It was a feature peculiar to the Norman Conquest, that while its
real injustice and disregard of moral right could hardly be
surpassed in the annals of warfare, the conquerors strove to give
to every act of violence and wrong the technical sanction of law
and the appearance of equity.
This was easily done: first, by assuming that William was the
lawful successor of Edward the Confessor, and that all who had
opposed him were therefore in the position of conquered rebels; and
secondly, since the Pope had excommunicated Harold, and sanctioned
the invasion, by treating all his aiders and abettors as heretics
or schismatics.
Generally these harsh doctrines were pushed to their legitimate
consequences in cruel wrong inflicted upon an innocent people, and
the Anglo-Saxon thanes and nobles who survived the first years of
conquest were reduced to serfdom or beggary; but there were
exceptions. William doubtless intended at first to govern justly,
and strove to unite the two nations--English and Norman; therefore,
when the occasion offered, he bade his knights and barons who
aspired to an English estate marry the widows or daughters of the
dispossessed thanes, and so reconcile the conflicting interests.
Hence the blood of the old Anglo-Saxon lords flows in many a family
proud of its unblemished descent from the horde of pirates and
robbers, whom a century and a half in France had turned into the
polished Normans.
Alas! the varnish was often only skin deep.
"Scratch the Norman, you will find the Dane," said the old
proverb--none the less ruthless and cruel because of the gloss of a
superficial civilisation.
Within a few weeks after the fatal day of Senlac, all resistance on
the part of the disunited English, left without a recognised
leader, became hopeless; and William was crowned on Christmas Day
at Westminster Abbey, which on the previous feast of the Epiphany,
in the same year, as we reckon time, had witnessed the coronation
of his hapless rival. There he swore to be a just ruler to English
and Normans alike, and, doubtless, at the time he was sincere; but
history records how he kept his oath, and the course of our story
will illustrate it.
The lands of all who fought on Harold's side at Hastings were
announced to be forfeited; hence the widow and son of Edmund were
liable to be ejected from their home and possessions at Aescendune.
But the conduct of Wilfred on the night after the battle had won
him friends, and they pleaded for the youngster whose gallant
bearing had made an impression on the mighty Conqueror himself, who
felt a passing interest in the brave boy.
Still he would only interpose to stay the execution of the unjust
law, and to keep off the greedy Norman nobles, who were already
prowling around the fair manor, on one condition: the lady of
Aescendune must marry a Norman knight, recommended by himself; in
which case, the right of succession after the death of his
stepfather should rest with Wilfred, who by that time would
doubtless have become Norman in all but lineage--so thought the
Duke.
At first poor Lady Winifred utterly refused to consent; but when
the prior of St. Wilfred reminded her that, in that case, she would
lose all power of protecting her tenantry--the widows and orphans
of those who had died around her husband, and that by refusal of
the terms she threw away Wilfred's inheritance, and consigned
herself and children to beggary--then she wavered, and after many a
painful scene gave way, and consented to become the bride of Hugo
de Malville, the earliest applicant for her hand and estate, when
the year of mourning for her lost Edmund should have elapsed.
"I may give my hand," she said, "but can never give my heart."
The good Bishop of Coutances saw that the preliminaries were fairly
arranged, for Hugo de Malville came from his diocese, where, if the
truth be told, he had not borne an exemplary character, and the
bishop would fain have found a better father for the young Wilfred;
only the Conqueror was peremptory, and would brook no interference
with his arrangements.
Therefore, all the good prelate could do was to see that the
marriage contract was fairly drawn up by clerkly hands--that
Wilfred stood next in succession. There was need of this, for Hugo
had a son of the same age, a hopeful youth, named Etienne, the only
being on earth whom he was known to love.
This lad was named next in order of succession to Wilfred, failing
issue from the new marriage.
The morning sun was shining brightly one October day, in the year
of grace 1067, on the old moated manor of Aescendune, on its clear
river and its deep woods, now bright with all the gorgeous tints of
autumn.
All the good people of that well-known neighbourhood--well-known we
mean to the readers of the former Chronicles--were gathered
together in crowds on the green between the castle and the
venerable priory of St. Wilfred, founded, as related in the first
of these veritable family legends, by Offa of Aescendune.
Many a group of friends and kinsfolk had formed itself, some in
eager but not loud discussion, in which the guttural tones of that
English, so unlike our own, yet its direct progenitor in language,
contrasted sharply with an occasional shout in Norman French from
some marshal of the ceremonies, bent on clearing the course for the
passage of the coming procession.
A deep gloom sat on many a brow--on nearly every aged one; for many
of the youngsters were merry enough.
From the main archway of the old hall issued the bridal
procession--whence the funeral of Edmund had but emerged one year
before: she, surrounded by such friends and neighbours as yet lived
and were permitted to hold their lands up to this time in peace,
while he came from a neighbouring castle, newly erected, where he
had spent the night with great pomp and state, preceded by heralds
with their trumpets, and surrounded by all the knightly robbers who
had been already successful in grasping manors and estates round
Aescendune.
The Bishop of Coutances, vested in white stole, received them at
the door of the priory church, attended by the English prior.
"Hugo," said he, "wilt thou receive Winifred, here present, as thy
wedded wife, according to the rites of our Holy Mother the Church?"
"I will," he replied, in firm tones.
"Winifred, wilt thou receive Hugo, here present, as thy wedded
husband, according to the rites of our Holy Mother the Church?"
She faltered, trembled, then said: "I will," but all present must
have marked her hesitation.
The bishop continued:
"I join you in matrimony in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy
Ghost."
Then he sprinkled them both with hallowed water, and afterwards
blessed the ring, praying that she who should wear it might ever be
faithful to her spouse, and that they might live in the peace of
God and in mutual charity.
Hugo placed the ring on her cold, shuddering finger, she trembling
like an aspen leaf; after which the bishop led the way to the high
altar, where the customary mass "pro sponso et sponsa" was said.
Forth they now issued, the heralds first with their trumpets; then
the men-at-arms with all the pomp of Norman array; then the
principal tenants of the estate, looking more like prisoners than
guests; then another troop of Norman men-at-arms; then each on his
own horse, his squire by his side; the neighbouring barons, who had
already built their castles and strengthened themselves in the
land; then, preceded and attended by pages in sumptuous tunics of
linen, fringed and girded with cloth of gold, the happy pair, he on
his war steed, she on her white palfrey--he dark as the raven, she
fair as the lily.
Wilfred and Etienne were walking side by side in the procession,
and it was impossible to help being struck by the contrast in their
appearance--the one supple and lithe in every limb, with dark,
restless eyes, and quick, nervous temperament; the other, the
English boy, with his brown hair, his sunburnt, yet handsome
features--the fruit of country air and exercise--far stouter and
sturdier than his foreign rival.
They were expected, of course, to be very friendly; but any keen
observer would have noted a certain air of distrust which showed
itself from time to time in their glances, in spite of the awkward
advances they made to each other.
How could it be otherwise? Could they forget the deadly feud
between their races? Could they forget that each was a claimant of
the lands of Aescendune--the one by birth, the other by the right
of conquest?
And now the bridal train reached the gates of the Hall amidst the
plaudits of the Normans and the deep silence of the Englishmen--many
of whom would sooner far have seen the fair Winifred in her grave
than the wife of Hugo de Malville.
"What thinkest thou, Sexwulf, of this most outlandish wedding?"
"What can I think, Ulf, but that the good widow has lost her senses
through grief at the death of her lord, the noble Edmund, else
would the dove never mate the black crow."
"Yea, she was pale as death as she entered the church."
"Well she may be; she liketh not the match, only she would save the
estates for her boy's sake."
"Will she be able to save them?"
"So the Conqueror hath promised. Wilfred, our young lord, is to
inherit if he live; and if he die, then that dark young French
lad--a true cub of the old wolf."
"If he live. Well, I would not wager much upon his chance of a long
life in that case."
"Nor I; but we must not say so, if we value our ears, or our necks
even."
Long and loud was the revelry in the castle of Aescendune that
night; as it is written in the old ballad of Imogene:
"The tables groaned with the weight of the feast,
And many and noble were the guests."
But no spectral form sat beside the bride, although there were not
wanting those who half imagined the dead Edmund might appear--roused
even from the grave, to see the seat he had occupied so many years in
honour and worth, filled by this dark-browed Norman stranger.
"Let us drink," said the courtly bishop, "to the health and
happiness of Norman lord and English lady, and may their union be a
type of the union betwixt the two people, who, forgetting that they
met as worthy foes at Senlac, may live as brethren under the
noblest king in Christendom."
The toast was drunk with acclamations; even the English guests
thought they meant it in the delirium of the jovial scene, and
fancied for a moment that Englishman and Norman might yet live in
peace.
"Is it not sweet?" said the good prior to one of the English
guests. "It reminds me of the happy time when it is said the wolf
shall lie down with the lamb."
"Methinks the lamb is likely in this case to lie down inside the
wolf, especially if he be a Norman wolf."
But the speaker, whose attendance was compulsory, or he had not
been there, had few sympathisers at the moment.
"Let us hope for the best. Sir Hugo will not, cannot forget the
solemn covenant he has made today, to love and to cherish, till
death part him and his bride."
"I hardly think, good father, that day is far off, judging by her
looks."
The wax tapers cast a sweet, soft light over the pale, sad features
of Winifred of Aescendune, daughter of Herstan {vii} of
Clifftown, on the Thames, who had but lately, full of years, gone
to his rest, spared the sad days of the Conquest--days utterly
unanticipated by those who died while Edward the Confessor yet
reigned in peace, ere Harold visited the Norman court and swore
over the holy bones.
She was but fulfilling a sad duty--at least she thought so--as she
played her ill-omened part, sacrificing herself for her boy and her
only daughter Edith. For what was the alternative? Was it not to go
forth as fugitives and vagabonds on the face of the earth--a prey
to every foreign noble--leaving her own dear people of Aescendune
to the wolf, without intercessor or protector.
And thus it came to pass that Winifred of Aescendune married Hugo
de Malville.