WIFE OR WIDOW?
The Castellan of Blauncheflour swept hastily from the chamber where she
had held council with the two knights, doubting lest her power of
self-control should fail her, and that the desperate grief which was
gnawing at her heart should gain the upper hand, and mar the stately
boldness of mien which she saw affected them not a little, by bringing
the weak tears which are accounted a woman's privilege.
She remembered bitterly that almost the last day which she had spent
with her dear lord had been clouded for him by her weeping, and she
felt as if by maintaining firmness now she was carrying out his wishes.
'I vexed him with my tears,' she said to herself. 'Ah! now I will be
the very hero's daughter he bade me to be. I will be bolder than his
mailed retainers. While I can get one soldier to fight for me, one
warder to pace the walls, I will hold his castle ready to receive him!'
By such brave words she tried to stifle the awful terror that assailed
her secret heart that the tidings of Stephen le Hareau were indeed
true.
Leaving the room hastily, she nearly fell over the fair figure of
Eadgyth, who was kneeling on the threshold.
'Eadgyth! what dost thou here? Is this obeying my behests? I bade thee
tend the wounded, from whom other duties called me.'
'Pardon, dear Emma! I feared lest thou shouldst need my service. I have
not forgotten the day when I found thee senseless in thy chamber; and
these news be so dire.'
'Faint heart!' cried Emma contemptuously, taking refuge in indignation.
'Dost thou then credit the wild stories of these runaways? How but by
telling of slain leader and ruined cause could they excuse their own
cowardice? The cousin of Harold Godwinsson should despise them for
_nodings_!'
Her eyes blazed with the light of fierce determination, as she hissed
out the word which in the ears of Saxon or Dane was the most degrading
that could be applied to a warrior.
The mild-natured Eadgyth, whose courage was of the moral order, and
with whom fortitude and fidelity were greater than high spirit, gazed
wonderingly at her friend. She had seen Emma cry over a fawn the dogs
had lacerated, or over the dead body of a pet bird, when her own eyes
had been tearless, and this strange strength of Emma's made her shiver,
for she fully believed that the earl was slain.
Emma looked in her startled face and laughed. 'Tend them, bonnibell,
and ease the pain of their wounds; but credit them not. Let my lord
deal with them when he comes back at the head of a victorious army.'
Eadgyth, like the knights, thought that the countess was going mad.
Perhaps she was; but her madness saved the garrison.
Yet, to say truth, her high spirit quailed when she re-entered the
spital. The draggled, blood-stained, dejected warriors who lay, and
leaned, and stood around, with every variety of wound to be dressed,
were no cheering sight. Nor, when she saw their pale, stern faces,
grave with defeat and haggard from fatigue, did she stigmatise them in
her heart, as she had stigmatised them in words, as cowards--_nodings_.
Her woman's heart went out in sympathy to the suffering humanity around
her. She did not pause to settle the question whether they had fled
prematurely or stood by their leader--in whom was all her joy--to the
last bitter gasp, as brave men should. She dared not investigate too
closely, lest they should convince her that she had wronged them, and
so daunt the hope that was her only comfort.
With tireless industry she busied herself in the manual labour of the
leech, in such crude forms as the medical science of the day allowed.
How rudimentary they were may be guessed from the story told us by old
Robert of Gloucester, of the Duke of Austria in Coeur de Lion's time,
some fifty years later, a patient who doubtless had at his command
whatever skill the times afforded. The duke fell from his palfrey and
hurt his foot, which mortified, and the doctors advised him that his
only hope lay in having it taken off. Nobody, however, could be found
bold enough to undertake the operation, and the poor duke at last held
a keen axe with his own hands upon his ankle, and bade his chamberlain
smite upon it with all his strength, the foot being severed at the
third blow.
Such being the best surgical aid that a royal duke could obtain, it may
be imagined that little could be done to ease the pangs of humbler men.
A stream of fugitives came straggling in before the day was done, and,
alas! all told the same tale. They were mostly Bretons or Normans, for
the Saxons and Anglo-Danes who had followed the earl sought refuge, not
in the Norman stronghold, but in the forest retreats where their
countrymen had already found shelter, and in the fastnesses of wold and
fen, which were familiar to their steps.
The bride of a month before tended them with feverish assiduity,
refusing rest and food, dreading that time for thought should force her
to yield belief to the tidings they all brought--that she was a widow.
When evening came, Sir Alain de Gourin demanded another audience, at
which he appeared alone, averring that Sir Hoel could not leave the
direction of the defence at the same time as himself.
He faced the countess doggedly, with a defiant gleam in his bulging
blue eyes which she did not find it pleasant to meet. His cheeks were
more purple than ever, and it seemed to Emma that his red moustache
almost quivered with flame, while his brawny figure was adorned with an
unusual display of finery, the flashing jewels on his baldric
attracting her eyes even in that moment of distress.
He urged that what had seemed a doubtful rumour in the morning had
become certain news by night, since fugitive after fugitive had
confirmed the tidings first brought by Stephen le Hareau, and begged
her once more to think of her own safety, and allow himself and his
trusty Bretons to escort her to Bretagne.
'Is it but to repeat to mine ears the idle plaints of these runaways
that thou hast summoned me to solemn conclave, good knight? My answer
of the morning stands.'
She broke into a laugh that was low and silvery enough, but which
caused even the thick-skinned mercenary to shiver, and she would have
swept from the room, but, recovering himself, De Gourin stepped
forward, and, laying his mailed hand on her arm, detained her.
'By the Rood!' he exclaimed, 'thou shalt not go! Thou alone in all this
castle dost refuse to believe the inevitable. I tell thee, knights of
my following, whose word is sacred as my own, saw Ralph de Guader
struck down by the mace of Odo of Bayeux; none could live after such a
blow, were his harness sevenfold thick! Besides, the press of battle
was upon the spot where he fell, and the feet of the horses must have
achieved what Odo began, if his mace completed it not.'
Eadgyth, who attended the countess, uttered a scream of horror, and
endeavoured to stop his speech. 'Wouldst thou kill her?' she cried.
Emma shook herself free from his grasp, and faced him with flashing
eyes of scorn.
'By the mass, noble lady, pardon me! I would have spared thee these
rude details, but perforce I must have thee comprehend.'
'If the earl indeed be perished,' said Emma bitterly, 'life will not be
so sweet to me that I should take such care to save it. Save thyself
and thy Bretons if thou wilt. If ye go, there will be less to man the
walls, but fewer mouths to feed.'
The last words were uttered with a careless contempt that was
absolutely sublime, and the blustering mercenary no longer ventured to
detain her.
'Certes, the donzelle is mad!' he asserted, with a round oath, when she
had left the chamber, for her absolute refusal to leave Blauncheflour
had thrown to the winds his plan for becoming her second husband, and
becoming lord of her fair manors.
Outside the chamber door Emma turned to her loving bower-maiden like a
creature of the woods at bay. Eadgyth's sympathy was more dreadful to
her than the Breton's brutal frankness. 'I would be alone, Eadgyth. I
am going to the oratory,' she forced her white lips to murmur, and
almost fled from her side down the circling stairway.
Eadgyth followed at a distance, and, when Emma had disappeared within
the sacred portal, threw herself prostrate at the threshold, like a
faithful hound, as she had thrown herself at the door of the
council-chamber in the morning.
Emma, alone at last, knelt before the shrine of the Virgin. She chose
that rather than the one dedicated to St. Nicholas, for it seemed to
her in her anguish that her husband's patron saint had forsaken his
votaries in their distress.
The grief she had so long held at bay shook her from head to foot with
a long quivering sob that held her speechless, and almost stopped her
breath. She stretched out her arms in mute supplication to Heaven.
Scalding tears formed slowly in her eyes, and rolled one by one down
her bloodless cheeks.
Then a fresh gust of agony shook her like a leaf. 'Ah, _Dieu merci_!'
she moaned; 'the horses! the horses! They achieved if Odo failed, he
said! Oh, Christ! it cannot be! That dear head that has pillowed on my
bosom!'
Quivering and shuddering, she sank upon the cold flags of the floor.
The grey light of morning creeping through the narrow oriel found her
still there.
* * * * *
'Oh, countess! sweet countess! one waits without who will not deliver
his message to any but thee, and _he bears the earl's signet_!'
Eadgyth was in the oratory, bending over the stiffened form of the
unhappy Chatelaine of Blauncheflour.
Emma passed her hands across her brow in blank bewilderment, and
Eadgyth cried to her again.
'Oh, Heaven be praised!' cried Emma, a great light of joy springing
into her eyes; and, rising from her knees, 'Where is he? where is he?'
she asked. 'Take me to him without delay. What manner of man is this
whose advent doth so raise my hopes? The earl's signet, sayest thou?'
'He wears a Danish helm, and looks as if he had travelled over land and
through water,' said Eadgyth. 'Our Lady and good St. Nicholas grant
that our hopes be well founded!'
'Fetch me my golden torc, which was my wedding gift from the false
Waltheof,' said Emma; 'I will meet this Dane as one who knows somewhat
of his race.'
She went to her chamber to wash away the signs of her night's vigil
from her cheeks, and, when her hasty toilette was made, Eadgyth saw
with surprise the change in her: hope had brought back the bloom to her
cheek and the elasticity to her step, and she looked well fit to be the
bride of one who aspired to the third of a kingdom for his earldom.
She swept from the lodge to the great tower, and entered the
council-chamber, where Sir Hoel and Sir Alain awaited her, curious
enough to know the contents of the missive guarded by the fair-haired,
long-limbed Dane with such jealous care, Sir Alain eyeing him as he
stood before them with no very gracious countenance.
When Emma came into the room, the Dane saluted her profoundly, his
tow-coloured locks almost touching his knee, and his formidable
double-edged axe rattling on the floor as he bent; then he put into the
hands of the countess a packet tied with a slender silken cord.
Emma started with joy, for her quick eyes noted the many joins in that
silken cord, and recognised it as composed of the fringe with which
Ralph's surcoat had been decked.
The Dane then drew from his finger a ring, and handed it to her, and,
truly enough, it was De Guader's signet.
Emma's fingers trembled so violently that she could scarce read the
superscripture, endorsed with a clerkly scroll,--
'To the fair hands of Emma de Guader,
Castellan of our Castell of Blauncheflour in Norowic.'
She drew the little _misericorde_ at her girdle and severed the silk.
'Bid the chaplain hither,' she said, for in truth she had little
learning, and her literary attainments did not extend far beyond the
reading of her own name; notwithstanding which, her eyes questioned
eagerly the fairly illumined page before her, which was the work of the
monk who has been mentioned as sitting by the hearth of Ealdred
Godwinsson in his Fenland refuge, for the earl's clerkly skill was
little greater than that of his wife.
Impatiently she awaited the coming of the chaplain, and, when he came,
thrust the cherished parchment into his hand, and followed his reading,
word by word, with hungry avidity.
'Fair and dear Lady and Countess,' said the missive, 'ill news has
thy unfortunate knight wherewith to vex thine heart. The battle
went against me. By little less than a miracle was my life, dear
for thy sweet sake, preserved to me. A long story which some day I
yet hope to relate to thee. I am sore wounded, but not
dangerously'--
'The holy saints be praised!' ejaculated Sir Hoel fervently.
'Ay!--the holy saints be praised!, echoed Sir Alain, with somewhat
halting zeal, for this resuscitated earl put an end to all his schemes.
'Therefore,' resumed the chaplain, continuing his reading, 'vex not
thyself with fears. But for my wounds only, I had been with thee by
now, but could not mount steed or _hacquenee_. The messenger will
tell thee my retreat, and the plan by which I yet hope to prevail,
and to win fame for thee. Defend my Castell of Blauncheflour, sweet
my Castellan, and, by the aid of good St. Nicholas, I will come
back to thee at the head of such an host as will put all our foes
to rout. I count the daies till I see thee again. The Blessed
Virgin have thee in her keeping.
'These from thy leal and loving husband,
'RALPH DE GUADER AND MONTFORT,
'Earl of Norfolk and Suffolk.'
The missive was signed by the earl's own hand, and sealed with his
wedding ring, on which was graven the cognisance of Hereford.
'Ah, fair sirs,' cried Emma exultingly, looking, however, at Sir Alain,
and with contemptuous defiance in her flashing eyes, 'ye see the
instinct of the true wife was more trustworthy than the eye-witness of
belted knights! Let us charitably suppose that their poor heads were
somewhat flustered with the hurly-burly of battle. Methinks they were
over quick to believe their leader slain.'
Then, turning to the messenger, she questioned him regarding the battle
and the retreat, and the manner of the earl's escape; and heard the
story we already know of Grillonne's ready wit, and the refuge in the
fens.
The Dane was one of those who had helped to carry the wounded earl, and
had been chosen as a messenger because he was trustworthy, renowned as
a swift runner, and could carry messages of importance to such Danish
seamen as might be with their vessels at Norwich for trading purposes,
besides his message to the countess. Dependence had not been placed on
him alone; other messengers had been despatched from the Fenland camp,
in case he fell into the hands of the enemy, but he had outstripped his
competitors.
He said that the earl had desired to return to Norwich, but had been
overpersuaded by those about him that it would be a wiser course to
take ship at Wells by the sea, which he could do privily by aid of
Ealdred Godwinsson, and those over whom the thegn had influence. So it
was agreed that the earl should make sail for Denmark, where, without
doubt, he would be nobly welcomed by King Sweyn, who had already
promised him men and vessels. From thence he would go with all speed to
Bretagne, and arm his retainers, and gather all help he might among the
Breton nobles; and with the host thus gathered would haste to the
relief of Blauncheflour, which would thus be rendered sure and certain.
The countess listened with kindling eyes and glowing cheeks.
'A device worthy of a hero!' she exclaimed. 'Let the garrison be
summoned to the courtyard of the castle, and I will tell them these
brave news. I would they should receive them from mine own lips. See
also that this worthy messenger enjoys all hospitality the castle may
afford.'
She unfastened a golden collar from her neck, and added it to the many
bracelets which already glittered upon the Dane's muscular arms.
The warrior thanked her earnestly, with the frank reverence which
characterised the wild sea-kings in their behaviour to women.
Half-an-hour later, the countess, arrayed in her richest robes, with
steel-cap on her head, and her gorget glistening in the morning sun as
it rose and fell with the swift heaving of her bosom, stood at the
great east portal, with the Danish messenger at her side, and looked
down upon the eager faces of the hastily assembled garrison.
A rumour had gone forth that the earl had escaped, and would yet return
in triumph, and a glow of excitement lighted every eye. As Emma saw the
stalwart forms and the strong determined countenances before her, a
thrill of pride swelled her heart at the thought that her warrior
husband should have given her command over them. The spirit of William
Fitzosbern lived again in the breast of his daughter. 'I will be worthy
of the honour that Ralph's choice bestowed on me,' she thought. 'If
aught a woman can say or do may inspire men to gallant deeds, these men
shall not fail their lord.'
Emotion brought high words to her lips and fire to her eyes. Her heart
verily shouted with delight for the joyful message which she had to
deliver. 'Brave knights and soldiers!' she cried, and her voice rang
through the fresh morning air like the clang of a silver trumpet, 'glad
news have I for loyal ears. Earl Ralph yet lives! See, this missive is
signed by his own noble hand! His signet blazes on my finger!'
She held the scroll aloft in her hands, and the sunshine flashed on the
ring.
'A Guader! a Guader!' shouted the assembled host; and arms were raised
and weapons clashed, while some three hundred stout throats echoed the
shout, 'St. Nicholas for Guader!'
'Yesterday your countess and her counsellors were sore distressed,'
Emma went on; 'for, as ye know, the unfortunate squire, Stephen le
Hareau, and those who followed him, believed that the earl was slain;
but we would not vex ye with our grief till doubt was changed into
certainty. Doubt _is_ changed into certainty;--but a certainty of life,
not death!'
A roar of cheers rent the air again.
'Yes, your lord lives!' cried Emma. 'His first field is lost, but it
will not be his last! He is wounded, sorely, but not dangerously. See!
so the letter says! His way is open to Denmark. This gallant Dane has
borne his message across field and over flood, faithfully, as he helped
to carry the earl himself from the battlefield.'
She turned to the messenger beside her, who clashed his great axe upon
his round wooden shield, with its strange embossing of iron nails, and
shouted 'Waes hael!'
Then Emma told again the story of the earl's rescue, though she did not
reveal his hiding-place, lest there should be traitors in the camp, and
how he intended to take ship for Denmark to ask aid of King Sweyn,
'who,' she said,'has already promised it. Then the earl will seek his
own fair lands in Bretagne, and he will call his vassals to his
standard, and come across the sea at the head of a great host to
relieve his faithful garrison in Blauncheflour. Is any man so mean of
heart that he will not vow to good St. Nicholas to do his best to keep
the castle to that hour? If so, let him declare himself a _noding_, and
quit the company of gallant men!'
'Not one! Not one!' rang round the castle yard, and echoed back from
the high stone tower of the keep, reverberating in tumultuous thunder
from base to summit.
Then old Sir Hoel de St. Brice took off his plumed barret, and waved it
in the air, where he stood behind his lady, his eyes humid and his lips
quivering, as he echoed, 'Not one!'
Sir Alain de Gourin, listening with a strange expression of satirical
disdain on his florid countenance, rattled his sword from its sheath
and waved it in the air, where he stood behind his lady, and shouted
with a lusty voice, 'Not one!'
'I thank ye, friends!' cried the countess. 'To your strong arms and
your loyal hearts I commit my fate and that of my lord. St. Nicholas
give ye fortitude!'
Turning to a page who stood beside her with a silver tray, she took a
velvet purse from it, and scattered broad pieces amongst the soldiery.
'A largesse! a largesse!' they cried; and all was joy and hilarity.
'Ye shall taste a vintage better than ever grew even in the vineyards
of Hereford or Kent,' cried the countess; and she gave orders to the
steward to broach a cask of French wine which had been amongst her
brother's gifts at the bride-ale; an order which called forth a fresh
burst of applause.
'Drink it,' cried Emma, 'to the safe return of your lord!'