Upon the banks of the Isis, about eight miles above its junction
with the Tame, stood the ancient town of Abingdon, which had grown
up around the famous monastic foundation of Ina, King of Wessex
{xvii}.
The river divides, at this point, into three branches, encircling
two islands {xviii}; partly on the southern bank, and partly on
the nearest of these islands, stood the mighty Abbey, one of the
largest and most renowned of the Benedictine houses of England.
And on the other island the Conqueror himself had built a country
seat whither he often retired, as convenient headquarters, whence
to enjoy the pleasures of the chase in the vale of White Horse,
famous in the annals of the Anglo-Saxon race for Alfred's great
victory over the Danes.
Few, alas, of the old English inhabitants lingered in the town,
save as bondsmen; few of the old English brethren, save as drudges.
For had they not alike incurred the wrath of the victor? Had not
the chief vassals of the abbey led their men forth to fight under
the hapless Harold?--nevermore, alas! to return--and had not the
monks blessed their banner and sanctified their patriotic zeal?
And since, on the one hand, William claimed to be the lawful
sovereign, and, on the other, the Pope had blessed the invaders, it
was clear that the Godrics and Thurkills who had committed their
cause to God before the wonder-working black cross of St. Mary's
Altar, were but rebels, and that the monks who had blessed them
were schismatics.
Hence the Normans in their hour of victory had cleared out laymen
and monks alike, root and branch, and the French tongue had
superseded the good old Anglo-Saxon dialect in the district.
It was a fine May evening, and the country was lovely in the
foliage of early summer.
A boat was descending the Isis, rowed by six stout rowers; it was
evidently from Oxenford, for the men bore the badges of Robert
D'Oyly, the Norman lord of that city, who had just built the tower
which yet stands, gray and old, beside the mound raised on Isis
banks by Ethelfleda, lady of Mercia, daughter of the great Alfred,
and sister of Edward the Elder.
In the stern of the boat sat Etienne de Malville.
He had journeyed first to Warwick, where he met the fugitives from
Aescendune, and heard their story; burning with revenge, he had
sought the aid of Henry de Beauchamp, the Norman governor of the
city; but that worthy, seeing the whole countryside in rebellion,
bade Etienne repair to the king for further aid, while he himself
shut his gates, provisioned his castle, and promised to hold out
against the whole force of the Midlands, until the royal banner
came to scatter the rebels, like chaff before the winds.
Then Etienne repaired to Oxenford, where he was the guest of the
new governor, Robert D'Oyly, for the night, who sent him on by boat
to meet the king at Abingdon, whither William was daily expected to
arrive to keep Ascensiontide, for he was still observant of such
duties.
The servitors, seeing a boat arrive thus manned, were sensible at
once it must contain a traveller or pilgrim of some importance--
probably the latter; for, as we have already hinted, they had a
wonder-working relic, in the shape of a cross, said to have been
given to the abbey by the Empress Helena, and to contain a fragment
of the true cross itself.
True, it had failed to prosper the poor English, who knelt before
it, ere they went to die at Senlac; but of course that was because
the Pope was against them, and had suspended the flow of spiritual
benediction.
At least, so said the Normans, and they extolled the Black Cross as
much as their predecessors.
"Pax vobiscum, domine," said the chamberlain, who happened to be at
the quay; "thou art come, doubtless, to bewail thy sins before the
cross of St. Mary's Abbey?"
"When my leisure permits, reverendissime pater; at present I seek
an immediate audience of the abbot, for whom I bear sad news."
"He is riding to meet the king. Listen, dost thou not hear the
trumpets?--that blast tells of their return together."
"Wilt thou grant me a chamber, that I may don meet apparel for the
presence?"
"It is my duty; but of thy grace--tell me whom I entertain."
"The Lord of Aescendune, and patron of your branch house there."
The chamberlain bowed low, and turned to lead his guest within the
precincts. The rowers cried "largesse," and the young noble threw
them a handful of coin.
Soon Etienne was alone in a comfortable cell, and was attiring his
person, a duty a Norman seldom neglected; nor did he despise the
luxury of a bath, to the scorn of the un-laving natives. The Norman
was the gentleman of the period, alike in etiquette, attire, and
food.
And likewise, some of the most beautiful of the animal creation are
the fiercest carnivora.
The abbot had put off his riding attire; he had clothed his feet in
dainty slippers instead of sandals, and had thrown a soft robe
around his monastic garb--contrasting strongly with the stern
attire prescribed by St. Benedict, and he was about to descend to
the hall, when the chamberlain in person told him of the arrival of
Etienne.
"Bid him share our poor meal; we will hear no bad news till we have
broken our fast; they sit ill on an empty stomach."
The chamberlain retired.
And there at the guest table in the refectory sat Etienne, and
marvelled to see how well the ascetics fared. Yet there was
refinement in their dishes; and there was little or no excess; they
drank the light wines of France, not the heavier ale and mead of
their predecessors.
The Latin grace said, they fell to. The joints of meat were passed
round, the game, the fish, and each used his fingers in the place
of forks, and then washed them in the finger glasses, which had
some purpose then to serve, ere they waved them in the air, and
then wiped them on delicate napkins.
The meal over, the abbot retired to his chamber, a pleasant room,
overlooking the river, and there he took his seat in a cosy chair
near the Gothic window, and sent for the visitor.
Etienne appeared; bent with the grace of youth, kissed the abbot's
hand, and then standing before him, with all due modesty, waited to
be addressed.
Such etiquette was exacted of those who had not yet won their
spurs.
The abbot gave him a short benediction, a brief "Dens te custodiat
fili," and quickly added, "I am told thou hast news for me of our
little patrimony at Aescendune."
"The wolves have ravaged it, father; our own pious brethren are
ejected; English swine root in its precincts."
The abbot coloured.
"Who has dared to do this impiety?" he thundered.
"The English rebels and outlaws, who have long lain hidden in the
woods, led by the son of the rebel lord who fell at Senlac."
"The brethren--are they safe?"
"They are on their journey hither; the saints have protected
them--no thanks to the English."
"And how dared the stripling thou namest to do such deeds; where
was thy father, the Baron?"
"He was foully slain in an ambush:" and Etienne, who strove to keep
cool, could not restrain a strange quivering of the lips.
"Come, tell me all, my son; God comfort thee."
Etienne began his tale, and the reader will easily guess that
Wilfred's character fared very badly at his hands--that without any
wilful falsehood, of which indeed this proud young Norman was
incapable, so distorted a version of the facts known to our readers
was presented, that the abbot shuddered at the daring bloodthirstiness
and impiety of one so young as this English lad.
"It is enough--thou shalt have audience with the king at once. I
can obtain it for thee; God's justice shall not ever sleep, and
William is His chosen instrument. Hark!"
The compline bell began to ring.
"William attends the service tonight. I will crave an audience for
thee; meanwhile, compose thy thoughts for God's holy house. Come,
my son, this is the way to the chapel."
If the reader has visited the old colleges in Oxford or Cambridge,
he will easily conceive a fair idea of the general appearance of
the abbey of Abingdon.
There were the same quadrangles (vulgarly called "quads"), the same
cloisters, open to the air, but sheltered from sun and rain; which
find their fairest modern example, perhaps, in Magdalene College,
Oxen. The cells of the monks resembled in size and position the
rooms of the undergraduates at the olden colleges, although they
were far less luxuriously furnished.
Nor was the element of learning wanting. The Benedictines were
indeed the scholars of Europe, and some hundred boys were educated,
free of cost, at Abingdon--the cloisters in summer serving as their
classrooms. And let me tell my schoolboy readers, the fare and the
discipline were alike very hard.
But the chapel in great abbeys--like the one we are writing
about--resembled a cathedral rather than a college chapel. And he
who has the general plan of a cathedral in his mind can easily
imagine the abbey church of St. Mary's at Abingdon.
The choir was devoted to the monks alone; the nave and aisles
apportioned to the laity; the side chapels contained altars
dedicated to special saints, and occasional services.
Such was the building into which Etienne de Malville entered, not
without religious awe, as the pealing organ--then recently
introduced by the Normans--rolled its volume of sound through the
vaulted aisles.
The monks were all in the choir, which was lighted by torches and
tapers. In the nave a few laity of the town were scattered--here a
knight or soldier, there a mechanic.
Suddenly, as Etienne took his place, the tread of many armed heels
broke the silence, and penetrated up the aisle.
The sound ceased; those who caused it were already in their chosen
places, and the monks had begun the Psalms, when Etienne heard a
peculiarly stern and deep voice near at hand taking up the sacred
words of Israel's royal singer, with which the worshipper seemed
familiar.
Then, for the first time, he perceived that the Conqueror--the
mightiest of earth's warriors--was he from whom the voice
proceeded, kneeling without state in the midst of his subjects,
lords and vassals, to join in the late evening service of the
church {xix}.