The House of Walderne Part 48

"To the dungeons! Show us the way to the dungeons, and we give you your life," cried their leader--Kynewulf--to an individual whose bunch of keys attached to his girdle showed his office.

"The friar is safe below, unhurt. I will take you to him. But I have no key."

"Where is it, then?"

"Sir Drogo has taken it with him."

"We will have it open.

"Friar Martin, art thou within?"

"Safe and uninjured. Is it thou, Kynewulf? Then I charge thee that thou do no hurt to any here. They have not injured me."

"Not injured thee, to place thee here! Well, we will soon have thee out. We have promised Grimbeard to bring thee to him, or forfeit our lives. He is dying."

"Dying! And I not there! What has chanced?"

"He was. .h.i.t by one of those arrows the treacherous Drogo shot from the wall while the flag of truce was yet flying, when we first came to demand thee. But we must work to relieve thee."

And toil they did, but all in vain. They had no tools to force that iron door.

Meanwhile a sound of scuffling drew other members of the band to a chamber in the tower, where the good knight Ralph de Monceux was confined, and as they approached they heard a heavy fall and found Marboeuf lying dead on the floor, his skull cleft asunder, whilst over him stood Ralph, axe in hand.

The "merrie men" knew their bold captive.

"Ah! How is this? What ox hast thou felled?"

"Only a butcher who came in to slay me, but I avoided the blow, flew suddenly at his wrist and mastered the weapon, when I gave him what at Oxford we called quid pro quo, as we strewed the shambles with boves boreales."

They did not understand his Latin, but they knew Marboeuf, who, as the reader will comprehend, seeing all was lost, had striven to perform his vow, and happily had begun first with this dexterous young knight. Hence they found the poor mayor of Hamelsham safe and sound, only a little less afraid of the "merrie men" than of Drogo; for often had they rifled the castle and robbed the hen roosts of his town.

But all their efforts failed to open Martin's door, and they were at their wits' end what to do. They heard a rumour that the battle was lost, so they set men to watch, and prepared an ambush in his own caste yard for Drogo, in case he should survive the fight and come to hide, with especial instructions to take him alive, as they intended to hang him from his own tower.

Meanwhile, through the dewy night, amidst the thousand odours of the woods, rode Hubert and his fifty hors.e.m.e.n. They stayed not for brake, and they slacked not for ford. All the loving heart of Hubert went before him to the rescue of the friend of his boyish days; suffering, he doubted not, cruel wrong and unmerited imprisonment in a noisome dungeon. And ere the midnight hour he arrived amidst the familiar scenes, and saw at length the towers rise before him in the faint light of a new moon.

The sound of his horses must have been heard, but no challenge of warder awaited them. When the party arrived they found the drawbridge down, the gates open. What could it mean?

"It may be treachery. Look to your arms ere you ride in," cried Hubert.

They entered the court through the gateway in the Barbican tower.

Instantly the gates slammed behind them, the portcullis fell, and, as by magic, the windows and courtyard were crowded with men in green jerkins with bended bows.

"What means this outrage," cried Hubert aloud, "upon the heir of Walderne as he enters his own castle?"

"That you are in the power of the merrie men of the greenwood. If you be Drogo of Walderne, surrender, and spare bloodshed: all who have never harmed us to go free."

"Then are we all free. My men are from Kenilworth, and can never have harmed you in word or deed. As for Drogo, he fell by my hand this day in fair combat."

"Who art thou, then?"

"Hubert, son of Roger of Walderne, and I seek my brother Martin--Friar Martin--whom you all must know."

Instantly every hostile demonstration ceased. The doors were thrown open, and the men who, a moment before, were about to fly at each other's throats, mingled freely as friends.

"Martin is below," they said. "Have you smiths who can force a door?"

"Lead me to him. HERE IS THE KEY."

Down the steps they flew, almost tumbling over each other in their eagerness. The key was applied, the rusty bolt flew back, and Hubert was clasped in Martin's arms.

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For a long while the spectators of this joyful meeting waited in the courtyard of the castle, which was thronged by men who had only been restrained by a merciful Providence from bending their deadly weapons against each other. Now their thoughts were thoughts of peace, yet they hardly understood why and wherefore.

But after a while there was a commotion in the great hall, and soon Martin stood on the summit of the steps, worn and pale, leaning on the stout shoulders of Hubert. Their eyes were both swimming in tears--but tears of joy. Cheers and acclamations rent the air, and it was a long while ere silence was restored for the voice of the late prisoner to be heard.

"Men and brethren, I thank you for your great love to me, and for the desire wherewith ye have desired my freedom, and jeopardised your own precious lives in its cause. And now, if I am welcome"--(loud cheers)--"so must be my dear brother Hubert, Lord of Walderne by the will of the Lady Sybil, a true knight, a warrior of the Cross, and a friend of the poor." (Loud cheers again). "Many of you will remember the night when he parted from you, when Sir Nicholas, who is gone, introduced him to you as his undoubted heir, and many have grieved over him, and said, 'Full forty fathom deep he lies.' But here he is in flesh and blood!" (Renewed cheers).

"And now, O men of the greenwood, whom I love so dearly, let me, a child of the greenwood, speak yet a few words about myself. For I am not only the last represent alive of the old English house of Michelham, but also a son of the house of Walderne; Mabel, my mother, being the sister, as many know, of the Lady Sybil. Ah, well. I seek a more continuing city than either Walderne or Michelham, and I want no earthly dignities. Wherever G.o.d gives me souls to tend is my home; and He has given it me, O men of the Andredsweald, amongst my countrymen and my kindred, and to Hubert I leave the castle right gladly. Now let there be peace, and let men turn their swords into ploughshares and their spears into pruning hooks, and hasten the glorious day when the kingdoms of this world shall become the kingdoms of G.o.d and His Christ."

"We will. G.o.d bless Sir Hubert of Walderne."

"G.o.d bless brother Martin."

Drogo was forgotten, as though he had never lived, forgiven and forgotten. And the mult.i.tude dispersed, each man to his own home or haunt in the forest, leaving Sir Hubert in possession of the castle of his ancestors, and Martin his guest.

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Martin's first wish after his release was, as our readers will imagine, to visit his mother, and a.s.sure her of his safety in person. Kynewulf was in waiting to escort him. He had caused a litter to be constructed of the branches of trees, knowing that the severe strain Martin had undergone must have rendered him too weak for so long a journey; and the "merrie men" were only too eager to relieve each other in bearing so precious a burden.

"You will find our chieftain very far from well," said Kynewulf, as he walked by Martin's side. "He was wounded by one of the arrows from the castle when we came to demand your liberation of Drogo, and the wound has taken a bad turn."

"How does my poor mother bear it?"

"Like a true wife and good Englishwoman."

No more was said. Martin lapsed into deep thought until the retreat of the outlaws was attained. There, on a couch strewn with skins and soft herbage, lay the redoubtable Grimbeard; and by his side, nursing him tenderly, Mabel of Walderne. But for this she had been with Martin's rescuers at the castle, but she could not leave her dying lord, who clung fondly to her now, and would take food from no other hand.

The wound he had received had been thought slight, and neglected.

Hence it had become serious, and since Kynewulf departed mortification had set in.

The mother rose and embraced her "sweet son."

"Thank G.o.d!" she said, and led him to his stepfather's side.

Grimbeard raised himself with difficulty, and looked Martin in the face.