EVIL COUNSELLORS.
"All good to me is lost.
Evil, be thou my good."
Milton.
Great was the chagrin and rage manifested by Vigneau, Count de Montfort,
and the Normans generally, at this unexpected rebuff; and increased
cruelties and indignities were heaped upon the hapless and degraded
Saxons who had accepted the yoke of villeinage. Indeed, the lives of
these Saxons were of no account whatever; and the honour of the Saxon
women was at the mercy of besotted and degraded Norman troopers. Very
few indeed were there amongst the Saxons who had not grievous cause to
cherish the most deadly hatred against these ruthless oppressors and
usurpers, the Normans.
It was too much to expect that, amid the general confiscation, the
monastery should continue to be governed by myself, and that monks of
Saxon origin should minister to the poor and the sick, and have control
of our endowments. So, as I had expected, one fateful day, my office was
taken from me and bestowed upon a Norman Father, who, with a number of
monks, had followed at the heels of the conquerors, and were as greedy
for the emoluments of the Church, as their brethren-in-arms were for the
possessions of the Saxon laymen. So one Father Vigneau, who was a
brother of Baron Vigneau, became our Abbot, and degradation and much
oppression was meted out to us Saxons, with the object of driving us
forth to other shelter, or to become mendicant friars or mere hedge
priests. Some of my subordinates went forth, like Abraham, to seek a
country. Some cast in their lot with their outlawed countrymen, and, I
am sorry to say, not unfrequently became as great adepts at the wielding
of carnal weapons as they were at saying Mass or burying the dead. But I
had so many ties, and such affection for my flock, that I resolved to
stay and bear the heavy yoke; counting it no small honour to be found
worthy to suffer like my Master.
I was also greatly fortified in this my resolve by the friendship and
help which I received at the hands of Alice De Montfort, who proved to
be a real friend, not only to myself, but to all who were in suffering
and distress.
Our new Abbot, I found, had not been trained to the service of the
Church, but had been, at one time, a soldier by profession. Latterly he
had taken to the Church, as I suspect because he found the sacred
calling less arduous, and could be made to serve his inordinate desire
for idleness and good living. His god was indeed his belly, and his life
loose and irregular to great excess. He was a man of florid countenance,
and much too pursy for a man whose first duty was to crucify the flesh.
His garments, also, ill became a man in the sacred office he had
assumed. He was an exceedingly vain man, and loved to adorn his person,
and affect the airs and swaggering gait of a young gallant. By his side
he constantly dangled a sword, and under his monk's robes he usually
wore a coat of link-mail--which, I suspected, arose from a cowardly fear
of assassination; for, despite his swaggering deportment, I ever found
him to be an arrant coward, and, like every coward, relentless and
cruel, loving to oppress and to insult those whose position made it easy
for him so to do.
Amongst the monks who came with him I found not one truly holy and
devoted man. Most of them were so ignorant as to be totally unable to
read the sacred books in the Latin tongue. These men, like their
superior, lived loose, irregular lives; habitually neglecting prayers,
fasting, and abstinence from carnal indulgences. Indeed, of most of
them, if it had not been for their dress they could not have been
distinguished from the riotous and disorderly soldiery.
Our new Abbot and his brother, Baron Vigneau, were spending the night
together, indulging in one of those nightly carousals which were a
disgrace and a crying scandal to our ancient and holy monastery, which
had earned itself a good repute by the piety and learning of the
brotherhood, and by the wise and charitable administration of the
princely revenues which appertained to it. Never had it been known, in
times past, that any palmer, or wandering minstrel, had been turned away
from its hospitable doors, unhoused and unfed; and any distressed or
suffering peasant was sure to have sympathy in trouble, and relief in
want. But since the advent of the Normans, its revenues were dissipated
by rioting and drunkenness, chambering and wantonness, and in
entertaining Norman riff-raff and debauching Saxons, who were willing to
sell themselves for the gluttonous eating and drinking to which they
were treated. In vain it was for us Saxons to preach virtue and chastity
to the poor peasantry, whose cattle, implements of husbandry, and homes,
had been destroyed, and who could not till the ground, knowing that they
would be despoiled of their harvest. The poor were at best half starved,
and subjected to most gross and cruel treatment.
To-night, however, more than ordinarily weighty matters were being
discussed over their wine by the brothers.
"What progress, then, have you made in the matter?" said the Abbot.
"Well, I have, by a most determined effort, forced the Count, much
against his will, to name a day for the fulfilment of his promise. But
the jade, his daughter, takes high ground, and I fancy to get her nose
to the grindstone will be no easy task."
"I suppose it is the old excuse the vixen makes?"
"Yes; my tongue is not smooth enough, and my manners do not suit her
dainty notions. She's in a precious dudgeon just now over a Saxon wench
I took a fancy to; and she's as flighty as a two-year-old filly, and as
proud as Lucifer. In fact, she gets more stately and arrogant from day
to day. Never mind!" said he, bringing his fist down upon the table.
"I'll take her ladyship down a peg or two by-and-bye. I scarcely know
whether I love or hate her most, now. She's got a pretty face and
figure, or I'd as soon try steel upon her as wed her."
"Well, I must confess she's a very handsome wench, brother--not a finer
in Britain; but I never see her without feeling that I would give
something to humble her pride. You think the Count would be out of it if
he knew how to get, do you?"
"Not a shadow of a doubt of it. He would murder me at a minute's notice,
if he could get possession of those letters I told you about. But he
knows you are fully informed about them, and of his treachery to
William, and he dare not resort to violence until he knows how to secure
the letters by his effort. I have come to the conclusion to hand them
over to you; they will be safer than in my possession."
"They contain conclusive evidence of his treachery, don't they?"
"No mistake about that. They are in his own handwriting, and sealed with
his own crest and coat-of-arms. They make offer upon certain
considerations, to sell his influence and his men to the Saxons during
William's absence. He was also fool enough to give me a written promise
of his daughter's hand, in consideration of my fidelity to him. Nothing
in the world could be clearer and straighter than the whole thing. He
sees now pretty clearly that _his_ game is up; but I'll show him that
_my_ game is not up, or likely to be, until he hands over his stately
daughter."
"He must have greatly miscalculated the odds when he put his head into a
noose like that."
"Yes; he's not played many false cards in his life, but that was one,
and he will lose his head by it if he does not play up square with the
remainder. I'll promise him that much at least."
"What cause had he to quarrel with the king?"
"Oh, jealousy. He prides himself upon the services he has rendered to
William, and he expected in consequence to be high in the king's favour,
and in his council. He expected to have some fat lands too, near to
London. William, however, did not think so highly of his services, or
else he had been prejudiced against him by some courtezan, which is more
probable. Anyhow, no sooner was William firmly seated on the throne than
he gave De Montfort the cold shoulder. He made Odo, Lanfranc, and
Fitz-Osborne his chosen counsellors.
"Now, a mortal feud existed between Odo and De Montfort, and he quickly
got the cold side of his master's favours. He had given to him a paltry
estate in the Fen country, where he had that Saxon devil, Hereward,
hanging on to his skirts, and foraging all over his possessions,
whenever hunger drove him from his infernal den in the marshes. The
slight which he received rankled, I can promise you; and when the
insurrection broke out whilst William was in Normandy, and when the
Saxons took York, and put to the sword the garrison of three thousand
Normans, with the Danes swarming into the Humber ripe for plunder, and
the Atheling trooping in from Scotland--why, the cunning of the wily one
was at fault for once. He thought the thing would succeed; and succeed
it would have done, sure enough, if it had not been levelled against
that devil's own favourite, William. He sent me with letters to Waltheof
and the others, offering to put his men into the field on condition that
he received ample reward. He hoped no doubt, also, that he would get a
little revenge upon his enemies at Court.
"When I got to York I was not foolish enough to rush into the thing
until I saw how matters looked. I had a bit of respect for my own neck,
whether I had for De Montfort's or not. If he was willing to risk his
head to gratify his spite, the prospect was not alluring enough for me.
Well, I did not like the look of Waltheof, and whilst I waited, William
hurried across the Channel, and, with a stroke of matchless craft, he
bought off the rascally Danes. The double-dyed traitor and coward,
Waltheof, very soon succumbed to the same influences; and away also went
the Atheling, full speed, for Scotland. I saw the thing was burst up. A
few of the smaller chieftains, like this Saxon Oswald, held their ground
and fought it out; but it was a nine days' wonder, and nothing more.
"Well, I thought I would try a cast of my own net. I had followed the
fortunes of De Montfort to very little profit as yet. I had thought by
following the fortunes of a leader like him, I should get a tolerably
fair share of the spoils; and I had an understanding that I should have
the hand of his daughter. But, I had already begun to notice that the
damsel was not made altogether of pleasant humours, and probably she
would require a good deal of persuading to complete the bargain. So I
told him I had handed the letters to a brother of mine who was in the
Church, and held in favour by Lanfranc; and, brother, that accounts for
your being installed in such a snug crib as this. I flaunt these
letters, metaphorically speaking, pretty regularly before him, to keep
him to the mark. The operation makes him wince; but, whether he likes it
or not, it will be done, and to greater purpose, I can assure you, if
his word is not made good shortly, and his friskish daughter brought to
her senses."
"Well, take the letters," said the Baron, tossing them across to his
brother. "Pour out a flagon of good old sack; preaching is dry
throat-work. I say, what has become of that pretty Saxon wench I found
here at first? Have you any idea? I had no notion they bred cattle of
that quality amongst these louts of Saxons. You have not seen anything
of her about, have you, since you came?"
"No. I heard of that little stroke of yours, but I've not seen the wench
at all; but I have a notion that old Saxon snake, Adhelm, knows all
about it. I would have made an end of him long before this, but that
minx Alice has taken him under her protection. I would take an oath he's
in league with those rats on the hill, and he is making mischief among
our own brotherhood! One fellow, who has half the brains of the
monastery, has given utterance to sundry remonstrances which I shall not
tolerate; and I find that he and Adhelm are very friendly."
"Well, take care of the letters anyhow; I shall feel safer when they are
out of my custody."