THE FOREIGN LAND.
The night had fallen nearly an hour ere Richard of Woodville, Ella
Brune, and the young Englishman's attendants, were seated for the
first time round the table of a small Flemish inn, on the day after
they had left the shores of their native land. Strange as it may seem,
that with a wind not unfavourable, somewhat more than twenty-four
hours should be occupied by a voyage of less than sixty miles; yet
such had been the case between Dover and Nieuport; for it was more
than five hours past noon, on the evening following that on which they
set sail, when the bark that bore Richard of Woodville entered the
mouth of the little river on which that port is situated. But the art
of navigation was little known in those times; and the wind, which,
though directly fair at first, was never strong enough to give the
ship much way through the water, veered round soon after midnight, not
to a point exactly contrary, but to one which favoured the course of
the voyagers very little; so that if it had not again changed before
night, another twelve hours might have been passed upon the sea. At
length, however, the land, which had been for some time in sight, grew
clear and more strongly marked; the towers of village churches were
seen, distinct; and, anchoring as near the town as possible, the
disembarkation was commenced without delay, in order to accomplish the
task before nightfall. Nevertheless, ere horses and baggage were all
safely on the shore, the day had well nigh come to an end; so that, as
I have said, it was dark before the young Englishman, Ella Brune, and
his attendants, were seated round the table of the poor hostel, which
was the only place of entertainment that the town afforded.
Here first the services of the poor minstrel girl became really
valuable to her protector; for notwithstanding the proximity of the
English coast, not a soul in the hostel could speak aught else but the
Flemish tongue. There were evidently numerous other guests, all
requiring entertainment; though with a strange exclusiveness, hardly
known in those days, they kept themselves closely shut up in the rooms
which had been retained for their own accommodation; and as neither
Woodville nor any of his train, not even excepting the learned Ned
Dyram, knew one word of the language, the whole party would have fared
ill, had not Ella, in tones which rendered even that harsh jargon
sweet, given, in the quality of interpreter, the necessary orders for
all that was required.
The greatest difficulty seemed to be in obtaining chambers, in which
the somewhat numerous party of the young cavalier could find repose.
The stable and the adjoining barn were full already of horses and
mules, even to overflowing, otherwise they might have afforded
accommodation to men who were accustomed in their own country to lie
hard, and yet sleep lightly; and only one room of any size was vacant,
with a small closet hard by, containing a low pallet. The latter,
Richard of Woodville at once assigned to Ella Brune; the former he
reserved for himself and three of his men, of whom Ned Dyram was one;
and it was finally arranged that the rest should be provided with dry
hay, mown from the neighbouring sandy ground, in the hall where they
supped.
As soon as the meal was over, the board was cleared, the hay brought
in, Ella retired to her pallet, Richard of Woodville to his; straw was
laid down across his door for the three men; and the whole party were
soon in the arms of slumber. Richard of Woodville dreamed, however,
with visions coming thick and fast, and changing as they came, like
the figures in a phantasmagoria. Now he was in the King's court,
defying Simeon of Roydon to battle; now at the old hall at Dunbury,
with Isabel, and Dacre, and Mary, and poor Catherine Beauchamp
herself. Then suddenly the scene changed, and he was by the moonlight
stream near Abbot's Ann, with Hal of Hadnock. He heard a voice call to
him from the water: "Richard! Richard!" it seemed to cry, "Save me!
Revenge me!--Richard, Richard of Woodville!"
He started suddenly up; but the voice still rang in his ears: "Richard
of Woodville," it said, or seemed to say.
"I hear," he exclaims. "Who calls?"
"What maiden is this thou hast with thee?" asked the voice. "Beware!
Beware! Love will not be lightlied."
"Who is it that speaks?" demanded Richard of Woodville, rubbing his
eyes in surprise and bewilderment. But no one answered, and all was
silence. "Surely, some one spoke," said the young gentleman; "if so,
let them speak again."
There was no reply; and Woodville was inclined to believe that his
dream had been prolonged after he had fancied himself awake; but, as
he sat up and listened, he heard the movement of some one amongst the
straw at the end of the room; and, well aware that, if any of the men
were watchful, it must be he who had the most mind, he exclaimed, "Ned
Dyram! are you asleep?"
"No, sir," replied the man; "I have been awake these ten minutes."
"Did you hear any one speak just now?" demanded Woodville.
"To be sure I did," answered Dyram. "Some one called you by your name:
it was that which roused me. They asked about the maiden, Ella, and
bade you beware. Foul fall them! we have witches near."
Richard of Woodville instantly sprang from his bed, and advanced
towards the casement. The moon was still shining; but when the young
gentleman gazed forth, all without was in the still quiet of midnight.
He could see the court of the hostel, and the angle of the building,
formed by a sort of wing which projected from the rest, close to where
he stood; but all was calm; and not a creature seemed stirring. He
looked up to the windows in the wing, but there was no light in any.
"Whence did the sound seem to come, Ned?" he asked.
"It seemed in the room," replied the man. "Shall I strike a light? I
have always wherewithal about me."
Richard of Woodville bade him do so; and a lamp was soon lighted. But
Ned Dyram and his master searched the room in vain; and the other two
inhabitants of the chamber slept soundly through all. At length,
puzzled and disappointed, Woodville retired to bed again, and the
light was extinguished; but the young gentleman did not sleep for some
hours, listening eagerly for any sound. None made itself heard through
the rest of the night, but the hard breathing of the sleeping yeomen;
and, after watching till near morning, slumber once more fell upon
Woodville's eyes, and he did not wake till the sun had been up an
hour. The yeomen had already quitted the room without his having
perceived it; and, dressing himself in haste, he proceeded to inquire
of the host what strangers had lodged in his house during the
preceding night, besides himself and his own attendants?
"None, but a party of monks and nuns," the man replied, through the
interpretation of Ella Brune, whom Woodville had called to his aid.
"Ask him, Ella, of what country they were," said Richard of Woodville.
But the man replied to Ella's question, that they were all
Hainaulters, except two who came from Friesland; and that they were
going on a pilgrimage to Rome.
Richard of Woodville was more puzzled than ever. For a moment he
suspected that Ned Dyram might have played some trick upon him; for,
notwithstanding the bluntness of that worthy personage, a doubt of his
being really as honest and straightforward as the King believed him,
had entered into Woodville's mind, he knew not well why. Reflecting,
however, on the fact of Ned Dyram having encouraged Ella Brune to
accompany them to the Continent, notwithstanding the opposite advice
given by his master, the young gentleman soon rejected that suspicion,
and remained as much troubled to account for what had occurred as
before.
No farther information was to be obtained; and, as soon as his men and
horses were prepared, Richard of Woodville commenced his journey
towards Ghent; directing his steps in the first instance to Ghistel,
through a country which presented, at that period, nothing but wide
uncultivated plains and salt marshes, with here and there a village
raised on any little eminence, or a feudal castle near the shore, from
which, even in those days, and still more in the times preceding,
numerous bands of pirates were sent forth, sweeping the sea, and
occasionally entering the mouths of the English rivers. The
inhabitants of the whole tract, from Ostend to the Aa, were notorious
for their savage and blood-thirsty character; so much so, indeed, as
to have obtained the name of the Scythians of the North; and Ella
Brune, as she rode beside Richard of Woodville, on one of the mules
which he had brought with him, and which had been freed from its share
of the baggage to bear her lighter weight, warned her companion to be
upon his guard, as the passage through that part of the country was
still considered unsafe, notwithstanding some improvement in the
manners of the people.
At first Woodville only smiled, replying, that he thought a party of
eleven stout Englishmen were sufficient to deal with any troop of rude
Flemings who might come against them. But she went on to give him many
anecdotes of brutal outrages that had been committed within a very few
years, which somewhat changed his opinion; and the appearance of a
body of five or six horsemen, seemingly watching the advance of his
little force, induced him to take some precautions. Halting within
sight of the church of Lombards Heyde, he caused his archers to put on
the cuirasses and salades with which they were provided for active
service, and ordered them to have their bows ready for action at a
moment's notice. He also partly armed himself, and directed the two
pages to follow him close by with his casque, shield, and lance; and
thus, keeping a firm array, the party moved forward to Ghistel,
watched all the way along the road by the party they had at first
observed, but without any attack being made. Their military display,
indeed, proved in some degree detrimental to them; for that small town
had been surrounded by ramparts some sixty or seventy years before,
and the party of strangers was refused admission at the gates. On the
offer of payment, however, some of the inhabitants readily enough
brought forth corn and water for the horses, and food and hydromel for
the men. One or two of them could speak French also; and from them
Richard of Woodville obtained clear directions for pursuing his way
towards Ghent. He now found that he had already somewhat deviated from
the right track in coming to Ghistel at all; but as he was there, the
men said that the best course for him to follow was to cross the
country direct by Erneghem, and thence march through the forest of
Winendale, along the high raised causeway which commenced at the gates
of Ghistel.
As no likelihood of obtaining any nearer place of repose presented
itself, the young Englishman proceeded to follow these directions, and
towards three o'clock of the same day reached the village of Erneghem.
Much to his disappointment, however, he found no place of
entertainment there. The inhabitants were mostly in the fields, and
but little food was to be obtained for man or horse. On his own
account, Richard of Woodville cared little; nor did he much heed his
men being broken in to privations, which he well knew must often befal
them; but for Ella Brune he was more anxious, and expressed to her
kindly his fears lest she should suffer from hunger and fatigue. But
Ella laughed lightly, replying, "I am more accustomed to it than any
of you."
Onward from that place, the march of the travellers was through the
deep green wood, which, at that time, extended from a few miles to the
south of Thorout, almost to the gates of Bruges. The soil was marshy,
the road heavy, and full of sand; but the weather was still
beautifully clear, the sun shone bright and warm, a thousand wild
flowers grew up under the shade, and the leafy branches of the forest
offered no unpleasant canopy, even at that early period of the year.
Neither village, nor house, nor woodman's hut, nor castle tower,
presented itself for several miles; and as they approached a spot
where the road divided into two, with no friendly indication to the
weary traveller of the place to which either tended, Richard of
Woodville turned towards Ella, asking--"Which, think you, I ought to
follow, my fair maid? or had I better, like the knight-errant of old,
give the choice up to my horse, and see what his sagacity will do,
where my own entirely fails me?"
"What little I have," replied Ella, "would be of no good here; but I
think the best road to choose would be the most beaten one."
"Often the safest, Ella," replied Richard, with a smile.
"Yet not always the most pleasant," answered Ella Brune. But, as she
spoke, a human figure came in sight, the first that they had seen
since they had left Erneghem. It was that of a stout monk, in a grey
gown, with a large straw hat upon his head, tied with a riband under
his beard. He was mounted upon a tall powerful ass, which was ambling
along with him at a good pace; and though he pulled up when he saw the
large party of strangers pausing at the separation of the two roads,
he came forward at a slower pace the next moment, and, after a careful
inspection of the young leader's person, saluted him courteously in
the French tongue.--"Give you good day, and benedicite, my son," he
said, bowing his head. "You seem embarrassed about your way. Can I
help you?"
"Infinitely, good father," replied Richard of Woodville, "if you can
direct me on the road. I am going to Ghent."
"Why, you can never reach Ghent to-night, my son," exclaimed the monk;
"and you will find but poor lodging till you get to Thielt, which you
will not reach till midnight, unless you ride hard."
"We shall want both food and lodging long ere that, good father," said
Richard of Woodville. "Whither does this road you have just come up
lead?"
"To Aertrick," replied the monk: "but you will get neither food nor
beds there, my son, for so large a troop. 'Tis a poor place, and the
priest is a poor man, who would lodge a single traveller willingly
enough, but has no room for more, nor bread to give them; but your
best plan will be to come with me to Thorout. 'Tis a little out of
your way to Ghent; but yet you can reach that city to-morrow, if you
will, though 'tis a long day's journey--well nigh ten leagues."
"Is there a hostel in Thorout, good father?" asked Richard of
Woodville.
"One of the most miserable in Flanders, Hainault, or Brabant,"
answered the monk, laughing; "but we have a priory there, where we are
always willing to lodge strangers, and let them taste of our
refectory. We are a poor order," he continued, with a sly smile, "but
yet we live in a rich country, and the people are benevolent to us, so
that our board is not ill supplied; and strangers who visit us always
remember our poverty."
"That we will do most willingly," said Richard of Woodville, "to the
best of our ability, good father. But you see we have a lady with us.
Now I have heard, that in some orders--"
"Ay, ay," replied the monk, laughing, "where the brotherhood are in
sad doubt of their own virtue; but we are all grave and sober men, and
fear not to see a fair sister amongst us--as a visitor, as a visitor,
of course. It would be a want of Christian charity to send a fair lady
from the gate, when she was in need of food and lodging. But come on,
sir, if you will come; for we have still near a league to go, and 'tis
well nigh the hour of supper, which this pious beast of mine knows
right well. I had to drub him all the way to Aertrick, because he
thought I had ought to be at vespers in the convent; and now he ambles
me well nigh three leagues to the hour, because he knows that I ought
to be back again. Oh, he has as much care of my conscience as a lady's
father-director has of hers. Come, my son, if you be coming;" and
therewith he put his ass once more into a quick pace, and took the
road to the right.
In little more than half an hour the whole party stood before the
gates of a large heavy building, inclosed within high walls, situated
at a short distance from the town of Thorout; and the good monk,
leaving his new friends without, went in to speak with the prior in
regard to their reception. No great difficulty seemed to be made; and
the prior himself, a white bearded, fresh complexioned old man, with a
watery blue eye, well set in fat, came out to the door to welcome
them. His air was benevolent; and his look, though somewhat more
joyous than was perhaps quite in harmony with his vows, was by no
means so unusual in his class as to call for any particular
observation on the part of the young Englishman.
Far from displaying any scruples in regard to receiving Ella within
those holy walls, he was the first to show himself busy, perhaps
somewhat more than needful, in assisting her to dismount. It was
evident that he was a great admirer of beauty in the other sex; but
there were other objects for which he had an extreme regard; and one
of those, in the form of the supper of the monastery, was already
being placed upon the table of the refectory; so that there was no
other course for him to pursue than to hasten the whole party in, to
partake of the meal, only pausing to ask Richard of Woodville, with a
glance at the black robe of serge and the white wimple of Ella Brune,
whether she was a sister of some English order?
Woodville simply replied that she was not, but merely a young maiden
who was placed under his charge, to escort safely to Peronne, or
perhaps Dijon, if she did not find her relations, who were attached to
the Court of Burgundy, at the former place.
The good prior was satisfied for the time, and led the way on to the
refectory, where about twenty brethren were assembled, waiting with as
eager looks for the commencement of the meal as if they had been
fasting for at least four-and-twenty hours. To judge, however, from
the viands to which they soon sat down, no such abstinence was usually
practised; and capons, and roe-deer, and wild-boar pork, were in as
great plenty on the table of the refectory as in the hall of a high
English baron. Some distinction of rank, too, was here observed;[5]
and the attendants of Richard of Woodville were left to sup with the
servants of the convent, somewhat to their surprise and displeasure.
The monks in general seemed a cheerful and well-contented race, fond
of good cheer and rich wine; and all but one or two seemed to vie with
each other in showing very courteous attention to poor Ella Brune, in
which course the prior himself, and the brother questor, who had been
Woodville's guide thither, particularly distinguished themselves.
---------------------
[Footnote 5: In many countries, the distinction of station, if not of
birth, was very strictly enforced, especially at meals; and I think it
is Meyrick who mentions the ordonnance of some foreign prince, by
which no one was permitted, under the grade of chivalry, to sit at the
table with a knight, unless he were a cross-bowman, the son of a
knight.]
---------------------
There was one saturnine man, indeed, seated somewhat far down the
table, with his head bent over his platter, who seemed to take little
share in the hilarity of the others. From time to time he gave a
side-long look towards Ella; but it was evidently not one of love or
admiration; and Richard of Woodville was easily led to imagine that
the good brother was somewhat scandalized at the presence of a woman
in the convent. He asked the questor, who sat next to him, however, in
a low voice, who that silent brother was; and it needed no farther
explanation to make the monk understand whom he meant.
"He is a Kill-joy," replied the questor, with a significant look; "but
he is none of our own people, though one of the order, from the abbey
at Liege. He departs soon, God be praised; for he has done nothing but
censure us since he came hither. His abbot sent him away upon a
visitation--to get rid of him, I believe; for he was unruly there,
too, and declared that widgeons could not be eaten on even an ordinary
fast-day without sin, though we all know the contrary."
"He is not orthodox in that, at least," answered Richard of Woodville,
with a smile. "Doubtless he thinks it highly improper for a lady to
have shelter here."
"For that very reason," said the questor, in the same low tone in
which their conversation had been hitherto carried on, "the prior will
have to lodge you in the visitor's lodging, which you saw just by the
gate; for he fears the reports of brother Paul. Otherwise he would
have put you in the sub-prior's rooms, he being absent. But see, now
he has done himself, how brother Paul watches every mouthful that goes
down the throats of others!" The questor sank his voice to a whisper,
adding, in a solemn tone, "He drinks no wine--nothing but water wets
his lips! Is not that a sin?--a disparaging of the gifts of God?"
"It is, certainly, not using them discreetly," answered Richard of
Woodville; "and, methinks, in these low lands, a cup of generous wine,
such as this is, must be even more necessary to a reverend monk, who
spends half his time in prayer, than to a busy creature of the world,
who has plenty of exercise to keep his blood flowing."
"To be sure it is!" replied the questor, who approved the doctrine
highly; and thereupon he filled Woodville's can again, with a
"Benedicite, noble sir."
When the meal was over, the young Englishman remarked, that this grim
brother Paul, of whom they had been speaking, took advantage of the
little interval which usually succeeds the pleasant occupation of
eating, to draw the prior aside, and whisper to him for several
minutes. The face of the latter betrayed impatience and displeasure,
and he turned from him, with a somewhat mocking air, saying aloud,
"You are mistaken, my brother, and not charitable, as you will soon
see. Hark! there is the bell for complines. Do you attend the service,
sir?"
The last words were addressed to Richard of Woodville, who bowed his
head, and answered, "Gladly I will."
"Oh, yes!" cried Ella, with a joyful look; "I shall be so pleased, if
I may find a place in the chapel. I have not had the opportunity of
hearing any service since I left London."
"Assuredly, my daughter!" said the prior, with a gracious look; "the
chapel is open to all. We have our own place; but every day we have
the villagers and townsfolk to hear our chanting, which we are
somewhat vain of. You shall be shown how to reach it with your
friends."
The monks took their way to the chapel by a private door from the
refectory; and Richard of Woodville, with Ella, was led by a lay
brother of the monastery through the court. Two or three women and one
old man were in the chapel, and the short evening service began and
ended, the sweet voice of Ella Brune mingling sounds with the choir,
which, well I wot, the place had not often heard before. At the close,
Richard of Woodville moved towards the door; but Ella besought him to
stay one moment, and, advancing to the shrine of Our Lady, knelt down
and prayed devoutly, with her beads in her hand. Perhaps she might ask
for a prosperous journey, and for deliverance from danger; or she
might entreat support and guidance in an undertaking that occupied the
dearest thoughts of an enthusiastic heart; nor will there be many
found to blame her, even if the higher aspirations, the holier and
purer impulses that separate the spirit from the earth and lead the
soul to Heaven, were mingled with the mortal affections that cling
around us to the end, so long as we are bondsmen of the clay.
While she yet prayed, and while the monks were wending away through
their own particular entrance, the old prior advanced to Woodville,
who was standing near the door, and remarked, "Our fair sister seems
of a devout and Catholic spirit. These are bad days, and there are
many that swerve from the true faith."
At these words a conviction, very near the truth, broke upon
Woodville's mind, as he recollected what Ella had told him of the
opinions of old Murdock Brune and of his relations in Liege, and
combined her account with the whispering of brother Paul, a monk from
that very city. It was a sudden flash of perception, rather than the
light of cold consideration; and he replied, without a moment's pause,
"She is, indeed, a sincere and pious child of the Holy Roman Catholic
Church; and she has been much tried, as you would soon perceive,
reverend sir, if you knew all; for she has relations who have long
since abandoned the faith of their fathers, and would fain have
persuaded her to adopt their own vain and heretical opinions; but she
has been firm and constant, even to her own injury in their esteem,
poor maiden!"
"Ay, I thought so, I thought so!" replied the fat prior, rubbing his
fat white hands. "See how she prays to the Blessed Virgin; and the
Queen of Heaven will hear her prayers. She always has especial grace
for those who kneel at that altar. Good night, brother;--good night!
The questor and the refectioner will show you your lodging, and give
you the sleeping cup. To-morrow I will see you ere you depart. God's
blessing upon you, daughter," he added, as Ella approached. "I must
away, for that father Paul has us all up to matins."
Thus saying, the old monk retired; and in the court Woodville found
his friend the questor and another brother, who led him and his
attendants to what was called the visitor's lodging, where, with a
more comfortable bed than the night before, he slept soundly, only
waking for a few moments as the matin bell rang, and then dropping
asleep again, to waken shortly after daylight and prepare for his
journey onward.
When he came to depart, however, there was one drawback to the
remembrance of the pleasant evening he had passed in the monastery. A
stout mule was saddled in the court, and the prior besought him, in
courteous terms, to give the advantage of his escort to father Paul,
who was about to set out likewise for Ghent. Richard of Woodville
could not well refuse, though not particularly pleased, and placing a
liberal return for his entertainment in the box of the convent, he
began his journey, resolved to make the best of a companionship which
he could not avoid.