"Sir Eric," said Richard, "you told me there was a Parlement to be held
at Falaise, between Count Bernard and the King of Denmark. I mean to
attend it. Will you come with me, or shall Osmond go, and you remain in
charge of the Prince?"
"How now, Lord Richard, you were not wont to love a Parlement?"
"I have something to say," replied Richard. The Baron made no objection,
only telling his mother that the Duke was a marvellous wise child, and
that he would soon be fit to take the government himself.
Lothaire lamented the more when he found that Richard was going away; his
presence seemed to him a protection, and he fancied, now Carloman was
dead, that his former injuries were about to be revenged. The Duke
assured him, repeatedly, that he meant him nothing but kindness, adding,
"When I return, you will see, Lothaire;" then, commending him to the care
and kindness of Fru Astrida, Osmond, and Alberic, Richard set forth upon
his pony, attended by Sir Eric and three men-at-arms.
Richard felt sad when he looked back at Bayeux, and thought that it no
longer contained his dear little friend; but it was a fresh bright frosty
morning, the fields were covered with a silvery-white coating, the flakes
of hoar-frost sparkled on every bush, and the hard ground rung cheerily
to the tread of the horses' feet. As the yellow sun fought his way
through the grey mists that dimmed his brightness, and shone out merrily
in the blue heights of the sky, Richard's spirits rose, and he laughed
and shouted, as hare or rabbit rushed across the heath, or as the plover
rose screaming above his head, flapping her broad wings across the wintry
sky.
One night they slept at a Convent, where they heard that Hugh of Paris
had passed on to join the conference at Falaise. The next day they rode
on, and, towards the afternoon, the Baron pointed to a sharp rocky range
of hills, crowned by a tall solid tower, and told Richard, yonder was his
keep of Falaise, the strongest Castle in Normandy.
The country was far more broken as they advanced--narrow valleys and
sharp hills, each little vale full of wood, and interspersed with rocks.
"A choice place for game," Sir Eric said and Richard, as he saw a herd of
deer dash down a forest glade, exclaimed, "that they must come here to
stay, for some autumn sport."
There seemed to be huntsmen abroad in the woods; for through the frosty
air came the baying of dogs, the shouts and calls of men, and, now and
then, the echoing, ringing notes of a bugle. Richard's eyes and cheeks
glowed with excitement, and he pushed his brisk little pony on faster and
faster, unheeding that the heavier men and horses of his suite were not
keeping pace with him on the rough ground and through the tangled boughs.
Presently, a strange sound of growling and snarling was heard close at
hand: his pony swerved aside, and could not be made to advance; so
Richard, dismounting, dashed through some briars, and there, on an open
space, beneath a precipice of dark ivy-covered rock, that rose like a
wall, he beheld a huge grey wolf and a large dog in mortal combat. It
was as if they had fallen or rolled down the precipice together, not
heeding it in their fury. Both were bleeding, and the eyes of both
glared like red fiery glass in the dark shadow of the rock. The dog lay
undermost, almost overpowered, making but a feeble resistance; and the
wolf would, in another moment, be at liberty to spring on the lonely
child.
But not a thought of fear passed through his breast; to save the dog was
Richard's only idea. In one moment he had drawn the dagger he wore at
his girdle, ran to the two struggling animals, and with all his force,
plunged it into the throat of the wolf, which, happily, was still held by
the teeth of the hound.
The struggles relaxed, the wolf rolled heavily aside, dead; the dog lay
panting and bleeding, and Richard feared he was cruelly torn. "Poor
fellow! noble dog! what shall I do to help you?" and he gently smoothed
the dark brindled head.
A voice was now heard shouting aloud, at which the dog raised and crested
his head, as a figure in a hunting dress was coming down a rocky pathway,
an extremely tall, well-made man, of noble features. "Ha! holla! Vige!
Vige! How now, my brave hound?" he said in the Northern tongue, though
not quite with the accent Richard was accustomed to hear "Art hurt?"
"Much torn, I fear," Richard called out, as the faithful creature wagged
his tail, and strove to rise and meet his master.
"Ha, lad! what art thou?" exclaimed the hunter, amazed at seeing the boy
between the dead wolf and wounded dog. "You look like one of those
Frenchified Norman gentilesse, with your smooth locks and gilded
baldrick, yet your words are Norse. By the hammer of Thor! that is a
dagger in the wolf's throat!"
"It is mine," said Richard. "I found your dog nearly spent, and I made
in to the rescue."
"You did? Well done! I would not have lost Vige for all the plunder of
Italy. I am beholden to you, my brave young lad," said the stranger, all
the time examining and caressing the hound. "What is your name? You
cannot be Southern bred?"
As he spoke, more shouts came near; and the Baron de Centeville rushed
through the trees holding Richard's pony by the bridle. "My Lord, my
Lord!--oh, thank Heaven, I see you safe!" At the same moment a party of
hunters also approached by the path, and at the head of them Bernard the
Dane.
"Ha!" exclaimed he, "what do I see? My young Lord! what brought you
here?" And with a hasty obeisance, Bernard took Richard's outstretched
hand.
"I came hither to attend your council," replied Richard. "I have a boon
to ask of the King of Denmark."
"Any boon the King of Denmark has in his power will be yours," said the
dog's master, slapping his hand on the little Duke's shoulder, with a
rude, hearty familiarity, that took him by surprise; and he looked up
with a shade of offence, till, on a sudden flash of perception, he took
off his cap, exclaiming, "King Harald himself! Pardon me, Sir King!"
"Pardon, Jarl Richart! What would you have me pardon?--your saving the
life of Vige here? No French politeness for me. Tell me your boon, and
it is yours. Shall I take you a voyage, and harry the fat monks of
Ireland?"
Richard recoiled a little from his new friend.
"Oh, ha! I forgot. They have made a Christian of you--more's the pity.
You have the Northern spirit so strong. I had forgotten it. Come, walk
by my side, and let me hear what you would ask. Holla, you Sweyn! carry
Vige up to the Castle, and look to his wounds. Now for it, young Jarl."
"My boon is, that you would set free Prince Lothaire."
"What?--the young Frank? Why they kept you captive, burnt your face, and
would have made an end of you but for your clever Bonder."
"That is long past, and Lothaire is so wretched. His brother is dead,
and he is sick with grief, and he says he shall die, if he does not go
home."
"A good thing too for the treacherous race to die out in him! What
should you care for him? he is your foe."
"I am a Christian," was Richard's answer.
"Well, I promised you whatever you might ask. All my share of his
ransom, or his person, bond or free, is yours. You have only to prevail
with your own Jarls and Bonders."
Richard feared this would be more difficult; but Abbot Martin came to the
meeting, and took his part. Moreover, the idea of their hostage dying in
their hands, so as to leave them without hold upon the King, had much
weight with them; and, after long deliberation, they consented that
Lothaire should be restored to his father, without ransom but only on
condition that Louis should guarantee to the Duke the peaceable
possession of the country, as far as St. Clair sur Epte, which had been
long in dispute; so that Alberic became, indisputably, a vassal of
Normandy.
Perhaps it was the happiest day in Richard's life when he rode back to
Bayeux, to desire Lothaire to prepare to come with him to St. Clair,
there to be given back into the hands of his father.
And then they met King Louis, grave and sorrowful for the loss of his
little Carloman, and, for the time, repenting of his misdeeds towards the
orphan heir of Normandy.
He pressed the Duke in his arms, and his kiss was a genuine one as he
said, "Duke Richard, we have not deserved this of you. I did not treat
you as you have treated my children. We will be true lord and vassal
from henceforth."
Lothaire's last words were, "Farewell, Richard. If I lived with you, I
might be good like you. I will never forget what you have done for me."
When Richard once more entered Rouen in state, his subjects shouting
round him in transports of joy, better than all his honour and glory was
the being able to enter the Church of our Lady, and kneel by his father's
grave, with a clear conscience, and the sense that he had tried to keep
that last injunction.
CONCLUSION
Years had passed away. The oaths of Louis, and promises of Lothaire, had
been broken; and Arnulf of Flanders, the murderer of Duke William, had
incited them to repeated and treacherous inroads on Normandy; so that
Richard's life, from fourteen to five or six-and-twenty, had been one
long war in defence of his country. But it had been a glorious war for
him, and his gallant deeds had well earned for him the title of "Richard
the Fearless"--a name well deserved; for there was but one thing he
feared, and that was, to do wrong.
By and by, success and peace came; and then Arnulf of Flanders, finding
open force would not destroy him, three times made attempts to
assassinate him, like his father, by treachery. But all these had
failed; and now Richard had enjoyed many years of peace and honour,
whilst his enemies had vanished from his sight.
King Louis was killed by a fall from his horse; Lothaire died in early
youth, and in him ended the degenerate line of Charlemagne; Hugh Capet,
the son of Richard's old friend, Hugh the White, was on the throne of
France, his sure ally and brother-in-law, looking to him for advice and
aid in all his undertakings.
Fru Astrida and Sir Eric had long been in their quiet graves; Osmond and
Alberic were among Richard's most trusty councillors and warriors; Abbot
Martin, in extreme old age, still ruled the Abbey of Jumieges, where
Richard, like his father, loved to visit him, hold converse with him, and
refresh himself in the peaceful cloister, after the affairs of state and
war.
And Richard himself was a grey-headed man, of lofty stature and majestic
bearing. His eldest son was older than he had been himself when he
became the little Duke, and he had even begun to remember his father's
project, of an old age to be spent in retirement and peace.
It was on a summer eve, that Duke Richard sat beside the white-bearded
old Abbot, within the porch, looking at the sun shining with soft
declining beams on the arches and columns. They spoke together of that
burial at Rouen, and of the silver key; the Abbot delighting to tell,
over and over again, all the good deeds and good sayings of William
Longsword.
As they sat, a man, also very old and shrivelled and bent, came up to the
cloister gate, with the tottering, feeble step of one pursued beyond his
strength, coming to take sanctuary.
"What can be the crime of one so aged and feeble?" said the Duke, in
surprise.
At the sight of him, a look of terror shot from the old man's eye. He
clasped his hands together, and turned as if to flee; then, finding
himself incapable of escape, he threw himself on the ground before him.
"Mercy, mercy! noble, most noble Duke!" was all he said.
"Rise up--kneel not to me. I cannot brook this from one who might be my
father," said Richard, trying to raise him; but at those words the old
man groaned and crouched lower still.
"Who art thou?" said the Duke. "In this holy place thou art secure, be
thy deed what it may. Speak!--who art thou?"
"Dost thou not know me?" said the suppliant. "Promise mercy, ere thou
dost hear my name."
"I have seen that face under a helmet," said the Duke. "Thou art Arnulf
of Flanders!"
There was a deep silence.
"And wherefore art thou here?"
"I delayed to own the French King Hugh. He has taken my towns and
ravaged my lands. Each Frenchman and each Norman vows to slay me, in
revenge for your wrongs, Lord Duke. I have been driven hither and
thither, in fear of my life, till I thought of the renown of Duke
Richard, not merely the most fearless, but the most merciful of Princes.
I sought to come hither, trusting that, when the holy Father Abbot beheld
my bitter repentance, he would intercede for me with you, most noble
Prince, for my safety and forgiveness. Oh, gallant Duke, forgive and
spare!"
"Rise up, Arnulf," said Richard. "Where the hand of the Lord hath
stricken, it is not for man to exact his own reckoning. My father's
death has been long forgiven, and what you may have planned against
myself has, by the blessing of Heaven, been brought to nought. From
Normans at least you are safe; and it shall be my work to ensure your
pardon from my brother the King. Come into the refectory: you need
refreshment. The Lord Abbot makes you welcome." {17}
Tears of gratitude and true repentance choked Arnulf's speech, and he
allowed himself to be raised from the ground, and was forced to accept
the support of the Duke's arm.
The venerable Abbot slowly rose, and held up his hand in an attitude of
blessing: "The blessing of a merciful God be upon the sinner who turneth
from his evil way; and ten thousand blessings of pardon and peace are
already on the head of him who hath stretched out his hand to forgive and
aid him who was once his most grievous foe!"
Footnotes:
{1} Richard's place of education was Bayeaux; for, as Duke William says
in the rhymed Chronicle of Normandy,--
"Si a Roem le faz garder
E norir, gaires longement
Il ne saura parlier neiant
Daneis, kar nul n l'i parole.
Si voil qu'il seit a tele escole
Qu l'en le sache endoctriner
Que as Daneis sache parler.
Ci ne sevent riens fors Romanz
Mais a Baieux en a tanz
Qui ne sevent si Daneis non."
{2} Bernard was founder of the family of Harcourt of Nuneham.
Ferrieres, the ancestor of that of Ferrars.
{3} In the same Chronicle, William Longsword directs that,--
"Tant seit apris qu'il lise un bref
Kar ceo ne li ert pas trop gref."
{4} Hako of Norway was educated by Ethelstane of England. It was
Foulques le Bon, the contemporary Count of Anjou, who, when derided by
Louis IV. for serving in the choir of Tours, wrote the following retort:
"The Count of Anjou to the King of France. Apprenez, Monseigneur, qu'un
roi sans lettres est une ane couronne."
{5} The Banner of Normandy was a cross till William the Conqueror
adopted the lion.
{6}
"Sire, soies mon escus, soies mes defendemens."
_Histoire des Ducs de Normandie_ (MICHEL).
{7} The Cathedral was afterwards built by Richard himself.
{8} Sus le maistre autel del iglise
Li unt sa feaute juree.
{9}
Une clef d'argent unt trovee
A sun braiol estreit noee.
Tout la gent se merveillont
Que cete clef signifiont.
* * * *
Ni la cuoule e l'estamine
En aveit il en un archete,
Que disfermeront ceste clavete
De sol itant ert tresorier
Kar nul tresor n'vait plus cher.
The history of the adventures of Jumieges is literally true, as is
Martin's refusal to admit the Duke to the cloister:--
Dun ne t'a Deus mis e pose
Prince gardain de sainte iglise
E cur tenir leial justise.
{10} An attack, in which Riouf, Vicomte du Cotentin, placed Normandy in
the utmost danger. He was defeated on the banks of the Seine, in a field
still called the "Pre de Battaille," on the very day of Richard's birth;
so that the _Te Deum_ was sung at once for the victory and the birth of
the heir of Normandy.
{11} "Biaus Segnors, vees chi vo segneur, je ne le vous voel tolir, mais
je estoie venus en ceste ville, prendre consel a vous, comment je poroie
vengier la mort son pere, qui me rapiela d'Engletiere. Il me fist roi,
il me fist avoir l'amour le roi d'Alemaigne, il leva mon fil de fons, il
me fist toz les biens, et jou en renderai au fill le guerredon se je
puis."--MICHEL.
{12} In a battle fought with Lothaire at Charmenil, Richard saved the
life of Walter the huntsman, who had been with him from his youth.
{13} At fourteen years of age, Richard was betrothed to Eumacette of
Paris, then but eight years old. In such esteem did Hugues la Blanc hold
his son-in-law, that, on his death-bed, he committed his son Hugues Capet
to his guardianship, though the Duke was then scarcely above twenty,
proposing him as the model of wisdom and of chivalry.
{14} "Osmons, qui l'enfant enseognoit l'eu mena i jour en riviere, et
quant il revint, la reine Gerberge dist que se il jamais l'enmenait fors
des murs, elle li ferait les jeix crever."--MICHEL.
{15} "Gules, two wings conjoined in lure, or," is the original coat of
St. Maur, or Seymour, said to be derived from Osmond de Centeville, who
assumed them in honour of his flight with Duke Richard. His direct
descendants in Normandy were the Marquises of Osmond, whose arms were
gules, two wings ermine. In 1789 there were two survivors of the line of
Centeville, one a Canon of Notre Dame, the other a Chevalier de St.
Louis, who died childless.
{16} Harald of Norway, who made a vow never to trim his hair till he had
made himself sole king of the country. The war lasted ten years, and he
thus might well come to deserve the title of Horrid-locks, which was
changed to that of Harfagre, or fair-haired, when he celebrated his final
victory, by going into a bath at More, and committing his shaggy hair to
be cut and arranged by his friend Jarl Rognwald, father of Rollo.
{17} Richard obtained for Arnulf the restitution of Arras, and several
other Flemish towns. He died eight years afterwards, in 996, leaving
several children, among whom his daughter Emma is connected with English
history, by her marriage, first, with Ethelred the Unready, and secondly,
with Knute, the grandson of his firm friend and ally, Harald Blue-tooth.
His son was Richard, called the Good; his grandson, Robert the
Magnificent; his great-grandson, William the Conqueror, who brought the
Norman race to England. Few names in history shine with so consistent a
lustre as that of Richard; at first the little Duke, afterwards Richard
aux longues jambes, but always Richard sans peur. This little sketch has
only brought forward the perils of his childhood, but his early manhood
was likewise full of adventures, in which he always proved himself brave,
honourable, pious, and forbearing. But for these our readers must search
for themselves into early French history, where all they will find
concerning our hero will only tend to exalt his character.