Transcribed from the 1905 Macmillan and Co. edition by Janet Haselow,
Marian Taylor and David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org
THE LITTLE DUKE
RICHARD THE FEARLESS
BY THE AUTHOR OF
"THE HEIR OF REDCLYFFE,"
ETC.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
London
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1905
_All rights reserved_
RICHARD CLAY AND SONS, LIMITED,
BREAD STREET HILL, E.C., AND
BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.
_Originally published elsewhere_. _Transferred in_ 1864. _First Edition
printed_ (S) _for Macmillan and Co. November_ 1864 (_Pott_ 8_vo_).
_Reprinted_ 1869, 1872, 1873, 1876, 1878, 1881 (_Globe_ 8_vo_), 1883,
1885, 1886, 1889. _New Edition_ 1891, (_Crown_ 8_vo_), 1892, 1894, 1895,
1897, 1898, 1899, 1900, 1901, 1903, 1905.
CHAPTER I
On a bright autumn day, as long ago as the year 943, there was a great
bustle in the Castle of Bayeux in Normandy.
The hall was large and low, the roof arched, and supported on thick short
columns, almost like the crypt of a Cathedral; the walls were thick, and
the windows, which had no glass, were very small, set in such a depth of
wall that there was a wide deep window seat, upon which the rain might
beat, without reaching the interior of the room. And even if it had come
in, there was nothing for it to hurt, for the walls were of rough stone,
and the floor of tiles. There was a fire at each end of this great dark
apartment, but there were no chimneys over the ample hearths, and the
smoke curled about in thick white folds in the vaulted roof, adding to
the wreaths of soot, which made the hall look still darker.
The fire at the lower end was by far the largest and hottest. Great
black cauldrons hung over it, and servants, both men and women, with red
faces, bare and grimed arms, and long iron hooks, or pots and pans, were
busied around it. At the other end, which was raised about three steps
above the floor of the hall, other servants were engaged. Two young
maidens were strewing fresh rushes on the floor; some men were setting up
a long table of rough boards, supported on trestles, and then ranging
upon it silver cups, drinking horns, and wooden trenchers.
Benches were placed to receive most of the guests, but in the middle, at
the place of honour, was a high chair with very thick crossing legs, and
the arms curiously carved with lions' faces and claws; a clumsy wooden
footstool was set in front, and the silver drinking-cup on the table was
of far more beautiful workmanship than the others, richly chased with
vine leaves and grapes, and figures of little boys with goats' legs. If
that cup could have told its story, it would have been a strange one, for
it had been made long since, in the old Roman times, and been carried off
from Italy by some Northman pirate.
From one of these scenes of activity to the other, there moved a stately
old lady: her long thick light hair, hardly touched with grey, was bound
round her head, under a tall white cap, with a band passing under her
chin: she wore a long sweeping dark robe, with wide hanging sleeves, and
thick gold ear-rings and necklace, which had possibly come from the same
quarter as the cup. She directed the servants, inspected both the
cookery and arrangements of the table, held council with an old steward,
now and then looked rather anxiously from the window, as if expecting
some one, and began to say something about fears that these loitering
youths would not bring home the venison in time for Duke William's
supper.
Presently, she looked up rejoiced, for a few notes of a bugle-horn were
sounded; there was a clattering of feet, and in a few moments there
bounded into the hall, a boy of about eight years old, his cheeks and
large blue eyes bright with air and exercise, and his long light-brown
hair streaming behind him, as he ran forward flourishing a bow in his
hand, and crying out, "I hit him, I hit him! Dame Astrida, do you hear?
'Tis a stag of ten branches, and I hit him in the neck."
"You! my Lord Richard! you killed him?"
"Oh, no, I only struck him. It was Osmond's shaft that took him in the
eye, and--Look you, Fru Astrida, he came thus through the wood, and I
stood here, it might be, under the great elm with my bow thus"--And
Richard was beginning to act over again the whole scene of the deer-hunt,
but Fru, that is to say, Lady Astrida, was too busy to listen, and broke
in with, "Have they brought home the haunch?"
"Yes, Walter is bringing it. I had a long arrow--"
[Picture: Richard with Dame Estrida]
A stout forester was at this instant seen bringing in the venison, and
Dame Astrida hastened to meet it, and gave directions, little Richard
following her all the way, and talking as eagerly as if she was attending
to him, showing how he shot, how Osmond shot, how the deer bounded, and
how it fell, and then counting the branches of its antlers, always ending
with, "This is something to tell my father. Do you think he will come
soon?"
In the meantime two men entered the hall, one about fifty, the other, one
or two-and-twenty, both in hunting dresses of plain leather, crossed by
broad embroidered belts, supporting a knife, and a bugle-horn. The elder
was broad-shouldered, sun-burnt, ruddy, and rather stern-looking; the
younger, who was also the taller, was slightly made, and very active,
with a bright keen grey eye, and merry smile. These were Dame Astrida's
son, Sir Eric de Centeville, and her grandson, Osmond; and to their care
Duke William of Normandy had committed his only child, Richard, to be
fostered, or brought up. {1}
It was always the custom among the Northmen, that young princes should
thus be put under the care of some trusty vassal, instead of being
brought up at home, and one reason why the Centevilles had been chosen by
Duke William was, that both Sir Eric and his mother spoke only the old
Norwegian tongue, which he wished young Richard to understand well,
whereas, in other parts of the Duchy, the Normans had forgotten their own
tongue, and had taken up what was then called the Langued'oui, a language
between German and Latin, which was the beginning of French.
On this day, Duke William himself was expected at Bayeux, to pay a visit
to his son before setting out on a journey to settle the disputes between
the Counts of Flanders and Montreuil, and this was the reason of Fru
Astrida's great preparations. No sooner had she seen the haunch placed
upon a spit, which a little boy was to turn before the fire, than she
turned to dress something else, namely, the young Prince Richard himself,
whom she led off to one of the upper rooms, and there he had full time to
talk, while she, great lady though she was, herself combed smooth his
long flowing curls, and fastened his short scarlet cloth tunic, which
just reached to his knee, leaving his neck, arms, and legs bare. He
begged hard to be allowed to wear a short, beautifully ornamented dagger
at his belt, but this Fru Astrida would not allow.
"You will have enough to do with steel and dagger before your life is at
an end," said she, "without seeking to begin over soon."
"To be sure I shall," answered Richard. "I will be called Richard of the
Sharp Axe, or the Bold Spirit, I promise you, Fru Astrida. We are as
brave in these days as the Sigurds and Ragnars you sing of! I only wish
there were serpents and dragons to slay here in Normandy."
"Never fear but you will find even too many of them," said Dame Astrida;
"there be dragons of wrong here and everywhere, quite as venomous as any
in my Sagas."
"I fear them not," said Richard, but half understanding her, "if you
would only let me have the dagger! But, hark! hark!" he darted to the
window. "They come, they come! There is the banner of Normandy."
Away ran the happy child, and never rested till he stood at the bottom of
the long, steep, stone stair, leading to the embattled porch. Thither
came the Baron de Centeville, and his son, to receive their Prince.
Richard looked up at Osmond, saying, "Let me hold his stirrup," and then
sprang up and shouted for joy, as under the arched gateway there came a
tall black horse, bearing the stately form of the Duke of Normandy. His
purple robe was fastened round him by a rich belt, sustaining the mighty
weapon, from which he was called "William of the long Sword," his legs
and feet were cased in linked steel chain-work, his gilded spurs were on
his heels, and his short brown hair was covered by his ducal cap of
purple, turned up with fur, and a feather fastened in by a jewelled
clasp. His brow was grave and thoughtful, and there was something both
of dignity and sorrow in his face, at the first moment of looking at it,
recalling the recollection that he had early lost his young wife, the
Duchess Emma, and that he was beset by many cares and toils; but the next
glance generally conveyed encouragement, so full of mildness were his
eyes, and so kind the expression of his lips.
And now, how bright a smile beamed upon the little Richard, who, for the
first time, paid him the duty of a pupil in chivalry, by holding the
stirrup while he sprung from his horse. Next, Richard knelt to receive
his blessing, which was always the custom when children met their
parents. The Duke laid his hand on his head, saying, "God of His mercy
bless thee, my son," and lifting him in his arms, held him to his breast,
and let him cling to his neck and kiss him again and again, before
setting him down, while Sir Eric came forward, bent his knee, kissed the
hand of his Prince, and welcomed him to his Castle.
It would take too long to tell all the friendly and courteous words that
were spoken, the greeting of the Duke and the noble old Lady Astrida, and
the reception of the Barons who had come in the train of their Lord.
Richard was bidden to greet them, but, though he held out his hand as
desired, he shrank a little to his father's side, gazing at them in dread
and shyness.
There was Count Bernard, of Harcourt, called the "Dane," {2} with his
shaggy red hair and beard, to which a touch of grey had given a strange
unnatural tint, his eyes looking fierce and wild under his thick
eyebrows, one of them mis-shapen in consequence of a sword cut, which had
left a broad red and purple scar across both cheek and forehead. There,
too, came tall Baron Rainulf, of Ferrieres, cased in a linked steel
hauberk, that rang as he walked, and the men-at-arms, with helmets and
shields, looking as if Sir Eric's armour that hung in the hail had come
to life and was walking about.
They sat down to Fru Astrida's banquet, the old Lady at the Duke's right
hand, and the Count of Harcourt on his left; Osmond carved for the Duke,
and Richard handed his cup and trencher. All through the meal, the Duke
and his Lords talked earnestly of the expedition on which they were bound
to meet Count Arnulf of Flanders, on a little islet in the river Somme,
there to come to some agreement, by which Arnulf might make restitution
to Count Herluin of Montreuil, for certain wrongs which he had done him.
Some said that this would be the fittest time for requiring Arnulf to
yield up some towns on his borders, to which Normandy had long laid
claim, but the Duke shook his head, saying that he must seek no selfish
advantage, when called to judge between others.
Richard was rather tired of their grave talk, and thought the supper very
long; but at last it was over, the Grace was said, the boards which had
served for tables were removed, and as it was still light, some of the
guests went to see how their steeds had been bestowed, others to look at
Sir Eric's horses and hounds, and others collected together in groups.
The Duke had time to attend to his little boy, and Richard sat upon his
knee and talked, told about all his pleasures, how his arrow had hit the
deer to-day, how Sir Eric let him ride out to the chase on his little
pony, how Osmond would take him to bathe in the cool bright river, and
how he had watched the raven's nest in the top of the old tower.
Duke William listened, and smiled, and seemed as well pleased to hear as
the boy was to tell. "And, Richard," said he at last, "have you nought
to tell me of Father Lucas, and his great book? What, not a word? Look
up, Richard, and tell me how it goes with the learning." {3}
"Oh, father!" said Richard, in a low voice, playing with the clasp of his
father's belt, and looking down, "I don't like those crabbed letters on
the old yellow parchment."
"But you try to learn them, I hope!" said the Duke.
"Yes, father, I do, but they are very hard, and the words are so long,
and Father Lucas will always come when the sun is so bright, and the wood
so green, that I know not how to bear to be kept poring over those black
hooks and strokes."
"Poor little fellow," said Duke William, smiling and Richard, rather
encouraged, went on more boldly. "You do not know this reading, noble
father?"
"To my sorrow, no," said the Duke.
"And Sir Eric cannot read, nor Osmond, nor any one, and why must I read,
and cramp my fingers with writing, just as if I was a clerk, instead of a
young Duke?" Richard looked up in his father's face, and then hung his
head, as if half-ashamed of questioning his will, but the Duke answered
him without displeasure.
"It is hard, no doubt, my boy, to you now, but it will be the better for
you in the end. I would give much to be able myself to read those holy
books which I must now only hear read to me by a clerk, but since I have
had the wish, I have had no time to learn as you have now."
"But Knights and Nobles never learn," said Richard.
"And do you think it a reason they never should? But you are wrong, my
boy, for the Kings of France and England, the Counts of Anjou, of
Provence, and Paris, yes, even King Hako of Norway, {4} can all read."
"I tell you, Richard, when the treaty was drawn up for restoring this
King Louis to his throne, I was ashamed to find myself one of the few
crown vassals who could not write his name thereto."
"But none is so wise or so good as you, father," said Richard, proudly.
"Sir Eric often says so."
"Sir Eric loves his Duke too well to see his faults," said Duke William;
"but far better and wiser might I have been, had I been taught by such
masters as you may be. And hark, Richard, not only can all Princes here
read, but in England, King Ethelstane would have every Noble taught; they
study in his own palace, with his brothers, and read the good words that
King Alfred the truth-teller put into their own tongue for them."
"I hate the English," said Richard, raising his head and looking very
fierce.
"Hate them? and wherefore?"
"Because they traitorously killed the brave Sea King Ragnar! Fru Astrida
sings his death-song, which he chanted when the vipers were gnawing him
to death, and he gloried to think how his sons would bring the ravens to
feast upon the Saxon. Oh! had I been his son, how I would have carried
on the feud! How I would have laughed when I cut down the false
traitors, and burnt their palaces!" Richard's eye kindled, and his
words, as he spoke the old Norse language, flowed into the sort of wild
verse in which the Sagas or legendary songs were composed, and which,
perhaps, he was unconsciously repeating.
Duke William looked grave.
"Fru Astrida must sing you no more such Sagas," said he, "if they fill
your mind with these revengeful thoughts, fit only for the worshippers of
Odin and Thor. Neither Ragnar nor his sons knew better than to rejoice
in this deadly vengeance, but we, who are Christians, know that it is for
us to forgive."
"The English had slain their father!" said Richard, looking up with
wondering dissatisfied eyes.
"Yes, Richard, and I speak not against them, for they were even as we
should have been, had not King Harold the fair-haired driven your
grandfather from Denmark. They had not been taught the truth, but to us
it has been said, 'Forgive, and ye shall be forgiven.' Listen to me, my
son, Christian as is this nation of ours, this duty of forgiveness is too
often neglected, but let it not be so with you. Bear in mind, whenever
you see the Cross {5} marked on our banner, or carved in stone on the
Churches, that it speaks of forgiveness to us; but of that pardon we
shall never taste if we forgive not our enemies. Do you mark me, boy?"
Richard hesitated a little, and then said, "Yes, father, but I could
never have pardoned, had I been one of Ragnar's sons."
"It may be that you will be in their case, Richard," said the Duke, "and
should I fall, as it may well be I shall, in some of the contests that
tear to pieces this unhappy Kingdom of France, then, remember what I say
now. I charge you, on your duty to God and to your father, that you keep
up no feud, no hatred, but rather that you should deem me best revenged,
when you have with heart and hand, given the fullest proof of forgiveness
to your enemy. Give me your word that you will."
"Yes, father," said Richard, with rather a subdued tone, and resting his
head on his father's shoulder. There was a silence for a little space,
during which he began to revive into playfulness, to stroke the Duke's
short curled beard, and play with his embroidered collar.
In so doing, his fingers caught hold of a silver chain, and pulling it
out with a jerk, he saw a silver key attached to it. "Oh, what is that?"
he asked eagerly. "What does that key unlock?"
"My greatest treasure," replied Duke William, as he replaced the chain
and key within his robe.
"Your greatest treasure, father! Is that your coronet?"
"You will know one day," said his father, putting the little hand down
from its too busy investigations; and some of the Barons at that moment
returning into the hall, he had no more leisure to bestow on his little
son.
The next day, after morning service in the Chapel, and breakfast in the
hall, the Duke again set forward on his journey, giving Richard hopes he
might return in a fortnight's time, and obtaining from him a promise that
he would be very attentive to Father Lucas, and very obedient to Sir Eric
de Centeville.