Weary, faint, and feverish as Bertram de Maisonforte was, he was
past caring for anything but the relief of rest, cool drink, and the
dressing of his wound; nor did he even ask where he was until he
awoke in broad daylight the next morning, to the sound of church
bells, to the sight of a low but spacious chamber, with stone walls,
deerskins laid on the floor, and the old nurse standing by him with
a cup of refreshing drink, and ready to attend to his wound.
It was then that, feeling greatly refreshed, he ventured upon asking
her in whose house he was, and who was the good lord who had taken
pity on him.
"Who should it be save him who should be the good lord of every
Englishman," she replied, "mine own dear foster-son, the princely
Atheling--he who takes up the cause of every injured man save his
own?"
Bertram was amazed, for he had only heard Normans speak of Edgar
Atheling, the heir of the ancient race, as a poor, tame-spirited,
wretched creature, unable to assert himself, and therefore left
unmolested by the conquerors out of contempt. He proceeded to ask
what the journey was from which the Atheling was returning, and the
nurse, nothing loth, beguiled the tendance on his arm by explaining
how she had long ago travelled from Hungary with her charges, Edgar,
Margaret, and Christina; how it had come about that the crown, which
should have been her darling's, had been seized by the fierce duke
from beyond the sea; how Edgar, then a mere child, had been forced
to swear oaths of fealty by which he held himself still bound; how
her sweetest pearl of ladies, her jewel Margaret, had been wedded to
the rude wild King of Scots, and how her gentle sweetness and
holiness had tamed and softened him, so that she had been the
blessing of his kingdom till he and his eldest son had fallen at
Alnwick while she lay a-dying; how the fierce savage Scots had risen
and driven forth her young children; and how their uncle the
Atheling had ridden forth, taken them to his home, bred them in all
holiness and uprightness and good and knightly courage, and when
Edgar and Alexander, the two eldest, were full grown, had gone
northward with them once more, and had won back, in fair field, the
throne of their father Malcolm.
Truly there might well be rejoicing and triumph on the estate where
the Atheling ruled as a father and had been sorely missed. He was
at his early mass of thanksgiving at present, and Bertram was so
much better that Nurse Agnes did not withstand his desire to rise
and join the household and villagers, who were all collected in the
building, low and massive, but on which Edgar Atheling had lavished
the rich ornamental work introduced by the Normans. The round
arched doorway was set in a succession of elaborate zigzags, birds'
heads, lions' faces, twists and knots; and within, the altar-
hangings and the priest's robes were stiff with the exquisite and
elaborate embroidery for which the English nunneries were famed.
The whole building, with its low-browed roof, circular chancel arch
still more richly adorned, and stout short columns, was filled with
kneeling figures in rough homespun or sheepskin garments, and with
shaggy heads, above which towered the shining golden locks of the
Atheling, which were allowed to grow to a much greater length than
was the Norman fashion, and beside him was the still fairer head of
his young nephew, David of Scotland. It was a thanksgiving service
for their victory and safe return; and Bertram was just in time for
the TE DEUM that followed the mass.
The Atheling, after all was over, came forth, exchanging greetings
with one after another of his franklins, cnihts, and thralls, all of
whom seemed to be equally delighted to see him back again, and whom
he bade to a feast in the hall, which would be prepared in the
course of the day. Some, meantime, went to their homes near at
hand, others would amuse themselves with games at ball, archery,
singlestick, and the like, in an open space within the moat--where
others fished.
Bertram was not neglected. The Atheling inquired after his health,
heard his story in more detail, and after musing on it, said that
after setting affairs in order at home, he meant to visit his sister
and niece in the Abbey at Romsey, and would then make some
arrangement for the Lady of Maisonforte; also he would endeavour to
see the King on his return to Winchester, and endeavour to plead
with him.
"William will at times hearken to an old comrade," he said; "but it
is an ill time to take him when he is hot upon the chase. Meantime,
thou art scarce yet fit to ride, and needest more of good Agnes's
leech-craft."
Bertram was indeed stiff and weary enough to be quite content to lie
on a bearskin in the wide hall of the dwelling, or under the eaves
without, and watch the doings with some amusement.
He had been bred in some contempt of the Saxons. His father's
marriage had been viewed as a MESALLIANCE, and though the knight of
Maisonforte had been honourable and kindly, and the Lady Elftrud had
fared better than many a Saxon bride, still the French and the
Breton dames of the neighbourhood had looked down on her, and the
retainers had taught her son to look on the English race as swine,
boors, and churls, ignorant of all gentle arts, of skill and grace.
But here was young David among youths of his own age, tilting as
gracefully and well as any young Norman could--making Bertram long
that his arm should cease to be so heavy and burning, so that he
might show his prowess.
Here was a contention with bow and arrow that would not have
disgraced the best men-at-arms of Maisonforte--here again, later in
the day, was minstrelsy of a higher order than his father's ears had
cared for, but of which his mother had whispered her traditions.
Here, again, was the chaplain showing his brother-priests with the
greatest pride and delight a scroll of Latin, copied from a MS.
Psalter of the holy and Venerable Beda by the hand of his own dear
pupil, young David.
Bertram, who could neither read nor write, and knew no more Latin
than his Paternoster, Credo, and Ave, absolutely did not believe his
eyes and ears till he had asked the question, whether this were
indeed the youth's work. How could it be possible to wield pen as
well as lance?
But the wonder of all was the Atheling. After an absence of more
than a year, there was much to be adjusted, and his authority on his
own lands was thoroughly judicial even for life or death, since even
under Norman sway he held the power of an earl.
Seated in a high-backed, cross-legged chair--his majestic form
commanding honour and respect--he heard one after another causes
that came before him, reserved for his judgment, questions of
heirship, disputes about cattle, complaints of thievery,
encroachments on land; and Bertram, listening with the interest that
judgment never fails to excite, was deeply impressed with the clear-
headedness, the ready thought, and the justice of the decision, even
when the dispute lay between Saxon and Norman, always with reference
to the laws of Alfred and Edward which he seemed to carry in his
head.
Indeed, ere long, two Norman knights, hearing of the Atheling's
return, came to congratulate him, and lay before him a dispute of
boundaries which they declared they would rather entrust to him than
to any other. And they treated him far more as a prince than as a
Saxon churl.
They willingly accepted his invitation to go in to the feast of
welcome, and a noble one it was, with music and minstrelsy,
hospitality to all around, plenty and joy, wassail bowls going
round, and the Atheling presiding over it, and with a strange and
quiet influence, breaking up the entertainment in all good will, by
the memory of his sweet sister Margaret's grace-cup, ere mirth had
become madness, or the English could incur their reproach of coarse
revelry.
"And," as the Norman knight who had prevailed said to Bertram, "Sir
Edgar the Atheling had thus shown himself truly an uncrowned King."