THE LAST OF THE LACIES.

"By that painful way they pass

Forth to an hill that was both steep and high;

On top whereof a sacred chapel was,

And eke a little hermitage thereby."

--SPENSER'S _Fairy Queen_.

Clitheroe, _the hill ly the-waters_, the ancient seat of the Lacies,

carries back the mind to earlier periods and events--to a rude and

barbarous age--where justice was dispensed, and tribute paid, by the

feudatories to their lords, whose power, little less than arbitrary, was

held directly from the crown.

The Lacies came over with the Conqueror; and, on the defection of Robert

de Poictou, obtained, as their share of the spoil, sixty knights' fees,

principally in Yorkshire and Lancashire. For the better maintainence of

their dignity they built two castles, one at Pontefract, the principal

residence, and another at Clitheroe. A _great fee_, or great lordship,

as Pontefract was a possession of the highest order; an honour, or

seigniory, like Clitheroe, consisting of a number of manors, was the

next in rank; and these manors were severally held by their subordinate

lords in dependence on the lord paramount, the lord of the fee or

honour.

[Illustration: CLITHEROE CASTLE.

_Drawn by G. Pickering. Engraved by Edw^d Finden._]

What was the precise aspect of our county when the Normans possessed

themselves of the land, it might be deemed an effort of the imagination

perhaps to portray. "Yet," says Dr Whitaker, in one of his happier

moods, "could a curious observer of the present day carry himself nine

or ten centuries back, and, ranging the summit of Pendle, survey the

forked Calder on one side, and the bolder margins of Ribble and Hodder

on the other, instead of populous towns and villages, the castle, the

old tower-built house, the elegant modern mansion, the artificial

plantation, the park and pleasure ground, or instead of uninterrupted

enclosures, which have driven sterility almost to the summit of the

fells; how great must then have been the contrast, when, ranging either

at a distance or immediately beneath, his eye must have caught vast

tracts of forest ground stagnating with bog or darkened by native

woods, where the wild ox, the roe, the stag, and the wolf had

scarcely learned the supremacy of man--when, directing his view to the

intermediate spaces, to the windings of the valleys, or the expanse of

plain beneath, he could only have distinguished a few insulated patches

of culture, each encircling a village of wretched cabins, among which

would still be remarked one rude mansion of wood, scarcely equal in

comfort to a modern cottage, yet then rising proudly eminent above the

rest, where the Saxon lord, surrounded by his faithful cotarii, enjoyed

a rude and solitary independence, owning no superior but his sovereign.

"This was undoubtedly a state of great simplicity and freedom, such as

admirers of uncultivated nature may affect to applaud. But although

revolutions in civil society seldom produce anything better than a

change of vices, yet surely no wise or good man can lament the

subversion of Saxon polity for that which followed. Their laws were

contemptible for imbecility, their habits odious for intemperance; and

if we can for a moment persuade ourselves that their language has any

charm, that proceeds less, perhaps, from anything harmonious and

expressive in itself, or anything valuable in the information it

conveys, than that it is rare and not of very easy attainment; that it

forms the rugged basis of our own tongue; and, above all, that we hear

it loudly echoed in the dialect of our own vulgar. Indeed, the manners

as well as language of a Lancashire clown often suggest the idea of a

Saxon peasant; and prove, with respect to remote tracts like these,

little affected by foreign admixtures, how strong is the power of

traduction, how faithfully character and propensities may be transmitted

through more than twenty generations."

The Normans were a more polished, a more abstemious people; as scribes

and architects they were men to whom this district was greatly indebted.

Our only castle, our oldest remaining churches, our most curious and

valuable records, are all Norman.

"Such was the state of property and manners when the house of Lacy

became possessed of Blackburnshire." The simplicity of the Saxon tenures

was destroyed. A tract of country, which had been parcelled out among

twenty-eight lords, now became subject to one; and all the intricacies

of feodal dependence, all the rigours of feodal exaction, wardships,

reliefs, escheats, &c., were introduced at once. Yet the Saxon lords,

though dependent, were not in general actually stripped of their fees.

By successive steps, however, the origin of all landed property within

the hundred, some later copyholds excepted, is to be traced to voluntary

concessions from the Lacies, or their successors of the house of

Lancaster; not grants of pure beneficence, but requiring personal

service from the owners, and yearly customs or payments, equivalent at

that time to their value. Their present worth grew out of the operation

of causes little understood in these ages either by lord or

vassal--namely, the certainty of the possession, the diminishing value

of money, and the perpetuity of the title.

In four generations, or little more than one hundred years, the line of

the Lacies became extinct; Roger Fitz-Eustace, lord of Halton and

constable of Chester, coming into possession by right of his grandmother

Awbrey, uterine sister of Robert de Lacy, the last of this illustrious

race. Fitz-Eustace, however, took the title of De Lacy; but in the

fourth descent from him the very name was lost. Henry de Lacy, the last

and greatest man of his line, dying the 5th February 1310, left one

daughter only, who had married, during her father's lifetime, Thomas

Plantagenet, Earl of Lancaster--and carried along with her an

inheritance even then estimated at 10,000 marks per annum. On the earl's

attainder, the honour of Clitheroe, with the rest of his possessions,

were forfeited to the crown. After undergoing many changes while it

continued a member of the Duchy of Lancaster--that is, until the

restoration of Charles II.--that prince, in consideration of the great

services of General Monk, whom he created Duke of Albemarle, bestowed it

upon him and his heirs for ever. Christopher, his son, dying without

issue, left his estates to his wife, daughter and co-heiress of Henry

Cavendish, Duke of Newcastle; by her they were bequeathed to her second

husband, Ralph, Duke of Montague, whose grand-daughter Mary, married

George, Earl of Cardigan, afterwards Duke of Montague. Elizabeth, his

daughter, married Henry, Duke of Buccleuch, in whose family the honour

of Clitheroe is now vested.

Clitheroe Castle is described by Grose as "situated on the summit of a

conical insulated crag of rugged limestone rock, which suddenly rises

from a fine vale, in which towards the north, at the distance of

half-a-mile, runs the Ribble, and a mile to the south stands Pendle

Hill, which seems to lift its head above the clouds."

In the time of the Commonwealth it was dismantled by order of

Parliament; the chapel has totally disappeared; and nothing now remains

but the square keep and some portions of the strong wall by which the

building was surrounded.[49] The tower, though much undermined, remains

firm as the rock on which it was built, and forms the principal object

in our engraving.

It was midnight; and the priest was chanting the service and requiem for

the dead in the little chapel or chantry of St Michael, which was built

within the walls of Clyderhow or Clitheroe Castle. The _Dies iræ_ from

the surrounding worshippers rose in a simple monotone, like the sound of

some distant river, now caught on the wing of the tempest, and flung far

away into the dim and distant void, now rushing on the ear in one deep

gush of harmony--the voice of Nature, as if her thousand tongues were

blended in one universal peal of praise and adoration to the great

Power that called her into being. Many a heart quailed with

apprehension, many a bosom was oppressed with doubtful and anxious

forebodings. Robert de Lacy, the last of this illustrious race, fourth

in descent from Ilbert de Lacy, on whom the Conqueror bestowed the great

fee of Pontefract, the owner of twenty-eight manors and lord of the

honour of Clitheroe, was no longer numbered with the living; and here in

the chapel of this lone fortress, before the dim altar, all that

remained of this powerful baron, the clay no longer instinct with

spirit, was soon to be enveloped in the dust, the darkness, and the

degradation of its kindred earth.

Many circumstances rendered this scene more than usually solemn and

affecting. Robert de Lacy had died without issue to inherit these

princely domains, the feudal inheritance of a family whose power had so

wide a grasp, that it was currently said the Lacies might pass from

Clitheroe Castle to their fortress at Pontefract, a journey of some

fifty miles, and rest in a house or hostelrie of their own at every

pause during their progress.

With him ended the male line of this great family. Failing in issue, he

had devised all these vast estates to Awbrey, his uterine sister,

daughter of Robert de Lizours, married to Richard Fitz-Eustace, lord of

Halton and constable of Chester.

Thus ended the last of his race; and the inheritance had passed to a

stranger.

The surrounding worshippers were mostly domestics and retainers of the

family, save Robert de Whalley, the dean of that ancient church,

supposed to have been founded by Augustine or Paulinus in the seventh

century, and then called "The White Church under the Leigh." No tidings

had been heard from the Fitz-Eustace at Halton, and in two days the body

was to be carried forth on its last pilgrimage to Kirkstall Abbey,

founded by Henry de Lacy, father of the deceased, about forty years

prior to this event.

The beginning of February, in the year 1193, when our story commences,

was an epoch memorable for the base and treacherous captivity of Richard

Coeur de Lion by the Duke of Austria; and for the equally base and

treacherous, but short-lived, usurpation of John, the brother of our

illustrious crusader. The nation was involved in great trouble and

dismay. The best blood of England and the flower of her nobility had

perished on the deserts of Palestine, or were pining there in hopeless

captivity. The house of Fitz-Eustace, into whose possession the estates

of the Lacies were now merged, had themselves been shorn of a goodly

scion or two from the family tree during these "holy wars."

Richard Fitz-Eustace, the husband of Awbrey, died about the 24 Hen. II.

(1178), leaving one son, John, who founded the Cistercian Abbey of

Stanlaw in Cheshire, the present establishment of Whalley. He was slain

at Tyre in the crusade, A.D. 1190, the second of the reign of Richard

I., leaving issue, Richard a leper, and Roger, who followed his father

to the Holy Land, but of whose fate no tidings had been heard since his

departure thence on his return to Europe. Besides these were two sons,

Eustace and Peter, and a daughter named Alice.

Roger Fitz-Eustace and his friend William de Bellamonte--from whom are

descended the Beaumonts of Whitley-Beaumont, in Yorkshire--had fought

side by side at the memorable siege of Acre; but whether alive or dead

the certainty was not yet known, though there might be good grounds for

the apprehension generally entertained, that they were held in captivity

by infidels or by princes miscalled Christian, the bitterest enemies to

the faith they professed.

Clitheroe Castle was built by Roger de Poictou, or, as he is otherwise

called, Roger Pictavensis, of a noble family in Normandy, and related to

the Conqueror. He led the centre of William's army at the battle of

Hastings. King William having given him all the lands between the Mersey

and the Ribble, he built several castles and fortresses therein,

providing largely for his followers, from whom are descended many

families who are still in possession of manors and estates originally

granted by this unfortunate relative of the Conqueror. He was twice

deprived of his honours, many of them being escheated to the crown,

while Clitheroe Castle, together with the great fee of Pontefract, was

bestowed on Ilbert de Lacy, a Norman follower of William.

In a country not abounding with strong positions, an insulated conical

rock of limestone rising out of the fertile plain between Penhull

(Pendle) and the Ribble would naturally attract the attention of the

invaders. Here, therefore, we find a fortress erected even earlier than

the castle at Lancaster. The summit of this rock was not sufficiently

extensive to admit of a spacious building, and probably nothing more was

at first intended than a temporary retreat and defence from the

predatory incursions of the Scots. The structure was, however, gradually

enlarged, and became one of the chief residences of the Lacies. A lofty

flanking wall ran along the brink of the rock, enclosing the keep and

adjoining buildings, likewise the chapel of St Michael, coeval with the

foundation of the castle, and forming part of it, being amply endowed by

the founder, and license procured from the Dean of Whalley for the

purpose of having divine service performed and the sacraments

administered therein, to the household servants, foresters, and

shepherds, who occupied these extensive and thinly-inhabited domains.

In this little sanctuary now lay the remains of its lord. The cold

February sleet pattered fitfully against the narrow panes; and the

shivering mourners muffled themselves in their dark hoods, while they

knelt devoutly on the hard bare pavement of the chapel. Oliver de

Worsthorn, the old seneschal, knelt at the foot of the bier; his white

locks covered his thin features like a veil, hiding their intense and

heart-withering expression. He felt without a stay or helper in his last

hours--a sapless, worthless stem in this wilderness of sorrow.

Robert, the Dean of Whalley, attended as chief mourner. Being descended

from a distant branch of the Lacies, he had long thrown a covetous

glance towards the inheritance. A frequent guest at the castle, he had

been useful as an auxiliary in the management and control of the secular

concerns; the spiritual interests of its head were in the keeping of

another and more powerful agent, little suspected by the dean of

applying the influence he had acquired to purposes of secular

aggrandisement.

It may not be deemed irrelevant that we give a brief outline of the

constitution or office of dean, as then held by the incumbents of

Whalley. The beautiful abbey, now in ruins, was not as yet built. Some

Saxon lord of [Illustration: Dpaellej] had, about the seventh century,

founded a parish church, dedicated to All Saints, called The White

Church under the Leigh. The first erection was of wood, many years

afterwards replaced by a plain building of stone. The rectors or deans

were also lords of the town, and married men, who held it not by

presentation from the patron, but as their own patrimonial estate, the

succession being hereditary. In this manner the deanery of Whalley was

continued until the Lateran Council, in the year 1215, which, by

finally prohibiting the marriage of ecclesiastics, put an end to this

order of hereditary succession, and occasioned a resignation of the

patronage to the chief lord of the fee, after which the church of

Whalley sunk, by two successive appropriations, into an impoverished

vicarage.

Long before the Conquest the advowson had become far more valuable than

the manor, and the lords, who were also patrons, saw the advantage and

convenience of qualifying themselves by inferior orders for holding so

rich a benefice; and thus the manor itself in time ceased to be

considered as a lay fee, and became confounded with the glebe of the

church.[50]

The office of dean, at the period in which our history commences, had

for centuries been considered as a dignity rather secular than

ecclesiastical, and the pursuits of the incumbent had doubtless

assimilated generally with those of his lay associates. Indeed, it is

recorded that Dean Liulphus, in the reign of Canute, had the name of

Cutwulph, from having cut off a wolf's tail whilst hunting in the

forest of Rossendale, at a place called Ledmesgreve, or more properly

Deansgreve. Like many other ancient and dignified ecclesiastics, they

were mighty hunters, enjoying their privileges unmolested through a vast

region of forest land then unenclosed, and were only inferior in

jurisdiction to the feudal lords of these domains. "On the whole, then,

it appears," says Dr Whitaker, "that the Dean of Whalley was compounded

of patron, incumbent, ordinary, and lord of the manor; an assemblage

which may possibly have met in later times, and in some places of exempt

jurisdiction, but at that time probably an _unique_ in the history of

the English church."

Robert de Whalley, the incumbent before named, was not a whit behind his

progenitors in that laudable exercise of worldly wisdom and forethought,

as it regarded matters of a temporal and transitory nature. His bearing

was proud, and his aspect keen; his form was muscular, and more fitted

for some hardy and rigorous exercise than for the generally self-denying

and peaceful offices of the Catholic Church. In his youth he had the

reputation of being much disposed to gallantry; and the same proneness

to intrigue was yet manifest, though employed in pursuits of a less

transitory nature. His disappointment was, in consequence, greatly

augmented when these long-coveted possessions were given to another, and

his ambitious dreams dissipated. Yet was he not without hope that the

succession of the Fitz-Eustace family might be frustrated. The leper

would of necessity be passed over, and, Roger being either dead or in

captivity, the revenues and usurpation of this distant and almost

inaccessible territory might still be enjoyed without molestation or

inquiry. Such were the meditations of this plotting ecclesiastic, as he

knelt before the altar in that solemn hour, in the chapel of "_St

Michael in Castro_."

The walls of the chapel, or rather chantry, were smeared with black; and

in front of the screen were portrayed uncouth representations of the

arms and insignia of the deceased. A pall was thrown over the body, and

a plate of salt, as an emblem of incorruptibility, placed on the

corpse--a heathenish custom borrowed from the Druids. The candles burnt

dimly at the little altar, and the cold and bitter wind threw the

shadows in many a grotesque and startling shape on the dark bare walls

which enclosed them. It was an hour and a scene that superstition might

have chosen for manifesting her power; and many an anxious glance was

thrown towards the dark recesses out of which imagination was ready to

conjure some grim spectre, invested with all the horrors that monkish

legends had created. The priest who officiated was an unbeneficed

clergyman, long known as an inmate of the castle. He was of a quiet and

inoffensive disposition, but much attached to his lord; often during the

service grief stayed his utterance, and he mingled his loud sobs with

those of the surrounding worshippers.

The _dirage_ was concluded, and vespers for the dead were now commencing

with the "_Placebo Domino_." The priest with his loud rich voice sang or

recited the anthem, and the attendants gave the response in a low and

muttering sound. Just as he was beginning the fumigation with a sign of

the cross, to drive away demons and unclean spirits from the body,

suddenly a loud, deep, and startling blast was heard from the horn at

the outer gate. The whole assembly started up from their devotions, and

every eye was turned towards the dean, as though to watch and take the

colour of their proceedings from those of his reverence. He lifted his

eyes from the corpse, which lay with the face and shoulders uncovered;

and, as if startled from some bewildering reverie, cried aloud--

"What untimely visitor art thou, disturbing the sad offices of the

dead?"

He paused, as though the sound of his own voice had disturbed him; while

wrapping himself in his cloak, he hastily approached Oliver, who stood

irresolute, not knowing how to act in this unexpected emergency. De

Whalley pointed towards the door, and the seneschal prepared to obey,

accompanied by the porter with a light, and one or two attendants.

Immediately outside the chapel the way led down a steep angle of the

rock, which Oliver, by dint of much use and experience, descended

without any apparent difficulty, save what arose from the slippery state

of the path, which rendered the footing more than usually precarious and

uncertain.

Again, the blast brayed forth a louder and more impatient summons,

startling the echoes from their midnight slumber, while the deep woods

answered from a thousand unseen recesses.

"Hang thee for a saucy loon, whoever thou be! I'll warrant thee as much

impudence in thy face as wind i' thy muzzle," said the disturbed

seneschal. "Tarry a while, Hugo; ope not the gate without a parley,

despite the knave's untimely summons."

Oliver, hobbling onward, reached the wicket, just then occupied by

Hugo's broad and curious face prying out cautiously into the misty and

unintelligible void, without being a whit the wiser for his scrutiny.

"What a plague do ye keep honest men a-waiting for at the gate," said a

gruff voice from the pitchy darkness without, "in a night that would

make a soul wish for a dip into purgatory, just by way of a warming?"

"Hush," said Oliver, who was a true son of the Church, and moreover,

being fresh from the services appointed for the recovery of poor souls

from this untoward place, felt the remark of the stranger as peculiarly

impious and full of blasphemy--"Hush! thou bold-faced scorner, and learn

to furbish thy wit from some other armoury; we like not such unholy

jests--firebrands thrown in sport! Thy business, friend?"

"Open the gate, good master priest-poke," said the other, in a tone of

authority.

"Not until thou showest thine errand," said the equally imperative

interrogator within; who, having the unequivocal and somewhat ponderous

advantage of a pair of stout-built and well-furnished gates to back, or

rather face, him in the controversy, was consequently in a fair way for

keeping on the strong side of the argument.

"Now, o' my troth, but ye be a pair of rude curs, barking from a warm

kennel at your betters, who are shivering in the cold, without so much

as a bone to pick, or a wisp of straw to their tails! Well, well, 'tis

soon said; every dog, you know,--and 'twill be my turn soon. I come

hither from the castle at Halton, where my Lady Fitz-Eustace would lay

your curs' noses to the grinding-stone; but, rest her soul, she will not

long be above ground, I trow. Know then, masters, I am her seneschal,

whom she sends with a goodly train to the burying. Quick, old goat-face,

or we will singe thy beard to light thee to our discovery."

The gates were immediately unbolted at this command, opening wide before

so dignified a personage, who, as the representative of the

Fitz-Eustace, was evidently impressed with a sufficient sense of his own

importance, while he and his attendants rode through the grim Norman

arch into the courtyard. The uppermost extreme of this illustrious

functionary was surmounted with a sort of Phrygian-shaped bonnet or cap,

made of deerskin, suitably ornamented. A mantle or cloak of a dark

mulberry colour, fancifully embroidered on the hem, was clasped upon one

shoulder by a silver buckle. Underneath was a short upper riding-tunic

made of coarse woollen, partly covering an under-vest made of finer

materials. A leathern girdle was buckled round his loins, having sundry

implements attached thereto, requisite during the performance of so long

a journey through a thinly-inhabited region. The upper garment scarcely

covered the knee, over which stockings of red cloth were seen, reaching

half-way up the thigh; round the leg were bandages or cross-garterings

well bespattered with mud; low boots or buskins protected the feet and

ankles; to these spurs were fastened, the head being spear-shaped and

something crooked in the shank. His beard was forked, and this

appendage, apparently the result of a careful and anxious cultivation,

he occasionally twisted with one hand whilst speaking. He carried a

lance, or rather hunting-spear, which he wielded with an air of great

formality and display; his followers were likewise furnished each of

them with a cloak and tunic, and a conical cap of coarse felt tied under

the chin with a leathern band: a girdle of the same material was buckled

round the waist, with a scrip and other necessaries for the journey.

They rode horses of the Welsh breed, small and stout-built; spoil

captured, in all probability, from that rebellious and unruly nation.

The entry of this armed train was more like an act of taking possession

than that of a peaceable and formal embassage; and the newly-arrived

seneschal soon began to exercise the office of governor or castellan,

seizing the reins of government with an iron grasp. He was a square

carroty-headed personage, about the middle size, and of a ruddy aspect.

He held an office of trust under the Fitz-Eustace, and, spite of his

saucy garrulity, in which he indulged on most occasions, he was

faithful, and would have challenged and immolated any one who had dared

to question the right of the Fitz-Eustace to precedence before any other

baron of the land. Long service rendered him more intrusive than would

have been thought becoming, or even excusable in any other enjoying less

of his mistress's confidence.

"Now, my merry men all," said this authoritative personage, "a long and

a weary path have we ridden to-day; and had we not been, as it were,

lost in your savage wildernesses--where our guide, whom we forced before

us by dint of blows and hard usage, could scarce keep us in the right

track--we had been here before sunset. Thanks to this saint of yours,

whosoever he be, for we saw the watchlights at times from the chapel, as

we guessed, else had we been longer in hitting our mark, and might,

peradventure, have supped with the wolves on a haunch of venison. Now

for the stables. What! have ye no knaves hereabout to help our followers

with the beasts?"

Oliver, much troubled at this loquacious and unceremonious address,

replied with some acrimony--

"The household are in the chapel, where it had been better thou hadst

let us bide, and given the corpse a quiet watchnight--the vigils for the

dead are not ended."

"Go to, master seneschal, for of this post I do adjudge thee, and

reverence thine office in respect of mine own, but let dead men make

their own lanterns; we must have supper anyhow, and that right

speedily."

Oliver, after seeing the gate secured, sent Hugo for help, whilst he led

the way himself into the hall of this once formidable fortress. It was

high and gloomy, the fire being apparently extinguished. A step on the

floor showed where the higher table was placed, prohibiting those

beneath a certain rank from advancing upon the skirts of their

superiors; an indispensable precaution, when servants and retainers of

all sorts ate their meals with the master of the feast. Perches for

hawks, in form like unto a crutch, were placed behind his chair; for

these birds were usually taught to sit hoodless in the evening among

company undisturbed. Hunting-spears, jackets, chain-armour, shields, and

helmets, decorated the walls; and many a goodly heritage of antlers

hung, like forest boughs stripped of their verdure. There were two

oriels furnished with leaning-stones for the convenience of loungers.

Painted glass filled the higher portions of the windows, representing

uncouth heads, hands, feet, and bodies of saints, in all the glowing and

gorgeous magnificence which the beam of heaven can give to colours of

more than earthly brightness, though disposed in forms of more than

childish absurdity.

The hall, the usual rendezvous of the household, was now deserted for

the dread solemnities of that cheerless night. But the stranger was much

discouraged by reason of the coldness and gloom, shivering audibly at

the comfortless appearance that was before him.

"St Martin's malison light on ye--fire, billets, and all--I've seen

nothing like to warm my bare nose and knuckles since we left Halton, two

long days agone. Verily, to my thinking, there's as much timber burnt

there daily as ye would pile here for a winter's use."

"Prithee come with me into the kitchen, we may have better quarters

peradventure among the fleshpots," said Oliver, leading the stranger

through a small doorway on the left. This _coquinus_ of our ancestors

was usually placed near the hall, for the convenience of serving. Here,

through a sliding aperture in the panel, the victuals were transferred

with safety and despatch. It was built entirely of stone, having a

conical roof with a turret at the top for the escape of steam and smoke.

A fire was still burning, provided with a large cauldron suspended on a

sort of versatile gibbet, by which contrivance it could be withdrawn

from the flame. Fire-rakes and fire-jacks were laid on the hearth, and

around the walls were iron pots, trivets, pans, kettles, ladles,

platters, and other implements of domestic economy. Huge dressers

displayed symptoms of preparation for to-morrow's necessities, and a

coarse kitchen-wench was piling fuel on the ever-burning fire.

The envoy, glad to be ensconced so near the blaze, quickly addressed

himself to the task of improving it by a dexterous use of a huge faggot

by way of poker. He had thrown off his upper clothing; and the grim

walls soon reddened with the rising glow. So intent was he on an

occupation which he evidently enjoyed, that he was not aware when Oliver

departed, the latter slipping off unobserved to the chapel for the

purpose of informing the dean of this arrival.

In one part of the kitchen was a long low-roofed recess, accessible only

by a ladder, wherein dried meats, consisting of bacon, ham, deers'

tongues, mutton, venison, and other dainties of the like nature, were

stored. To this inviting receptacle was the attention of our guest more

especially directed. Without ceremony or invitation he ascended, and

drawing out a formidable weapon from his belt he commenced a furious

attack.

Oliver, on his return, found this worthy usurping the functions of both

cook and consumer of the victual with great assiduity. He was

accompanied by the dean, who addressed the intruder as follows:--

"How is it that we have none from the noble house of Fitz-Eustace save

thou and thy company?"

The messenger looked askance from his occupation, disposing of a large

mouthful of the viands with sufficient deliberation ere he vouchsafed a

reply.

"Me and my company! As goodly a band, I trow, as ever put foot to

stirrup or fist to crupper! yet will I resolve thy question plain as

Beeston Castle. My lady is old, and her only son died long ago on a

crusade. Her third grandson, now in the office of constable, is out

amongst the Welsh--plague on their fiery blood!--by reason of the

absence of his elder brother, Roger, yet abroad in these Holy Wars. Of

the eldest born, Richard, we know not but that he is deceased. He left

the castle many years ago, sorely afflicted, for he was a leper. So

that, peradventure, my lady hath sent the best man she had, inasmuch as

I am steward and seneschal, being appointed thereto through her

ladyship's great wisdom and discretion."

Here he surveyed himself with an air of indescribable assurance and

satisfaction.

"And, saving your presence," continued the deputy, "I come here as

castellan, or governor, until he whose right it is shall possess it."

"And how know we that we be not opening our gates and surrendering our

castle to some losel knave, whose only title may lie on the tip of his

tongue, and his right on the end of his rapier?"

"By this token," said the seneschal haughtily, at the same time drawing

out a formal instrument, to which was appended the broad seal of the

ancient house of Fitz-Eustace.

The dean cast his eyes over the document, returning it to the messenger

without either answer or inquiry, and immediately retired from the

presence of this usurper on his long-coveted possessions.

Much chagrined by so unexpected an interference, he left the castle,

even at this untimely hour. Yet his footsteps were not bent towards the

shadow of his own roof, the deanery at Whalley.

Outside the castle wall, and on the steepest side of the hill, was a

little hermitage, wherein dwelt one of those reputed saints that dealt

in miracles and prayers for the benefit of the "true believers." Many of

these solitaries were well skilled in craft and intrigue; others,

doubtless, deceived themselves as well as others in the belief that

Heaven had granted them the power to suspend and control the operations

of nature. To this habitation, occupied by one of these holy santons of

the Church, were the steps of the dean immediately directed. He raised

the latch as though accustomed to this familiarity. The chamber, a high

narrow cell, scooped out of the rock, was quite dark; but the voice was

heard, a deep sepulchral tone, as though issuing from the ground--

"Art thou here so soon, De Whalley?"

"Sir Ulphilas," said the intruder hastily, and with some degree of

agitation, "canst work miracles now? The Canaanites are come into the

land to possess it; nor will threatenings and conjurations drive them

forth."

"I know it," said the hermit, who, though unseen, had not, it seems,

been an inattentive observer of the events of the last two hours. A

light suddenly shot forth, enkindled as if by magic, showing the tall

gaunt form of the "Holy Hermit of the Rock." He was dressed in a long

grey garment of coarse woollen. It was said that he wore an iron corslet

next his skin, for mortification, it was thought by the vulgar; but

whether for this purpose, or for one of a more obvious nature, it would

perhaps be easy to surmise. A girdle of plaited horse-hair encompassed

his thin attenuated form. His head was uncovered; and he seemed to have

just risen from his couch, a board or shelf, raised only a few inches

from the rock on which it lay. His eye was wild, quick, and sparkling;

but his cheek was deadly pale, and his features collapsed and haggard in

their expression.

"I have dreamed a dream," said the visionary.

"And to what end?" inquired his visitor, seating himself with great

deliberation.

"Nay, 'twas not a dream," continued the hermit: "St Michael stood before

me this blessed night, arrayed as thou seest him portrayed in the glass

of his holy chapel above. His armour was all bright and glistering, and

his sword a devouring flame. He flapped his wings thrice ere he

departed, and said unto me, 'Arise, Ulphilas, and work, for thine hour

is come!'"

"And what the better am I," said the irreverent priest, "for this

saintly revelation? I must work too, or "------

"Hold," said the hermit, laying his hand on the other's shoulder with

great solemnity; "speak not unadvisedly with thy lips; there be created

intelligences within hearing that thou little knowest of."

"Thou didst promise; but verily the substance hath slidden from my

grasp: whilst I, fond fool, embraced a shadow. Cajoled by thine

assurance, that my blood should be with the proud current that inherits

these domains, I forebore, and let thee work. But thou hast been a

traitor to my cause I do verily suspect, nay, accuse thee of this fraud.

Thy machinations and thy counsel were the cause. By thine accursed arts

Robert de Lacy hath left his patrimony to a stranger!"

"True, I counselled him thus. What then?"

"I and mine are barred from the inheritance!"

"Shall the word of the Hermit of the Rock fall to the ground? Have I not

promised that thy blood shall be with those that inherit these domains?"

"Promises are slender food for an hungry stomach," cried the unbeliever.

"If the promise fail, blame thy dastardly fears, and not my power. Thou

shalt see the promised land thou shalt not inherit. Thy son shall

receive the blessing."

The dean looked for a moment as though he could have fawned and

supplicated for a reversion of the decree; but pride or anger had the

mastery.

"And so," cried he, "thou findest thy predictions run counter to thy

schemes, perdie; for thou dost mock me in them with a double sense."

"How, false one? Have I not wrought for thee? Hath not he, whose corpse

now resteth in hope, overwhelmed thee with his favours through my

counsel and contrivance? I owed thee a service, for thou wast my stay

and sustenance when driven hither an outcast from the haunts of men. But

thoughtest thou that I should pander to thy lust, and hew out a pathway

to thy desire?"

"To me this!" said the covetous intruder, his voice quivering with rage.

"Yes, to thee, Robert de Whalley," replied the hermit: "because thou

hast not leaped the last height of thine ambition, forsooth--because

thou art not lord of these wide domains, through my interest and holy

communion with the departed--and because I have not basely sold myself

to thee, thou art offended. Beware lest the endowment be wrested from

thy grasp, the glebe and manor pass away from thine inheritance."

"Thou hadst the privity and counsel of the deceased, and a whisper would

have made it mine," said the dean, with great dejection.

"Greedy and unblushing as thou art, know it was I who counselled him,

and the deed is in my keeping. I sent a secret message unto Halton with

the news, and Roger de Fitz-Eustace will be here anon!"

"Thou dreamest; he is in bondage, or slain at Ascalon."

"He will reappear," replied the hermit, "and the banner of the

Fitz-Eustace wave on yonder turret. Hence! ungrateful member of our holy

communion;--to thy house, and let an old man rest in peace."

The disappointed priest departed in great haste: terror, of which he

could not divest himself, and for which he could not account,

overpowered him in the presence of the hermit. He durst not provoke him

further; but as he crossed the courtyard again a glimpse of hope shot

suddenly on his soul.

"In thy keeping!" He spoke scarcely above his breath; but the walls

seemed to give back the sound. He started like some guilty thing at the

discovery of its crime.

Before morning light on the following day the castle bell began to toll.

Preparations were making for the conveyance of the last of the Ladies to

the Abbey of Kirkstall, a journey which would occupy the greater part of

two successive days. The pathway over the hills was narrow, and the mode

of conveyance difficult, if not dangerous. A sort of litter was made for

the corpse, and slung on a pole between two horses, covered, as in a

bier, with the pall and trappings. A sword of ceremony was carried in

front; the dean rode immediately before the body, the chanters

preceding, and a priest with the cross and censer. Behind came the male

domestics, and the seneschal of Halton with his train.

Psalms were sung at every halting-place, and in the villages through

which they passed, and torches were kept lighted during the greater part

of the journey. These were for the purpose of being extinguished in the

earth that should finally cover the body.

Thus attired, and thus attended, was this once powerful baron conveyed

to his narrow dwelling-house in the dust.

We will not follow them further, nor detail the pomp of the funeral

rites, that last mockery of greatness, but return to existing objects

and events--man's ever-gnawing ambition; so vast, when living, that the

whole earth is too narrow for its sphere; when dead, the veriest churl

hath as wide a possession!

Weeks and months passed away, and the raw February wind grew soft in the

warm and joyous impulse of another spring. One night, about the hour of

vespers, two men, habited in monkish apparel, came to the cell of the

Hermit of the Rock. After the usual salutation they entered, carrying

with them staff and scrip, as if bent on a long and weary travel.

"Whence come ye, and whither bound?" said the hermit, surveying the

intruders by the light of a solitary lamp that was burning in a niche,

wherein stood a skull and crucifix, emblems of our faith and our

mortality.

"We are from the Abbey of Stanlaw, on our way to Kirkstall in the

morning."

"Wherefore abide ye here? There is lodging and better cheer withal in

the castle above."

"We are under a vow, and rest not save on holy ground: we crave thy

hospitality, therefore, and shelter for the night."

"Is your errand to Kirkstall hidden, or is it an open embassage?"

"The Lady Fitz-Eustace sendeth greeting by our ministry unto the holy

abbot through our superior at Stanlaw, beseeching that he would make

diligent inquiry touching the will of Robert de Lacy, once lord of this

goodly heritage. She hath had news of his demise, and likewise another

message with an assurance that every of these possessions have been

devised to the Fitz-Eustace by his last will and testament. Yet this

writing she has not yet seen, nor knoweth she into whose custody it hath

been given. Apprehending the great favours which the Cistercian house at

Kirkstall hath received from the Lacies, and the close intimacy which

the abbot once enjoyed, she doth conjecture that, in all likelihood, the

testament is in his keeping."

"Your journey hath need of none other reference, for the will is in my

custody."

"In thine, Sir Ulphilas?"

"How! know ye my name already?" said the hermit sharply, and a fierce

glance shot from under his high and pallid brow.

"Holy St Agatha! and has not the fame and sanctity of the Hermit of the

Rock gone forth to many lands! Where the broad Mersey and the silver Dee

roll their bright waters, thou art known by thy holiness and thy faith."

"And how is our good brother Roger, abbot of your monastery at Stanlaw?"

inquired the hermit, not deigning to notice their fulsome and flattering

epithets.

"Holy Virgin! how knowest thou his name?"

"And hath not the fame of your holy abbot, and the sanctity of your

house, reached us even here?" said the hermit, with a look of scrutiny

and scorn. The visitors were silent. The hermit seized the lamp, and

surveyed their persons with much care and deliberation.

"Holy father," said the abashed intruders, "we crave thy blessing, and

moreover a share of thy pittance, for our way hath been long and

toilsome: since yesterday our journeying hath been over hills and

through deep forests, infested by wolves and noisome beasts, which we

had much ado to escape."

The hermit drew a little table from the recess, blowing the wan embers

until a cheerful blaze flashed brightly through the cell. He then opened

a cupboard scooped out of the solid rock, and took thence a scrap of

hard cheese, a barley cake, and a few parched peas, with which the holy

men commenced their supper. They ate their meal in silence, washing down

the dainties with a draught from the spring. When the repast was

finished, one of the brethren thus addressed his host--

"And what shall be thy message to our holy abbot? Wilt thou send the

parchments to his grace?"

"Nay, brethren, that is not my purpose."

Another and a brief pause ensued.

"But the message?"

"Say that the will is here,"--he looked towards his bosom as he

spoke,--"and at the appointed hour it shall be ready. When Roger de

Fitz-Eustace comes hither, his claim shall be duly certified."

"Alas!" said the wayfaring guests, in a tone of deep sorrow and

apprehension, "he went on a warfare against the infidels."

"He will return," was the reply.

"The Virgin grant him a safe deliverance! but he tarrieth long, and a

rumour hath lately been abroad that he fell at Ascalon."

"'Tis false!" cried the hermit, roused to an unexpected burst of wrath.

His eyes kindled with rage, and he darted a glance at the intruders

which made them cower and shrink from his rebuke. In a moment he grew

calm, relapsing into his usual moody and thoughtful attitude. Taking

courage, they again addressed him.

"Is this thy message to the abbot of Stanlaw? If so, our errand hath but

a sorry recompense."

"And what recompense should fall to the lot of miscreants like ye?" said

the hermit, surveying them with a contemptuous glance. "I hear the sound

of your master's feet behind ye. Tell Robert, the proud Dean of Whalley,

that when he sends ye next on so goodly an errand, to see that ye con

your lesson more carefully, else will ye be known for a couple of errant

knaves as ever went a-mousing into an owl's nest! Hence, begone!" said

the hermit, as he drave them from his threshold; and the counterfeit

monks went back to Whalley in haste, reporting the ill success of their

mission.

"Nevertheless," said De Whalley, "I have some clue to the search, if

the glance of his eye, which these varlets have reported, do show truly

where the treasure is hidden. I will foil the old fox yet with his own

weapons."

This comfortable reflection, in all probability, moderated his anger at

the unskilful disposition of his messengers, whom he dismissed with

little ceremony from his presence.

In the meantime the new castellan was exercising his power with

unsparing and immoderate severity. Oliver de Wortshorn was almost

heartbroken; the old man suddenly found himself reduced to the condition

of a mere dependant on the self-will and caprice of this petty tyrant,

his authority having been usurped, and his office wrested from him, by

the hand of a stranger. Adam de Dutton[51] was the name of this new

functionary, and he rode it out bravely over the necks of the servants

and retainers, discharging some, punishing others, and making the whole

community groan beneath the iron yoke of his oppression. Had there been

a master-spirit to wield the elements of conspiracy, and unite the

several members, so as to act from one common impulse, matters were just

ripe for rebellion.

Early in the morning, after a day of more than ordinary discipline,

Oliver bent his feeble steps to the hermitage. He laid his complaints

before the occupier of the cell, who was ever ready to administer aid

and comfort to the afflicted.

"Take little heed of the deputy now," said the holy man, "his master

will be here anon. I hear the tramp of armed men, with the herald's

trumpet. I see the red griffin, and the banner of the Fitz-Eustace."

"But, holy father, Sir Ulphilas," replied the ejected steward, "there is

no peace either by night or day, and we are nigh worn out with his

waywardness and oppression. If it might be that your reverence would

come with me, peradventure the churl would grow tame at your presence."

The hermit, complying with this importunity, accompanied Oliver to the

castle.

In the hall Adam de Dutton was about consigning one of the villains,

for some venial offence, unto the whipping-post and the stocks. The

accused besought his inexorable judge for some remission of the

sentence, falling on his knees before him just as the hermit, with great

solemnity, entered the hall. His face was partly concealed by a large

hood, and little of his countenance was visible above the long beard

which flowed over his bosom, and the fire of his eye, which seemed to

glow through the dark shadows beneath.

"Whom bring ye next for our disposal?" inquired the castellan; but there

was no answer; every eye was directed to the hermit, who came slowly

forward, standing opposite to, and within a very short distance from,

the dread arbiter of justice in the castle of the Lacies.

"What brings thee to our presence? Back to thy sanctuary; else we may

deal with thee as with other knaves who live by their wits and the

witlessness of fools."

"What hath this man done amiss?" inquired the hermit, in a tone that

showed his meekness to be disturbed, and his wrath evidently kindling;

nor would the thunder be long ere it followed the flash.

"It is our pleasure!" answered Adam de Dutton, reddening with rage; "and

furthermore our pleasure is, that thou get thee to thy cell, or, by the

beard of St Michael, my bowmen shall help thee thither when this fellow

hath had his allowance at their hands."

"Fool!" cried the hermit, in a voice which struck terror through the

assembly; and even the judge himself started back with amazement.

"Begone, child!" said Ulphilas to the culprit; "I dismiss thee of the

punishment; peradventure thou hast deserved to suffer, but I give to

this emissary a timely warning thereby."

The criminal was not loth to obey, disappearing speedily without

hindrance, while the spectators were mute with amazement. The hermit,

too, was silent before the usurper, who, almost frantic with vexation,

cried out--

"Seize him!--help, for the Fitz-Eustace!--treason against our Lady of

Halton!"

Uttering many rapid and incoherent expressions, he approached the

hermit, who stood unmoved, apparently the only unconcerned spectator in

the rising tumult. The seneschal's guards were already in motion, but

Adam was the first who attempted the seizure.

The holy man drew back, as though from some touch of pollution.

"Hold!" cried he, "one touch and 'tis thy last. Rash fool, thou hast

provoked this rebuke!"

The hand of the seneschal had scarcely been put forth, when, lo! the

astonished deputy shrank back in dismay. A sudden change came over his

angry countenance--a look of surprise mingled with horror, as though he

could have wished the earth to gape and hide him from the object of his

apprehensions. He stood trembling, speechless, pale as ashes, expecting

immediate and condign punishment. So suddenly this change was wrought

that the spectators fancied it to be some direct interposition from

heaven; concluding that he was smitten for the sacreligious and profane

hand he had dared to stretch toward this holy man. Yet was the change

not so sudden but that a quick-eyed observer, if such were there, might

have seen the hermit's outer garment loosened for a moment, and a

significant whisper which the other evidently heard with such visible

tokens of alarm.

Ulphilas immediately retired to his cell, and from that hour the

castellan discharged his official duties evidently under the control of

some overmastering influence or apprehension.

Not long afterwards it was rumoured abroad that tidings had been heard

from Roger de Fitz-Eustace, who was supposed either to be in captivity

or to have fallen at the siege of Ascalon.

The king was still detained in prison by the Emperor Henry VI., and it

was only through the remonstrance of the German princes, and a threat of

excommunication from the Pope, that Henry, finding he could no longer

hold him in durance, concluded a treaty for his ransom at the exorbitant

sum of 150,000 marks, about £300,000 of our money; of which sum

two-thirds were to be paid before he received his liberty, and

sixty-seven hostages delivered for the remainder. The captivity of the

superior lord was one of those cases provided for by the feudal tenures,

and all vassals were, in that event, obliged to contribute towards his

ransom. Twenty shillings were therefore levied on each knight's fee

throughout England; but as this money came in slowly, and was not

sufficient for the intended purpose, the voluntary zeal of the people

readily supplied the deficiency.

The churches and monasteries melted down their plate to the amount of

30,000 marks; the bishops, abbots, and nobles paid a fourth of their

yearly rent; the parochial clergy contributed a tenth of their tithes;

and the requisite sum being thus collected, the queen-mother and Walter,

Archbishop of Rouen, set out with it to Germany, paid the money to the

emperor and the Duke of Austria at Mentz, delivered to them hostages for

the remainder, and freed Richard from captivity.[52]

During these important negotiations two messengers arrived at Clitheroe,

who in consequence of the deputy's absence for a season, held a secret

conference with the Dean of Whalley ere they departed. An order was left

that the castle should be forthwith in readiness for the reception of

some distinguished guest. In those days tidings travelled slowly in such

thinly-populated districts; like the heath-fire, which extends rapidly

where the fuel is thickly strewn, but is tardy in spreading where it is

less abundant.

The dean, having received the messengers, took special care that the

knowledge of their arrival should be kept, if possible, from the ears

and eyes of Adam de Dutton, who happened for several days at that season

to be hunting in the forest, where a mighty slaughter of game--wolves,

bears, and such like--was the result; in which dangerous pastime,

Geoffery, the dean's only son, acted a distinguished part. This bold

adventurer was accounted the most skilful hunter in the whole range of

these vast forests, where the venison was so strictly kept that the life

of a man was held in but little estimation, comparatively, with the care

and preservation of a beast.

The Deans of Whalley, as we have before seen, were mighty hunters in

those days; and a wild and picturesque story is told in Dugdale's _Mon.

Angl._. v. i., to which we have before alluded--to wit, that the

great-grandfather of the present incumbent, Liwlphus Cutwolph, cut off a

wolf's tail whilst hunting, from which he acquired this surname.

Geoffery inherited a more than ordinary passion for the chase. With his

bow and hunting-spear he had been known to spend many days in these deep

and trackless recesses, where the feet of man rarely trod, and the wild

roe and the eagle had their almost inaccessible haunts. Adam was often

his only companion; the seneschal's partiality for the sport having

rendered these dissimilar spirits more akin than their nature had

otherwise permitted.

On the evening of a sultry day Ulphilas had thrown himself on his couch,

when, without warning or intimation, the Dean of Whalley stood beside

him.

"The holy hermit hath betaken himself early to his repose. How fareth he

in this hard cell? 'Tis long since we have met."

"Peradventure it might have been longer, had not news travelled to thine

ear touching the safety of the Fitz-Eustace and his speedy arrival,"

said the hermit, without so much as turning his eyes toward his visitor.

Robert de Whalley stood silent and aghast. This was a direct and

unequivocal testimony to the prescience of the good father, for to no

ears but his own had the tidings been communicated.

"Thou knowest of his return?"

"Yes, ere the knowledge was thine," said the hermit carelessly.

"There is little use in secrecy where the very walls possess a tongue;

and seeing that the first part of mine errand is known, it may be thou

art as well instructed in the latter, which is the true purport of my

visit."

"I am," replied the other quickly, now for the first time fixing his

eyes on the intruder, "and of the issue too, I trow."

"Ah!" said the dean, with a long-drawn exclamation of surprise, and a

sudden gasp as though he would have held the secret more tightly to his

bosom; "and who"--

"Nay, thou art but obeying the impulse of thy nature," said the hermit,

musing. "The brutes ye hunt obey their common instinct--and thou--Yet

the ravening wolf and the cunning fox ye follow, and worry to their

death."

"Death!" cried the dean; "what meanest thou?"

"Did I not counsel thee to beware? But thou wilt tumble into thine own

pitfall. The trap is laid for thine own feet!"

The hermit sat on the low couch, and he gazed wildly round the cell as

though pursuing some object visible only to himself.

"Give me the parchments committed to thy trust by De Lacy, and I will

build a house to thy good saint, enriching it with rare endowments."

"Thou wouldest drive a thrifty bargain with Heaven. Verily thou

shouldst have the best on 't, though," replied the hermit, with a

contemptuous smile.

"Truly I could but return to Heaven the bounties that it gave; yet would

I, peradventure, build, for His honour and glory, to whom all things

belong, a habitation, the like whereof hath not been seen for

stateliness and grandeur," said the dean, with affected reverence and

humility of spirit.

"Others may do that as well as thou."

"But will he, whose coming is now at hand, make so costly a sacrifice

for the welfare of the Church? I will found an abbey, holy father,

consecrate to thy patron, wherein thou shalt be the ruler. I purpose to

enrich it with half my possessions, even of those whereby, through thy

ministry, I do become entitled from the death of Robert de Lacy."

"Which meaneth, if I but aid thee to rob another of some large and

goodly inheritance, thou wilt give to Heaven, forsooth, a portion of

what belongs not to thee."

"Once thou didst promise me thine aid."

"To robbery and rapine?"

"I have not wronged _thee_!"

"Nor I"--

"Thou hast; the inheritance is mine; thou hast robbed me of my right,

but I will regain these lands or perish on them."

"And so thou mayest, unblushing traitor."

"Traitor!--ah! this word to me?"

"Yes, to thee, Robert de Whalley!"

"Thou art in my power, old man; ere I entered thy cell I left a trusty

keeper at the door," cried the dean, with a grin of savage exultation.

"In thy power!--never, miscreant."

"Give the deed to my keeping, and no harm shall happen thee; refuse, and

thou art my prisoner. Force may accomplish my wishes without thy

compliance."

The hermit's eyes glistened like twin fires in their hollow recesses. He

stood erect, confronting his visitor, who, bold in audacity and guilt,

repeated his demand.

"Never!" said the hermit.

"Then die, fond dotard!" cried De Whalley; and, sudden as the

lightning-stroke, he drew a dagger from his vest, aiming a blow at the

hermit's bosom; but, marvellous to relate, the steel hardly penetrated

the folds of his drapery, glancing back with a dull sound, his person

remaining uninjured. A look of unutterable scorn curled the features of

the charmed, and apparently invulnerable, being before him.

"Cowardly assassin!" he cried, "I hold thy threats at less worth than a

handful of this base dust beneath my feet, and utterly defy thy power. I

am free as the untrammelled air, and thou mayest as well attempt to

grasp the shadow or the sunbeam!"

Swift as the words he uttered the hermit disappeared! The effect was so

sudden, aided, in all likelihood, by the dimness and obscurity of the

cell, that, to the astonished apprehension of De Whalley, Ulphilas had

made himself more impalpable than the air he breathed, sinking like a

shadow through the rocky floor.

"Thou hast escaped me, fiend," said the dean, gnashing his teeth with

vexation; "but I will overmatch thy spells: with the aid of this good

hand I may yet retrieve the inheritance."

Saying this, he left the cell, and returned to his home at Whalley.

Early on the morrow the hermit entered the hall where Adam de Dutton was

preparing for another expedition to the forest. The seneschal looked

uneasy and surprised, but acknowledged his presence with great respect

and humility.

"Adam de Dutton, thou hast other work to do," cried the holy man, "than

rambling after these fools i' the forest! Thy lord will be here anon."

"How! whom meanest thou?" inquired the castellan, with a vacant stare of

astonishment.

"Roger de Fitz-Eustace. He is at hand; see thou prepare to meet him."

"Surely thou mockest, Roger de"--

"Peace! The last beam of to-morrow's sun shall see the banner of the

Fitz-Eustace beneath the gate."

"To-morrow! Why--how cometh my lord? Surely thou dreamest--or thy"--

"Once more I warn thee of his coming; see to his reception, or thy lord

will be wroth; and Roger with the ready hand was not used to be

over-nice, or loth in the administering of a rod to a fool's back."

The hermit departed without awaiting the reply.

But great was the stir and tumult in the stronghold of the Lacies on

that memorable day. The hurrying to and fro of the victuallers and

cooks--the clink of armourers and the din of horses prancing in their

warlike equipments--kept up an incessant jingle and confusion. A

watchman was stationed on the keep, whose duty it was to give warning

when the dust, curling on the wind, should betoken the approach of

strangers. The guards were set, the gates properly mounted, and the

drawbridge raised, so that their future lord might be admitted in due

form to his possession.

The sun went gloriously down towards the wide and distant verge of the

forest, and the brow of Pendle flung back his burning glance. Nature

seemed to welter in a wide atmosphere of light, from which there was no

escape. Panting and oppressed, the hounds lay basking by the wall, and

the shaggy wolf-dog crept, with slouching gait and lolling tongue, from

the glare into the shadow of some protecting buttress. The watchman sat

beneath the low battlements, hardly able to direct his aching eyes

towards the forest path below the hill. The monotony of this dull and

weary task was reiterated until the very effort became habitual, and he

could scarcely recognise or identify any change of object from the

absorption of his faculties by the listlessness it created. One slight

curl of dust had already escaped him, another waved softly above the

trees where the path wound upwards from the valley. Again it was

visible, and the watchman seemed to awaken as from a lethargy or a

dream. Strangers were surely approaching, but without retinue, as the

wreath of dust, from its slight continuance, would seem to intimate.

Just as he came to this conclusion, two horsemen swept into view, where

a broad turn of the road was visible, disappearing again rapidly behind

the arched boughs of the forest.

Bounding almost headlong down the narrow stair, he ran immediately to

the hall, informing the deputy of what he had seen. Scarce had he

concluded when a hoarse blast from the horn rang at the outer gate. Adam

de Button hurried to the postern, where he saw two horsemen, bearing

unequivocal signs of their allegiance to the renowned constable of

Chester. They wore what was then considered a great novelty in dress,

the tabord or _supertotus_, a sleeveless garment, consisting of only two

pieces, which hung down before and behind, the sides being left

open.[53] Low-crowned yellow caps covered their heads, and the upper

tunic was yellow, richly embroidered, reaching only to the knees. They

wore forked beards, well pointed, and gloves and boots of beautiful

Spanish leather. Their horses were low, but of an exquisite symmetry,

and the beasts were pawing and champing before the gate when Adam

hastened down into the courtyard. These were avant couriers or

messengers from Roger de Fitz-Eustace, whom they announced as being

nigh, and to be expected ere nightfall, with his daughter Maud, a maiden

much renowned for her beauty.

As the sun sank deeper into the gloom of the woods, and the shadows grew

long on the green and sunny slope of the hill, the wild shrill notes of

a clarion rung through the forest glades; a distant burst of martial

music was heard, together with the roll of a drum--an instrument

borrowed from the Saracens, and in use only after the crusades.

Now went forth Adam de Dutton and his train bareheaded to meet their

lord, whom they found riding at a slow pace, conversing familiarly, but

attentively, with the Dean of Whalley. Behind him came the blushing Maud

on a beautiful white palfrey, and beside her a comely youth, in a fair

hunting-suit, the son of De Whalley, who, by his fervid and impassioned

glances, showed himself apt in other and nobler exercises than the

upland chase and the forest cover could afford.

Roger de Fitz-Eustace, the terror and scourge of the Welsh, and by them

called "Hell," from the great violence and ferocity of his temper, was

then about forty years old. He was clothed in a light suit of armour,

the hauberk, with the rings set edgewise, reaching down to the knees.

His helmet was cylindrical, the _avantaille_, or face-guard, thrown up.

He wore a coloured surcoat; a fashion that seems to have originated with

the Crusaders, not only for the purpose of distinguishing the different

leaders, but as a veil to protect the armour, so apt to heat excessively

when exposed to the direct rays of the sun. It was of a violet colour,

without any distinctive mark or badge. His highly-decorated shield was

borne behind him, the three garbs and the lions being chiefly

conspicuous in the marshalling: the former, the original bearing of Hugh

Lupus, was often used by the constables of Chester, in compliment to

their chief lord. Its shape was angular, and suspended from the neck by

a strap called guige or gige, a Norman custom of great antiquity. A huge

broadsword was carried by his armour-bearer, the person of the chief

being without any further means of impediment or defence than a French

stabbing sword, fastened on one side of his pommel, and a stout

battle-axe on the other. The horse was decorated with great and costly

profusion. At a short distance rode William de Bellomonte, the baron's

inseparable companion. A small train of archers and cross-bowmen brought

up the rear of the escort, save the baggage and sumpter horses, laden

not only with provisions but cooking utensils, and even with furniture

for the household. In those days it was a matter both of economy and

necessity for the occupants or lords of several castles to travel with

accompaniments of this sort; though possessing many residences, most of

them had the means and even conveniences only for the furnishing of one.

The seneschal and his train alighted, doing homage to their lord, who

was conducted with great pomp and ceremony into the fortress, now lapsed

for ever from the blood and succession of the Lacies; yet Roger de

Fitz-Eustace and his descendants, probably in commemoration of the

source whence originated their great honours and endowments, were ever

afterwards styled by the surname of De Lacy; and, strange as it may

appear, his father, John, constable of Chester, who died fifteen years

previously to this event, and who founded the Cistercian abbey of

Stanlaw, the parent establishment of Whalley, though he had not the

slightest pretensions to the name of Lacy, was popularly invested with

the name. It is still more singular that the mistake should have been

committed by Henry de Lacy, the last of the line of the Fitz-Eustace,

third in descent from Roger, in the foundation-charter of Whalley Abbey,

where he expressly styles his ancestor "Joh. de Lacy, Const. Cest."

Accompanied by her father and her female attendants, the "gentle" maiden

entered the hall. She was stately and beautifully formed, with little

show of her lineage except the high forehead and well-formed nose of the

Fitz-Eustace. She was enveloped from head to foot in a long gown or

habit; over this was cast a richly-embroidered purple silk surcoat or

cloak, embellished with those ephemeral absurdities called

pocketing-sleeves. These hung from the wrists almost to the ground,

showing an opening or pocket which might have supplied the place of a

lady's arm-bag in our own era. A wimple or peplus was thrown over the

head; a sort of hood, which, instead of covering the shoulders, was

brought round the neck beneath the chin like a warrior's gorget, giving

an exceedingly stiff and muffled appearance to the upper part of the

figure.

Geoffery was unremitting in his attentions, and his father seemed as

assiduous in his court to the fierce Crusader, who listened intently to

some private intelligence which the dean was evidently much interested

in communicating. The following were the only words that could be

distinguished at the dismissal of the courteous De Whalley, as he

retired a few paces ere he departed:--

"To-morrow be it," said Fitz-Eustace, "after matins, and we will hear

thee further in this matter: let him then be conveyed to our presence."

The dean retired, but at dawn he was again present in the chantry of St

Michael, within the castle.

Fierce came the beams of the morning sun through the eastern oriel of

the hall, and the guards and retainers of this feudal fortress were

waiting the appearance of their lord. Lounging idly at the great

entrance were those more immediately in attendance on their chief, some

playing at _merelles_, or nine-men's morris; others tilting with mimic

arms, and twanging the bowstring. The pikemen were drawn up in the

courtyard, awaiting orders from their superior. Their glittering weapons

flung back the morning light in sharp flashes to the sky; while on the

tower the dark pennon hung motionless and drooping in the sultry air.

The news of his arrival had drawn hither not a few of the surrounding

peasantry to gaze upon the pomp and to pay homage at the court of their

feudal lord; and a crowd of idlers was accumulating beneath the walls of

the fortress.

The breakfast meal being over, the baron entered through a side door

behind a rude bench, overhung with faded drapery, which formed an

elevation for the chief. His cheek was scorched and darkened with the

burning suns of Palestine, while his beard seemed to have been whitened

in that fiery clime. He was now habited in a rich purple cope or gown,

fitting close, without sleeves or armholes, and embellished with a deep

gold-coloured border, the Anglo-Saxon mantle being now discarded by

persons of distinction. The tunic underneath was of scarlet, bordered

with real ermine, which, together with the low square cap or coronet

that he wore, gave him something of a regal appearance. A leash of

hounds crouched at his feet. Before and below him the heralds and

officers of the household arranged themselves, amongst whom Adam de

Dutton was conspicuous by his ludicrously-solemn attitude and

appearance. The whole scene had the aspect of a military tribunal,

especially when Roger de Lacy (by which name we shall now distinguish

him) ordered that silence should be proclaimed, and that the Dean of

Whalley should be summoned to his presence.

Robert de Whalley immediately presented himself, with arms folded, and

an air of great ceremony in his behaviour.

"Thou hast been prompt to our bidding; the lark, I trow, had but newly

risen from her bed ere thou wast away from thine," said the baron.

"Three weary miles through this grim forest is good speed ere matins;

but I knew the occasion was urgent, and my lord's commands admit not of

delay. The palfrey which you so pleasantly noted yestereen is the sole

companion of my pilgrimages to and fro for the good of this noble house.

I did offer prayers for the soul of the deceased ere matins this

morning, in the chapel."

"Hast heard aught of, or communicated with, the traitor thou didst

denounce to me privily yesterday?"

"Being holden as one of great sanctity, by common report, peradventure

it were dangerous to lay hands on him without an express warranty from

our chief."

"He shall be summoned to our court. Adam de Dutton"--

"Stay, my lord," said the wily dean. "I would, with all due submission,

urge that caution were best in this matter."

"Caution, De Whalley! and to what end? Are not the Lacies able to

execute as well as to command? or is the lax ministration of justice now

complained of throughout the realm prevailing here also? By the beard of

Hugh Lupus, I will be heard, and obeyed too!"

"In good sooth, my lord, I see nor let nor hindrance in this matter,

provided that he whom we seek were of such ordinary capacities that be

common to flesh and blood, and subject to the same laws; but when we

have to cope with the devil, we must use his subtilty. Pardon me, my

lord," continued the accuser, seeing symptoms of impatience gathering on

the brow of the haughty chieftain, "though I am plain of speech, yet is

it the more easily understood. This delinquent of whom we speak hath

not, as the general report testifieth, the same nature and existence as

our own. He useth magic--I have credible testimony thereto, my

lord;--and anointeth his body so that it shall be invisible. The free

unconfined air is not more accessible to the scared bird than rocks and

walls are to this impalpable mockery of our form; and yet he may be

dealt with."

"Troth, a man of many faculties. How came he thus?"

"The vulgar do imagine that by dint of great maceration and humility, by

prayer and fasting, he hath attained communion with angels; but I

suspect they be those of the bottomless pit!"

"And why should he withhold the deed?"

"I know not, save that he purposeth by fraud and subtilty to cast these

fair possessions into the treasury of the holy church, and build an

abbey hereabout, the like whereof hath not been seen for glory and

magnificence."

"Doth he then deny our right to the inheritance? The Lady Fitz-Eustace

had a fair copy of the deed, purporting to be sent by the holy confessor

who shrived the testator in his extremity. But how hath this canting

hermit gotten the writing into his possession?"

"I know not, my lord, unless it be that the like arts have enabled him

to appropriate it by other means than those of honesty and good faith.

But give me a band of men, together with leave so to deal with him as I

shall see fit, and I trust ere long to render a good account of the

matter. I will come upon him unawares, ere he can render his body

inaccessible, and lay hold of the traitor."

"Traitor!" echoed a voice from behind a screen at the lower extremity of

the hall. Every eye was turned in that direction; when lo! the hermit

himself, the end and object of their deliberations, stalked forth,

unquestioned and unobstructed.

The baron rose, and his grim eyebrows were fiercely knit and contracted.

He looked inquiringly towards the dean, who, for a moment, was

confounded by this unexpected event. Yet his presence of mind and

fertility of expedient did not forsake him.

"Let him be instantly bound, my lord," whispered De Whalley, "and holden

by main force, or he will escape like a limed bird from the twigs. Let

him be led forthwith to the dungeon, where I myself will question him.

It is not fitting that this plotter should practise devilish devices

upon our assembly."

At a signal from their chief the soldiers surrounded him; but the

hermit, whose features were still hidden by the cowl, took hold of the

foremost, and with an incredible strength, dashed him to the ground. The

others drew back intimidated.

"Treason, my lord, treason!" cried the dean; "you behold him even in

your presence exercising forbidden arts. Away with him to the dungeon!

Guards, do your office."

"Miscreant, beware!" said the hermit. De Whalley, though bold and

generally undaunted, started back at the sound.

"What, this lawless intromission to our face, and in our council too?"

cried the baron. "Seize that hooded kite, knaves, or I will hang every

one o' ye on the Furca ere the sun be two hours older!"

Roger de Lacy, in a threatening attitude, approached the guards, who now

environed the hermit, using more caution than before. Suddenly they

rushed upon him, and he was pinioned ere he could make the least

resistance.

At this moment, so anxiously hoped for and expected by the dean, the

latter pushed towards him. Thrusting his hand into the hermit's bosom,

the long-coveted parchment was in his grasp, and in a twinkling it was

conveyed to his own.

"How now!" cried the baron, "wherefore in such haste? I trow the deed is

ours!"

With a great show of obedience and respect he drew the parchment again

from beneath his robe, and holding it cautiously beside him, exclaimed--

"My lord, ere this be read is it not prudent that we convey the traitor

to the dungeon, lest by his subtilty the writing be wrested from our

grasp?"

The hermit, yet held in close custody of the guards, cried with a loud

voice--

"Who is the traitor let the walls of my cell bear witness, when they

heard him offer a heavy bribe that this, the only evidence to the right

of the Fitz-Eustace, might be destroyed!"

"Fatherest thou the accursed progeny of thine avarice upon me?" cried

the dean, apparently indignant at so unjust an accusation.

"Give me the roll," said the constable, "and we will confront him by

what he would have withheld. After we have made our own right secure, we

adjudge him to his deserts."

The dean was obliged, however unwillingly, to obey; handing forward the

parchment, which Roger de Lacy unfolded in the presence of the hermit.

But it would be impossible to describe the consternation of the

chieftain when he read therein a formal grant, bequeathing the whole of

these vast possessions to Robert de Whalley and his heirs for ever.

The dean, apparently with surprise, and a well-feigned indignation at

the fraud which the hermit intended to have put upon him, exclaimed--

"I had a grievous suspicion long ago that this hoary hypocrite would

play me false; and indeed his great unwillingness to show the deed led

me to think that he meditated some deadly wrong."

"But wherefore," inquired the chieftain, "should there be messengers to

Halton with news and credentials so explicit that the estate was left

without let or encumbrance to the Lady Fitz-Eustace? A web of mystery is

here which we will speedily unravel. Who gave thee this deed? and

wherefore shouldest thou conceal it?" said he, addressing the hermit.

"Roger de Fitz-Eustace," replied the prisoner, "thine honour is abused.

That lying instrument was never in my charge."

"Why hast thou refused to render up the deed?"

"Lest it should fall into the hands of robbers, and thou shouldest be

cheated of thine inheritance. This traitor hath long had an eye to the

possession."

"'Tis his," returned the constable, sternly, "by this good title."

"'Tis a fraud--a base attempt put forth by this cut-purse to wrest it

from thee. Search him, and if thou findest not another, and of a

different tenor, hidden about his goodly person, let me die a traitor's

death."

"I see not that our power hath need of such a pleasant exercise. Thou

art accused by him of treachery; and verily 'tis a vain attempt to rid

thee of the charge to throw back the accusation upon him thou hast

wronged."

"My Lord de Fitz-Eustace," said the dean,--but Roger looked displeased

at this style and address, reminding him so soon of the departure of his

lately-assumed title De Lacy,--"your ear and mine have been too long

abused by this plotting wizard. He is now subject to my authority.

Hereby do I assume my rights, and arraign the culprit before my

tribunal."

The ambitious churchman approached the judgment-seat, whereon he was

just ascending; but the hermit, with a desperate effort, burst from his

bonds, and ere the guards could arrest him, he had grasped his adversary

by the throat.

"Traitor, I warned thee beforetime. Now will I unrobe thy villany to its

very nakedness."

The hermit, thrusting one hand beneath the garment of his victim, drew

forth the real deed, which had been dexterously exchanged by the wily

priest for his own fraudulent imposture. He then loosened his grasp, and

placed the real instrument in the hands of the baron.

"'Tis a forgery--- a base disposal of my rights," roared out the

infuriate and detected hypocrite.

But Roger de Lacy immediately saw that the deed was to a similar purport

with the copy which had been sent by some unknown hand, immediately on

the death of the testator, to Halton Castle.