The House of Walderne Part 26

"'My sisters, the birds, it is now my turn to speak. You have sung your sweet songs to G.o.d. Now let me tell men how good He is.'

"And the birds were silent."

"I can quite believe it."

"His power over animals was wonderful. Once a little hare was brought in, all alive, for the food of the brotherhood, and they were just going to kill the wee thing, when Francis came in and pitied it.

"'Little brother leveret,' he said. 'How didst thou let thyself be taken?'

"The poor hare rushed from the hands of him who held it, and took refuge in the robe of the father.

"'Nay, go back to thy home, and do not let thyself be caught again,' he said, and they took it back to the woods and let it go."

Just at this point they reached Chiddinglye, and as they emerged from the forest on the green, Ginepro spied a number of children playing at seesaw in a timber yard, laughing and shouting merrily.

Instantly he cried, "Oh, there they are; I love seesaw; I must go and have a turn."

"Are we not too old for such sport?" said Martin.

"Not a bit. I feel quite like a child," and off he ran to join the children amidst the laughter of a few older people.

But the young brother did not simply play at seesaw. He got the children around him, after a while, and soon held them breathless as he related the story of the Child of Bethlehem and the Holy Innocents, stories which came quite fresh to them in those days, when there were few books, and fewer readers. And these little Suss.e.x children drank in the touching story with all their little ears and hearts. In all Ginepro did there was a wondrous freshness.

And that same evening, when the woodmen came home from work, Martin preached to the whole village from the steps of the churchyard cross.

It was a strangely impressive scene. The mighty background of the forest; the friar in his gray dress, his features all animation and life; the mult.i.tude listening as if they were carried away by the eloquence of one whose like they had never seen before; the tears running down furrows on their grimy cheeks, specially visible on those of the iron smelters, of whom there were many in old Suss.e.x.

Close by stood the parish priest, listening with delight and without that jealousy which too often moved the shepherds of the parochial flocks to resent the advent of the friar. And when Martin at last stopped, exhausted:

"Ye will both come with me, you and your brother, who has been preaching to my little ones, and be my guests this night."

And they willingly consented.

But we must return to our crusader and his fortunes.

Chapter 15: The Crusader Sets Forth.

The hall of Walderne Castle was brilliantly illuminated by torches stuck in iron cressets all round, and eke by waxen tapers in sconces on the tables. All the retainers of the house were present, whether inmates of the castle or tenants of the soil. There were men-at-arms of Norman or Poitevin blood, franklins and ceorls (churls) of Saxon lineage; all to gaze upon the face of their young lord, and acknowledge him as their liege, ere he left them for the treacherous and burning East to accomplish his father's vow.

The Holy Land! That grave of warriors! How far away it seemed in those days of slow locomotion.

A rude oak table of enormous strength extended two-thirds of the length of the hall. At the end another "board," raised a foot higher, formed the letter T with the lower one; and in its centre, just opposite the junction, sat Sir Nicholas in a chair of state, surmounted by a canopy; on his right hand the Lady Sybil, on his left the hero of the night, our Hubert.

The walls of the hall were wainscoted with dark oak, richly carved; and hung round with suits of antique and modern armour, rudely dinted; with tattered banners, stained with the life blood of those who had borne them in many a b.l.o.o.d.y field at home and abroad. There were the horns of enormous deer, the tusks of patriarchal boars; war against man and beast was ever the burden of the chorus of life then.

And the supper--shall I give the bill of fare?

First, the fish. Everything that swam in the rivers of the Weald (they be coa.r.s.e and small) was there; perch, roach, carp, tench (pike not come into England yet). And of sea fish--herrings, mackerel, soles, salmon, porpoises--a goodly number.

Secondly, the birds. A peac.o.c.k at the high board, goodly to look upon, bitter to eat; two swans (oh, how tough); vultures, puffins, herons, cranes, curlews, pheasants, partridges (out of season or in season didn't matter); and scores of domestic fowls--hens, geese, pigeons, ducks, et id genus omne.

Thirdly, the beasts. Two deer, five boars from the forest, come to pay their last respects to the young crusader; and to leave indigestion, perhaps, as a reminder of their fealty. From the barnyard, ten little porkers, roasted whole; one ox, four sheep--only the best joints of these, the rest given away; and two succulent calves.

Of the pastry--twelve gallons cream, twenty gallons curds, three bushels of last autumn's apples were the foundation; two bushels of flour; almonds and raisins. Yes, they had already got them in England.

In point of variety, they a little overdid it; sometimes mingling wine, cheese, honey, raisins, olives, eggs, yea, and vinegar, all in one grand dish. It sets the teeth on edge to think of it.

As for the wines, there were Bordeaux (Gascon), and Malmsey (Rhenish), and Romeneye, b.a.s.t.a.r.d and Osey (very sweet the last two); and for liquors hippocras and clary (not claret).

All was profusion, not to say waste, but the poor had a good time afterwards. And when the desire of eating and drinking was satisfied, the harpers and gleemen began; and first the chief harper, with h.o.a.ry beard, sang his solo:

Sometimes in the night watch, Half seen in the gloaming, Come visions advancing, advancing, retreating All into the darkness.

And the harps responded in deep minor chords: All into the darkness.

We dream that we clasp them, The forms of our dear ones.

When, lo, as we touch them, They leave us and vanish On wings that beat lightly The still paths of slumber.

Very softly the harps: The still paths of slumber.

They left in high valour The land of their boyhood, And sorrowful patience Awaits their returning While love holds expectant Their homes in our bosoms.

Sweetly the harps: Their homes in our bosoms.

In high hope they left us In sorrow with weeping Their loved ones await them.

For lo, to their greeting Instead of our heroes Come only their phantoms.

The harps deep and low: Come only their phantoms.

We weep as we reckon The deeds of their glory-- Of this one the wisdom, Of that one the valour: And they in their beauty Sleep sound in their death shrouds.

The harps dismally: Sleep sound in their death shrouds {22}.

"Stop! stop!" said Sir Nicholas, for tears rose to his lady's eyes.

"No more of this. Strike up some more hopeful lay. What mean you by such boding?"

"Let the heir stay with us," cried the guests.

"Nay; I have striven in vain that so it might be, but his father, Sir Roger, wills otherwise, and the son can but obey. I see you love him for his own fair face;" (Hubert blushed), "for the deed of valour by which he won his spurs; and for his blood and kindred.

But go he will and must, and there is an end of it.

"One more announcement I have to make. The father of our Hubert, mindful of the past, wishes to make what reparation is in his power. He bids me announce that he intends to take the life vows in the Priory of Saint Pancras, and to be known from henceforth as Brother Roger; and that his son should be formally adopted by us.

He is so in our hearts already, and should bear from henceforth the name of 'Radulphus,' or 'Ralph,' in memory of his grandfather.

"Now I have said all. Render him your homage, swear to be faithful, and acknowledge no other lord when I am gone and while he lives."

They all rose to their feet, and with the greatest enthusiasm swore to acknowledge none but Hubert as Lord of Walderne while he lived.