Let us now return within the abbey walls for a while, and see what was
passing there. The departure of the guests had left behind, at least
with some of the fair inmates, that sensation of vacant dulness, which
usually succeeds a period of unusual gaiety, especially with those
whose ordinary course of life is tranquil if not tedious.
Iola felt that the convent would seem much more cheerless than before;
and, as she stood with her cousin Constance in the little private
parlour of her aunt, conversing for a few minutes, before they retired
to rest, upon the events of the day, her light heart could not help
pouring forth its sensations, innocent and natural as they were, to
her somewhat graver and more thoughtful cousin.
"Good lack, dear Constance," she said, "I wish they would not show us
such bright scenes and give us such gay moments, if they are both to
be snatched away again the next minute. How heavy will the next week
be, till we have forgotten all these gay feathers, and silks, and
satins, and gold embroidery, and gentle speeches, and pleasant wit."
"Nay, I hope, Iola, that you did not have too many gentle speeches,"
replied her cousin, with a quiet smile; "for I saw somebody's head
bent low, and caught the sound of words whispered rather than spoken,
and perceived a little pink ear turned up to catch them all."
"Oh, my man was the most charming ever seen," answered Iola; "just
fitted for my companion in a long ride through the forest, as
thoughtless, as careless, as merry as myself; who will forget me as
soon as I shall forget him, and no harm done to either. What was your
man like, Constance? He seemed as gruff as a large church bell, and as
stern as the statue of Moses breaking the tables."
"He was well enough for a man," answered Constance. "He might have
been younger, and he might have been gentler in words; for his hair
was grizzled grey, and he abused everybody roundly, from the king on
his throne to the horseboy who saddled his beast. He was a gentleman
notwithstanding, and courteous to me; and I have a strong fancy, dear
Iola, that his heart is not as hard as his words, for I have read in
some old book that hard sayings often go with soft doings."
"Ha, ha, say you so, Constance dear?" replied Iola; "then methinks you
have been prying a little closely into the bosom of this Sir William
Arden. Well, you are free, and can love where you list. I am like a
poor popinjay tied to a stake, where every boy archer may bend his bow
at me, and I do nothing but sit still and endure. I often wonder what
this Lord Fulmer is like, my husband that is to be, God wot. I hope he
is not a sour man with a black beard, and that he does not squint, and
has not a high shoulder like the king, and has both his eyes of one
colour; for I hate a wall-eyed horse, and it would be worse in a
husband--unless one of them was blind, which would indeed be a
comfort, as one could be sure of getting on the blind side of him."
"How your little tongue runs," said her cousin. "It is like a lapdog
fresh let out into the fields, galloping hither and thither for pure
idleness."
"Well, I will be merry whatever happens," answered Iola gaily. "'Tis
the best way of meeting fate, Constance. You may be as grave and
demure as a cat before the fire, or as sad and solemn as the ivy on an
old tower. I will be as light as the lark upon the wing, and as
cheerful as a bough of Christmas holly, garlanding a boar's head on a
high festival; and she sang with a clear sweet voice, every note of
which was full of gladness, some scraps of an old ballad very common
in those days.
"Nay, ivy, nay,
It shall not be, I wis;
Let holly have the mastery,
As the custom is.
"Holly stands in the hall
Fair to behold;
Ivy stands without the door
Shivering with cold.
Nay, ivy, nay, etc.
"Holly and his merry men
They dance and play;
Ivy and her maidens
Weep a well a day.
Nay, ivy, nay, etc.
"Holly hath berries
As red as any rose;
The forester and hunter
Keep them for the does.
Nay, ivy, nay, etc.
"Ivy hath berries
As black as any sloe;
There comes the owl,
With his long whoop of woe.
Nay, ivy, nay, etc."
In the meanwhile, the abbess herself had not been without occupation,
for although the night was waning fast, the usual hour of rest long
past, and the nuns in general retired to their cells, yet before she
went to her own snug little room, the worthy lady saw, one after the
other, several of the officers of the abbey in the great parlour. In
dealing with these various personages, the worthy lady,
notwithstanding her little knowledge of the world, showed a good deal
of skill and diplomatic shrewdness. Her situation indeed was somewhat
delicate; for she had to prepare against events, which she could not
clearly explain to those with whom she spoke, and to give orders which
would naturally excite surprise, without such explanation. She had
prepared her story however beforehand; and she proceeded in a
different manner with each of the different officers, as her knowledge
of their several characters pointed out to her the most judicious
course. To the porter of the great hall, a stout old man, who had been
a soldier and had seen service, she said boldly, and at once; "Leave
the lodging in charge of your boy, Giles, and go down directly through
the hamlet, to all the tenants and socmen within a mile. Tell them
there is danger abroad, and that they must be ready, with their arms,
to come up the instant they hear the great bell ring. Bid them send
out some lads to the vassals who live farther off, with the same news.
Then come back hither, for we shall want you."
The man departed without a word, his answer being merely a low
inclination of the head. The bailiff, who by right should have
presented himself before the porter, but who had been impeded by the
appropriation of sundry good things left from the supper table,
appeared amongst the last. To him the abbess put on a very different
countenance.
"Well, master bailiff," she said, with a light and cheerful smile,
"have you heard anything of the bands at Coleshill?"
"Sad work, lady, sad work," replied the bailiff, casting his eyes up
to heaven. "Why I understand that, last night, some of them stole
Joseph Saxton's best cow, and cut it up before his face, hardly taking
the hide off."
"That shows they were very hungry," said the abbess, laughing.
"Ay, lady," rejoined the bailiff, "these are not jesting matters, I
can tell you. Why, I should not wonder if they drove some of the abbey
lands before long; and we have not cattle to spare that I know of.
There is no knowing what such hell-kites may do."
"That's very true," answered the abbess; "and so, my son, I think it
will be better for you to sleep in the lodge for two or three nights;
for we might want you on an occasion."
"Oh, there is no fear of their coming as far as this," answered the
bailiff, who had no fondness for putting his head into any dangerous
position.
"Nevertheless, I desire you to remain," answered the abbess; "'tis
well to have somebody to take counsel with in time of need."
"Why, there is the friar, lady mother," replied the bailiff, still
reluctant, "the friar, whom these young lords who were here left
behind in the stranger's lodging. He would give you counsel and
assistance."
"Ay, ghostly counsel and spiritual assistance," replied the abbess;
"but that is not what I want just now, good friend; so you will stop
as I said, and remember that I shall expect a bolder face this time,
if anything should happen, than when the rovers were here before. Men
fancied you were afraid.--However, send the friar to me now, if he be
well enough to come. I will see what counsel I can get from him."
"Well enough!" cried the bailiff. "He is well enough, I
warrant--nothing the matter with him. Why, he was walking up and down
in the great court before the chapel, with his hood thrown back, and
his bald crown glistening in the moonlight, like a coot in a water
meadow."
Part of this speech was spoken aloud, part of it muttered to himself
as he was quitting the room in a very sullen mood. He did not dare to
disobey the orders he had received, for the good abbess was not one to
suffer her commands to be slighted; and yet women never, or very
rarely, gain the same respect with inferiors that men obtain; and the
bailiff ventured to grumble with her, though he would have bowed down
and obeyed in silence, had his orders come from one of the sterner
sex.
However that might be, hardly three minutes elapsed before the friar
entered the parlour, and carefully closed the door behind him. His
conference with the abbess was long, continuing nearly an hour, and
the last words spoken were, "Remember rightly, reverend father, the
moment the bell sounds, betake yourself to the chapel, and stand near
the high altar. You can see your way; for there is always a lamp
burning in the chapel of St. Clare. Lock the great door after you; and
I will come to you from our own gallery."
The bishop bowed his head and departed; and the abbess, weary with the
fatigue and excitement of the day, gladly sought repose. All the
convent was quiet around, and the nuns long gone to rest. Even the
lady's two nieces had some time before closed their eyes in the sweet
and happy slumber of youth.
Sleep soon visited the pillow of the abbess also; for she never
remembered having sat up so late, except once, when King Edward, the
libidinous predecessor of the reigning monarch, had visited the abbey
during one of his progresses.
Still and deep was her rest; she knew nothing of the passing hours;
she heard not the clock strike, though the tower on which it stood was
exactly opposite to her cell. She heard not even the baby of St.
Clare, when, a little before two o'clock, it was rung sharply and
repeatedly. A few minutes after, however, there was a knock at the
room door; but, no answer being given, a lay sister entered with a
lamp in her hand, and roused her superior somewhat suddenly.
"Pardon, lady mother, pardon," she said; "but I am forced to wake you,
for here is Dick the under forester come up to tell you, from Boyd,
the head woodman, that enemies are coming, and that you had better
take counsel upon it immediately. There is no time to be lost, he
says, for they are already past the Redbridge turn, not a mile and a
half off, and, alack and a well-a-day, we are all unprepared!"
"Not so little prepared as you think, sister Grace," replied the
abbess, rising at once, and hurrying on her gown. "You run to the
porter, and tell him to toll the great bell with all his might,
opening the gate to the men of the hamlet and the tenants, but keeping
fast ward against the rovers. Then away with you, as soon as you have
delivered that message, up to the belfry tower. The moon must be still
up--"
"She's down, she's down," cried the nun, in great alarm.
"Then light the beacon," cried the abbess. "That will give light
enough to see when they come near. As soon as you perceive men
marching in a band, like regular soldiers, ring the little bell to
give the porter notice; and, after watching what they do for a minute
or two, come and tell me. Be steady; be careful; and do not let fright
scare away your wits."
The nun hurried to obey; and in a minute after, the loud and sonorous
alarm bell of the abbey was heard, shaking the air far and wide over
the forest, with its dull and sullen boom.
Having delivered her message to the porter, the poor nun, with her
lamp in her hand, hurried up the numberless steps of the beacon tower,
trembling in every limb, notwithstanding the courageous tone of her
superior. Upon the thick stone roof at the top she found an immense
pile of faggots, ready laid, and mingled with pitch, and, lying at
some distance, a heap of fresh wood, to be cast on as occasion
required, with a large jar of oil and an iron ladle, to increase the
flame as it rose up.
Fortunately, the night was as calm as sleep, and not a breath of wind
crossed the heavens; otherwise the lamp would assuredly have been
blown out in the poor sister's trepidation and confusion. As it was,
she had nearly let it fall into the midst of the pile, in the first
attempt to light the beacon; but the next moment the thin dry twigs,
which were placed beneath, caught the fire, crackled, nearly went out
again; and then, with a quantity of dull smoke, the fire rushed up,
licking the thicker wood above. The pitch ignited; the whole pile
caught; and a tall column of flame, some sixteen or seventeen feet
high, rose into the air, and cast a red and ominous light over the
whole country round. The buildings on the little green became
distinctly visible in a moment, the houses of the priests and
choristers, the cottages of the peasants and the labourers; and
running her eye along the valley beyond, in the direction of
Coleshill, the lay sister saw, coming through the low ground, just
under the verge of the wood, a dark mass, apparently of men on
horseback, at the distance of less than half a mile. At the same time,
however, she beheld a sight which gave her better hope. Not only from
the cottages on the green were men issuing forth and hurrying to the
great portal of the abbey, but, along the three roads which she could
espy, she beheld eighteen or twenty figures, some on foot, but some on
horseback, running or galloping at full speed. They were all separate
and detached from each other; but the flame of the beacon flashed upon
steel caps and corslets, and spear heads; and she easily judged that
the tenants and vassals, warned beforehand and alarmed by the sound of
the great bell, were hastening to do the military service they owed.
When she looked again in the direction of the mass she had seen on the
Coleshill road, she perceived that the head of the troop had halted;
and she judged rightly that, surprised by the sudden lighting of the
beacon and tolling of the bell, the leaders were pausing to consult.
For a moment, a hope crossed her mind that they would be frightened at
the state of preparation which they found, and desist; but the next
instant the troop began to move on again; and remembering the orders
which she had received, she rang a lesser bell which hung near the
beacon, still keeping her eyes fixed upon the party advancing up the
valley.
Steadily and cautiously they came on; were lost for a minute or two
behind the houses the hamlet; then reappeared upon the little green;
and, dividing into three troops, the one remained planted before the
great gates, while the others, gliding between the cottages and the
walls of the abbey, filed off to the right and left, with the evident
purpose of surrounding the whole building, and guarding every outlet.
The poor nun, however, fancied, on the contrary, that they were gone
to seek some favourable point of attack; and murmuring to herself,
"The Blessed Virgin have mercy upon us, and all the saints protect us!
There will never be men enough to protect all the walls," she hurried
down to make her report to her superior; but the abbess was not to be
found.