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BRIAN FITZ-COUNT
* * * * * *
By the same Author.
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HISTORY OF THE CHURCH
UNDER THE ROMAN EMPIRE,
A.D. 30-476.
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EDWY THE FAIR,
OR THE
FIRST CHRONICLE OF ÆSCENDUNE.
A TALE OF THE DAYS OF SAINT DUNSTAN.
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ALFGAR THE DANE,
OR THE SECOND CHRONICLE OF ÆSCENDUNE.
A TALE OF THE DAYS OF EDMUND IRONSIDE.
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THE RIVAL HEIRS,
BEING THE THIRD AND LAST CHRONICLE OF ÆSCENDUNE.
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THE HOUSE OF WALDERNE.
A TALE OF THE CLOISTER AND THE FOREST IN THE
DAYS OF THE BARONS' WARS.
* * * * * *
BRIAN FITZ-COUNT
A Story of Wallingford Castle and Dorchester Abbey
by
THE REV. A. D. CRAKE, B.A.
Vicar of Cholsey, Berks; and Fellow of the Royal Historical Society;
Author of the 'Chronicles Of Æscendune,' etc. etc.
'Heu miserande puer, siqua fata aspera rumpas,
Tu Marcellus eris.'
VIRGIL: _Æneid_, vi. 882-3.
Rivingtons
Waterloo Place, London
MDCCCLXXXVIII
DEDICATED WITH GREAT RESPECT
TO
JOHN KIRBY HEDGES, ESQ., J.P.
OF WALLINGFORD CASTLE
PREFACE
The author has accomplished a desire of many years in writing a story of
Wallingford Castle and Dorchester Abbey. They are the two chief
historical landmarks of a country familiar to him in his boyhood, and
now again his home. The first was the most important stronghold on the
Thames during the calamitous civil war of King Stephen's days. The
second was founded at the commencement of the twelfth century, and was
built with the stones which came from the Bishop's palace in Dorchester,
abandoned when Remigius in 1092 removed the seat of the Bishopric to
Lincoln.
The tale is all too true to mediæval life in its darker features. The
reader has only to turn to the last pages of the _Anglo-Saxon Chronicle_
to justify the terrible description of the dungeons of the Castle, and
the sufferings inflicted therein. Brian Fitz-Count was a real personage.
The writer has recorded his dark deeds, but has striven to speak gently
of him, especially of his tardy repentance; his faults were those of
most Norman barons.
The critic may object that the plot of the story, so far as the secret
of Osric's birth is concerned, is too soon revealed--nay, is clear from
the outset. It was the writer's intention, that the fact should be
patent to the attentive reader, although unknown at the time to the
parties most concerned. Many an intricate story is more interesting the
second time of reading than the first, from the fact that the reader,
having the key, can better understand the irony of fate in the tale, and
the hearing of the events upon the situation.
In painting the religious system of the day, he may be thought by
zealous Protestants too charitable to the Church of our forefathers; for
he has always brought into prominence the evangelical features which,
amidst much superstition, ever existed within her, and which in her
deepest corruption was still _the salt_ which kept society from utter
ruin and degradation. But, as he has said elsewhere, it is a far nobler
thing to seek points of agreement in controversy, and to make the best
of things, than to be gloating over "corruptions" or exaggerating the
faults of our Christian ancestors. At the same time the author must not
be supposed to sympathise with all the opinions and sentiments which, in
consistency with the period, he puts into the mouth of theologians of
the twelfth century.
There has been no attempt to introduce archaisms in language, save that
the Domesday names of places are sometimes given in place of the modern
ones where it seemed appropriate or interesting to use them. The
speakers spoke either in Anglo-Saxon or Norman-French: the present
diction is simply translation. The original was quite as free from
stiffness, so far as we can judge.
The roads, the river, the hills, all the details of the scenery have
been familiar to the writer since his youth, and are therefore described
from personal knowledge. The Lazar-House at Byfield yet lingers in
tradition. Driving by the "Pond" one day years ago, the dreary sheet of
water was pointed out as the spot where the lepers once bathed; and the
informant added that to that day the natives shrank from bathing
therein. A strange instance of the long life of oral tradition--which
is, however, paralleled at Bensington, where the author in his youth
found traditions of the battle of the year 777 yet in existence,
although the fight does not find a place, or did not then, in the short
histories read in schools.
The author dedicates this book, with great respect, to the present owner
of the site and remains of Wallingford Castle, John Kirby Hedges, Esq.,
who with great kindness granted him free access to the Castle-grounds at
all times for the purposes of the story; and whose valuable work, _The
History of Wallingford_, has supplied the topographical details and the
special history of the Castle. For the history of Dorchester Abbey, he
is especially indebted to the notes of his lamented friend, the late
vicar of Dorchester.
A. D. C.
CHRISTMAS 1887.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. THE LORD OF THE CASTLE 1
II. THE CHASE 8
III. WHO STRUCK THE STAG? 16
IV. IN THE GREENWOOD 24
V. CWICHELM'S HLAWE 32
VI. ON THE DOWNS 40
VII. DORCHESTER ABBEY 48
VIII. THE BARON AND HIS PRISONERS 56
IX. THE LEPERS 64
X. THE NEW NOVICE 72
XI. OSRIC'S FIRST RIDE 79
XII. THE HERMITAGE 87
XIII. OSRIC AT HOME 95
XIV. THE HERMITAGE 104
XV. THE ESCAPE FROM OXFORD CASTLE 117
XVI. AFTER THE ESCAPE 131
XVII. LIFE AT WALLINGFORD CASTLE 141
XVIII. BROTHER ALPHEGE 150
XIX. IN THE LOWEST DEPTHS 158
XX. MEINHOLD AND HIS PUPILS 170
XXI. A DEATHBED DISCLOSURE 178
XXII. THE OUTLAWS 189
XXIII. THE PESTILENCE (AT BYFIELD) 200
XXIV. THE OPENING OF THE PRISON HOUSE 206
XXV. THE SANCTUARY 216
XXVI. SWEET SISTER DEATH 226
XXVII. FRUSTRATED 234
XXVIII. FATHER AND SON 244
XXIX. IN THE HOLY LAND 257
CHAPTER I
THE LORD OF THE CASTLE
It was the evening of the 30th of September in the year of grace 1139;
the day had been bright and clear, but the moon, arising, was rapidly
overpowering the waning light of the sun.
Brian Fitz-Count, Lord of Wallingford Castle by marriage with the Lady
Maude (_Matildis Domina de Walingfort_), the widow of the doughty Baron
Milo Crispin, who died in 1107, without issue--was pacing the ramparts
of his castle, which overlooked the Thames. Stern and stark was this
mediæval baron, and large were his possessions. He was the son of Count
Alain of Brittany[1]--a nephew of Hamelin de Baladin, of Abergavenny
Castle, from whom he inherited large possessions in Wales: a nephew also
of Brian, lord of a manor in Cornwall, which he also inherited.
"Great his houses, lands, and castles,
Written in the Domesday Book."
Furthermore, he was an especial favourite with Henry the First, who
commanded the Lady of Wallingford to marry his minion--according to the
law which placed such widows at the disposal of the crown--he was
present at the consecration of the great abbey of Reading, where amongst
the co-signatories we read "_Signum Brientii filii comitis, de
Walingfort_:" the seal of Brian Fitz-Count of Wallingford.
He walked the ramparts on this last evening of September, and gazed
upon his fair castle, or might have done so had his mind been at rest,
but "black care sat on his back."
Still we will gaze, unimpeded by that sable rider, although we fear he
is not dead yet.
The town of Wallingford had been utterly destroyed by the Danes in 1006,
as recorded in our former story of _Alfgar the Dane_. It was soon
afterwards rebuilt, and in the time of Edward the Confessor, was in the
hands of the thane, and shire-reeve (sheriff) Wigod de Wallingford, a
cupbearer of the pious monarch, and one who shared all that saintly
king's Norman proclivities. Hence it is not wonderful that when William
the Conqueror could not cross the Thames at Southwark, owing to the
opposition of the brave men of London town, he led his army along the
southern bank of the great river to Wallingford, where he was assured of
sympathy, and possessed an English partisan. Here Wigod received him in
his hall--a passable structure for those times--which subsequently
formed a part of the castle which the Norman king ordered to be built,
and which became one of the strongest fortresses in the kingdom, and the
key of the midlands.
The Conqueror was a guest of Wigod for several days, and before he left
he witnessed the marriage of the eldest daughter of his host, the
English maiden Aldith, to a Norman favourite, Robert d'Oyley, whom he
made Lord of Oxford.
Now the grand-daughter of that Wigod, whom we will not call traitor to
his country--although some might deem him so--in default of male issue,
became the wife of Brian Fitz-Count. The only son of Wigod, who might
have passed on the inheritance to a line of English lords--Tokig of
Wallingford--died in defence of William the Conqueror[2] at the battle
of Archenbrai, waged between the father and his son Robert Courthose.
To build the new castle,[3] Robert d'Oyley, who succeeded to the
lordship on the death of Wigod, destroyed eight houses, which furnished
space for the enlargement, and material for the builders. We are not
told whether he made compensation--it is doubtful.
The castle was built within the ancient walls in the north-east quarter
of the town, occupying a space of some twenty or thirty acres, and its
defence on the eastern side was the Thames.
Within the precincts rose one of those vast mounds thrown up by
Ethelfleda, lady of the Mercians, and daughter of the great Alfred, a
century and a half earlier. It formed the kernel of the new stronghold,
and surmounted by a lofty tower, commanded a wondrous view of the
country around, from a height of some two hundred feet.
On the north-east lay the long line of the Chilterns; on the south-west,
the Berkshire downs stretching towards Cwichelm's Hlawe, and the White
Horse Hill; between the two lay the gorge of the Thames, and in the
angle the fertile alluvial plain, chiefly filled at that time by a vast
park or chase, or by forest or marsh land.
The Chilterns were covered with vast beech forests, the Berkshire downs
were more bare.
There were three bastions to the north and two on the south; within the
inner dyke or moat on the east was the "glacis," which sloped abruptly
towards the river: the main entrance, on the west, was approached by a
series of drawbridges, while beneath the tower a heavy portcullis
defended the gateway.
Upon the keep stood two sentinels, who from the summit of their lofty
tower scrutinised the roads and open country all day long, until they
were relieved by those who watched by night. Beneath them lay the town
with its moat, and earthen rampart in compass a good mile and more,
joining the river at each extremity. Within the compass were eleven
parishes, "well and sufficiently built," with one parish church in each
of them, well constructed, and with chaplains and clerks daily
officiating, so that people had no lack of spiritual provision.
Beyond, the roads stretched in all directions: the Lower Icknield Street
ran by woody Ewelme along the base of the downs, towards distant
Stokenchurch and Wycombe; while on the opposite side, it ran across the
wild moor land through Aston and Blewbery to the Berkshire downs, where
it joined the upper way again, and continued its course for Devizes. Our
readers will know this road well by and by.
Another road led towards the hills, called "Ye Kynge's Standynge," where
it ascended the downs, and joining the upper Icknield Street, stretched
across the slopes of Lowbury Hill, the highest point on the eastern
downs, where the remains of a strong Roman tower formed a conspicuous
object at that date. Another road led directly to the west, and to
distant Ffaringdune, along the southern side of the twin hills of
Synodune.
Now we will cease from description and take up our story.
"Our lord looks ill at ease," said Malebouche, one of the sentinels on
the keep, to Bardulf, his companion.
"As well he may on this day!"
"Why on this day?"
"Dost thou not know that he is childless?"
"I suppose that is the case every day in the year."
"Ah, thou art fresh from fair Brittany, so I will tell thee the tale,
only breathe it not where our lord can hear of my words, or I shall make
acquaintance with his dog-whip, if not with gyves and fetters. Well, it
chanced that thirteen years agone he burnt an old manor-house over on
the downs near Compton, inhabited by a family of English churls who
would not pay him tribute; the greater part of the household, unable to
escape, perished in the flames, and amongst them, the mother and eldest
child. In a dire rage and fury the father, who escaped, being absent
from home, plotted revenge. Our lord had a son then, a likely lad of
some three summers, and soon afterwards, on this very day, the child was
out with scanty attendance taking the air, for who, thought they, would
dare to injure the heir of the mighty baron, when some marauders made a
swoop from the woods on the little party, slew them all and carried off
the child--at least the body was never found, while those of the
attendants lay all around, male and female."
"And did not they make due search?"
"Thou mayst take thy corporal oath of that. They searched every thicket
and fastness, but neither the child nor any concerned in the outrage
were ever found. They hung two or three poor churls and vagrants on
suspicion, but what good could that do; there was no proof, and the
wretches denied all knowledge."
"Did not they try the 'question,' the '_peine forte et dure_?'"
"Indeed they did, but although one poor vagrant died under it, he
revealed nothing, because he had nothing to reveal, I suppose."
"What ho! warder! dost thou see nought on the roads?" cried a stern,
loud voice which made both start.
"Nought, my lord."
"Keep a good look-out; I expect guests."
And Brian Fitz-Count resumed his walk below--to and fro, communing with
his own moody thoughts.
An hour had passed away, when the sentinel cried aloud--
"A party of men approaches along the lower Ickleton Way from the west."
"How many in number?"
"About twenty."
"Where are they?"
"They cross the moor and have just left the South Moor Town."
"Canst thou make out their cognisance?"
"The light doth not serve."
"Order a troop of horse: I ride to meet them; let the banquet be
prepared."
In another quarter of an hour a little party dashed over the lowered
drawbridges and out on the western road; meanwhile the great hall was
lighted, and the cooks hurried on the feast.
In less than another hour the blast of trumpets announced the return of
the Lord of the Castle with his guest. And Brian Fitz-Count rode proudly
into his stronghold: on his right hand rode a tall knight, whose squires
and attendants followed behind with the Wallingford men.
"Welcome, Sir Milo of Gloucester, to my castle," exclaimed the Lord of
Wallingford, as he clasped the hand of his visitor beneath the entrance
tower.
"By'r ladye, a fine stronghold this of yours; that tower on the keep
might rival in height the far-famed tower of Babel."
"We do not hope to scale Heaven, although, forsooth, if the Masses said
daily in Wallingford are steps in the ladder, it will soon be long
enough."
And they both laughed grimly in a way which did not infer implicit
belief in the power of the Church.
"The bath, then the board--prepare the bath for our guest."
So they led him to the bathroom, for the Normans washed themselves, for
which the natives charged them with effeminacy; and there they brought
towels, and perfumed waters, and other luxuries. After which two pages
conducted the guest to the great hall, which was nearly a hundred feet
in length. The high table stood at the one end upon a platform, and
there the Lord of Wallingford seated himself, while upon his left hand
sat the Lady Maude, a lady of middle age, and upon his right a seat of
state was prepared, to which the pages led his visitor.
Fully two hundred men banqueted in the hall that night, boards on
trestles were distributed all along the length at right angles to the
high table, with space between for the servers to pass, and troops of
boys and lower menials squatted on the rushes, while the men-at-arms sat
at the board.
A gallery for the musicians projected above the feasters on one side of
the hall, and there a dozen performers with harps and lutes played
warlike songs, the while the company below ate and drank. The music was
rough but seemed to stir the blood as its melody rose and fell.
And when at last the banquet was ended, a herald commanded silence, and
Brian Fitz-Count addressed the listening throng:
"My merry men all, our guest here bringeth us news which may change our
festal attire for helm and hauberk, and convert our ploughshares and
pruning-hooks into swords and lances; but nought more of this to-night,
the morrow we hunt the stag, and when we meet here on to-morrow night I
may have welcome news for all merry men who love war and glory better
than slothful ease."
A loud burst of applause followed the speech, the purport of which they
fully understood, for the long peace had wearied them, and they were all
eager for the strife as the beasts of prey for rapine, so in song and
wassail they spent the evening, while the Baron and his guest withdrew
to take secret council in an inner chamber.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Anglo-Saxon Chronicle.
[2] William's first wound came from the hand from which a wound is most
bitter. Father and son met face to face in the battle; the parricidal
spear of Robert pierced the hand of his father, an arrow at the same
moment struck the horse on which he rode, and the Conqueror lay for a
moment on the earth expecting death at the hands of his own son. A loyal
Englishman sped to the rescue--Tokig, the son of Wigod of Wallingford,
sprang down and offered his horse to the fallen king--at that moment the
shot of a crossbow gave the gallant thane of Berkshire a mortal wound,
and Tokig gave up his life for his sovereign.--_Freeman._
[3] Leland writes--giving his own observations in the sixteenth century
(temp. Henry VIII.):--"The castle joineth to the north gate of the town,
and hath three dykes, large and deep and well watered; about each of the
two first dykes, as upon the crests of the ground, runneth an embattled
wall now sore in ruin; all the goodly building with the tower and
dungeon be within the three dykes." The dykes or moats were supplied
with water from the _Moreton_ brook.