.
"Now, as Taillefer lay a-sleeping in the old fort, there came to him andstood by his side a long, thin man, with yellow hair and a cleft lip.'What are you?' said Taillefer. 'Look well at me,' said the man, 'for Iam the father of Githa, whom you used with violence. To-morrow morn weshall meet again. You will be singing your last song.'
"Now Taillefer was a brave man, and loved a fight, so with that he gothim his axe and cleft the man from head to toe. But the blow wentthrough the air as if no one was there, and the axe, falling upon arock, was splintered into pieces and Taillefer a top of it, sprawlingface down, and, they say, bawling most lustily. Two soldiers found him,and he said he was drunk to them, though he was no more drunk than mycrowth.
"On the morrow, at nine of the clock, the bugles rang out mots of war,and the Normans were about advancing. Taillefer, in great inward fear,for he knew that he would die that day, prayed a boon from the Duke,that he might strike the first blow of the fight. He did not want tolive long with the fear upon him. The Duke said aye to his question, soa-got on his destrier, and went riding out of the lines singing gaily,though 'twas said his face was very pale. He couched his lance at aSaxon, and pierced him through. Then a tall, thin man, with yellow hairand s cleft lip, came swiftly at him with a sword, and thrust it intohis belly before he could recover the lance. 'It is you, then,' saidTaillefer, and died in great torment."
His voice sank into silence, and he lifted the wine-cup for refreshment.
"It is a strange story," said Geoffroi, "and a pitiful to-do about atheow girl. I do not believe that story."
"I spun it as 'twas told to me, my lord," said the teller humbly.
The big man moved among the crackling straw and crossed himself, and wewho have no great crime upon our conscience need not be careful toenquire into his thoughts.
"I will sleep now," he said after a pause.
The minstrel rose to go, bowing a farewell.
"No," said Geoffroi; "stay there, make your bed in that faldestolto-night. I do not care to be alone. And, mark well! that if you hearany untoward noise, or should you hear a sound of men's voices praying,rouse me at once."
He turned his face towards the wall, and before long his deep breathingshowed that sleep had come to him.
The candle began to burn very low and to flicker. The jongleur sawenormous purple shadows leap at each other across the room, and play,fantastic, about the bed. He rose and peered out of a narrow unglazedwindow in the thickness of the wall. The hot air from the room passed byhis cheeks as it made its way outside. There was no lightning now, andthe sky was beginning to be full of a colourless and clear light, whichshowed that dawn was about to begin. Far, far away in some distantsteading, the jongleur heard the crowing of a cock.
As he watched, the daylight began to flow and flood out of the East, andclose to the window he heard a thin, reedy chirp from a starling justhalf awake.
He turned round towards the room, thinking he heard a stir. He saw theelderly man on the bed risen up upon his elbow. His right hand pointedtowards the opposite wall, at a space over the table. With a horrid fearthumping in his heart and sanding his throat, the minstrel saw thatGeoffroi's eyes were open in an extremity of terror, and his nostrilswere caught up and drawn like a man in a fit.
"My lord! my lord!" he quavered at him.
There was no sign that Geoffroi heard him, except for a quivering of hispointing, rigid finger. The minstrel took
up a vessel of glass from thetable, and flung it on the floor.
The crash roused the Baron. His arm dropped and his face relaxed, and,with a little groan, he fell face down in a swoon. The minstrel hoppedabout the room in an agony of indecision. Then he took the jug of wine,the only liquid he could find, and, turning the Baron on his back, heflung it in his face.
Geoffroi sat up with a sudden shout, all dripping crimson. He held outhis red-stained hand. "What is this? What is this?" he cried in a high,unnatural voice. "This is blood on my hand!"
"No, my lord, it is wine," said the jongleur; "you fell into a deepswoon, and it was thus I roused you."
"Did you see him?" said Geoffroi. "Oh, did you see him by the wall?Christ shield us all! It was Pierce, a soldier of mine. His throat wascut and all bloody, and he made mouths like a man whose throat is slitin war."
"My lord, you are disordered," said the jongleur. "You ate pork atsupper, a wonderful bad thing for the belly at night."
Geoffroi said never a word, but fell trembling upon his knees.