The winter of the year 1068 was setting in with great severity,
sharp winds from the north and east had already stripped the faded
leaves from the trees of the forest, and the heavens were
frequently veiled by dark masses of cloud, from whence fast-falling
snow ever and anon descended.
The winter opened drearily for the inhabitants of Aescendune, for
the "mystery of the forest" was yet unsolved; none knew whence
those incendiaries had issued who had given Yew Farm, with all its
inmates, to the vengeful flames; but that this latter conflagration
was in some way connected with the earlier destruction of St.
Wilfred's Priory seemed not unlikely to most men.
Hugo de Malville cum Aescendune was not the man to sit calmly on
the battlements of his newly-built towers and survey the
destruction of his property, although he was not free from a
terrible dread that his sins were finding him out, at which times
he was like a haunted man who sees spectres, invisible to the world
around.
Well did he surmise from whom the deadly provocation came, the loss
of his farm, the death of a noble lad committed to his care; not to
mention the loss of some common men, who could easily be replaced:
for there were ever fresh swarms of Normans, French, and Bretons
pouring into poor old England, as though it were some newly
discovered and uninhabited land.
The aggressors, he doubted not, were the outlaws his tyranny had
driven to the forests, the forerunners of the Robin Hoods and
Little Johns of later days, whose exploits against the Norman race
awoke the enthusiasm of so many minstrels and ballad makers
{x}.
But all his efforts were in vain: neither men nor dogs could track
the fugitives, although all the woods were explored, save only that
impassable Dismal Swamp, where all seemed rottenness and slime, and
where it could scarcely be imagined aught human could live.
Day after day the vengeful baron ranged the woods with his dogs and
men-at-arms, but all in vain.
Neither would Etienne forbear his woodland sports, although the
stragglers in the forest were constantly cut off by their unseen
foe; but in his hunts, accompanied by Pierre, his sole surviving
companion, he sought more eagerly for the tracks of men than of
beasts, and vowed he would some day avenge poor Louis.
Brave although the Normans were, they hesitated to remain in the
outlying cottages and farms which were yet untouched by the
destroyer, and therefore, by their lord's permission, concentrated
their forces in and around the castle, where they kept diligent
watch, as men who held their lives in their hands, and shunned the
woods after nightfall.
For night after night the fatal fires blazed, now at one extremity
of the domain, now at another, until there threatened to be very
little left to burn, unless some prompt and decisive measures were
taken; but superstitious fears united with natural ones to assist
the unseen enemy, by paralysing the courage of the hitherto
invincible Norman.
This state of things could be endured no longer; and the baron sent
embassies to the neighbouring barons to beg their aid against a
combination of outlaws united against law and society, who had
burnt his farms and slain his retainers, and whom, owing to his
limited numbers, he had yet failed to exterminate.
The Normans clung together; hence their power--as the weakness of
the poor English was disunion--and favourable replies being
received, a day was appointed for a general search to be made in
the forest by the barons living near its borders.
It came at last--a day in November, when the sun seemed making a
last effort to prevail against coming winter. The wind was fresh
and bracing, and nature appeared bright and cheerful, on that
long-to-be-remembered morning.
Early in the morn, just after sunrise, Bernard de Torci, Gilbert
d'Aubyn, Eustace de Senville, and a large body of their retainers,
arrived at the castle. They found the men of Aescendune prepared to
receive them, and the leaders entered the council chamber of their
host.
There they perfected their plans--the forest was divided into
portions, and a district assigned to each leader to be subdivided
and thoroughly explored. All human tracks were to be followed up by
the help of the hounds, and prisoners, when taken, to be sent,
under guard, to the castle, there to be rigorously examined, if
necessary by torture.
The only part of the scheme presenting any real difficulty was the
morass in the centre of the forest, already known to our readers.
Hugo believed it impenetrable, and that no human being could live
within its area; but he sent for his chief huntsman, and examined
him before his fellow nobles.
He found that old Ralph regarded the Dismal Swamp, as they called
the morass, as utterly uninhabitable and impassable; he had never
heard any sounds of life from within; he thought the place haunted;
it abounded in quagmires, and corpse lights and baleful fires were
seen on its waters at night.
The man was dismissed, and it was decided, that the borders of the
morass should be explored, although with little hope of finding any
trace of the foe; but should such be found, it was not to be
neglected, the more especially if the search were conducted
elsewhere in vain.
The northern part of the forest fell to Hugo's share, and was
subdivided by him between his chief retainers. Every nook was to be
investigated, and signals were arranged whereby all the hunters
could be assembled together in case of need.
The work was a very arduous one, for the portion assigned to the
retainers of Aescendune alone, occupied a circuit of some fifteen
miles, bounded on the east by a stream which ran into the Avon, on
the north by a well-defined range of wooded hills.
This was the most important section of all, for what faint
indications had been gained of the whereabouts of the foe, all
pointed in this direction.
The men-at-arms were divided into five distinct bands, lightly
armed, because of the distance they had to travel, and Etienne
claimed and obtained the command of one party.
However, the baron, while he had no doubt of his son's valour,
grievously doubted his discretion, and added to the party Ralph,
his chief forester, strictly charging Etienne in any difficulty to
be guided by his advice--directions which the young heir received
with a toss of the head, which spoke volumes for his submission.
They entered the forest--a gallant array, each party numbering
about twenty, and there were nearly twenty of such bands; but when
they divided and again subdivided, and each took their different
routes, they appeared lost in the vastness of the forest, and in a
very few minutes every band was so isolated that they heard no
sounds indicating that any save themselves were in the wood.
We will leave all other parties to their fate, and confine our
attention to that commanded by Etienne, which, indeed, was destined
to surpass all the others in the results accomplished, and in their
influence on the future destinies of all the personages in our
history.
They proceeded fully five miles from home before their real task
began. Perhaps the reader will wonder how they could know their own
destined region in so pathless a wilderness, but it was part of the
training they had received as hunters to find their way in the
lonely woods; and there were signs innumerable which told them
where they were, and in what direction they were going. Etienne
alone, could guide his men while day lasted, as well as a pilot
could steer a ship in a well-known archipelago, and in Ralph he had
a tower of strength.
Every landmark was known--the course of every stream; each tree, by
the direction in which it threw its boughs and by the mosses at the
foot of its trunk, told the points of the compass.
Yet there were probably, in so large an extent of country, many
wild glens and deep fastnesses hitherto untraversed, and these had
to be discovered and explored.
Straight through the territory assigned to them marched our little
band; keen-nosed dogs went first, secured by leashes, that the game
they continually aroused might not lead them astray; men followed
who, like American Indians, looked for "trails" in every soft
surface of ground, and along the banks of each stream of sweet
water, where men might come to drink, but by noon they had
traversed the whole extent of their territory in a straight line,
and discovered nothing. Once, indeed, they thought they were on the
scent of man; but they had crossed the trail of a wild boar and
could not restrain themselves from following it up, the scent was
so fresh, and herein they wasted much time, but succeeded in
killing their boar; and Etienne at once proposed that, since it was
midday, they should light a fire and dine upon its flesh.
The forester, old Ralph, objected that the smoke would reveal their
presence, and frustrate the object of their expedition; but the
young noble replied so rudely that the old man withdrew his
objection.
The fire was kindled, the smoke arose high above the tree tops in
the clear atmosphere, and soon the poor boar was dissected, and the
choicest parts of his flesh held on spits. 'Twas somewhat fresh,
but none the worse, thought the roasters, for that.
The glade in which they were seated, through which the little brook
foamed and tumbled, was surrounded by magnificent old oaks, some
with hollow trunks, others with branches gnarled and twisted in a
thousand fantastic shapes, some yet retained a portion of their
leaves--brown and sere, one or two were enveloped with ivy, and
here and there the mistletoe could be seen, thick and verdant. It
was a spot the Druids must have delighted to haunt in the times
gone by, and one a painter might like to hap upon now in his
woodland strolls.
Some fallen logs were close by the stream, and upon these one party
placed the viands, or seated their own comely forms, while others
piled fresh sticks upon the fire, and held out the fizzing meat on
spits--full of enjoyment of the hour, and utterly careless of
danger.
Pierre was seated on one of the fallen trees; Etienne was playing
with the dogs, now only two in number, when the elder of them
lifted its nose in the air, and then began to growl ominously.
"The dog begins to be uneasy," said old Ralph.
"Another wild boar, probably."
"Had we not better appoint a sentinel or two? we might be taken by
surprise in this glade."
"Ralph, where hast thou left thy manhood? Art thou afraid of these
shadows?"
"They were not shadows who burnt our farms."
"I wish they had some substance, then we might get hold of them."
"May I appoint men to keep watch?"
"It is not necessary," replied Etienne, quite wilfully, for he had
determined not to be advised.
The meal was now prepared, and the whole party gathered round the
fire, arranging the logs so as to form seats. They were soon eating
with the zest of men who have had the advantage of forest air, when
they were disturbed by another growl from the older dog.
Ralph looked uneasily round.
"He smells another boar, but one is enough for our dinner," said
Etienne, and they turned again to their meal.
Suddenly one of their number, a woodman named Gilbert, leapt up
with a wild cry, and then fell down in their midst dead.
An arrow had pierced his heart.
The Normans rose aghast at this sudden intrusion of death, and
gazed wildly around.
But all was yet silent, no war cry followed this deadly act of
hostility--the woods seemed asleep.
"To cover," cried Ralph the forester, assuming instinctively the
command; "let your own arrows be ready for these lurking cowards."
And the Normans, sheltering themselves behind the trunks of the
trees, stood, their arrows fitted to the string, to await the onset
they momentarily expected.
But it did not take place, and after a trying pause of some
minutes, Etienne, who had quite recovered his audacity, and who was
a little nettled at being, as it were, superseded in the command
for the moment, shouted:
"Keep your eyes open and search the cover, the miscreants have
probably fled, but we may put the dogs on the track."
The obedient vassals obeyed, not without some hesitation, for they
felt that the moment of exposure might be that of death. Still they
were forced to undergo the risk, and they searched the immediate
neighbourhood, omitting no precautions that experience in woodland
warfare suggested.
But all their search was in vain.
"Shall we blow the horn and summon further assistance?" said Ralph.
"No, we shall but recall the other parties from their duties," said
Etienne, not wisely, for the cause was sufficient--they were at
least in the neighbourhood of the foe whom all panted to discover;
but he was angry with the old forester, and would receive no
suggestion.
The dogs, although they ran hither and thither, their noses to the
ground, seemed as much in fault as the men, and after an hour had
passed in this vain attempt to track the invisible foe, Etienne
gave orders to abandon the spot and resume their appointed task,
for they had yet to explore a square mile or two of forest--those
nearest the morass.
But here Ralph ventured a remonstrance; the day was far spent, they
had but an hour or two of daylight, and there were heavy clouds in
the northeast, which seemed to indicate a snowstorm; he thought
"they had better return towards home as fast as they could, and
finish their work on the morrow."
"If thou fearest for thyself, I give thee leave to return, old man;
for me, I will stay here till my duty is accomplished, and so will
all who value their fealty."
"It is the first time one of thy house has ever thus spoken to me,
my young lord."
"Let it be the last time then," said the proud youth; "it depends
but upon thyself; and now lead the way--our path is westward.
Examine the ground closely; we know we are in the neighbourhood of
the foe."
They obeyed, and an hour passed away without any further alarm,
when the dogs recommenced their warning growls.
The men appeared terrified: they knew what had followed those
warnings before, and their light jerkins of untanned leather were
not proof against arrows. They directed their keenest glances into
the forest.
The tall trees rose like the pillars of a cathedral, supporting the
fretwork of branches on every side; here and there some monarch of
the woods had fallen, and was now covered over with ivy; but no
other shelter seemed at hand which might conceal a foe, save some
little undergrowth here and there.
But the most serious thing was the hour; the day was fast
declining; the clouds which floated above them were fast assuming
those roseate tints which they receive from the setting sun; while
behind them vast masses, which looked black by contrast with the
glowing west, were slowly obscuring the heavens, and the winds were
heard moaning more and more loudly as each minute passed.
There was hardly a member of the band who did not share Ralph's
uneasiness, and who would not have given much to find himself safe
in the castle; but their wilful young leader was still unmoved--it
must be owned that his courage bordered on foolhardiness.
At length the darkness came, as with a rush, upon them; the black
clouds were overhead; some feathery flakes of snow blew about
them--precursors of the coming storm. Their work was still
unaccomplished, but Etienne at length heeded the murmurs of the
party, and calling them together, for they had dispersed to look
after the signs they hoped to find, said:
"I fear we must leave our work unfinished--we can see no longer,
and may as well return home."
"My lord, would it please thee to number the party? we should be
twenty."
"Count them thyself," he said.
"Fifteen."
"We left one behind us where we rested, but where are the rest?"
said Ralph.
"It is useless to search for them now--it is so dark, the hour is
late--we must return tomorrow."
"Perhaps," said the old forester, sorrowfully, "but we are in a
forest infested by these English fiends, perhaps by real demons.
There are many who affirm as much, and there is not a man here who
might not profitably give up a year of his life to be just five
miles nearer home."
The old man took the office of guide upon himself, naturally, as
the most experienced in woodcraft, and for a mile or two led with
confidence; but at length the darkness became intense, and the
guide paused.
The night was indeed terrible; it was as black as ink--they could
scarce see the uplifted hand when held before the face; while, to
add to their discomfort, the snow, now they had changed their
course, blew into their faces; the wind had risen and moaned in
hollow gusts amidst the tree tops. Its wailings seemed like
prognostications of coming evil.
It was at this juncture Ralph was forced to confess he could no
longer feel certain of the track.
"Let us trust to the dogs," said he; "they have an instinct better
than our reason. Let them have long leashes, and go as freely as
possible; we shall easily follow them, and, please God, shall reach
home in time."
"There is a better guide," replied Etienne, as they all suddenly
saw a solitary light, as from a man carrying a torch, arise before
them in the darkness, and glide gently on into the depths of the
forest.