The court at Westminster during the few months which followed the
capture of Calais was the most brilliant in Europe. Tournaments and
fetes followed each other in rapid succession, and to these knights came
from all parts. So great was the reputation of King Edward that deputies
came from Germany, where the throne was now vacant, to offer the crown
of that kingdom to him. The king declined the offer, for it would have
been impossible indeed for him to have united the German crown with that
of England, which he already held, and that of France, which he claimed.
Some months after his return to England the Black Prince asked his
father as a boon that the hand of his ward Edith Vernon should be
bestowed upon the prince's brave follower Sir Walter Somers, and as
Queen Philippa, in the name of the lady's mother, seconded the request,
the king at once acceded to it. Edith was now sixteen, an age at which,
in those days, a young lady was considered to be marriageable, and the
wedding took place with great pomp and ceremony at Westminster; the
king himself giving away the bride, and bestowing, as did the prince and
Queen Philippa, many costly presents upon the young couple. After taking
part in several of the tournaments, Walter went with his bride and Dame
Vernon down to their estates, and were received with great rejoicing
by the tenantry, the older of whom well remembered Walter's father and
mother, and were rejoiced at finding that they were again to become the
vassals of one of the old family. Dame Vernon was greatly loved by her
tenantry; but the latter had looked forward with some apprehension to
the marriage of the young heiress, as the character of the knight upon
whom the king might bestow her hand would greatly affect the happiness
and well being of his tenants.
Sir James Carnegie had not returned to England after the fall of Calais;
he perceived that he was in grave disfavour with the Black Prince,
and guessed, as was the case, that some suspicion had fallen on him
in reference to the attack upon Walter in the camp, and to the strange
attempt which had been made to destroy him by Sir Phillip Holbeaut. He
had, therefore, for a time taken service with the Count of Savoy, and
was away from England, to the satisfaction of Walter and Dame Vernon,
when the marriage took place; for he had given proofs of such a
malignity of disposition that both felt, that although his succession to
the estates was now hopelessly barred, yet that he might at any moment
attempt some desperate deed to satisfy his feeling of disappointment and
revenge.
In spite of the gaiety of the court of King Edward a cloud hung over the
kingdom; for it was threatened by a danger far more terrible than any
combination of foes--a danger which no gallantry upon the part of her
king or warriors availed anything. With a slow and terrible march the
enemy was advancing from the East, where countless hosts had been slain.
India, Arabia, Syria, and Armenia had been well-nigh depopulated. In no
country which the dread foe had invaded had less than two-thirds of the
population been slain; in some nine-tenths had perished. All sorts of
portents were reported to have accompanied its appearance in the East;
where it was said showers of serpents had fallen, strange and unknown
insects had appeared in the atmosphere, and clouds of sulphurous vapour
had issued from the earth and enveloped whole provinces and countries.
For two or three years the appearance of this scourge had been heralded
by strange atmospheric disturbances; heavy rains and unusual floods,
storms of thunder and lightning of unheard-of violence, hail-showers
of unparalleled duration and severity, had everywhere been experienced,
while in Italy and Germany violent earthquake shocks had been felt, and
that at places where no tradition existed of previous occurrences of the
same kind.
From Asia it had spread to Africa and to Europe, affecting first the
sea-shores and creeping inland by the course of the rivers. Greece first
felt its ravages, and Italy was not long in experiencing them. In Venice
more than 100,000 persons perished in a few months, and thence spreading
over the whole peninsula, not a town escaped the visitation. At Florence
60,000 people were carried off, and at Lucca and Genoa, in Sicily,
Sardinia, and Corsica it raged with equal violence. France was assailed
by way of Provence, and Avignon suffered especially. Of the English
college at that place not an individual was left, and 120 persons died
in a single day in that small city. Paris lost upwards of 50,000 of its
inhabitants, while 90,000 were swept away in Lubeck, and 1,200,000 died
within a year of its first appearance in Germany.
In England the march of the pestilence westward was viewed with deep
apprehension, and the approaching danger was brought home to the people
by the death of the Princess Joan, the king's second daughter. She was
affianced to Peter, the heir to the throne of Spain; and the bride, who
had not yet accomplished her fourteenth year, was sent over to Bordeaux
with considerable train of attendants in order to be united there to
her promised husband. Scarcely had she reached Bordeaux when she was
attacked by the pestilence and died in a few hours. A few days later
the news spread through the country that the disease had appeared almost
simultaneously at several of the seaports in the south-west of England.
Thence with great rapidity it spread through the kingdom; proceeding
through Gloucestershire and Oxfordshire it broke out in London, and the
ravages were no less severe than they had been on the Continent, the
very lowest estimate being that two-thirds of the population were swept
away. Most of those attacked died within a few hours of the seizure. If
they survived for two days they generally rallied, but even then many
fell into a state of coma from which they never awoke.
No words can describe the terror and dismay caused by this the most
destructive plague of which there is any record in history. No remedies
were of the slightest avail against it; flight was impossible, for the
loneliest hamlets suffered as severely as crowded towns, and frequently
not a single survivor was left. Men met the pestilence in various moods:
the brave with fortitude, the pious with resignation, the cowardly and
turbulent with outbursts of despair and fury. Among the lower classes
the wildest rumours gained credence. Some assigned the pestilence to
witchcraft, others declared that the waters of the wells and streams had
been poisoned. Serious riots occurred in many places, and great numbers
of people fell victims to the fury of the mob under the suspicion of
being connected in some way with the ravages of the pestilence. The
Jews, ever the objects of popular hostility, engendered by ignorance
and superstition, were among the chief sufferers. Bands of marauders
wandered through the country plundering the houses left empty by the
death of all their occupants, and from end to end death and suffering
were universal.
Although all classes had suffered heavily the ravages of the disease
were, as is always the case, greater among the poor than among the rich,
the insanitary conditions of their life, and their coarser and commoner
food rendering them more liable to its influence; no rank, however, was
exempted, and no less than three Archbishops of Canterbury were carried
off in succession by the pestilence within a year of its appearance.
During the months which succeeded his marriage Sir Walter Somers lived
quietly and happily with his wife at Westerham. It was not until late
in the year that the plague approached the neighbourhood. Walter had
determined to await its approach there. He had paid a few short visits
to the court, where every effort was made by continuous gaiety to keep
up the spirits of the people and prevent them from brooding over the
approaching pestilence; but when it was at hand Walter and his wife
agreed that they would rather share the lot of their tenants, whom their
presence and example might support and cheer in their need, than
return to face it in London. One morning when they were at breakfast a
frightened servant brought in the news that the disease had appeared
in the village, that three persons had been taken ill on the previous
night, that two had already died, and that several others had sickened.
“The time has come, my children,” Dame Vernon said calmly, “the danger
so long foreseen is at hand, now let us face it as we agreed to do. It
has been proved that flight is useless, since nowhere is there escape
from the plague; here, at least, there shall be no repetition of the
terrible scenes we have heard of elsewhere, where the living have fled
in panic and allowed the stricken to die unattended. We have already
agreed that we will set the example to our people by ourselves going
down and administering to the sick.”
“It is hard,” Walter said, rising and pacing up and down the room, “to
let Edith go into it.”
“Edith will do just the same as you do,” his wife said firmly. “Were it
possible that all in this house might escape, there might be a motive
for turning coward, but seeing that no household is spared, there is, as
we agreed, greater danger in flying from the pestilence than facing it
firmly.”
Walter sighed.
“You are right,” he said, “but it wrings my heart to see you place
yourself in danger.”
“Were we out of danger here, Walter, it might be so,” Edith replied
gently; “but since there is no more safety in the castle than in the
cottage, we must face death whether it pleases us or not, and it were
best to do so bravely.”
“So be it,” Walter said; “may the God of heaven watch over us all!
Now, mother, do you and Edith busy yourselves in preparing broths,
strengthening drinks, and medicaments. I will go down at once to the
village and see how matters stand there and who are in need. We have
already urged upon all our people to face the danger bravely, and if
die they must, to die bravely like Christians, and not like coward dogs.
When you have prepared your soups and cordials come down and meet me
in the village, bringing Mabel and Janet, your attendants, to carry the
baskets.”
Ralph, who was now installed as major-domo in the castle, at once set
out with Walter. They found the village in a state of panic. Women were
sitting crying despairingly at their doors. Some were engaged in packing
their belongings in carts preparatory to flight, some wandered aimlessly
about wringing their hands, while others went to the church, whose bells
were mournfully tolling the dirge of the departed. Walter's presence
soon restored something like order and confidence; his resolute tone
cheered the timid and gave hope to the despairing. Sternly he rebuked
those preparing to fly, and ordered them instantly to replace their
goods in their houses. Then he went to the priest and implored him to
cause the tolling of the bell to cease.
“There is enough,” he said, “in the real danger present to appall even
the bravest, and we need no bell to tell us that death is among us. The
dismal tolling is enough to unnerve the stoutest heart, and if we ring
for all who die its sounds will never cease while the plague is among
us; therefore, father, I implore you to discontinue it. Let there be
services held daily in the church, but I beseech you strive in your
discourses to cheer the people rather than to depress them, and to dwell
more upon the joys that await those who die as Christian men and women
than upon the sorrows of those who remain behind. My wife and mother
will anon be down in the village and will strive to cheer and comfort
the people, and I look to you for aid in this matter.”
The priest, who was naturally a timid man, nevertheless nerved himself
to carry out Walter's suggestions, and soon the dismal tones of the bell
ceased to be heard in the village.
Walter despatched messengers to all the outlying farms desiring his
tenants to meet him that afternoon at the castle in order that measures
might be concerted for common aid and assistance. An hour later Dame
Vernon and Edith came down and visited all the houses where the plague
had made its appearance, distributing their soups, and by cheering and
comforting words raising the spirits of the relatives of the sufferers.
The names of all the women ready to aid in the general work of nursing
were taken down, and in the afternoon at the meeting at the castle the
full arrangements were completed. Work was to be carried on as usual
in order to occupy men's minds and prevent them from brooding over the
ravages of the plague. Information of any case that occurred was to
be sent to the castle, where soups and medicines were to be obtained.
Whenever more assistance was required than could be furnished by the
inmates of a house another woman was to be sent to aid. Boys were told
off as messengers to fetch food and other matters as required from the
castle.
So, bravely and firmly, they prepared to meet the pestilence; it spread
with terrible severity. Scarce a house which did not lose some of its
inmates, while in others whole families were swept away. All day Walter
and his wife and Dame Vernon went from house to house, and although they
could do nothing to stem the progress of the pestilence, their presence
and example supported the survivors and prevented the occurrence of any
of the panic and disorder which in most places accompanied it.
The castle was not exempt from the scourge. First some of the domestics
were seized, and three men and four women died. Walter himself was
attacked, but he took it lightly, and three days after the seizure
passed into a state of convalescence. Dame Vernon was next attacked, and
expired six hours after the commencement of the seizure. Scarcely was
Walter upon his feet than Ralph, who had not for a moment left his
bedside, was seized, but he too, after being at death's door for some
hours, turned the corner. Lastly Edith sickened.
By this time the scourge had done its worst in the village, and
three-fifths of the population had been swept away. All the male
retainers in the castle had died, and the one female who survived was
nursing her dying mother in the village.
Edith's attack was a very severe one. Walter, alone now, for Ralph,
although convalescent, had not yet left his bed, sat by his wife's
bedside a prey to anxiety and grief; for although she had resisted the
first attack she was now, thirty-six hours after it had seized her, fast
sinking. Gradually her sight and power of speech faded, and she sank
into the state of coma which was the prelude of death, and lay quiet and
motionless, seeming as if life had already departed. Suddenly Walter was
surprised by the sound of many heavy feet ascending the stairs. He went
out into the ante-room to learn the cause of this strange tumult, when
five armed men, one of whom was masked, rushed into the room. Walter
caught up his sword from the table.
“Ruffians,” he exclaimed, “how dare you desecrate the abode of death?”
Without a word the men sprang upon him. For a minute he defended himself
against their attacks, but he was still weak, his guard was beaten down,
and a blow felled him to the ground.
“Now settle her,” the masked man exclaimed, and the band rushed into the
adjoining room. They paused, however, at the door at the sight of the
lifeless figure on the couch.
“We are saved that trouble,” one said, “we have come too late.”
The masked figure approached the couch and bent over the figure.
“Yes,” he said, “she is dead, and so much the better.”
Then he returned with the others to Walter.
“He breathes yet,” he said. “He needs a harder blow than that you gave
him to finish him. Let him lie here for a while, while you gather your
booty together; then we will carry him off. There is scarcely a soul
alive in the country round, and none will note us as we pass. I would
not despatch him here, seeing that his body would be found with wounds
upon it, and even in these times some inquiry might be made; therefore
it were best to finish him elsewhere. When he is missed it will be
supposed that he went mad at the death of his wife, and has wandered
out and died, may be in the woods, or has drowned himself in a pond or
stream. Besides, I would that before he dies he should know what hand
has struck the blow, and that my vengeance, which he slighted and has
twice escaped, has overtaken him at last.”
After ransacking the principal rooms and taking all that was valuable,
the band of marauders lifted the still insensible body of Walter, and
carrying it down-stairs flung it across a horse. One of the ruffians
mounted behind it, and the others also getting into their saddles the
party rode away.
They were mistaken, however, in supposing that the Lady Edith was dead.
She was indeed very nigh the gates of death, and had it not been for the
disturbance would assuredly have speedily entered them. The voice of her
husband raised in anger, the clash of steel, followed by the heavy fall,
had awakened her deadened brain. Consciousness had at once returned to
her, but as yet no power of movement. As at a great distance she had
heard the words of those who entered her chamber, and had understood
their import. More and more distinctly she heard their movements about
the room as they burst open her caskets and appropriated her jewels, but
it was not until silence was restored that the gathering powers of life
asserted themselves; then with a sudden rush the blood seemed to course
through her veins, her eyes opened, and her tongue was loosed, and with
a scream she sprang up and stood by the side of her bed.
Sustained as by a supernatural power she hurried into the next room. A
pool of blood on the floor showed her that what she had heard had not
been a dream or the fiction of a disordered brain. Snatching up a cloak
of her husband's which lay on a couch, she wrapped it round her, and
with hurried steps made her way along the passages until she reached the
apartment occupied by Ralph. The latter sprang up in bed with a cry of
astonishment. He had heard but an hour before from Walter that all
hope was gone, and thought for an instant that the appearance was an
apparition from the dead. The ghastly pallor of the face, the eyes
burning with a strange light, the flowing hair, and disordered
appearance of the girl might well have alarmed one living in even less
superstitious times, and Ralph began to cross himself hastily and to
mutter a prayer when recalled to himself by the sound of Edith's voice.
“Quick, Ralph!” she said, “arise and clothe yourself. Hasten, for your
life. My lord's enemies have fallen upon him and wounded him grievously,
even if they have not slain him, and have carried him away. They would
have slain me also had they not thought I was already dead. Arise and
mount, summon everyone still alive in the village, and follow these
murderers. I will pull the alarm-bell of the castle.”
Ralph sprang from his bed as Edith left. He had heard the sound of many
footsteps in the knight's apartments, but had deemed them those of the
priest and his acolytes come to administer the last rites of the church
to his dying mistress. Rage and anxiety for his master gave strength
to his limbs. He threw on a few clothes and rushed down to the stables,
where the horses stood with great piles of forage and pails of water
before them, placed there two days before, by Walter when their last
attendant died. Without waiting to saddle it, Ralph sprang upon the back
of one of the animals, and taking the halters of four others started at
a gallop down to the village.
His news spread like wild fire, for the ringing of the alarm-bell of
the castle had drawn all to their doors and prepared them for something
strange. Some of the men had already taken their arms and were making
their way up to the castle when they met Ralph. There were but five men
in the village who had altogether escaped the pestilence; others had
survived its attacks, but were still weak. Horses there were in plenty.
The five men mounted at once, with three others who, though still weak,
were able to ride.
So great was the excitement that seven women who had escaped the disease
armed themselves with their husbands' swords and leaped on horseback,
declaring that, women though they were, they would strike a blow for
their beloved lord, who had been as an angel in the village during the
plague. Thus it was scarcely more than ten minutes after the marauders
had left the castle before a motley band, fifteen strong, headed by
Ralph, rode off in pursuit, while some of the women of the village
hurried up to the castle to comfort Edith with the tidings that the
pursuit had already commenced. Fortunately a lad in the fields had
noticed the five men ride away from the castle, and was able to point
out the direction they had taken.
At a furious gallop Ralph and his companions tore across the country.
Mile after mile was passed. Once or twice they gained news from
labourers in the field of the passage of those before them, and knew
that they were on the right track. They had now entered a wild and
sparsely inhabited country. It was broken and much undulated, so that
although they knew that the band they were pursuing were but a short
distance ahead they had not yet caught sight of them, and they hoped
that, having no reason to dread any immediate pursuit, these would soon
slacken their pace. This expectation was realized, for on coming over a
brow they saw the party halted at a turf-burner's cottage in the hollow
below. Three of the men had dismounted; two of them were examining the
hoof of one of the horses, which had apparently cast a shoe or trodden
upon a stone. Ralph had warned his party to make no sound when they came
upon the fugitives. The sound of the horses' hoofs was deadened by the
turf, and they were within a hundred yards of the marauders before they
were perceived; then Ralph uttered a shout and brandishing their swords
the party rode down at a headlong gallop.
The dismounted men leaped to their saddles and galloped off at full
speed, but their pursuers were now close upon them. Ralph and two of his
companions, who were mounted upon Walter's best horses, gained upon them
at every stride. Two of them were overtaken and run through.
The man who bore Walter before him, finding himself being rapidly
overtaken, threw his burden on to the ground just as the leader of the
party had checked his horse and was about to deliver a sweeping blow at
the insensible body.
With a curse at his follower for ridding himself of it, he again
galloped on. The man's act was unavailing to save himself, for he was
overtaken and cut down before he had ridden many strides; then Ralph and
his party instantly reined up to examine the state of Walter, and
the two survivors of the band of murderers continued their flight
unmolested.