



Produced by Karl Hagen, Dan Moynihan, Charles Franks, and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.










[Illustration: HEREWARD RESISTING THE GREEK ASSASSIN.]

WAVERLY NOVELS ABBOTSFORD EDITION

THE WAVERLY NOVELS,

BY SIR WALTER SCOTT.

COMPLETE IN TWELVE VOLUMES.

EMBRACING THE AUTHOR'S LAST CORRECTIONS, PREFACES, AND NOTES.

VOL. XII.

COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS--CASTLE DANGEROUS--MY AUNT MARGARET'S MIRROR, &c.
&c.




Tales of my Landlord.

COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS.

     The European with the Asian shore--
       Sophia's cupola with golden gleam
     The cypress groves--Olympus high and hoar--
       The twelve isles, and the more than I could dream,
     Far less describe, present the very view
       That charm'd the charming Mary Montagu.
                                        DON JUAN.

ADVERTISEMENT.--(1833.)

Sir Walter Scott transmitted from Naples, in February, 1832, an
Introduction for CASTLE DANGEROUS; but if he ever wrote one for a
second Edition of ROBERT OF PARIS, it has not been discovered among his
papers. Some notes, chiefly extracts from the books which he had been
observed to consult while _dictating_ this novel, are now appended to
its pages; and in addition to what the author had given in the shape of
historical information respecting the principal real persons
introduced, the reader is here presented with what may probably amuse
him, the passage of the Alexiad, in which Anna Comnena describes the
incident which originally, no doubt, determined Sir Walter's choice of
a hero.

May, A.D. 1097.--"As for the multitude of those who advanced towards
THE GREAT CITY, let it be enough to say that they were as the stars in
the heaven, or as the sand upon the sea-shore. They were, in the words
of Homer, _as many as the leaves and flowers of spring_. But for the
names of the leaders, though they are present in my memory, I will not
relate them. The numbers of these would alone deter me, even if my
language furnished the means of expressing their barbarous sounds; and
for what purpose should I afflict my readers with a long enumeration of
the names of those, whose visible presence gave so much horror to all
that beheld them?

"As soon, therefore, as they approached the Great City, they occupied
the station appointed for them by the Emperor, near to the monastery of
Cosmidius. But this multitude were not, like the Hellenic one of old,
to be restrained and governed by the loud voices of nine heralds; they
required the constant superintendence of chosen and valiant soldiers,
to keep them from violating the commands of the Emperor.

"He, meantime, laboured to obtain from the other leaders that
acknowledgment of his supreme authority, which had already been drawn
from Godfrey [Greek: Gontophre] himself. But, notwithstanding the
willingness of some to accede to this proposal, and their assistance in
working on the minds of their associates, the Emperor's endeavours had
little success, as the majority were looking for the arrival of
Bohemund [Greek: Baimontos], in whom they placed their chief
confidence, and resorted to every art with the view of gaining time.
The Emperor, whom it was not easy to deceive, penetrated their motives;
and by granting to one powerful person demands which had been supposed
out of all bounds of expectation, and by resorting to a variety of
other devices, he at length prevailed, and won general assent to the
following of the example of Godfrey, who also was sent for in person to
assist in this business.

"All, therefore, being assembled, and Godfrey among them, the oath was
taken; but when all was finished, a certain Noble among these Counts
had the audacity to seat himself on the throne of the Emperor. [Greek:
Tolmaesas tis apo panton ton komaeton eugenaes eis ton skimpoda ton
Basileos ekathisen.] The Emperor restrained himself and said nothing,
for he was well acquainted of old with the nature of the Latins.

"But the Count Baldwin [Greek: Baldoninos] stepping forth, and seizing
him by the hand, dragged him thence, and with many reproaches said, 'It
becomes thee not to do such things here, especially after having taken
the oath of fealty. [Greek: douleian haeposchomeno]. It is not the
custom of the Roman Emperors to permit any of their inferiors to sit
beside them, not even of such as are born subjects of their empire; and
it is necessary to respect the customs of the country.' But he,
answering nothing to Baldwin, stared yet more fixedly upon the Emperor,
and muttered to himself something in his own dialect, which, being
interpreted, was to this effect--'Behold, what rustic fellow [Greek:
choritaes] is this, to be seated alone while such leaders stand around
him!' The movement of his lips did not escape the Emperor, who called
to him one that understood the Latin dialect, and enquired what words
the man had spoken. When he heard them, the Emperor said nothing to the
other Latins, but kept the thing to himself. When, however, the
business was all over, he called near to him by himself that swelling
and shameless Latin [Greek: hypsaelophrona ekeinon kai anaidae], and
asked of him, who he was, of what lineage, and from what region he had
come. 'I am a Frank,' said he, 'of pure blood, of the Nobles. One thing
I know, that where three roads meet in the place from which I came,
there is an ancient church, in which whosoever has the desire to
measure himself against another in single combat, prays God to help him
therein, and afterwards abides the coming of one willing to encounter
him. At that spot long time did I remain, but the man bold enough to
stand against me I found not.' Hearing these words the Emperor said,
'If hitherto thou hast sought battles in vain, the time is at hand
which will furnish thee with abundance of them. And I advise thee to
place thyself neither before the phalanx, nor in its rear, but to stand
fast in the midst of thy fellow-soldiers; for of old time I am well
acquainted with the warfare of the Turks.' With such advice he
dismissed not only this man, but the rest of those who were about to
depart on that expedition."--_Alexiad_, Book x. pp. 237, 238.

Ducange, as is mentioned in the novel, identifies the church, thus
described by the crusader, with that of _Our Lady of Soissons_, of
which a French poet of the days of Louis VII. says--

     Veiller y vont encore li Pelerin
     Cil qui bataille veulent fere et fournir.
                                 DUCANGE _in Alexiad_, p. 86.

The Princess Anna Comnena, it may be proper to observe, was born on the
first of December, A.D. 1083, and was consequently in her fifteenth
year when the chiefs of the first crusade made their appearance in her
father's court. Even then, however, it is not improbable that she might
have been the wife of Nicephorus Bryennius, whom, many years after his
death, she speaks of in her history as [Greek: ton emon Kaisara], and
in other terms equally affectionate. The bitterness with which she
uniformly mentions Bohemund, Count of Tarentum, afterwards Prince of
Antioch, has, however, been ascribed to a disappointment in love; and
on one remarkable occasion, the Princess certainly expressed great
contempt of her husband. I am aware of no other authorities for the
liberties taken with this lady's conjugal character in the novel.

Her husband, Nicephorus Bryennius, was the grandson of the person of
that name, who figures in history as the rival, in a contest for the
imperial throne, of Nicephorus Botoniates. He was, on his marriage with
Anna Comnena, invested with the rank of _Panhypersebastos_, or _Omnium
Augustissimus_; but Alexius deeply offended him, by afterwards
recognising the superior and simpler dignity of a _Sebastos_. His
eminent qualities, both in peace and war, are acknowledged by Gibbon:
and he has left us four books of Memoirs, detailing the early part of
his father-in-law's history, and valuable as being the work of an
eye-witness of the most important events which he describes. Anna
Comnena appears to have considered it her duty to take up the task
which her husband had not lived to complete; and hence the
Alexiad--certainly, with all its defects, the first historical work
that has as yet proceeded from a female pen.

"The life of the Emperor Alexius," (says Gibbon,) "has been delineated
by the pen of a favourite daughter, who was inspired by tender regard
for his person, and a laudable zeal to perpetuate his virtues.
Conscious of the just suspicion of her readers, the Princess repeatedly
protests, that, besides her personal knowledge, she had searched the
discourses and writings of the most respectable veterans; and that
after an interval of thirty years, forgotten by, and forgetful of the
world, her mournful solitude was inaccessible to hope and fear: that
truth, the naked perfect truth, was more dear than the memory of her
parent. Yet instead of the simplicity of style and narrative which wins
our belief, an elaborate affectation of rhetoric and science betrays in
every page the vanity of a female author. The genuine character of
Alexius is lost in a vague constellation of virtues; and the perpetual
strain of panegyric and apology awakens our jealousy, to question the
veracity of the historian, and the merit of her hero. We cannot,
however, refuse her judicious and important remark, that the disorders
of the times were the misfortune and the glory of Alexius; and that
every calamity which can afflict a declining empire was accumulated on
his reign by the justice of Heaven and the vices of his predecessors.
In the east, the victorious Turks had spread, from Persia to the
Hellespont, the reign of the Koran and the Crescent; the west was
invaded by the adventurous valour of the Normans; and, in the moments
of peace, the Danube poured forth new swarms, who had gained in the
science of war what they had lost in the ferociousness of their
manners. The sea was not less hostile than the land; and, while the
frontiers were assaulted by an open enemy, the palace was distracted
with secret conspiracy and treason.

"On a sudden, the banner of the Cross was displayed by the Latins;
Europe was precipitated on Asia; and Constantinople had almost been
swept away by this impetuous deluge. In the tempest Alexius steered the
Imperial vessel with dexterity and courage. At the head of his armies,
he was bold in action, skilful in stratagem, patient of fatigue, ready
to improve his advantages, and rising from his defeats with
inexhaustible vigour. The discipline of the camp was reversed, and a
new generation of men and soldiers was created by the precepts and
example of their leader. In his intercourse with the Latins, Alexius
was patient and artful; his discerning eye pervaded the new system of
an unknown world.

"The increase of the male and female branches of his family adorned the
throne, and secured the succession; but their princely luxury and pride
offended the patricians, exhausted the revenue, and insulted the misery
of the people. Anna is a faithful witness that his happiness was
destroyed and his health broken by the cares of a public life; the
patience of Constantinople was fatigued by the length and severity of
his reign; and before Alexius expired, he had lost the love and
reverence of his subjects. The clergy could not forgive his application
of the sacred riches to the defence of the state; but they applauded
his theological learning, and ardent zeal for the orthodox faith, which
he defended with his tongue, his pen, and his sword. Even the sincerity
of his moral and religious virtues was suspected by the persons who had
passed their lives in his confidence. In his last hours, when he was
pressed by his wife Irene to alter the succession, he raised his head,
and breathed a pious ejaculation on the vanity of the world. The
indignant reply of the Empress may be inscribed as an epitaph on his
tomb,--'You die, as you have lived--a hypocrite.'

"It was the wish of Irene to supplant the eldest of her sons in favour
of her daughter, the Princess Anna, whose philosophy would not have
refused the weight of a diadem. But the order of male succession was
asserted by the friends of their country; the lawful heir drew the
royal signet from the finger of his insensible or conscious father, and
the empire obeyed the master of the palace. Anna Comnena was stimulated
by ambition and revenge to conspire against the life of her brother;
and when the design was prevented by the fears or scruples of her
husband, she passionately exclaimed that nature had mistaken the two
sexes, and had endowed Bryennius with the soul of a woman. After the
discovery of her treason, the life and fortune of Anna were justly
forfeited to the laws. Her life was spared by the clemency of the
Emperor, but he visited the pomp and treasures of her palace, and
bestowed the rich confiscation on the most deserving of his
friends."--_History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire_, chap.
xlviii.

The year of Anna's death is nowhere recorded. She appears to have
written the _Alexiad_ in a convent; and to have spent nearly thirty
years in this retirement, before her book was published.

For accurate particulars of the public events touched on in _Robert of
Paris,_ the reader is referred to the above quoted author, chapters
xlviii. xlix. and l.; and to the first volume of Mills' History of the
Crusades.

J. G. L. London, _1st March_, 1833.




INTRODUCTORY ADDRESS.

JEDEDIAH CLEISHBOTHAM, A.M.

TO THE LOVING READER WISHETH HEALTH AND PROSPERITY.

It would ill become me, whose name has been spread abroad by those
former collections bearing this title of "Tales of my Landlord," and
who have, by the candid voice of a numerous crowd of readers, been
taught to think that I merit not the empty fame alone, but also the
more substantial rewards, of successful pencraft--it would, I say, ill
become me to suffer this my youngest literary babe, and, probably at
the same time, the last child of mine old age, to pass into the world
without some such modest apology for its defects, as it has been my
custom to put forth on preceding occasions of the like nature. The
world has been sufficiently instructed, of a truth, that I am not
individually the person to whom is to be ascribed the actual inventing
or designing of the scheme upon which these Tales, which men have found
so pleasing, were originally constructed, as also that neither am I the
actual workman, who, furnished by a skilful architect with an accurate
plan, including elevations and directions both general and particular,
has from thence toiled to bring forth and complete the intended shape
and proportion of each division of the edifice. Nevertheless, I have
been indisputably the man, who, in placing my name at the head of the
undertaking, have rendered myself mainly and principally responsible
for its general success. When a ship of war goeth forth to battle with
her crew, consisting of sundry foremast-men and various officers, such
subordinate persons are not said to gain or lose the vessel which they
have manned or attacked, (although each was natheless sufficiently
active in his own department;) but it is forthwith bruited and noised
abroad, without further phrase, that Captain Jedediah Cleishbotham hath
lost such a seventy-four, or won that which, by the united exertions of
all thereto pertaining, is taken from the enemy. In the same manner,
shame and sorrow it were, if I, the voluntary Captain and founder of
these adventures, after having upon three divers occasions assumed to
myself the emolument and reputation thereof, should now withdraw myself
from the risks of failure proper to this fourth and last out-going. No!
I will rather address my associates in this bottom with the constant
spirit of Matthew Prior's heroine:

    "Did I but purpose to embark with thee
     On the smooth surface of some summer sea,
     But would forsake the waves, and make the shore,
     When the winds whistle, and the billows roar!"

As little, nevertheless, would it become my years and station not to
admit without cavil certain errors which may justly be pointed out in
these concluding "Tales of my Landlord,"--the last, and, it is
manifest, never carefully revised or corrected handiwork, of Mr. Peter
Pattison, now no more; the same worthy young man so repeatedly
mentioned in these Introductory Essays, and never without that tribute
to his good sense and talents, nay, even genius, which his
contributions to this my undertaking fairly entitled him to claim at
the hands of his surviving friend and patron. These pages, I have said,
were the _ultimus labor_ of mine ingenious assistant; but I say not, as
the great Dr. Pitcairn of his hero--_ultimus atque optitmis_. Alas!
even the giddiness attendant on a journey on this Manchester rail-road
is not so perilous to the nerves, as that too frequent exercise in the
merry-go-round of the ideal world, whereof the tendency to render the
fancy confused, and the judgment inert, hath in all ages been noted,
not only by the erudite of the earth, but even by many of the
thick-witted Ofelli themselves; whether the rapid pace at which the
fancy moveth in such exercitations, where the wish of the penman is to
him like Prince Houssain's tapestry, in the Eastern fable, be the chief
source of peril--or whether, without reference to this wearing speed of
movement, and dwelling habitually in those realms of imagination, be as
little suited for a man's intellect, as to breathe for any considerable
space "the difficult air of the mountain top" is to the physical
structure of his outward frame--this question belongeth not to me; but
certain it is, that we often discover in the works of the foremost of
this order of men, marks of bewilderment and confusion, such as do not
so frequently occur in those of persons to whom nature hath conceded
fancy weaker of wing, or less ambitious in flight.

It is affecting to see the great Miguel Cervantes himself, even like
the sons of meaner men, defending himself against the critics of the
day, who assailed him upon such little discrepancies and inaccuracies
as are apt to cloud the progress even of a mind like his, when the
evening is closing around it. "It is quite a common thing," says Don
Quixote, "for men who have gained a very great reputation by their
writings before they were printed, quite to lose it afterwards, or, at
least, the greater part."--"The reason is plain," answers the Bachelor
Carrasco; "their faults are more easily discovered after the books are
printed, as being then more read, and more narrowly examined,
especially if the author has been much cried up before, for then the
severity of the scrutiny is sure to be the greater. Those who have
raised themselves a name by their own ingenuity, great poets and
celebrated historians, are commonly, if not always, envied by a set of
men who delight in censuring the writings of others, though they could
never produce any of their own."--"That is no wonder," quoth Don
Quixote; "there are many divines that would make but very dull
preachers, and yet are quick enough at finding faults and superfluities
in other men's sermons."--"All this is true," says Carrasco, "and
therefore I could wish such censurers would be more merciful and less
scrupulous, and not dwell ungenerously upon small spots that are in a
manner but so many atoms on the face of the clear sun they murmur at.
If _aliquando dormitat Homerus_, let them consider how many nights he
kept himself awake to bring his noble works to light as little darkened
with defects as might be. But, indeed, it may many times happen, that
what is censured for a fault, is rather an ornament, as moles often add
to the beauty of a face. When all is said, he that publishes a book,
runs a great risk, since nothing can be so unlikely as that he should
have composed one capable of securing the approbation of every
reader."--"Sure," says Don Quixote, "that which treats of me can have
pleased but few?"--"Quite the contrary," says Carrasco; "for as
_infinitus est numerus stultorum_, so an infinite number have admired
your history. Only some there are who have taxed the author with want
of memory or sincerity, because he forgot to give an account who it was
that stole Sancho's Dapple, for that particular is not mentioned there,
only we find, by the story, that it was stolen; and yet, by and by, we
find him riding the same ass again, without any previous light given us
into the matter. Then they say that the author forgot to tell the
reader what Sancho did with the hundred pieces of gold he found in the
portmanteau in the Sierra Morena, for there is not a word said of them
more; and many people have a great mind to know what he did with them,
and how he spent them; which is one of the most material points in
which the work is defective."

How amusingly Sancho is made to clear up the obscurities thus alluded
to by the Bachelor Carrasco--no reader can have forgotten; but there
remained enough of similar _lacunas_, inadvertencies, and mistakes, to
exercise the ingenuity of those Spanish critics, who were too wise in
their own conceit to profit by the good-natured and modest apology of
this immortal author.

There can be no doubt, that if Cervantes had deigned to use it, he
might have pleaded also the apology of indifferent health, under which
he certainly laboured while finishing the second part of "Don Quixote."
It must be too obvious that the intervals of such a malady as then
affected Cervantes, could not be the most favourable in the world for
revising lighter compositions, and correcting, at least, those grosser
errors and imperfections which each author should, if it were but for
shame's sake, remove from his work, before bringing it forth into the
broad light of day, where they will never fail to be distinctly seen,
nor lack ingenious persons, who will be too happy in discharging the
office of pointing them out.

It is more than time to explain with what purpose we have called thus
fully to memory the many venial errors of the inimitable Cervantes, and
those passages in which he has rather defied his adversaries than
pleaded his own justification; for I suppose it will be readily
granted, that the difference is too wide betwixt that great wit of
Spain and ourselves, to permit us to use a buckler which was rendered
sufficiently formidable only by the strenuous hand in which it was
placed.

The history of my first publications is sufficiently well known. Nor
did I relinquish the purpose of concluding these "Tales of my
Landlord," which had been so remarkably fortunate; but Death, which
steals upon us all with an inaudible foot, cut short the ingenious
young man to whose memory I composed that inscription, and erected, at
my own charge, that monument which protects his remains, by the side of
the river Gander, which he has contributed so much to render immortal,
and in a place of his own selection, not very distant from the school
under my care. [Footnote: See Vol. II. of the present Edition, for some
circumstances attending this erection.] In a word, the ingenious Mr.
Pattison was removed from his place.

Nor did I confine my care to his posthumous fame alone, but carefully
inventoried and preserved the effects which he left behind him, namely,
the contents of his small wardrobe, and a number of printed books of
somewhat more consequence, together with certain, wofully blurred
manuscripts, discovered in his repository. On looking these over, I
found them to contain two Tales called "Count Robert of Paris," and
"Castle Dangerous;" but was seriously disappointed to perceive that
they were by no means in that state of correctness, which would induce
an experienced person to pronounce any writing, in the technical
language of bookcraft, "prepared for press." There were not only
_hiatus valde deflendi_, but even grievous inconsistencies, and other
mistakes, which the penman's leisurely revision, had he been spared to
bestow it, would doubtless have cleared away. After a considerate
perusal, I no question flattered myself that these manuscripts, with
all their faults, contained here and there passages, which seemed
plainly to intimate that severe indisposition had been unable to
extinguish altogether the brilliancy of that fancy which the world had
been pleased to acknowledge in the creations of Old Mortality, the
Bride of Lammermoor, and others of these narratives. But I,
nevertheless, threw the manuscripts into my drawer, resolving not to
think of committing them to the Ballantynian ordeal, until I could
either obtain the assistance of some capable person to supply
deficiencies, and correct errors, so as they might face the public with
credit, or perhaps numerous and more serious avocations might permit me
to dedicate my own time and labour to that task.

While I was in this uncertainty, I had a visit from a stranger, who was
announced as a young gentleman desirous of speaking with me on
particular business. I immediately augured the accession of a new
boarder, but was at once checked by observing that the outward man of
the stranger was, in a most remarkable degree, what mine host of the
Sir William Wallace, in his phraseology, calls _seedy_. His black cloak
had seen service; the waistcoat of grey plaid bore yet stronger marks
of having encountered more than one campaign; his third piece of dress
was an absolute veteran compared to the others; his shoes were so
loaded with mud as showed his journey must have been pedestrian; and a
grey _maud_, which fluttered around his wasted limbs, completed such an
equipment as, since Juvenal's days, has been the livery of the poor
scholar. I therefore concluded that I beheld a candidate for the vacant
office of usher, and prepared to listen to his proposals with the
dignity becoming my station; but what was my surprise when I found I
had before me, in this rusty student, no less a man than Paul, the
brother of Peter Pattison, come to gather in his brother's succession,
and possessed, it seemed, with no small idea of the value of that part
of it which consisted in the productions of his pen!

By the rapid study I made of him, this Paul was a sharp lad, imbued
with some tincture of letters, like his regretted brother, but totally
destitute of those amiable qualities which had often induced me to say
within myself, that Peter was, like the famous John Gay,--

   "In wit a man, simplicity a child."

He set little by the legacy of my deceased assistant's wardrobe, nor
did the books hold much greater value in his eyes: but he peremptorily
demanded to be put in possession of the manuscripts, alleging, with
obstinacy, that no definite bargain had been completed between his late
brother and me, and at length produced the opinion to that effect of a
writer, or man of business,--a class of persons with whom I have always
chosen to have as little concern as possible.

But I had one defence left, which came to my aid, _tanquam deus ex
machina_. This rapacious Paul Pattison could not pretend to wrest the
disputed manuscripts out of my possession, unless upon repayment of a
considerable sum of money, which I had advanced from time to time to
the deceased Peter, and particularly to purchase a small annuity for
his aged mother. These advances, with the charges of the funeral and
other expenses, amounted to a considerable sum, which the
poverty-struck student and his acute legal adviser equally foresaw
great difficulty in liquidating. The said Mr. Paul Pattison, therefore,
listened to a suggestion, which I dropped as if by accident, that if he
thought himself capable of filling his brother's place of carrying the
work through the press, I would make him welcome to bed and board
within my mansion while he was thus engaged, only requiring his
occasional assistance at hearing the more advanced scholars. This
seemed to promise a close of our dispute, alike satisfactory to all
parties, and the first act of Paul was to draw on me for a round sum,
under pretence that his wardrobe must be wholly refitted. To this I
made no objection, though it certainly showed like vanity to purchase
garments in the extremity of the mode, when not only great part of the
defunct's habiliments were very fit for a twelvemonth's use, but as I
myself had been, but yesterday as it were, equipped in a becoming new
stand of black clothes, Mr. Pattison would have been welcome to the use
of such of my quondam raiment as he thought suitable, as indeed had
always been the case with his deceased brother.

The school, I must needs say, came tolerably on. My youngster was very
smart, and seemed to be so active in his duty of usher, if I may so
speak, that he even overdid his part therein, and I began to feel
myself a cipher in my own school.

I comforted myself with the belief that the publication was advancing
as fast as I could desire. On this subject, Paul Pattison, like ancient
Pistol, "talked bold words at the bridge," and that not only at our
house, but in the society of our neighbours, amongst whom, instead of
imitating the retired and monastic manner of his brother deceased, he
became a gay visitor, and such a reveller, that in process of time he
was observed to vilipend the modest fare which had at first been
esteemed a banquet by his hungry appetite, and thereby highly
displeased my wife, who, with justice, applauds herself for the
plentiful, cleanly, and healthy victuals, wherewith she maintains her
ushers and boarders.

Upon the whole, I rather hoped than entertained a sincere confidence
that all was going on well, and was in that unpleasant state of mind
which precedes the open breach between two associates who have been
long jealous of each other, but are as yet deterred by a sense of
mutual interest from coming to an open rupture.

The first thing which alarmed me was a rumour in the village, that Paul
Pattison intended, in some little space, to undertake a voyage to the
Continent--on account of his health, as was pretended, but, as the same
report averred, much more with the view of gratifying the curiosity
which his perusal of the classics had impressed upon him, than for any
other purpose. I was, I say, rather alarmed at this _susurrus_, and
began to reflect that the retirement of Mr. Pattison, unless his loss
could be supplied in good time, was like to be a blow to the
establishment; for, in truth, this Paul had a winning way with the
boys, especially those who were gentle-tempered; so that I must confess
my doubts whether, in certain respects, I myself could have fully
supplied his place in the school, with all my authority and experience.
My wife, jealous as became her station, of Mr. Pattison's intentions,
advised me to take the matter up immediately, and go to the bottom at
once; and, indeed, I had always found that way answered best with my
boys.

Mrs. Cleishbotham was not long before renewing the subject; for, like
most of the race of Xantippe, (though my help-mate is a well-spoken
woman,) she loves to thrust in her oar where she is not able to pull it
to purpose. "You are a sharp-witted man, Mr. Cleishbotham," would she
observe, "and a learned man, Mr. Cleishbotham--and the schoolmaster of
Gandercleuch, Mr. Cleishbotham, which is saying all in one word; but
many a man almost as great as yourself has lost the saddle by suffering
an inferior to get up behind him' and though, with the world, Mr.
Cleishbotham, you have the name of doing every thing, both in directing
the school and in this new profitable book line which you have taken
up, yet it begins to be the common talk of Gandercleuch, both up the
water and down the water, that the usher both writes the dominie's
books and teaches the dominie's school. Ay, ay, ask maid, wife, or
widow, and she'll tell ye, the least gaitling among them all comes to
Paul Pattison with his lesson as naturally as they come to me for their
four-hours, puir things; and never ane things of applying to you aboot
a kittle turn or a crabbed word, or about ony thing else, unless it
were for _licet exire_, or the mending of an auld pen."

Now this address assailed me on a summer evening, when I was whiling
away my leisure hours with the end of a cutty pipe and indulging in
such bland imaginations as the Nicotian weed is wont to produce, more
especially in the case of the studious persons, devoted _musis
severioribus_. I was naturally loth to leave my misty sanctuary; and
endeavoured to silence the clamour of Mrs. Cleishbotham's tongue, which
has something in it peculiarly shrill and penetrating. "Woman," said I
with a tone of domestic authority befitting the occasion, "_res tuas
agas_;--mind your washings and your wringings, your stuffings and your
physicking, or whatever concerns the outward persons of the pupils, and
leave the progress of their education to my usher, Paul Pattison, and
myself."

"I am glad to see," added the accursed woman, (that I should say so!)
"that ye have the grace to name him foremost, for there is little
doubt, that he ranks first of the troop, if ye wad but hear what the
neighbours speak--or whisper."

"What do they whisper, thou sworn sister of the Eumenides?" cried
I,--the irritating _aestrum_ of the woman's objurgation totally
counterbalancing the sedative effects both of pipe and pot.

"Whisper?" resumed she in her shrillest note--"why, they whisper loud
enough for me at least to hear them, that the schoolmaster of
Gandercleuch is turned a doited auld woman, and spends all his time in
tippling strong drink with the keeper of the public-house, and leaves
school and book-making, and a' the rost o't, to the care of his usher;
and, also, the wives in Gandercleuch say, that you have engaged Paul
Pattison to write a new book, which is to beat a' the lave that gaed
afore it; and to show what a sair lift you have o' the job, you didna
sae muckle as ken the name o't--no nor whether it was to be about some
Heathen Greek, or the Black Douglas."

This was said with such bitterness that it penetrated to the very
quick, and I hurled the poor old pipe, like one of Homer's spears, not
in the face of my provoking helpmate, though the temptation was strong,
but into the river Gander, which as is now well known to tourists from
the uttermost parts of the earth, pursues its quiet meanders beneath
the bank on which the school-house is pleasantly situated; and,
starting up, fixed on my head the cocked hat, (the pride of Messrs.
Grieve and Scott's repository,) and plunging into the valley of the
brook, pursued my way upwards, the voice of Mrs. Cleishbotham
accompanying me in my retreat with something like the angry scream of
triumph with which the brood-goose pursues the flight of some
unmannerly cur or idle boy who has intruded upon her premises, and fled
before her. Indeed, so great was the influence of this clamour of scorn
and wrath which hung upon my rear, that while it rung in my ears I was
so moved that I instinctively tucked the skirts of my black coat under
my arm, as if I had been in actual danger of being seized on by the
grasp of the pursuing enemy. Nor was it till I had almost reached the
well-known burial-place, in which it was Peter Pattison's hap to meet
the far-famed personage called Old Mortality, that I made a halt for
the purpose of composing my perturbed spirits, and considering what was
to be done; for as yet my mind was agitated by a chaos of passions, of
which anger was predominant; and for what reason, or against whom, I
entertained such tumultuous displeasure, it was not easy for me to
determine.

Nevertheless, having settled my cocked hat with becoming accuracy on my
well-powdered wig, and suffered it to remain uplifted for a moment to
cool my flushed brow--having, moreover, re-adjusted and shaken to
rights the skirts of my black coat, I came into case to answer to my
own questions, which, till these manoeuvres had been sedately
accomplished, I might have asked myself in vain.

In the first place, therefore, to use the phrase of Mr. Docket, the
writer (that is, the attorney) of our village of Gandercleuch, I became
satisfied that my anger was directed against all and sundry, or, in law
Latin, _contre omnes mortales_, and more particularly against the
neighbourhood of Gandercleuch, for circulating reports to the prejudice
of my literary talents, as well as my accomplishments as a pedagogue,
and transferring the fame thereof to mine own usher. Secondly, against
my spouse, Dorothea Cleishbotham, for transferring the sad calumnious
reports to my ears in a prerupt and unseemly manner, and without due
respect either to the language which she made use of, or the person to
whom she spoke,--treating affairs in which I was so intimately
concerned as if they were proper subjects for jest among gossips at a
christening, where the womankind claim the privilege of worshipping the
_Bona Dea_ according to their secret female rites.

Thirdly, I became clear that I was entitled to respond to any whom it
concerned to enquire, that my wrath was kindled against Paul Pattison,
my usher, for giving occasion both for the neighbours of Gandercleuch
entertaining such opinions, and for Mrs. Cleishbotham disrespectfully
urging them to my face, since neither circumstance could have existed,
without he had put forth sinful misrepresentations of transactions,
private and confidential, and of which I had myself entirely refrained
from dropping any the least hint to any third person.

This arrangement of my ideas having contributed to soothe the stormy
atmosphere of which they had been the offspring, gave reason a time to
predominate, and to ask me, with her calm but clear voice, whether,
under all the circumstances, I did well to nourish so indiscriminate an
indignation? In fine, on closer examination, the various splenetic
thoughts I had been indulging against other parties, began to be merged
in that resentment against my perfidious usher, which, like the serpent
of Moses, swallowed up all subordinate objects of displeasure. To put
myself at open feud with the whole of my neighbours, unless I had been
certain of some effectual mode of avenging myself upon them, would have
been an undertaking too weighty for my means, and not unlikely, if
rashly grappled withal, to end in my ruin. To make a public quarrel
with my wife, on such an account as her opinion of my literary
accomplishments, would sound ridiculous: and, besides, Mrs. C. was sure
to have all the women on her side, who would represent her as a wife
persecuted by her husband for offering him good advice, and urging it
upon him with only too enthusiastic sincerity.

There remained Paul Pattison, undoubtedly, the most natural and proper
object of my indignation, since I might be said to have him in my own
power, and might punish him by dismissal, at my pleasure. Yet even
vindictive proceedings against the said Paul, however easy to be
enforced, might be productive of serious consequences to my own purse;
and I began to reflect, with anxiety, that in this world it is not
often that the gratification of our angry passions lies in the same
road with the advancement of our interest, and that the wise man, the
_vere sapiens_, seldom hesitates which of these two he ought to prefer.

I recollected also that I was quite uncertain how far the present usher
had really been guilty of the foul acts of assumption charged against
him.

In a word, I began to perceive that it would be no light matter, at
once, and without maturer perpending of sundry collateral
_punctiuncula_, to break up a joint-stock adventure, or society, as
civilians term it, which, if profitable to him, had at least promised
to be no less so to me, established in years and learning and
reputation so much his superior. Moved by which, and other the like
considerations, I resolved to proceed with becoming caution on the
occasion, and not, by stating my causes of complaint too hastily in the
outset, exasperate into a positive breach what might only prove some
small misunderstanding, easily explained or apologized for, and which,
like a leak in a new vessel, being once discovered and carefully
stopped, renders the vessel but more sea-worthy than it was before.

About the time that I had adopted this healing resolution, I reached
the spot where the almost perpendicular face of a steep hill seems to
terminate the valley, or at least divides it into two dells, each
serving as a cradle to its own mountain-stream, the Gruff-quack,
namely, and the shallower, but more noisy, Gusedub, on the left hand,
which, at their union, form the Gander, properly so called. Each of
these little valleys has a walk winding up to its recesses, rendered
more easy by the labours of the poor during the late hard season, and
one of which bears the name of Pattison's path, while the other had
been kindly consecrated to my own memory, by the title of the Dominie's
Daidling-bit. Here I made certain to meet my associate, Paul Pattison,
for by one or other of these roads he was wont to return to my house of
an evening, after his lengthened rambles.

Nor was it long before I espied him descending the Gusedub by that
tortuous path, marking so strongly the character of a Scottish glen. He
was easily distinguished, indeed, at some distance, by his jaunty
swagger, in which he presented to you the flat of his leg, like the
manly knave of clubs, apparently with the most perfect contentment, not
only with his leg and boot, but with every part of his outward man, and
the whole fashion of his garments, and, one would almost have thought,
the contents of his pockets.

In this, his wonted guise, he approached me, where I was seated near
the meeting of the waters, and I could not but discern, that his first
impulse was to pass me without any prolonged or formal greeting. But as
that would not have been decent, considering the terms on which we
stood, he seemed to adopt, on reflection, a course directly opposite;
bustled up to me with an air of alacrity, and, I may add, impudence;
and hastened at once into the middle of the important affairs which it
had been my purpose to bring under discussion in a manner more becoming
their gravity. "I am glad to see you, Mr. Cleishbotham," said he, with
an inimitable mixture of confusion and effrontery; "the most wonderful
news which has been heard in the literary world in my time--all
Gandercleuch rings with it--they positively speak of nothing else, from
Miss Buskbody's youngest apprentice to the minister himself, and ask
each other in amazement, whether the tidings are true or false--to be
sure they are of an astounding complexion, especially to you and me."

"Mr. Pattison," said I, "I am quite at a loss to guess at your meaning.
_Davus sum, non Oedipus_--I am Jedediah Cleishbotham, Schoolmaster of
the parish of Gandercleuch; no conjuror, and neither reader of riddles,
nor expounder of enigmata."

"Well," replied Paul Pattison, "Mr. Jedediah Cleishbotham, Schoolmaster
of the parish of Gandercleuch, and so forth, all I have to inform you
is, that our hopeful scheme is entirely blown up. The tales, on
publishing which we reckoned with so much confidence, have already been
printed; they are abroad, over all America, and the British papers are
clamorous."

I received this news with the same equanimity with which I should have
accepted a blow addressed to my stomach by a modern gladiator, with the
full energy of his fist. "If this be correct information, Mr.
Pattison," said I, "I must of necessity suspect you to be the person
who have supplied the foreign press with the copy which the printers
have thus made an unscrupulous use of, without respect to the rights of
the undeniable proprietors of the manuscripts; and I request to know
whether this American production embraces the alterations which you as
well as I judged necessary, before the work could be fitted to meet the
public eye?" To this my gentleman saw it necessary to make a direct
answer, for my manner was impressive, and my tone decisive. His native
audacity enabled him, however, to keep his ground, and he answered with
firmness--

"Mr. Cleishbotham, in the first place, these manuscripts, over which
you claim a very doubtful right, were never given to any one by me, and
must have been sent to America either by yourself, or by some one of
the various gentlemen to whom, I am well aware, you have afforded
opportunities of perusing my brother's MS. remains."

"Mr. Pattison," I replied, "I beg to remind you that it never could be
my intention, either by my own hands, or through those of another, to
remit these manuscripts to the press, until, by the alterations which I
meditated, and which you yourself engaged to make, they were rendered
fit for public perusal."

Mr. Pattison answered me with much heat:--"Sir, I would have you to
know, that if I accepted your paltry offer, it was with less regard to
its amount, than to the honour and literary fame of my late brother. I
foresaw that if I declined it, you would not hesitate to throw the task
into incapable hands, or, perhaps, have taken it upon yourself, the
most unfit of all men to tamper with the works of departed genius, and
that, God willing, I was determined to prevent--but the justice of
Heaven has taken the matter into its own hands. Peter Pattison's last
labours shall now go down to posterity unscathed by the scalping-knife
of alteration, in the hands of a false friend--shame on the thought
that the unnatural weapon could ever be wielded by the hand of a
brother!"

I heard this speech not without a species of vertigo or dizziness in my
head, which would probably have struck me lifeless at his feet, had not
a thought like that of the old ballad--

    "Earl Percy sees my fall,"

called to my recollection, that I should only afford an additional
triumph by giving way to my feelings in the presence of Mr. Paul
Pattison, who, I could not doubt, must be more or less directly at the
bottom of the Transatlantic publication, and had in one way or another
found his own interest in that nefarious transaction.

To get quit of his odious presence I bid him an unceremonious
good-night, and marched down the glen with the air not of one who has
parted with a friend, but who rather has shaken off an intrusive
companion. On the road I pondered the whole matter over with an anxiety
which did not in the smallest degree tend to relieve me. Had I felt
adequate to the exertion, I might, of course, have supplanted this
spurious edition (of which the literary gazettes are already doling out
copious specimens) by introducing into a copy, to be instantly
published at Edinburgh, adequate correction of the various
inconsistencies and imperfections which have already been alluded to. I
remember the easy victory of the real second part of these "Tales of my
Landlord" over the performance sent forth by an interloper under the
same title; and why should not the same triumph be repeated now? There
would, in short, have been a pride of talent in this manner of avenging
myself, which would have been justifiable in the case of an injured
man; but the state of my health has for some time been such as to
render any attempt of this nature in every way imprudent.

Under such circumstances, the last "Remains" of Peter Pattison must
even be accepted, as they were left in his desk; and I humbly retire in
the hope that, such as they are, they may receive the indulgence of
those who have ever been but too merciful to the productions of his
pen, and in all respects to the courteous reader's obliged servant, J.
C.

GANDERCLEUCH, _15th Oct._ 1831.




COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS.

CHAPTER THE FIRST.

     _Leontius_.-------- That power that kindly spreads
     The clouds, a signal of impending showers,
     To warn the wandering linnet to the shade,
     Beheld without concern expiring Greece,
     And not one prodigy foretold our fate.

     _Demetrius_. A thousand horrid prodigies foretold it:
     A feeble government, eluded laws,
     A factious populace, luxurious nobles,
     And all the maladies of sinking states.
     When public villany, too strong for justice,
     Shows his bold front, the harbinger of ruin,
     Can brave Leontius call for airy wonders,
     Which cheats interpret, and which fools regard?
                               IRENE, _Act I_.


The close observers of vegetable nature have remarked, that when a new
graft is taken from an aged tree, it possesses indeed in exterior form
the appearance of a youthful shoot, but has in fact attained to the
same state of maturity, or even decay, which has been reached by the
parent stem. Hence, it is said, arises the general decline and death
that about the same season is often observed to spread itself through
individual trees of some particular species, all of which, deriving
their vital powers from the parent stock, are therefore incapable of
protracting their existence longer than it does.

In the same manner, efforts have been made by the mighty of the earth
to transplant large cities, states, and communities, by one great and
sudden exertion, expecting to secure to the new capital the wealth, the
dignity, the magnificent decorations and unlimited extent of the
ancient city, which they desire to renovate; while, at the same time,
they hope to begin a new succession of ages from the date of the new
structure, to last, they imagine, as long, and with as much fame, as
its predecessor, which the founder hopes his new metropolis may replace
in all its youthful glories. But nature has her laws, which seem to
apply to the social, as well as the vegetable system. It appears to be
a general rule, that what is to last long should be slowly matured and
gradually improved, while every sudden effort, however gigantic, to
bring about the speedy execution of a plan calculated to endure for
ages, is doomed to exhibit symptoms of premature decay from its very
commencement. Thus, in a beautiful Oriental tale, a dervise explains to
the sultan how he had reared the magnificent trees among which they
walked, by nursing their shoots from the seed; and the prince's pride
is damped when he reflects, that those plantations, so simply raised,
were gathering new vigour from each returning sun, while his own
exhausted cedars, which had been transplanted by one violent effort,
were drooping their majestic heads in the Valley of Orez. [Footnote:
Tale of Mirglip the Persian, in the Tales of the Genii.]

It has been allowed, I believe, by all men of taste, many of whom have
been late visitants of Constantinople, that if it were possible to
survey the whole globe with a view to fixing a seat of universal
empire, all who are capable of making such a choice, would give their
preference to the city of Constantine, as including the great
recommendations of beauty, wealth, security, and eminence. Yet with all
these advantages of situation and climate, and with all the
architectural splendour of its churches and halls, its quarries of
marble, and its treasure-houses of gold, the imperial founder must
himself have learned, that although he could employ all these rich
materials in obedience to his own wish, it was the mind of man itself,
those intellectual faculties refined by the ancients to the highest
degree, which had produced the specimens of talent at which men paused
and wondered, whether as subjects of art or of moral labour. The power
of the Emperor might indeed strip other cities of their statues and
their shrines, in order to decorate that which he had fixed upon as his
new capital; but the men who had performed great actions, and those,
almost equally esteemed, by whom such deeds were celebrated, in poetry,
in painting, and in music, had ceased to exist. The nation, though
still the most civilised in the world, had passed beyond that period of
society, when the desire of fair fame is of itself the sole or chief
motive for the labour of the historian or the poet, the painter or the
statuary. The slavish and despotic constitution introduced into the
empire, had long since entirely destroyed that public spirit which
animated the free history of Rome, leaving nothing but feeble
recollections, which produced no emulation.

To speak as of an animated substance, if Constantine could have
regenerated his new metropolis, by transfusing into it the vital and
vivifying principles of old Rome,--that brilliant spark no longer
remained for Constantinople to borrow, or for Rome to lend.

In one most important circumstance, the state of the capital of
Constantine had been totally changed, and unspeakably to its advantage.
The world was now Christian, and, with the Pagan code, had got rid of
its load of disgraceful superstition. Nor is there the least doubt,
that the better faith produced its natural and desirable fruits in
society, in gradually ameliorating the hearts, and taming the passions,
of the people. But while many of the converts were turning meekly
towards their new creed, some, in the arrogance of their understanding,
were limiting the Scriptures by their own devices, and others failed
not to make religious character or spiritual rank the means of rising
to temporal power. Thus it happened at this critical period, that the
effects of this great change in the religion of the country, although
producing an immediate harvest, as well as sowing much good seed which
was to grow hereafter, did not, in the fourth century, flourish so as
to shed at once that predominating influence which its principles might
have taught men to expect.

Even the borrowed splendour, in which Constantine decked his city, bore
in it something which seemed to mark premature decay. The imperial
founder, in seizing upon the ancient statues, pictures, obelisks, and
works of art, acknowledged his own incapacity to supply their place
with the productions of later genius; and when the world, and
particularly Rome, was plundered to adorn Constantinople, the Emperor,
under whom the work was carried on, might be compared to a prodigal
youth, who strips an aged parent of her youthful ornaments, in order to
decorate a flaunting paramour, on whose brow all must consider them as
misplaced.

Constantinople, therefore, when in 324 it first arose in imperial
majesty out of the humble Byzantium, showed, even in its birth, and
amid its adventitious splendour, as we have already said, some
intimations of that speedy decay to which the whole civilised world,
then limited within the Roman empire, was internally and imperceptibly
tending. Nor was it many ages ere these prognostications of declension
were fully verified.

In the year 1080, Alexius Comnenus [Footnote: See Gibbon, Chap. xlviii,
for the origin and early history of the house of the Comneni.] ascended
the throne of the Empire; that is, he was declared sovereign of
Constantinople, its precincts and dependencies; nor, if he was disposed
to lead a life of relaxation, would the savage incursions of the
Scythians or the Hungarians frequently disturb the imperial slumbers,
if limited to his own capital. It may be supposed that this safety did
not extend much farther; for it is said that the Empress Pulcheria had
built a church to the Virgin Mary, as remote as possible from the gate
of the city, to save her devotions from the risk of being interrupted
by the hostile yell of the barbarians, and the reigning Emperor had
constructed a palace near the same spot, and for the same reason.

Alexius Comnenus was in the condition of a monarch who rather derives
consequence from the wealth and importance of his predecessors, and the
great extent of their original dominions, than from what remnants of
fortune had descended to the present generation. This Emperor, except
nominally, no more ruled over his dismembered provinces, than a
half-dead horse can exercise power over those limbs, on which the
hooded crow and the vulture have already begun to settle and select
their prey.

In different parts of his territory, different enemies arose, who waged
successful or dubious war against the Emperor; and, of the numerous
nations with whom he was engaged in hostilities, whether the Franks
from the west, the Turks advancing from the east, the Cumans and
Scythians pouring their barbarous numbers and unceasing storm of arrows
from the north, and the Saracens, or the tribes into which they were
divided, pressing from the south, there was not one for whom the
Grecian empire did not spread a tempting repast. Each of these various
enemies had their own particular habits of war, and a way of
manoeuvring in battle peculiar to themselves. But the Roman, as the
unfortunate subject of the Greek empire was still called, was by far
the weakest, the most ignorant, and most timid, who could be dragged
into the field; and the Emperor was happy in his own good luck, when he
found it possible to conduct a defensive war on a counterbalancing
principle, making use of the Scythian to repel the Turk, or of both
these savage people to drive back the fiery-footed Frank, whom Peter
the Hermit had, in the time of Alexius, waked to double fury, by the
powerful influence of the crusades.

If, therefore, Alexius Comnenus was, during his anxious seat upon the
throne of the East, reduced to use a base and truckling course of
policy--if he was sometimes reluctant to fight when he had a conscious
doubt of the valour of his troops--if he commonly employed cunning and
dissimulation instead of wisdom, and perfidy instead of courage--his
expedients were the disgrace of the age, rather than his own.

Again, the Emperor Alexius may be blamed for affecting a degree of
state which was closely allied to imbecility. He was proud of assuming
in his own person, and of bestowing upon others, the painted show of
various orders of nobility, even now, when the rank within the prince's
gift was become an additional reason for the free barbarian despising
the imperial noble. That the Greek court was encumbered with unmeaning
ceremonies, in order to make amends for the want of that veneration
which ought to have been called forth by real worth, and the presence
of actual power, was not the particular fault of that prince, but
belonged to the system of the government of Constantinople for ages.
Indeed, in its trumpery etiquette, which provided rules for the most
trivial points of a man's behaviour during the day, the Greek empire
resembled no existing power in its minute follies, except that of
Pekin; both, doubtless, being influenced by the same vain wish, to add
seriousness and an appearance of importance to objects, which, from
their trivial nature, could admit no such distinction.

Yet thus far we must justify Alexius, that humble as were the
expedients he had recourse to, they were more useful to his empire than
the measures of a more proud and high-spirited prince might have proved
in the same circumstances. He was no champion to break a lance against
the breast-plate of his Frankish rival, the famous Bohemond of
Antioch,[Footnote: Bohemond, son of Robert Guiscard, the Norman
conqueror of Apulia, Calabria, and Sicily, was, at the time when the
first crusade began, Count of Tarentum. Though far advanced in life, he
eagerly joined the expedition of the Latins, and became Prince of
Antioch. For details of his adventures, death, and extraordinary
character, see Gibbon, chap. lix, and Mills' History of the Crusades,
vol. i.] but there were many occasions on which he hazarded his life
freely; and, so far as we can see, from a minute perusal of his
achievements, the Emperor of Greece was never so dangerous "under
shield," as when any foeman desired to stop him while retreating from a
conflict in which he had been worsted.

But, besides that he did not hesitate, according to the custom of the
time, at least occasionally, to commit his person to the perils of
close combat, Alexius also possessed such knowledge of a general's
profession, as is required in our modern days. He knew how to occupy
military positions to the best advantage, and often covered defeats, or
improved dubious conflicts, in a manner highly to the disappointment of
those who deemed that the work of war was done only on the field of
battle.

If Alexius Comnenus thus understood the evolutions of war, he was still
better skilled in those of politics, where, soaring far above the
express purpose of his immediate negotiation, the Emperor was sure to
gain some important and permanent advantage; though very often he was
ultimately defeated by the unblushing fickleness, or avowed treachery
of the barbarians, as the Greeks generally termed all other nations,
and particularly those tribes, (they can hardly be termed states,) by
which their own empire was surrounded.

We may conclude our brief character of Comnenus, by saying, that, had
he not been called on to fill the station of a monarch who was under
the necessity of making himself dreaded, as one who was exposed to all
manner of conspiracies, both in and out of his own family, he might, in
all probability, have been regarded as an honest and humane prince.
Certainly he showed himself a good-natured man, and dealt less in
cutting off heads and extinguishing eyes, than had been the practice of
his predecessors, who generally took this method of shortening the
ambitious views of competitors.

It remains to be mentioned, that Alexius had his full share of the
superstition of the age, which he covered with a species of hypocrisy.
It is even said, that his wife, Irene, who of course was best
acquainted with the real character of the Emperor, taxed her dying
husband with practising, in his last moments, the dissimulation which
had been his companion during life. [Footnote: See Gibbon, chap. lvi.]
He took also a deep interest in all matters respecting the Church,
where heresy, which the Emperor held, or affected to hold, in great
horror, appeared to him to lurk. Nor do we discover in his treatment of
the Manichaeans, or Paulicians, that pity for their speculative errors,
which modern times might think had been well purchased by the extent of
the temporal services of these unfortunate sectaries. Alexius knew no
indulgence for those who misinterpreted the mysteries of the Church, or
of its doctrines; and the duty of defending religion against
schismatics was, in his opinion, as peremptorily demanded from him, as
that of protecting the empire against the numberless tribes of
barbarians who were encroaching on its boundaries on every side.

Such a mixture of sense and weakness, of meanness and dignity, of
prudent discretion and poverty of spirit, which last, in the European
mode of viewing things, approached to cowardice, formed the leading
traits of the character of Alexius Comnenus, at a period when the fate
of Greece, and all that was left in that country of art and
civilization, was trembling in the balance, and likely to be saved or
lost, according to the abilities of the Emperor for playing the very
difficult game which was put into his hands.

These few leading circumstances will recall, to any one who is
tolerably well read in history, the peculiarities of the period at
which we have found a resting-place for the foundation of our story.




CHAPTER THE SECOND.

     _Othus_. ------------- This superb successor
     Of the earth's mistress, as thou vainly speakest,
     Stands midst these ages as, on the wide ocean,
     The last spared fragment, of a spacious land,
     That in some grand and awful ministration
     Of mighty nature has engulfed been,
     Doth lift aloft its dark and rocky cliffs
     O'er the wild waste around, and sadly frowns
     In lonely majesty.
             CONSTANTINE PALEOLOGUS, _Scene I_.


Our scene in the capital of the Eastern Empire opens at what is termed
the Golden Gate of Constantinople; and it may be said in passing, that
this splendid epithet is not so lightly bestowed as may be expected
from the inflated language of the Greeks, which throws such an
appearance of exaggeration about them, their buildings, and monuments.

The massive, and seemingly impregnable walls with which Constantine
surrounded the city, were greatly improved and added to by Theodosius,
called the Great. A triumphal arch, decorated with the architecture of
a better, though already a degenerate age, and serving, at the same
time, as a useful entrance, introduced the stranger into the city. On
the top, a statue of bronze represented Victory, the goddess who had
inclined the scales of battle in favour of Theodosius; and, as the
artist determined to be wealthy if he could not be tasteful, the gilded
ornaments with which the inscriptions were set off, readily led to the
popular name of the gate. Figures carved in a distant and happier
period of the art, glanced from the walls, without assorting happily
with the taste in which these were built. The more modern ornaments of
the Golden Gate bore, at the period of our story, an aspect very
different from those indicating the "conquest brought back to the
city," and the "eternal peace" which the flattering inscriptions
recorded as having been extorted by the sword of Theodosius. Four or
five military engines, for throwing darts of the largest size, were
placed upon the summit of the arch; and what had been originally
designed as a specimen of architectural embellishment, was now applied
to the purposes of defence.

It was the hour of evening, and the cool and refreshing breeze from the
sea inclined each passenger, whose business was not of a very urgent
description, to loiter on his way, and cast a glance at the romantic
gateway, and the various interesting objects of nature and art, which
the city of Constantinople presented, as well to the inhabitants as to
strangers. [Footnote: The impression which the imperial city was
calculated to make on such visitors as the Crusaders of the West, is
given by the ancient French chronicler Villehardouin, who was present
at the capture of A. D. 1203. "When we had come," he says, "within
three leagues, to a certain Abbey, then we could plainly survey
Constantinople. There the ships and the galleys came to anchor; and
much did they who had never been in that quarter before, gaze upon the
city. That such a city could be in the world they had never conceived,
and they were never weary of staring at the high walls and towers with
which it was entirely encompassed, the rich palaces and lofty churches,
of which there were so many that no one could have believed it, if he
had not seen with his own eyes that city, the Queen of all cities. And
know that there was not so bold a heart there, that it did not feel
some terror at the strength of Constantinople."--Chap. 66.

Again,--"And now many of those of the host went to see Constantinople
within, and the rich palaces and stately churches, of which it
possesses so many, and the riches of the place, which are such as no
other city ever equalled. I need not speak of the sanctuaries, which
are as many as are in all the world beside."--Chap. 100.]

One individual, however, seemed to indulge more wonder and curiosity
than could have been expected from a native of the city, and looked
upon the rarities around with a quick and startled eye, that marked an
imagination awakened by sights that were new and strange. The
appearance of this person bespoke a foreigner of military habits, who
seemed, from his complexion, to have his birthplace far from the
Grecian metropolis, whatever chance had at present brought him to the
Golden Gate, or whatever place he filled in the Emperor's service.

This young man was about two-and-twenty years old, remarkably
finely-formed and athletic--qualities well understood by the citizens
of Constantinople, whose habits of frequenting the public games had
taught them at least an acquaintance with the human person, and where,
in the select of their own countrymen, they saw the handsomest
specimens of the human race.

These were, however, not generally so tall as the stranger at the
Golden Gate, while his piercing blue eyes, and the fair hair which
descended from under a light helmet gaily ornamented with silver,
bearing on its summit a crest resembling a dragon in the act of
expanding his terrible jaws, intimated a northern descent, to which the
extreme purity of his complexion also bore witness. His beauty,
however, though he was eminently distinguished both in features and in
person, was not liable to the charge of effeminacy. From this it was
rescued, both by his strength, and by the air of confidence and
self-possession with which the youth seemed to regard the wonders
around him, not indicating the stupid and helpless gaze of a mind
equally inexperienced, and incapable of receiving instruction, but
expressing the bold intellect which at once understands the greater
part of the information which it receives, and commands the spirit to
toil in search of the meaning of that which it has not comprehended, or
may fear it has misinterpreted. This look of awakened attention and
intelligence gave interest to the young barbarian; and while the
bystanders were amazed that a savage from some unknown or remote corner
of the universe should possess a noble countenance bespeaking a mind so
elevated, they respected him for the composure with which he witnessed
so many things, the fashion, the splendour, nay, the very use of which,
must have been recently new to him.

The young man's personal equipments exhibited a singular mixture of
splendour and effeminacy, and enabled the experienced spectators to
ascertain his nation, and the capacity in which he served. We have
already mentioned the fanciful and crested helmet, which was a
distinction of the foreigner, to which the reader must add in his
imagination a small cuirass, or breastplate of silver, so sparingly
fashioned as obviously to afford little security to the broad chest, on
which it rather hung like an ornament than covered as a buckler; nor,
if a well-thrown dart, or strongly-shod arrow, should alight full on
this rich piece of armour, was there much hope that it could protect
the bosom which it partially shielded.

From betwixt the shoulders hung down over the back what had the
appearance of a bearskin; but, when more closely examined, it was only
a very skilful imitation, of the spoils of the chase, being in reality
a surcoat composed of strong shaggy silk, so woven as to exhibit, at a
little distance, no inaccurate representation of a bear's hide. A light
crooked sword, or scimitar, sheathed in a scabbard of gold and ivory,
hung by the left side of the stranger, the ornamented hilt of which
appeared much too small for the large-jointed hand of the young
Hercules who was thus gaily attired. A dress, purple in colour, and
setting close to the limbs, covered the body of the soldier to a little
above the knee; from thence the knees and legs were bare to the calf,
to which the reticulated strings of the sandals rose from the instep,
the ligatures being there fixed by a golden coin of the reigning
Emperor, converted into a species of clasp for the purpose.

But a weapon which seemed more particularly adapted to the young
barbarian's size, and incapable of being used by a man of less
formidable limbs and sinews, was a battle-axe, the firm iron-guarded
staff of which was formed of tough elm, strongly inlaid and defended
with brass, while many a plate and ring were indented in the handle, to
hold the wood and the steel parts together. The axe itself was composed
of two blades, turning different ways, with a sharp steel spike
projecting from between them. The steel part, both spike and blade, was
burnished as bright as a mirror; and though its ponderous size must
have been burdensome to one weaker than himself, yet the young soldier
carried it as carelessly along, as if it were but a feather's weight.
It was, indeed, a skilfully constructed weapon, so well balanced, that
it was much lighter in striking and in recovery, than he who saw it in
the hands of another could easily have believed.

The carrying arms of itself showed that the military man was a
stranger. The native Greeks had that mark of a civilized people, that
they never bore weapons during the time of peace, unless the wearer
chanced to be numbered among those whose military profession and
employment required them to be always in arms. Such soldiers by
profession were easily distinguished from the peaceful citizens; and it
was with some evident show of fear as well as dislike, that the
passengers observed to each other, that the stranger was a Varangian,
an expression which intimated a barbarian of the imperial body-guard.

To supply the deficiency of valour among his own subjects, and to
procure soldiers who should be personally dependent on the Emperor, the
Greek sovereigns had been, for a great many years, in the custom of
maintaining in their pay, as near their person as they could, the
steady services of a select number of mercenaries in the capacity of
body-guards, which were numerous enough, when their steady discipline
and inflexible loyalty were taken in conjunction with their personal
strength and indomitable courage, to defeat, not only any traitorous
attempt on the imperial person, but to quell open rebellions, unless
such were supported by a great proportion of the military force. Their
pay was therefore liberal; their rank and established character for
prowess gave them a degree of consideration among the people, whose
reputation for valour had not for some ages stood high; and if, as
foreigners, and the members of a privileged body, the Varangians were
sometimes employed in arbitrary and unpopular services, the natives
were so apt to fear, while they disliked them, that the hardy strangers
disturbed themselves but little about the light in which they were
regarded by the inhabitants of Constantinople. Their dress and
accoutrements, while within the city, partook of the rich, or rather
gaudy costume, which we have described, bearing only a sort of affected
resemblance to that which the Varangians wore in their native forests.
But the individuals of this select corps were, when their services were
required beyond the city, furnished with armour and weapons more
resembling those which they were accustomed to wield in their own
country, possessing much less of the splendour of war, and a far
greater portion of its effective terrors; and thus they were summoned
to take the field.

This body of Varangians (which term is, according to one interpretation
merely a general expression for barbarians) was, in an early age of the
empire, formed of the roving and piratical inhabitants of the north,
whom a love of adventure, the greatest perhaps that ever was indulged,
and a contempt of danger, which never had a parallel in the history of
human nature, drove forth upon the pathless ocean. "Piracy," says
Gibbon, with his usual spirit, "was the exercise, the trade, the glory,
and the virtue of the Scandinavian youth. Impatient of a bleak climate
and narrow limits, they started from the banquet, grasped their arms,
sounded their horn, ascended their ships, and explored every coast that
promised either spoil or settlement." [Footnote: Decline and Fall of
the Roman Empire. Chap. lv. vol. x. p. 221, 8vo edition.]

The conquests made in France and Britain by these wild sea-kings, as
they were called, have obscured the remembrance of other northern
champions, who, long before the time of Comnenus, made excursions as
far as Constantinople, and witnessed with their own eyes the wealth and
the weakness of the Grecian empire itself. Numbers found their way
thither through the pathless wastes of Russia; others navigated the
Mediterranean in their sea-serpents, as they termed their piratical
vessels. The Emperors, terrified at the appearance of these daring
inhabitants of the frozen zone, had recourse to the usual policy of a
rich and unwarlike people, bought with gold the service of their
swords, and thus formed a corps of satellites more distinguished for
valour than the famed Praetorian Bands of Rome, and, perhaps because
fewer in number, unalterably loyal to their new princes.

But, at a later period of the empire, it began to be more difficult for
the Emperors to obtain recruits for their favourite and selected corps,
the northern nations having now in a great measure laid aside the
piratical and roving habits, which had driven their ancestors from the
straits of Elsinore to those of Sestos and Abydos. The corps of the
Varangians must therefore have died out, or have been filled up with
less worthy materials, had not the conquests made by the Normans in the
far distant west, sent to the aid of Comnenus a large body of the
dispossessed inhabitants of the islands of Britain, and particularly of
England, who furnished recruits to his chosen body-guard. These were,
in fact, Anglo-Saxons; but, in the confused idea of geography received
at the court of Constantinople, they were naturally enough called
Anglo-Danes, as their native country was confounded with the Thule of
the ancients, by which expression the archipelago of Zetland and Orkney
is properly to be understood, though, according to the notions of the
Greeks, it comprised either Denmark or Britain. The emigrants, however,
spoke a language not very dissimilar to the original Varangians, and
adopted the name more readily, that it seemed to remind them of their
unhappy fate, the appellation being in one sense capable of being
interpreted as exiles. Excepting one or two chief commanders, whom the
Emperor judged worthy of such high trust, the Varangians were officered
by men of their own nation; and with so many privileges, being joined
by many of their countrymen from time to time, as the crusades,
pilgrimages, or discontent at home, drove fresh supplies of the
Anglo-Saxons, or Anglo-Danes, to the east, the Varangians subsisted in
strength to the last days of the Greek empire, retaining their native
language, along with the unblemished loyalty, and unabated martial
spirit, which characterised their fathers.

This account of the Varangian Guard is strictly historical, and might
be proved by reference to the Byzantine historians; most of whom, and
also Villehardouin's account of the taking of the city of
Constantinople by the Franks and Venetians, make repeated mention of
this celebrated and singular body of Englishmen, forming a mercenary
guard attendant on the person of the Greek Emperors. [Footnote: Ducange
has poured forth a tide of learning on this curious subject, which will
be found in his Notes on Villehardouin's Constantinople under the
French Emperors.--Paris, 1637, folio, p. 196. Gibbon's History may also
be consulted, vol. x. p. 231.

Villehardouin, in describing the siege of Constantinople, A. D. 1203,
says, "'Li murs fu mult garnis d'Anglois et de Danois,"--hence the
dissertation of Ducange here quoted, and several articles besides in
his Glossarium, as _Varangi_, Warengangi, &c. The etymology of the name
is left uncertain, though the German _fort-ganger_, _i. e._ forth-goer,
wanderer, _exile_, seems the most probable. The term occurs in various
Italian and Sicilian documents, anterior to the establishment of the
Varangian Guards at Constantinople, and collected by Muratori: as, for
instance, in an edict of one of the Lombard kings, "Omnes Warengrangi,
qui de extens finibus in regni nostri finibus advenerint seque sub
scuto potestatis nostrae subdiderint, legibus nostris Longobardorum
vivere debeant,"--and in another, "De Warengangis, nobilibus,
mediocribus, et rusticis hominibus, qui usque nune in terra vestra
fugiti sunt, habeatis eos."--_Muratori_, vol. ii. p. 261.

With regard to the origin of the Varangian Guard, the most distinct
testimony is that of Ordericus Vittalis, who says, "When therefore the
English had lost their liberty, they turned themselves with zeal to
discover the means of throwing off the unaccustomed yoke. Some fled to
Sueno, King of the Danes, to excite him to the recovery of the
inheritance of his grandfather, Canute. Not a few fled into exile in
other regions, either from the mere desire of escaping from under the
Norman rule, or in the hope of acquiring wealth, and so being one day
in a condition to renew the struggle at home. Some of these, in the
bloom of youth, penetrated into a far distant land, and offered
themselves to the military service of the Constantinopolitan
Emperor--that wise prince, against whom Robert Guiscard, Duke of
Apulia, had then raised all his forces. The English exiles were
favourably received, and opposed in battle to the Normans, for whose
encounter the Greeks themselves were too weak. Alexius began to build a
town for the English, a little above Constantinople, at a place called
_Chevelot_, but the trouble of the Normans from Sicily still
increasing, he soon recalled them to the capital, and intrusted the
princial palace with all its treasures to their keeping. This was the
method in which the Saxon English found their way to Ionia, where they
still remain, highly valued by the Emperor and the people."--Book iv.
p. 508.]

Having said enough to explain why an individual Varangian should be
strolling about the Golden Gate, we may proceed in the story which we
have commenced.

Let it not be thought extraordinary, that this soldier of the
life-guard should be looked upon with some degree of curiosity by the
passing citizens. It must be supposed, that, from their peculiar
duties, they were not encouraged to hold frequent intercourse or
communication with the inhabitants; and, besides that they had duties
of police occasionally to exercise amongst them, which made them
generally more dreaded than beloved, they were at the same time
conscious, that their high pay, splendid appointments, and immediate
dependence on the Emperor, were subjects of envy to the other forces.
They, therefore, kept much in the neighbourhood of their own barracks,
and were seldom seen straggling remote from them, unless they had a
commission of government intrusted to their charge.

This being the case, it was natural that a people so curious as the
Greeks should busy themselves in eyeing the stranger as he loitered in
one spot, or wandered to and fro, like a man who either could not find
some place which he was seeking, or had failed to meet some person with
whom he had an appointment, for which the ingenuity of the passengers
found a thousand different and inconsistent reasons. "A Varangian,"
said one citizen to another, "and upon duty--ahem! Then I presume to
say in your ear"----

"What do you imagine is his object?" enquired the party to whom this
information was addressed.

"Gods and goddesses! do you think I can tell you? but suppose that he
is lurking here to hear what folk say of the Emperor," answered the
_quid-nunc_ of Constantinople.

"That is not likely,"' said the querist; "these Varangians do not speak
our language, and are not extremely well fitted for spies, since few of
them pretend to any intelligible notion of the Grecian tongue. It is
not likely, I think, that the Emperor would employ as a spy a man who
did not understand the language of the country."

"But if there are, as all men fancy," answered the politician, "persons
among these barbarian soldiers who can speak almost all languages, you
will admit that such are excellently qualified for seeing clearly
around them, since they possess the talent of beholding and reporting,
while no one has the slightest idea of suspecting them."

"It may well be," replied his companion; "but since we see so clearly
the fox's foot and paws protruding from beneath the seeming sheep's
fleece, or rather, by your leave, the _bear's_ hide yonder, had we not
better be jogging homeward, ere it be pretended we have insulted a
Varangian Guard?"

This surmise of danger insinuated by the last speaker, who was a much
older and more experienced politician than his friend, determined both
on a hasty retreat. They adjusted their cloaks, caught hold of each
other's arm, and, speaking fast and thick as they started new subjects
of suspicion, they sped, close coupled together, towards their
habitations, in a different and distant quarter of the town.

In the meantime, the sunset was nigh over; and the long shadows of the
walls, bulwarks, and arches, were projecting from the westward in
deeper and blacker shade. The Varangian seemed tired of the short and
lingering circle in which he had now trodden for more than an hour, and
in which he still loitered like an unliberated spirit, which cannot
leave the haunted spot till licensed by the spell which has brought it
hither. Even so the barbarian, casting an impatient glance to the sun,
which was setting in a blaze of light behind a rich grove of
cypress-trees, looked for some accommodation on the benches of stone
which were placed under shadow of the triumphal arch of Theodosius,
drew the axe, which was his principal weapon, close to his side,
wrapped his cloak about him, and, though his dress was not in other
respects a fit attire for slumber, any more than the place well
selected for repose, yet in less than three minutes he was fast asleep.
The irresistible impulse which induced him to seek for repose in a
place very indifferently fitted for the purpose, might be weariness
consequent upon the military vigils, which had proved a part of his
duty on the preceding evening. At the same time, his spirit was so
alive within him, even while he gave way to this transient fit of
oblivion, that he remained almost awake even with shut eyes, and no
hound ever seemed to sleep more lightly than our Anglo-Saxon at the
Golden Gate of Constantinople.

And now the slumberer, as the loiterer had been before, was the subject
of observation to the accidental passengers. Two men entered the porch
in company. One was a somewhat slight made, but alert-looking man, by
name Lysimachus, and by profession a designer. A roll of paper in his
hand, with a little satchel containing a few chalks, or pencils,
completed his stock in trade; and his acquaintance with the remains of
ancient art gave him a power of talking on the subject, which
unfortunately bore more than due proportion to his talents of
execution. His companion, a magnificent-looking man in form, and so far
resembling the young barbarian, but more clownish and peasant-like in
the expression of his features, was Stephanos the wrestler, well known
in the Palestra.

"Stop here, my friend," said the artist, producing his pencils, "till I
make a sketch for my youthful Hercules."

"I thought Hercules had been a Greek," said the wrestler. "This
sleeping animal is a barbarian."

The tone intimated some offence, and the designer hastened to soothe
the displeasure which he had thoughtlessly excited. Stephanos, known by
the surname of Castor, who was highly distinguished for gymnastic
exercises, was a sort of patron to the little artist, and not unlikely
by his own reputation to bring the talents of his friend into notice.

"Beauty and strength," said the adroit artist, "are of no particular
nation; and may our Muse never deign me her prize, but it is my
greatest pleasure to compare them, as existing in the uncultivated
savage of the north, and when they are found in the darling of an
enlightened people, who has added the height of gymnastic skill to the
most distinguished natural qualities, such as we can now only see in
the works of Phidias and Praxiteles--or in our living model of the
gymnastic champions of antiquity."

"Nay, I acknowledge that the Varangian is a proper man," said the
athletic hero, softening his tone; "but the poor savage hath not,
perhaps, in his lifetime, had a single drop of oil on his bosom!
Hercules instituted the Isthmian Games"---

"But hold! what sleeps he with, wrapt so close in his bear-skin?" said
the artist. "Is it a club?"

"Away, away, my friend!" cried Stephanos, as they looked closer on the
sleeper. "Do you not know that is the instrument of their barbarous
office? They do not war with swords or lances, as if destined to attack
men of flesh and blood; but with maces and axes, as if they were to
hack limbs formed of stone, and sinews of oak. I will wager my crown
[of withered parsley] that he lies here to arrest some distinguished
commander who has offended the government! He would not have been thus
formidably armed otherwise--Away, away, good Lysimachus; let us respect
the slumbers of the bear."

So saying, the champion of the Palestra made off with less apparent
confidence than his size and strength might have inspired.

Others, now thinly straggling, passed onward as the evening closed, and
the shadows of the cypress-trees fell darker around. Two females of the
lower rank cast their eyes on the sleeper. "Holy Maria!" said one, "if
he does not put me in mind of the Eastern tale, how the Genie brought a
gallant young prince from his nuptial chamber in Egypt, and left him
sleeping at the gate of Damascus. I will awake the poor lamb, lest he
catch harm from the night dew."

"Harm?" answered the older and crosser looking woman. "Ay, such harm as
the cold water of the Cydnus does to the wild-swan. A lamb?--ay,
forsooth! Why he's a wolf or a bear, at least a Varangian, and no
modest matron would exchange a word with such an unmannered barbarian.
I'll tell you what one of, these English Danes did to me"----

So saying, she drew on her companion, who followed with some
reluctance, seeming to listen to her gabble, while she looked back upon
the sleeper.

The total disappearance of the sun, and nearly at the same time the
departure of the twilight, which lasts so short time in that tropical
region--one of the few advantages which a more temperate climate
possesses over it, being the longer continuance of that sweet and
placid light--gave signal to the warders of the city to shut the
folding leaves of the Golden Gate, leaving a wicket lightly bolted for
the passage of those whom business might have detained too late without
the walls, and indeed for all who chose to pay a small coin. The
position and apparent insensibility of the Varangian did not escape
those who had charge of the gate, of whom there was a strong guard,
which belonged to the ordinary Greek forces.

"By Castor and by Pollux," said the centurion--for the Greeks swore by
the ancient deities, although they no longer worshipped them, and
preserved those military distinctions with which "the steady Romans
shook the world," although they were altogether degenerated from their
original manners--"By Castor and Pollux, comrades, we cannot gather
gold in this gate, according as its legend tells us: yet it will be our
fault if we cannot glean a goodly crop of silver; and though the golden
age be the most ancient and honourable, yet in this degenerate time it
is much if we see a glimpse of the inferior metal."

"Unworthy are we to follow the noble centurion Harpax," answered one of
the soldiers of the watch, who showed the shaven head and the single
tuft [Footnote: One tuft is left on the shaven head of the Moslem, for
the angel to grasp by when conveying him to Paradise.] of a Mussulman,
"if we do not hold silver a sufficient cause to bestir ourselves, when
there has been no gold to be had--as, by the faith of an honest man, I
think we can hardly tell its colour--whether out of the imperial
treasury, or obtained at the expense of individuals, for many long
moons !"

"But this silver," said the centurion, "thou shalt see with thine own
eye, and hear it ring a knell in the purse which holds our common
stock." "Which _did_ hold it, as thou wouldst say, most valiant
commander," replied the inferior warder; "but what that purse holds
now, save a few miserable oboli for purchasing certain pickled potherbs
and salt fish, to relish our allowance of stummed wine, I cannot tell,
but willingly give my share of the contents to the devil, if either
purse or platter exhibits symptom of any age richer than the age of
copper."

"I will replenish our treasury," said the centurion, "were our stock
yet lower than it is. Stand up close by the wicket, my masters. Bethink
you we are the Imperial Guards, or the guards of the Imperial City, it
is all one, and let us have no man rush past us on a sudden;--and now
that we are on our guard, I will unfold to you--But stop," said the
valiant centurion, "are we all here true brothers? Do all well
understand the ancient and laudable customs of our watch--keeping all
things secret which concern the profit and advantage of this our vigil,
and aiding and abetting the common cause, without information or
treachery?"

"You are strangely suspicious to-night," answered the sentinel.
"Methinks we have stood by you without tale-telling in matters which
were more weighty. Have you forgot the passage of the jeweller--which
was neither the gold nor silver age; but if there were a diamond one"--

"Peace, good Ismail the Infidel," said the centurion,--"for, I thank
Heaven, we are of all religions, so it is to be hoped we must have the
true one amongst us,--Peace, I say; it is unnecessary to prove thou
canst keep new secrets, by ripping up old ones. Come hither--look
through the wicket to the stone bench, on the shady side of the grand
porch--tell me, old lad, what dost thou see there?"

"A man asleep," said Ismail. "By Heaven, I think from what I can see by
the moonlight, that it is one of those barbarians, one of those island
dogs, whom the Emperor sets such store by!"

"And can thy fertile brain," said the centurion, "spin nothing out of
his present situation, tending towards our advantage?"

"Why, ay," said Ismail; "they have large pay, though they are not only
barbarians, but pagan dogs, in comparison with us Moslems and
Nazarenes. That fellow hath besotted himself with liquor, and hath not
found his way home to his barracks in good time. He will be severely
punished, unless we consent to admit him; and to prevail on us to do
so, he must empty the contents of his girdle."

"That, at least--that, at least," answered the soldiers of the city
watch, but carefully suppressing their voices, though they spoke in an
eager tone. "And is that all that you would make of such an
opportunity?" said Harpax, scornfully. "No, no, comrades. If this
outlandish animal indeed escape us, he must at least leave his fleece
behind. See you not the gleams from his headpiece and his cuirass? I
presume these betoken substantial silver, though it may be of the
thinnest. There lies the silver mine I spoke of, ready to enrich the
dexterous hands who shall labour it."

"But," said timidly a young Greek, a companion of their watch lately
enlisted in the corps, and unacquainted with their habits, "still this
barbarian, as you call him, is a soldier of the Emperor; and if we are
convicted of depriving him of his arms, we shall be justly punished for
a military crime."

"Hear to a new Lycurgus come to teach us our duty!" said the centurion.
"Learn first, young man, that the metropolitan cohort never can commit
a crime; and next, of course, that they can never be convicted of one.
Suppose we found a straggling barbarian, a Varangian, like this
slumberer, perhaps a Frank, or some other of these foreigners bearing
unpronounceable names, while they dishonour us by putting on the arms
and apparel of the real Roman soldier, are we, placed to defend an
important post, to admit a man so suspicious within our postern, when
the event may probably be to betray both the Golden Gate and the hearts
of gold who guard it,--to have the one seized, and the throats of the
others handsomely cut?"

"Keep him without side of the gate, then," replied the novice, "if you
think him so dangerous. For my part, I should not fear him, were he
deprived of that huge double-edged axe, which gleams from under his
cloak, having a more deadly glare than the comet which astrologers
prophesy such strange things of."

"Nay, then, we agree together," answered Harpax, "and you speak like a
youth of modesty and sense; and I promise you the state will lose
nothing in the despoiling of this same barbarian. Each of these savages
hath a double set of accoutrements, the one wrought with gold, silver,
inlaid work, and ivory, as becomes their duties in the prince's
household; the other fashioned of triple steel, strong, weighty, and
irresistible. Now, in taking from this suspicious character his silver
helmet and cuirass, you reduce him to his proper weapons, and you will
see him start up in arms fit for duty."

"Yes," said the novice; "but I do not see that this reasoning will do
more than warrant our stripping the Varangian of his armour, to be
afterwards heedfully returned to him on the morrow, if he prove a true
man. How, I know not, but I had adopted some idea that it was to be
confiscated for our joint behoof."

"Unquestionably," said Harpax; "for such has been the rule of our watch
ever since the days of the excellent centurion Sisyphus, in whose time
it first was determined, that all contraband commodities or suspicious
weapons, or the like, which were brought into the city during the
nightwatch, should be uniformly forfeited to the use of the soldiery of
the guard; and where the Emperor finds the goods or arms unjustly
seized, I hope he is rich enough to make it up to the sufferer."

"But still--but still," said Sebastes of Mitylene, the young Greek
aforesaid, "were the Emperor to discover"--

"Ass!" replied Harpax, "he cannot discover, if he had all the eyes of
Argus's tail.--Here are twelve of us sworn according to the rules of
the watch, to abide in the same story. Here is a barbarian, who, if he
remembers any thing of the matter--which I greatly doubt--his choice of
a lodging arguing his familiarity with the wine-pot--tells but a wild
tale of losing his armour, which we, my masters," (looking round to his
companions,) "deny stoutly--I hope we have courage enough for that--and
which party will be believed? The companions of the watch, surely!"

"Quite the contrary," said Sebastes. "I was born at a distance from
hence; yet even in the island of Mitylene, the rumour had reached me
that the cavaliers of the city-guard of Constantinople were so
accomplished in falsehood, that the oath of a single barbarian would
outweigh the Christian oath of the whole body, if Christians some of
them are--for example, this dark man with a single tuft on his head."

"And if it were even so," said the centurion, with a gloomy and
sinister look, "there is another way of making the transaction a safe
one."

Sebastes, fixing his eye on his commander, moved his hand to the hilt
of an Eastern poniard which he wore, as if to penetrate his exact
meaning. The centurion nodded in acquiescence.

"Young as I am," said Sebastes, "I have been already a pirate five
years at sea, and a robber three years now in the hills, and it is the
first time I have seen or heard a man hesitate, in such a case, to take
the only part which is worth a brave man's while to resort to in a
pressing affair."

Harpax struck his hand into that of the soldier, as sharing his
uncompromising sentiments; but when he spoke, it was in a tremulous
voice.

"How shall we deal with him?" said he to Sebastes, who, from the most
raw recruit in the corps, had now risen to the highest place in his
estimation.

"Any how," returned the islander; "I see bows here and shafts, and if
no other person can use them"--

"They are not," said the centurion, "the regular arms of our corps."

"The fitter you to guard the gates of a city," said the young soldier,
with a horse-laugh, which had something insulting in it. "Well--be it
so. I can shoot like a Scythian," he proceeded; "nod but with your
head, one shaft shall crash among the splinters of his skull and his
brains; the second shall quiver in his heart."

"Bravo, my noble comrade!" said Harpax, in a tone of affected rapture,
always lowering his voice, however, as respecting the slumbers of the
Varangian. "Such were the robbers of ancient days, the Diomedes,
Corvnetes, Synnes, Scyrons, Procrustes, whom it required demigods to
bring to what was miscalled justice, and whose compeers and fellows
will remain masters of the continent and isles of Greece, until
Hercules and Theseus shall again appear upon earth. Nevertheless, shoot
not, my valiant Sebastes--draw not the bow, my invaluable Mitylenian;
you may wound and not kill." "I am little wont to do so," said
Sebastes, again repeating the hoarse, chuckling, discordant laugh,
which grated upon the ears of the centurion, though he could hardly
tell the reason why it was so uncommonly unpleasant. "If I look not
about me," was his internal reflection, "we shall have two centurions
of the watch, instead of one. This Mitylenian, or be he who the devil
will, is a bow's length beyond me. I must keep my eye on him." He then
spoke aloud, in a tone of authority. "But, come, young man, it is hard
to discourage a young beginner. If you have been such a rover of wood
and river as you tell us of, you know how to play the Sicarius: there
lies your object, drunk or asleep, we know not which;--you will deal
with him in either case."

"Will you give me no odds to stab a stupefied or drunken man, most
noble centurion?" answered the Greek. "You would perhaps love the
commission yourself?" he continued, somewhat ironically.

"Do as you are directed, friend," said Harpax, pointing to the turret
staircase which led down from the battlement to the arched entrance
underneath the porch.

"He has the true cat-like stealthy pace," half muttered the centurion,
as his sentinel descended to do such a crime as he was posted there to
prevent. "This cockerel's comb must be cut, or he will become king of
the roost. But let us see if his hand be as resolute as his tongue;
then we will consider what turn to give to the conclusion."

As Harpax spoke between his teeth, and rather to himself than any of
his companions, the Mitylenian emerged from under the archway, treading
on tiptoe, yet swiftly, with an admirable mixture of silence and
celerity. His poniard, drawn as he descended, gleamed in his hand,
which was held a little behind the rest of his person, so as to conceal
it. The assassin hovered less than an instant over the sleeper, as if
to mark the interval between the ill-fated silver corslet, and the body
which it was designed to protect, when, at the instant the blow was
rushing to its descent, the Varangian started up at once, arrested the
armed hand of the assassin, by striking it upwards with the head of his
battle-axe; and while he thus parried the intended stab, struck the
Greek a blow heavier than Sebastes had ever learned at the Pancration,
which left him scarce the power to cry help to his comrades on the
battlements. They saw what had happened, however, and beheld the
barbarian set his foot on their companion, and brandish high his
formidable weapon, the whistling sound of which made the old arch ring
ominously, while he paused an instant, with his weapon upheaved, ere he
gave the finishing blow to his enemy. The warders made a bustle, as if
some of them would descend to the assistance of Sebastes, without,
however, appearing very eager to do so, when Harpax, in a rapid
whisper, commanded them to stand fast.

"Each man to his place," he said, "happen what may. Yonder comes a
captain of the guard--the secret is our own, if the savage has killed
the Mitylenian, as I well trust, for he stirs neither hand nor foot.
But if he lives, my comrades, make hard your faces as flints--he is but
one man, we are twelve. We know nothing of his purpose, save that he
went to see wherefore the barbarian slept so near the post."

While the centurion thus bruited his purpose in busy insinuation to the
companions of his watch, the stately figure of a tall soldier, richly
armed, and presenting a lofty crest, which glistened as he stept from
the open moonlight into the shade of the vault, became visible beneath.
A whisper passed among the warders on the top of the gate.

"Draw bolt, shut gate, come of the Mitylenian what will," said the
centurion; "we are lost men if we own him.--Here comes the chief of the
Varangian axes, the Follower himself."

"Well, Hereward," said the officer who came last upon the scene, in a
sort of _lingua Franca_, generally used by the barbarians of the guard,
"hast thou caught a night-hawk?"

"Ay, by Saint George!" answered the soldier; "and yet, in my country,
we would call him but a kite."

"What is he?" said the leader.

"He will tell you that himself," replied the Varangian, "when I take my
grasp from his windpipe."

"Let him go, then," said the officer.

The Englishman did as he was commanded; but, escaping as soon as he
felt himself at liberty, with an alertness which could scarce have been
anticipated, the Mitylenian rushed out at the arch, and, availing
himself of the complicated ornaments which had originally graced the
exterior of the gateway, he fled around buttress and projection,
closely pursued by the Varangian, who, encumbered with his armour, was
hardly a match in the course for the light-footed Grecian, as he dodged
his pursuer from one skulking place to another. The officer laughed
heartily, as the two figures, like shadows appearing and disappearing
as suddenly, held rapid flight and chase around the arch of Theodosius.

"By Hercules! it is Hector pursued round the walls of Ilion by
Achilles," said the officer; "but my Pelides will scarce overtake the
son of Priam. What, ho! goddess-born--son of the white-footed
Thetis!--But the allusion is lost on the poor savage--Hollo, Hereward!
I say, stop--know thine own most barbarous name." These last words were
muttered; then raising his voice, "Do not out-run thy wind, good
Hereward. Thou mayst have more occasion for breath to-night."

"If it had been my leader's will," answered the Varangian, coming back
in sulky mood, and breathing like one who had been at the top of his
speed, "I would have had him as fast as ever grey-hound held hare, ere
I left off the chase. Were it not for this foolish armour, which
encumbers without defending one, I would not have made two bounds
without taking him by the throat."

"As well as it is," said the officer, who was, in fact, the
Acoulonthos, or _Follower_, so called because it was the duty of this
highly-trusted officer of the Varangian Guards constantly to attend on
the person of the Emperor. "But let us now see by what means we are to
regain our entrance through the gate; for if, as I suspect, it was one
of those warders who was willing to have played thee a trick, his
companions may not let us enter willingly." "And is it not," said the
Varangian, "your Valour's duty to probe this want of discipline to the
bottom?"

"Hush thee here, my simple-minded savage! I have often told you, most
ignorant Hereward, that the skulls of those who come from your cold and
muddy Boentia of the North, are fitter to bear out twenty blows with a
sledge-hammer, than turn off one witty or ingenious idea. But follow
me, Hereward, and although I am aware that showing the fine meshes of
Grecian policy to the coarse eye of an unpractised barbarian like thee,
is much like casting pearls before swine, a thing forbidden in the
Blessed Gospel, yet, as thou hast so good a heart, and so trusty, as is
scarce to be met with among my Varangians themselves, I care not if,
while thou art in attendance on my person, I endeavour to indoctrinate
thee in some of that policy by which I myself--the Follower--the chief
of the Varangians, and therefore erected by their axes into the most
valiant of the valiant, am content to guide myself, although every way
qualified to bear me through the cross currents of the court by main
pull of oar and press of sail--a condescension in me, to do that by
policy, which no man in this imperial court, the chosen sphere of
superior wits, could so well accomplish by open force as myself. What
think'st thou, good savage?"

"I know," answered the Varangian, who walked about a step and a half
behind his leader, like an orderly of the present day behind his
officer's shoulder, "I should be sorry to trouble my head with what I
could do by my hands at once."

"Did I not say so?" replied the Follower, who had now for some minutes
led the way from the Golden Gate, and was seen gliding along the
outside of the moonlight walls, as if seeking an entrance elsewhere.
"Lo, such is the stuff of what you call your head is made! Your hands
and arms are perfect Ahitophels, compared to it. Hearken to me, thou
most ignorant of all animals,--but, for that very reason, thou stoutest
of confidants, and bravest of soldiers,--I will tell thee the very
riddle of this night-work, and yet, even then I doubt if thou canst
understand me."

"It is my present duty to try to comprehend your Valour," said the
Varangian--"I would say your policy, since you condescend to expound it
to me. As for your valour," he added, "I should be unlucky if I did not
think I understand its length and breadth already."

The Greek General  a little, but replied, with unaltered voice,
"True, good Hereward. We have seen each other in battle."

Hereward here could not suppress a short cough, which to those
grammarians of the day who were skilful in applying the use of accents,
would have implied no peculiar eulogium on his officer's military
bravery. Indeed, during their whole intercourse, the conversation of
the General, in spite of his tone of affected importance and
superiority, displayed an obvious respect for his companion, as one
who, in many points of action, might, if brought to the test, prove a
more effective soldier than himself. On the other hand, when the
powerful Northern warrior replied, although it was with all observance
of discipline and duty, yet the discussion might sometimes resemble
that between an ignorant macaroni officer, before the Duke of York's
reformation of the British army, and a steady sergeant of the regiment
in which they both served. There was a consciousness of superiority,
disguised by external respect, and half admitted by the leader.

"You will grant me, my simple friend," continued the chief, in the same
tone as before, "in order to lead thee by a short passage into the
deepest principle of policy which pervades this same court of
Constantinople, that the favour of the Emperor"--(here the officer
raised his casque, and the soldier made a semblance of doing so
also)--"who (be the place where he puts his foot sacred!) is the
vivifying principle of the sphere in which we live, as the sun itself
is that of humanity"----

"I have heard something like this said by our tribunes," said the
Varangian.

"It is their duty so to instruct you," answered the leader; "and I
trust that the priests also, in their sphere, forget not to teach my
Varangians their constant service to their Emperor."

"They do not omit it," replied the soldier, "though we of the exiles
know our duty."

"God forbid I should doubt it," said the commander of the battle-axes.
"All I mean is to make thee understand, my dear Hereward, that as there
are, though perhaps such do not exist in thy dark and gloomy climate, a
race of insects which are born in the first rays of the morning, and
expire with those of sunset, (thence called by us ephemeras, as
enduring one day only,) such is the case of a favourite at court, while
enjoying the smiles of the most sacred Emperor. And happy is he whose
favour, rising as the person of the sovereign emerges from the level
space which extends around the throne, displays itself in the first
imperial blaze of glory, and who, keeping his post during the meridian
splendour of the crown, has only the fate to disappear and die with the
last beam of imperial brightness."

"Your Valour," said the islander, "speaks higher language than my
Northern wits are able to comprehend. Only, methinks, rather than part
with life at the sunset, I would, since insect I must needs be, become
a moth for two or three dark hours."

"Such is the sordid desire of the vulgar, Hereward," answered the
Follower, with assumed superiority, "who are contented to enjoy life,
lacking distinction; whereas we, on the other hand, we of choicer
quality, who form the nearest and innermost circle around the Imperial
Alexius, in which he himself forms the central point, are watchful, to
woman's jealousy, of the distribution of his favours, and omit no
opportunity, whether by leaguing with or against each other, to
recommend ourselves individually to the peliar light of his
countenance."

"I think I comprehend what you mean," said the guardsman; "although as
for living such a life of intrigue--but that matters not."

"It does indeed matter not, my good Hereward," said his officer, "and
thou art lucky in having no appetite for the life I have described. Yet
have I seen barbarians rise high in the empire, and if they have not
altogether the flexibility, the malleability, as it is called--that
happy ductility which can give way to circumstances, I have yet known
those of barbaric tribes, especially if bred up at court from their
youth, who joined to a limited portion of this flexile quality enough
of a certain tough durability of temper, which, if it does not excel in
availing itself of opportunity, has no contemptible talent at creating
it. But letting comparisons pass, it follows, from this emulation of
glory, that is, of royal favour, amongst the servants of the imperial
and most sacred court, that each is desirous of distinguishing himself
by showing to the Emperor, not only that he fully understands the
duties of his own employments, but that he is capable, in case of
necessity, of discharging those of others."

"I understand," said the Saxon; "and thence it happens that the under
ministers, soldiers, and assistants of the great crown-officers, are
perpetually engaged, not in aiding each other, but in acting as spies
on their neighbours' actions?"

"Even so," answered the commander; "it is but few days since I had a
disagreeable instance of it. Every one, however dull in the intellect,
hath understood thus much, that the great Protospathaire, [Footnote:
Literally, the First Swordsman.] which title thou knowest signifies the
General-in-chief of the forces of the empire, hath me at hatred,
because I am the leader of those redoubtable Varangians, who enjoy and
well deserve, privileges exempting them from the absolute command which
he possesses over all other corps of the army--an authority which
becomes Nicanor, notwithstanding the victorious sound of his name,
nearly as well as a war-saddle would become a bullock."

"How!" said the Varangian, "does the Protospathaire pretend to any
authority over the noble exiles?--By the red dragon, under which we
will live and die, we will obey no man alive but Alexius Comnenus
himself, and our own officers!"

"Rightly and bravely resolved," said the leader; "but, my good
Hereward, let not your just indignation hurry you so far as to name the
most sacred Emperor, without raising your hand to your casque, and
adding the epithets of his lofty rank."

"I will raise my hand often enough and high enough," said the Norseman,
"when the Emperor's service requires it."

"I dare be sworn thou wilt," said Achilles Tatius, the commander of the
Varangian Imperial Body Guard, who thought the time was unfavourable
for distinguishing himself by insisting on that exact observance of
etiquette, which was one of his great pretensions to the name of a
soldier. "Yet were it not for the constant vigilance of your leader, my
child, the noble Varangians would be trode down, in the common mass of
the army, with the heathen cohorts of Huns, Scythians, or those
turban'd infidels the renegade Turks; and even for this is your
commander here in peril, because he vindicates his axe-men as worthy of
being prized above the paltry shafts of the Eastern tribes and the
javelins of the Moors, which are only fit to be playthings for
children."

"You are exposed to no danger," said the soldier, closing up to
Achilles in a confidential manner, "from which these axes can protect
you."

"Do I not know it?" said Achilles. "But it is to your arms alone that
the Follower of his most sacred Majesty now intrusts his safety."

"In aught that a soldier may do," answered Hereward; "make your own
computation, and then reckon this single arm worth two against any man
the Emperor has, not being of our own corps."

"Listen, my brave friend," continued Achilles. "This Nicanor was daring
enough to throw a reproach on our noble corps, accusing them--gods and
goddesses!--of plundering in the field, and, yet more sacrilegious, of
drinking the precious wine which was prepared for his most sacred
Majesty's own blessed consumption. I, the sacred person of the Emperor
being present, proceeded, as thou may'st well believe"--

"To give him the lie in his audacious throat!" burst in the
Varangian--"named a place of meeting somewhere in the vicinity, and
called the attendance of your poor follower, Hereward of Hampton, who
is your bond-slave for life long, for such an honour! I wish only you
had told me to get my work-day arms; but, however, I have my
battle-axe, and"--Here his companion seized a moment to break in, for
he was somewhat abashed at the lively tone of the young soldier.

"Hush thee, my son," said Achilles Tatius; "speak low, my excellent
Hereward. Thou mistakest this thing. With thee by my side, I would not,
indeed, hesitate to meet five such as Nicanor; but such is not the law
of this most hallowed empire, nor the sentiments of the three times
illustrious Prince who now rules it. Thou art debauched, my soldier,
with the swaggering stories of the Franks, of whom we hear more and
more every day."

"I would not willingly borrow any thing from those whom you call
Franks, and we Normans," answered the Varangian, in a disappointed,
dogged tone.

"Why, listen, then," said the officer as they proceeded on their walk,
"listen to the reason of the thing, and consider whether such a custom
can obtain, as that which they term the duello, in any country of
civilization and common sense, to say nothing of one which is blessed
with the domination of the most rare Alexius Comnenus. Two great lords,
or high officers, quarrel in the court, and before the reverend person
of the Emperor. They dispute about a point of fact. Now, instead of
each maintaining his own opinion by argument or evidence, suppose they
had adopted the custom of these barbarous Franks,--'Why, thou liest in
thy throat,' says the one; 'and thou liest in thy very lungs,' says
another; and they measure forth the lists of battle in the next meadow.
Each swears to the truth of his quarrel, though probably neither well
knows precisely how the fact stands. One, perhaps the hardier, truer,
and better man of the two, the Follower of the Emperor, and father of
the Varangians, (for death, my faithful follower, spares no man,) lies
dead on the ground, and the other comes back to predominate in the
court, where, had the matter been enquired into by the rules of common
sense and reason, the victor, as he is termed, would have been sent to
the gallows. And yet this is the law of arms, as your fancy pleases to
call it, friend Hereward!"

"May it please your Valour," answered the barbarian, "there is a show
of sense in what you say; but you will sooner convince me that this
blessed moonlight is the blackness of a wolf's mouth, than that I ought
to hear myself called liar, without cramming the epithet down the
speaker's throat with the spike of my battle-axe. The lie is to a man
the same as a blow, and a blow degrades him into a slave and a beast of
burden, if endured without retaliation."

"Ay, there it is!" said Achilles; "could I but get you to lay aside
that inborn barbarism, which leads you, otherwise the most disciplined
soldiers who serve the sacred Emperor, into such deadly quarrels and
feuds"--

"Sir Captain," said the Varangian, in a sullen tone, "take my advice,
and take the Varangians as you have them; for, believe my word, that if
you could teach them to endure reproaches, bear the lie, or tolerate
stripes, you would hardly find them, when their discipline is
completed, worth the single day's salt which they cost to his holiness,
if that be his title. I must tell you, moreover, valorous sir, that the
Varangians will little thank their leader, who heard them called
marauders, drunkards, and what not, and repelled not the charge on the
spot."

"Now, if I knew not the humours of my barbarians," thought Tatius, in
his own mind, "I should bring on myself a quarrel with these untamed
islanders, who the Emperor thinks can be so easily kept in discipline.
But I will settle this sport presently." Accordingly, he addressed the
Saxon in a soothing tone.

"My faithful soldier," he proceeded aloud, "we Romans, according to the
custom of our ancestors, set as much glory on actually telling the
truth, as you do in resenting the imputation of falsehood; and I could
not with honour return a charge of falsehood upon Nicanor, since what
he said was substantially true."

"What! that we Varangians were plunderers, drunkards, and the like?"
said Hereward, more impatient than before.

"No, surely, not in that broad sense," said Achilles; "but there was
too much foundation for the legend."

"When and where?" asked the Anglo-Saxon.

"You remember," replied his leader, "the long march near Laodicea,
where the Varangians beat off a cloud of Turks, and retook a train of
the imperial baggage? You know what was done that day--how you quenched
your thirst, I mean?"

"I have some reason to remember it," said Hereward of Hampton; "for we
were half choked with dust, fatigue, and, which was worst of all,
constantly fighting with our faces to the rear, when we found some
firkins of wine in certain carriages which were broken down--down our
throats it went, as if it had been the best ale in Southampton."

"Ah, unhappy!" said the Follower; "saw you not that the firkins were
stamped with the thrice excellent Grand Butler's own inviolable seal,
and set apart for the private use of his Imperial Majesty's most sacred
lips?"

"By good Saint George of merry England, worth a dozen of your Saint
George of Cappadocia, I neither thought nor cared about the matter,"
answered Hereward. "And I know your Valour drank a mighty draught
yourself out of my head-piece; not this silver bauble, but my
steel-cap, which is twice as ample. By the same token, that whereas
before you were giving orders to fall back, you were a changed man when
you had cleared your throat of the dust, and cried, 'Bide the other
brunt, my brave and stout boys of Britain!'"

"Ay," said Achilles, "I know I am but too apt to be venturous in
action. But you mistake, good Hereward; the wine I tasted in the
extremity of martial fatigue, was not that set apart for his sacred
Majesty's own peculiar mouth, but a secondary sort, preserved for the
Grand Butler himself, of which, as one of the great officers of the
household, I might right lawfully partake--the chance was nevertheless
sinfully unhappy."

"On my life," replied Hereward, "I cannot see the infelicity of
drinking when we are dying of thirst."

"But cheer up, my noble comrade," said Achilles, after he had hurried
over his own exculpation, and without noticing the Varangian's light
estimation of the crime, "his Imperial Majesty, in his ineffable
graciousness, imputes these ill-advised draughts as a crime to no one
who partook of them. He rebuked the Protospathaire for fishing up this
accusation, and said, when he had recalled the bustle and confusion of
that toilsome day, 'I thought myself well off amid that seven times
heated furnace, when we obtained a draught of the barley-wine drank by
my poor Varangians; and I drank their health, as well I might, since,
had it not been for their services, I had drunk my last; and well fare
their hearts, though they quaffed my wine in return!' And with that he
turned off, as one who said, 'I have too much of this, being a finding
of matter and ripping up of stories against Achilles Tatius and his
gallant Varangians.'"

"Now, may God bless his honest heart for it!" said Hereward, with more
downright heartiness than formal respect. "I'll drink to his health in
what I put next to my lips that quenches thirst, whether it may be ale,
wine, or ditch-water."

"Why, well said, but speak not above thy breath! and remember to put
thy hand to thy forehead, when naming, or even thinking of the
Emperor!--Well, thou knowest, Hereward, that having thus obtained the
advantage, I knew that the moment of a repulsed attack is always that
of a successful charge; and so I brought against the Protospathaire,
Nicanor, the robberies which have been committed at the Golden Gate,
and other entrances of the city, where a merchant was but of late
kidnapped and murdered, having on him certain jewels, the property of
the Patriarch."

"Ay! indeed?" said the Varangian; "and what said Alex--I mean the most
sacred Emperor, when he heard such things said of the city
warders?--though he had himself given, as we say in our land, the fox
the geese to keep."

"It may be he did," replied Achilles; "but he is a sovereign of deep
policy, and was resolved not to proceed against these treacherous
warders, or their general, the Protospathaire, without decisive proof.
His Sacred Majesty, therefore, charged me to obtain specific
circumstantial proof by thy means."

"And that I would have managed in two minutes, had you not called me
off the chase of yon cut-throat vagabond. But his grace knows the word
of a Varangian, and I can assure him that either lucre of my silver
gaberdine, which they nickname a cuirass, or the hatred of my corps,
would be sufficient to incite any of these knaves to cut the throat of
a Varangian, who appeared to be asleep.--So we go, I suppose, captain,
to bear evidence before the Emperor to this night's work?"

"No, my active soldier, hadst thou taken the runaway villain, my first
act must have been to set him free again; and my present charge to you
is, to forget that such an adventure has ever taken place."

"Ha!" said the Varangian; "this is a change of policy indeed!"

"Why, yes, brave Hereward; ere I left the palace this night, the
Patriarch made overtures of reconciliation betwixt me and the
Protospathaire, which, as our agreement is of much consequence to the
state, I could not very well reject, either as a good soldier or a good
Christian. All offences to my honour are to be in the fullest degree
repaid, for which the Patriarch interposes his warrant. The Emperor,
who will rather wink hard than see disagreements, loves better the
matter should be slurred over thus."

"And the reproaches upon the Varangians." said Hereward----

"Shall be fully retracted and atoned for," answered Achilles; "and a
weighty donative in gold dealt among the corps of the Anglo-Danish
axemen. Thou, my Hereward, mayst be distributor; and thus, if
well-managed, mayst plate thy battle-axe with gold."

"I love my axe better as it is," said the Varangian. "My father bore it
against the robber Normans at Hastings. Steel instead of gold for my
money."

"Thou mayst make thy choice, Hereward," answered his officer; "only, if
thou art poor, say the fault was thine own."

But here, in the course of their circuit round Constantinople, the
officer and his soldier came to a very small wicket or sallyport,
opening on the interior of a large and massive advanced work, which
terminated an entrance to the city itself. Here the officer halted, and
made his obedience, as a devotee who is about to enter a chapel of
peculiar sanctity.




CHAPTER THE THIRD.

     Here, youth, thy foot unbrace,
       Here, youth, thy brow unbraid;
     Each tribute that may grace
       The threshold here be paid.
     Walk with the stealthy pace
       Which Nature teaches deer,
     When, echoing in the chase,
       The hunter's horn they hear.
                          THE COURT.


Before entering, Achilles Tatius made various gesticulations, which
were imitated roughly and awkwardly by the unpractised Varangian, whose
service with his corps had been almost entirely in the field, his
routine of duty not having, till very lately, called him to serve as
one of the garrison of Constantinople. He was not, therefore,
acquainted with the minute observances which the Greeks, who were the
most formal and ceremonious soldiers and courtiers in the world,
rendered not merely to the Greek Emperor in person, but throughout the
sphere which peculiarly partook of his influence.

Achilles, having gesticulated after his own fashion, at length touched
the door with a rap, distinct at once and modest. This was thrice
repeated, when the captain whispered to his attendant, "The
interior!--for thy life, do as thou seest me do." At the same moment he
started back, and, stooping his head on his breast, with his hands over
his eyes, as if to save them from being dazzled by an expected burst of
light, awaited the answer to his summons. The Anglo-Dane, desirous to
obey his leader, imitating him as near as he could, stood side by side
in the posture of Oriental humiliation. The little portal opened
inwards, when no burst of light was seen, but four of the Varangians
were made visible in the entrance, holding each his battle-axe, as if
about to strike down the intruders who had disturbed the silence of
their watch.

"Acoulouthos," said the leader, by way of password.

"Tatius and Acoulouthos," murmured the warders, as a countersign.

Each sentinel sunk his weapon.

Achilles then reared his stately crest, with a conscious dignity at
making this display of court influence in the eyes of his soldiers.
Hereward observed an undisturbed gravity, to the surprise of his
officer, who marvelled in his own mind how he could be such a barbarian
as to regard with apathy a scene, which had in his eyes the most
impressive and peculiar awe. This indifference he imputed to the stupid
insensibility of his companion.

They passed on between the sentinels, who wheeled backward in file, on
each side of the portal, and gave the strangers entrance to a long
narrow plank, stretched across the city-moat, which was here drawn
within the enclosure of an external rampart, projecting beyond the
principal wall of the city.

"This," he whispered to Hereward, "is called the Bridge of Peril, and
it is said that it has been occasionally smeared with oil, or strewed
with dried peas, and that the bodies of men, known to have been in
company with the Emperor's most sacred person, have been taken out of
the Golden Horn, [Footnote: The harbour of Constantinople.] into which
the moat empties itself."

"I would not have thought," said the islander, raising his voice to its
usual rough tone, "that Alexius Comnenus"--

"Hush, rash and regardless of your life!" said Achilles Tatius; "to
awaken the daughter of the imperial arch, [Footnote: The daughter of
the arch was a courtly expression for the echo, as we find explained by
the courtly commander himself.] is to incur deep penalty at all times;
but when a rash delinquent has disturbed her with reflections on his
most sacred Highness the Emperor, death is a punishment far too light
for the effrontery which has interrupted her blessed slumber!--Ill hath
been my fate, to have positive commands laid on me, enjoining me to
bring into the sacred precincts a creature who hath no more of the salt
of civilization in him than to keep his mortal frame from corruption,
since of all mental culture he is totally incapable. Consider thyself,
Hereward, and bethink thee what thou art. By nature a poor
barbarian--thy best boast that thou hast slain certain Mussulmans in
thy sacred master's quarrel; and here art thou admitted into the
inviolable enclosure of the Blaquernal, and in the hearing not only of
the royal daughter of the imperial arch, which means," said the
eloquent leader, "the echo of the sublime vaults; but--Heaven be our
guide,--for what I know, within the natural hearing of the Sacred Ear
itself!"

"Well, my captain," replied the Varangian, "I cannot presume to speak
my mind after the fashion of this place; but I can easily suppose I am
but ill qualified to converse in the presence of the court, nor do I
mean therefore to say a word till I am spoken to, unless when I shall
see no better company than ourselves. To be plain, I find difficulty in
modelling my voice to a smoother tone than nature has given it. So,
henceforth, my brave captain, I will be mute, unless when you give me a
sign to speak."

"You will act wisely," said the captain. "Here be certain persons of
high rank, nay, some that have been born in the purple itself, that
will, Hereward, (alas, for thee!) prepare to sound with the line of
their courtly understanding the depths of thy barbarous and shallow
conceit. Do not, therefore, then, join their graceful smiles with thy
inhuman bursts of cachinnation, with which thou art wont to thunder
forth when opening in chorus with thy messmates."

"I tell thee I will be silent," said the Varangian, moved somewhat
beyond his mood. "If you trust my word, so; if you think I am a jackdaw
that must be speaking, whether in or out of place and purpose, I am
contented to go back again, and therein we can end the matter."

Achilles, conscious perhaps that it was his best policy not to drive
his subaltern to extremity, lowered his tone somewhat in reply to the
uncourtly note of the soldier, as if allowing something for the rude
manners of one whom he considered as not easily matched among the
Varangians themselves, for strength and valour; qualities which, in
despite of Hereward's discourtesy, Achilles suspected in his heart were
fully more valuable than all those nameless graces which a more courtly
and accomplished soldier might possess.

The expert navigator of the intricacies of the imperial residence,
carried the Varangian through two or three small complicated courts,
forming a part of the extensive Palace of the Blaquernal, [Footnote:
This palace derived its name from the neighbouring Blachernian Gate and
Bridge.] and entered the building itself by a side door--watched in
like manner by a sentinel of the Varangian Guard, whom they passed on
being recognized. In the next apartment was stationed the Court of
Guard, where were certain soldiers of the same corps amusing themselves
at games somewhat resembling the modern draughts and dice, while they
seasoned their pastime with frequent applications to deep flagons of
ale, which were furnished to them while passing away their hours of
duty. Some glances passed between Hereward and his comrades, and he
would have joined them, or at least spoke to them; for, since the
adventure of the Mitylenian, Hereward had rather thought himself
annoyed than distinguished by his moonlight ramble in the company of
his commander, excepting always the short and interesting period during
which he conceived they were on the way to fight a duel. Still, however
negligent in the strict observance of the ceremonies of the sacred
palace, the Varangians had, in their own way, rigid notions of
calculating their military duty; in consequence of which Hereward,
without speaking to his companions, followed his leader through the
guard-room, and one or two antechambers adjacent, the splendid and
luxurious furniture of which convinced him that he could be nowhere
else save in the sacred residence of his master the Emperor.

At length, having traversed passages and apartments with which the
captain seemed familiar, and which he threaded with a stealthy, silent,
and apparently reverential pace, as if, in his own inflated phrase,
afraid to awaken the sounding echoes of those lofty and monumental
halls, another species of inhabitants began to be visible. In different
entrances, and in different apartments, the northern soldier beheld
those unfortunate slaves, chiefly of African descent, raised
occasionally under the Emperors of Greece to great power and honours,
who, in that respect, imitated one of the most barbarous points of
Oriental despotism. These slaves were differently occupied; some
standing, as if on guard, at gates or in passages, with their drawn
sabres in their hands; some were sitting in the Oriental fashion, on
carpets, reposing themselves, or playing at various games, all of a
character profoundly silent. Not a word passed between the guide of
Hereward, and the withered and deformed beings whom they thus
encountered. The exchange of a glance with the principal soldier seemed
all that was necessary to ensure both an uninterrupted passage.

After making their way through several apartments, empty or thus
occupied, they, at length entered one of black marble, or some other
dark- stone, much loftier and longer than the rest. Side
passages opened into it, so far as the islander could discern,
descending from several portals in the wall; but as the oils and gums
with which the lamps in these passages were fed diffused a dim vapour
around, it was difficult to ascertain, from the imperfect light, either
the shape of the hall, or the style of its architecture. At the upper
and lower ends of the chamber, there was a stronger and clearer light.
It was when they were in the middle of this huge and long apartment,
that Achilles said to the soldier, in the sort of cautionary whisper
which he appeared to have substituted in place of his natural voice
since he had crossed the Bridge of Peril--

"Remain here till I return, and stir from this hall on no account."

"To hear is to obey," answered the Varangian, an expression of
obedience, which, like many other phrases and fashions, the empire,
which still affected the name of Roman, had borrowed from the
barbarians of the East. Achilles Tatius then hastened up the steps
which led to one of the side-doors of the hall, which being slightly
pressed, its noiseless hinge gave way and admitted him.

Left alone to amuse himself as he best could, within the limits
permitted to him, the Varangian visited in succession both ends of the
hall, where the objects were more visible than elsewhere. The lower end
had in its centre a small low-browed door of iron. Over it was
displayed the Greek crucifix in bronze, and around and on every side,
the representation of shackles, fetter bolts, and the like, were also
executed in bronze, and disposed as appropriate ornaments over the
entrance. The door of the dark archway was half open, and Hereward
naturally looked in, the orders of his chief not prohibiting his
satisfying his curiosity thus far. A dense red light, more like a
distant spark than a lamp, affixed to the wall of what seemed a very
narrow and winding stair, resembling in shape and size a draw-well, the
verge of which opened on the threshold of the iron door, showed a
descent which seemed to conduct to the infernal regions. The Varangian,
however obtuse he might be considered by the quick-witted Greeks, had
no difficulty in comprehending that a staircase having such a gloomy
appearance, and the access to which was by a portal decorated in such a
melancholy style of architecture, could only lead to the dungeons of
the imperial palace, the size and complicated number of which were
neither the least remarkable, nor the least awe-imposing portion of the
sacred edifice. Listening profoundly, he even thought he caught such
accents as befit those graves of living men, the faint echoing of
groans and sighs, sounding as it were from the deep abyss beneath. But
in this respect his fancy probably filled up the sketch which his
conjectures bodied out.

"I have done nothing," he thought, "to merit being immured in one of
these subterranean dens. Surely though my captain, Achilles Tatius, is,
under favour, little better than an ass, he cannot be so false of word
as to train me to prison under false pretexts? I trow he shall first
see for the last time how the English axe plays, if such is to be the
sport of the evening. But let us see the upper end of this enormous
vault; it may bear a better omen."

Thus thinking, and not quite ruling the tramp of his armed footstep
according to the ceremonies of the place, the large-limbed Saxon strode
to the upper end of the black marble hall. The ornament of the portal
here was a small altar, like those in the temples of the heathen
deities, which projected above the centre of the arch. On this altar
smoked incense of some sort, the fumes of which rose curling in a thin
cloud to the roof, and thence extending through the hall, enveloped in
its column of smoke a singular emblem, of which the Varangian could
make nothing. It was the representation of two human arms and hands,
seeming to issue from the wall, having the palms extended and open, as
about to confer some boon on those who approached the altar. These arms
were formed of bronze, and being placed farther back than the altar
with its incense, were seen through the curling smoke by lamps so
disposed as to illuminate the whole archway. "The meaning of this,"
thought the simple barbarian, "I should well know how to explain, were
these fists clenched, and were the hall dedicated to the _pancration_,
which we call boxing; but as even these helpless Greeks use not their
hands without their fingers being closed, by St. George I can make out
nothing of their meaning."

At this instant Achilles entered the black marble hall at the same door
by which he had left it, and came up to his neophyte, as the Varangian
might be termed.

"Come with me now, Hereward, for here approaches the thick of the
onset. Now, display the utmost courage that thou canst summon up, for
believe me thy credit and name also depend on it."

"Fear nothing for either," said Hereward, "if the heart or hand of one
man can bear him through the adventure by the help of a toy like this."

"Keep thy voice low and submissive, I have told thee a score of times,"
said the leader, "and lower thine axe, which, as I bethink me, thou
hadst better leave in the outer apartment."

"With your leave, noble captain," replied Hereward, "I am unwilling to
lay aside my bread-winner. I am one of those awkward clowns who cannot
behave seemly unless I have something to occupy my hands, and my
faithful battle-axe comes most natural to me."

"Keep it then; but remember thou dash it not about according to thy
custom, nor bellow, nor shout, nor cry as in a battle-field; think of
the sacred character of the place, which exaggerates riot into
blasphemy, and remember the persons whom thou mayst chance to see, an
offence to some of whom, it may be, ranks in the same sense with
blasphemy against Heaven itself."

This lecture carried the tutor and the pupil so far as to the
side-door, and thence inducted them into a species of anteroom, from
which Achilles led his Varangian forward, until a pair of
folding-doors, opening into what proved to be a principal apartment of
the palace, exhibited to the rough-hewn native of the north a sight
equally new and surprising.

It was an apartment of the palace of the Blaquernal, dedicated to the
special service of the beloved daughter of the Emperor Alexius, the
Princess Anna Comnena, known to our times by her literary talents,
which record the history of her father's reign. She was seated, the
queen and sovereign of a literary circle, such as an imperial Princess,
porphyrogenita, or born in the sacred purple chamber itself, could
assemble in those days, and a glance around will enable us to form an
idea of her guests or companions.

The literary Princess herself had the bright eyes, straight features,
and comely and pleasing manners, which all would have allowed to the
Emperor's daughter, even if she could not have been, with severe truth,
said to have possessed them. She was placed upon a small bench, or
sofa, the fair sex here not being permitted to recline, as was the
fashion of the Roman ladies. A table before her was loaded with books,
plants, herbs, and drawings. She sat on a slight elevation, and those
who enjoyed the intimacy of the Princess, or to whom she wished to
speak in particular, were allowed, during such sublime colloquy, to
rest their knees on the little dais, or elevated place where her chair
found its station, in a posture half standing, half kneeling. Three
other seats, of different heights, were placed on the dais, and under
the same canopy of state which overshadowed that of the Princess Anna.

The first, which strictly resembled her own chair in size and
convenience, was one designed for her husband, Nicephorus Briennius. He
was said to entertain or affect the greatest respect for his wife's
erudition, though the courtiers were of opinion he would have liked to
absent himself from her evening parties more frequently than was
particularly agreeable to the Princess Anna and her imperial parents.
This was partly explained by the private tattle of the court, which
averred, that the Princess Anna Comnena had been more beautiful when
she was less learned; and that, though still a fine woman, she had
somewhat lost the charms of her person as she became enriched in her
mind.

To atone for the lowly fashion of the seat of Nicephorus Briennius, it
was placed as near to his princess as it could possibly be edged by the
ushers, so that she might not lose one look of her handsome spouse, nor
he the least particle of wisdom which might drop from the lips of his
erudite consort.

Two other seats of honour, or rather thrones,--for they had footstools
placed for the support of the feet, rests for the arms, and embroidered
pillows for the comfort of the back, not to mention the glories of the
outspreading canopy, were destined for the imperial couple, who
frequently attended their daughter's studies, which she prosecuted in
public in the way we have intimated. On such occasions, the Empress
Irene enjoyed the triumph peculiar to the mother of an accomplished
daughter, while Alexius, as it might happen, sometimes listened with
complacence to the rehearsal of his own exploits in the inflated
language of the Princess, and sometimes mildly nodded over her
dialogues upon the mysteries of philosophy, with the Patriarch Zosimus,
and other sages.

All these four distinguished seats for the persons of the Imperial
family, were occupied at the moment which we have described, excepting
that which ought to have been filled by Nicephorus Briennius, the
husband of the fair Anna Comnena. To his negligence and absence was
perhaps owing the angry spot on the brow of his fair bride. Beside her
on the platform were two white-robed nymphs of her household; female
slaves, in a word, who reposed themselves on their knees on cushions,
when their assistance was not wanted as a species of living book-desks,
to support and extend the parchment rolls, in which the Princess
recorded her own wisdom, or from which she quoted that of others. One
of these young maidens, called Astarte, was so distinguished as a
calligrapher, or beautiful writer of various alphabets and languages,
that she narrowly escaped being sent as a present to the Caliph, (who
could neither read nor write,) at a time when it was necessary to bribe
him into peace. Violante, usually called the Muse, the other attendant
of the Princess, a mistress of the vocal and instrumental art of music,
was actually sent in a compliment to soothe the temper of Robert
Guiscard, the Archduke of Apulia, who being aged and stone-deaf, and
the girl under ten years old at the time, returned the valued present
to the imperial donor, and, with the selfishness which was one of that
wily Norman's characteristics, desired to have some one sent him who
could contribute to his pleasure, instead of a twangling squalling
infant.

Beneath these elevated seats there sat, or reposed on the floor of the
hall, such favourites as were admitted. The Patriarch Zosimus, and one
or two old men, were permitted the use of certain lowly stools, which
were the only seats prepared for the learned members of the Princess's
evening parties, as they would have been called in our days. As for the
younger magnates, the honour of being permitted to join the imperial
conversation was expected to render them far superior to the paltry
accommodation of a joint-stool. Five or six courtiers, of different
dress and ages, might compose the party, who either stood, or relieved
their posture by kneeling, along the verge of an adorned fountain,
which shed a mist of such very small rain as to dispel almost
insensibly, cooling the fragrant breeze which breathed from the flowers
and shrubs, that were so disposed as to send a waste of sweets around.
One goodly old man, named Michael Agelastes, big, burly, and dressed
like an ancient Cynic philosopher, was distinguished by assuming, in a
great measure, the ragged garb and mad bearing of that sect, and by his
inflexible practice of the strictest ceremonies exigible by the
Imperial family. He was known by an affectation of cynical principle
and language, and of republican philosophy, strangely contradicted by
his practical deference to the great. It was wonderful how long this
man, now sixty years old and upwards, disdained to avail himself of the
accustomed privilege of leaning, or supporting his limbs, and with what
regularity he maintained either the standing posture or that of
absolute kneeling; but the first was so much his usual attitude, that
he acquired among his court friends the name of Elephas, or the
Elephant, because the ancients had an idea that the half-reasoning
animal, as it is called, has joints incapable of kneeling down.

"Yet I have seen them kneel when I was in the country of the
Gymnosophists," said a person present on the evening of Hereward's
introduction.

"To take up their master on their shoulders? so will ours," said the
Patriarch Zosimus, with the slight sneer which was the nearest advance
to a sarcasm that the etiquette of the Greek court permitted; for on
all ordinary occasions, it would not have offended the Presence more
surely, literally, to have drawn a poniard, than to exchange a repartee
in the imperial circle. Even the sarcasm, such as it was, would have
been thought censurable by that ceremonious court in any but the
Patriarch, to whose high rank some license was allowed.

Just as he had thus far offended decorum, Achilles Tatius, and his
soldier Hereward, entered the apartment. The former bore him with even
more than his usual degree of courtliness, as if to set his own
good-breeding off by a comparison with the inexpert bearing of his
follower; while, nevertheless, he had a secret pride in exhibiting, as
one under his own immediate and distinct command, a man whom he was
accustomed to consider as one of the finest soldiers of the army of
Alexius, whether appearance or reality were to be considered.

Some astonishment followed the abrupt entrance of the new comers.
Achilles indeed glided into the presence with the easy and quiet
extremity of respect which intimated his habitude in these regions. But
Hereward started on his entrance, and perceiving himself in company of
the court, hastily strove to remedy his disorder. His commander,
throwing round a scarce visible shrug of apology, made then a
confidential and monitory sign to Hereward to mind his conduct. What he
meant was, that he should doff his helmet and fall prostrate on the
ground. But the Anglo-Saxon, unaccustomed to interpret obscure
inferences, naturally thought of his military duties, and advanced in
front of the Emperor, as when he rendered his military homage. He made
reverence with his knee, half touched his cap, and then recovering and
shouldering his axe, stood in advance of the imperial chair, as if on
duty as a sentinel.

A gentle smile of surprise went round the circle as they gazed on the
manly appearance, and somewhat unceremonious but martial deportment of
the northern soldier. The various spectators around consulted the
Emperor's face, not knowing whether they were to take the intrusive
manner of the Varangian's entrance as matter of ill-breeding, and
manifest their horror, or whether they ought rather to consider the
bearing of the life-guardsman as indicating blunt and manly zeal, and
therefore to be received with applause.

It was some little time ere the Emperor recovered himself sufficiently
to strike a key-note, as was usual upon such occasions. Alexius
Comnenus had been wrapt for a moment into some species of slumber, or
at least absence of mind. Out of this he had been startled by the
sudden appearance of the Varangian; for though he was accustomed to
commit the outer guards of the palace to this trusty corps, yet the
deformed blacks whom we have mentioned, and who sometimes rose to be
ministers of state and commanders of armies, were, on all ordinary
occasions, intrusted with the guard of the interior of the palace.
Alexius, therefore, awakened from his slumber, and the military phrase
of his daughter still ringing in his ears as she was reading a
description of the great historical work, in which she had detailed the
conflicts of his reign, felt somewhat unprepared for the entrance and
military deportment of one of the Saxon guard, with whom he was
accustomed to associate, in general, scenes of blows, danger, and death.

After a troubled glance around, his look rested on Achilles Tatius.
"Why here," he said, "trusty Follower? why this soldier here at this
time of night?" Here, of course, was the moment for modelling the
visages _regis ad exemplum;_ but, ere the Patriarch could frame his
countenance into devout apprehension of danger, Achilles Tatius had
spoken a word or two, which reminded Alexius' memory that the soldier
had been brought there by his own special orders. "Oh, ay! true, good
fellow," said he, smoothing his troubled brow; "we had forgot that
passage among the cares of state." He then spoke to the Varangian with
a countenance more frank, and a heartier accent than he used to his
courtiers; for, to a despotic monarch, a faithful life-guardsman is a
person of confidence, while an officer of high rank is always in some
degree a subject of distrust. "Ha!" said he, "our worthy Anglo-Dane,
how fares he?"--This unceremonious salutation surprised all but him to
whom it was addressed. Hereward answered, accompanying his words with a
military obeisance which partook of heartiness rather than reverence,
with a loud unsubdued voice, which startled the presence still more
that the language was Saxon, which these foreigners occasionally used,
"_Waes hael Kaisar mirrig und machtigh!_"--that is, Be of good health,
stout and mighty Emperor. The Emperor, with a smile of intelligence, to
show he could speak to his guards in their own foreign language,
replied, by the well-known counter-signal--"_Drink hael!_'"

Immediately a page brought a silver goblet of wine. The Emperor put his
lips to it, though he scarce tasted the liquor, then commanded it to be
handed to Hereward, and bade the soldier drink. The Saxon did not wait
till he was desired a second time, but took off the contents without
hesitation. A gentle smile, decorous as the presence required, passed
over the assembly, at a feat which, though by no means wonderful in a
hyperborean, seemed prodigious in the estimation of the moderate
Greeks. Alexius himself laughed more loudly than his courtiers thought
might be becoming on their part, and mustering what few words of
Varangian he possessed, which he eked out with Greek, demanded of his
life-guardsman--"Well, my bold Briton, or Edward, as men call thee,
dost thou know the flavour of that wine?"

"Yes," answered the Varangian, without change of countenance, "I tasted
it once before at Laodicea"--

Here his officer, Achilles Tatius, became sensible that his soldier
approached delicate ground, and in vain endeavoured to gain his
attention, in order that he might furtively convey to him a hint to be
silent, or at least take heed what he said in such a presence. But the
soldier, who, with proper military observance, continued to have his
eye and attention fixed on the Emperor, as the prince whom he was bound
to answer or to serve, saw none of the hints, which Achilles at length
suffered to become so broad, that Zosimus and the Protospathaire
exchanged expressive glances, as calling on each other to notice the
by-play of the leader of the Varangians. In the meanwhile, the dialogue
between the Emperor and his soldier continued:--"How," said Alexius,
"did this draught relish compared with the former?"

"There is fairer company here, my liege, than that of the Arabian
archers," answered Hereward, with a look and bow of instinctive
good-breeding; "Nevertheless, there lacks the flavour which the heat of
the sun, the dust of the combat, with the fatigue of wielding such a
weapon as this" (advancing his axe) "for eight hours together, give to
a cup of rare wine."

"Another deficiency there might be," said Agelastes the Elephant,
"provided I am pardoned hinting at it," he added, with a look to the
throne,--"it might be the smaller size of the cup compared with that at
Laodicea." "By Taranis, you say true," answered the life-guardsman; "at
Laodicea I used my helmet."

"Let us see the cups compared together, good friend," said Agelastes,
continuing his raillery, "that we may be sure thou hast not swallowed
the present goblet; for I thought, from the manner of the draught,
there was a chance of its going down with its contents."

"There are some things which I do not easily swallow," answered the
Varangian, in a calm and indifferent tone; "but they must come from a
younger and more active man than you."

The company again smiled to each other, as if to hint that the
philosopher, though also parcel wit by profession, had the worst of the
encounter. The Emperor at the same time interfered--"Nor did I send for
thee hither, good fellow, to be baited by idle taunts."

Here Agelastes shrunk back in the circle, as a hound that has been
rebuked by the huntsman for babbling--and the Princess Anna Comnena,
who had indicated by her fair features a certain degree of impatience,
at length spoke--"Will it then please you, my imperial and much-beloved
father, to inform those blessed with admission to the Muses' temple,
for what it is that you have ordered this soldier to be this night
admitted to a place so far above his rank in life? Permit me to say, we
ought not to waste, in frivolous and silly jests, the time which is
sacred to the welfare of the empire, as every moment of your leisure
must be."

"Our daughter speaks wisely," said the Empress Irene, who, like most
mothers who do not possess much talent themselves, and are not very
capable of estimating it in others, was, nevertheless, a great admirer
of her favourite daughter's accomplishments, and ready to draw them out
on all occasions. "Permit me to remark, that in this divine and
selected palace of the Muses, dedicated to the studies of our
well-beloved and highly-gifted daughter, whose pen will preserve your
reputation, our most imperial husband, till the desolation of the
universe, and which enlivens and delights this society, the very flower
of the wits of our sublime court;--permit me to say, that we have,
merely by admitting a single life-guardsman, given our conversation the
character of that which distinguishes a barrack."

Now the Emperor Alexius Comnenus had the same feeling with many an
honest man in ordinary life when his wife begins a long oration,
especially as the Empress Irene did not always retain the observance
consistent with his awful rule and right supremacy, although especially
severe in exacting it from all others, in reference to her lord.
Therefore, though, he had felt some pleasure in gaining a short release
from the monotonous recitation of the Princess's history, he now saw
the necessity of resuming it, or of listening to the matrimonial
eloquence of the Empress. He sighed, therefore, as he said, "I crave
your pardon, good our imperial spouse, and our daughter born in the
purple chamber. I remember me, our most amiable and accomplished
daughter, that last night you wished to know the particulars of the
battle of Laodicea, with the heathenish Arabs, whom Heaven confound.
And for certain considerations which moved ourselves to add other
enquiries to our own recollection, Achilles Tatius, our most trusty
Follower, was commissioned to introduce into this place one of those
soldiers under his command, being such a one whose courage and presence
of mind could best enable him to remark what passed around him on that
remarkable and bloody day. And this I suppose to be the man brought to
us for that purpose."

"If I am permitted to speak, and live," answered the Follower, "your
Imperial Highness, with those divine Princesses, whose name is to us as
those of blessed saints, have in your presence the flower of my
Anglo-Danes, or whatsoever unbaptized name is given to my soldiers. He
is, as I may say, a barbarian of barbarians; for, although in birth and
breeding unfit to soil with his feet the carpet of this precinct of
accomplishment and eloquence, he is so brave--so trusty--so devotedly
attached--and so unhesitatingly zealous, that"--

"Enough, good Follower," said the Emperor; "let us only know that he is
cool and observant, not confused and fluttered during close battle, as
we have sometimes observed in you and other great commanders--and, to
speak truth, have even felt in our imperial self on extraordinary
occasions. Which difference in man's constitution is not owing to any
inferiority of courage, but, in us, to a certain consciousness of the
importance of our own safety to the welfare of the whole, and to a
feeling of the number of duties which at once devolve on us. Speak
then, and speak quickly, Tatius; for I discern that our dearest
consort, and our thrice fortunate daughter born in the imperial chamber
of purple, seem to wax somewhat impatient."

"Hereward," answered Tatius, "is as composed and observant in battle,
as another in a festive dance. The dust of war is the breath of his
nostrils; and he will prove his worth in combat against any four
others, (Varangians excepted,) who shall term themselves your Imperial
Highness's bravest servants."

"Follower," said the Emperor, with a displeased look and tone, "instead
of instructing these poor, ignorant barbarians in the rules and
civilization of our enlightened empire, you foster, by such boastful
words, the idle pride and fury of their temper, which hurries them into
brawls with the legions of other foreign countries, and even breeds
quarrels among themselves."

"If my mouth may be opened in the way of most humble excuse," said the
Follower, "I would presume to reply, that I but an hour hence talked
with this poor ignorant Anglo-Dane, on the paternal care with which the
Imperial Majesty of Greece regards the preservation of that concord
which unites the followers of his standard, and how desirous he is to
promote that harmony, more especially amongst the various nations who
have the happiness to serve you, in spite of the bloodthirsty quarrels
of the Franks, and other northern men, who are never free from civil
broil. I think the poor youth's understanding can bear witness to this
much in my behalf." He then looked towards Hereward, who gravely
inclined his head in token of assent to what his captain said. His
excuse thus ratified, Achilles proceeded in his apology more firmly.
"What I have said even now was spoken without consideration; for,
instead of pretending that this Hereward would face four of your
Imperial Highness's servants, I ought to have said, that he was willing
to defy six of your Imperial Majesty's most deadly _enemies_, and
permit them to choose every circumstance of time, arms, and place of
combat."

"That hath a better sound," said the Emperor; "and in truth, for the
information of my dearest daughter, who piously has undertaken to
record the things which I have been the blessed means of doing for the
Empire, I earnestly wish that she should remember, that though the
sword of Alexius hath not slept in its sheath, yet he hath never sought
his own aggrandizement of fame at the price of bloodshed among his
subjects."

"I trust," said Anna Comnena, "that in my humble sketch of the life of
the princely sire from whom I derive my existence, I have not forgot to
notice his love of peace, and care for the lives of his soldiery, and
abhorrence of the bloody manners of the heretic Franks, as one of his
most distinguishing characteristics."

Assuming then an attitude more commanding, as one who was about to
claim the attention of the company, the Princess inclined her head
gently around to the audience, and taking a roll of parchment from the
fair amanuensis, which she had, in a most beautiful handwriting,
engrossed to her mistress's dictation, Anna Comnena prepared to read
its contents.

At this moment, the eyes of the Princess rested for an instant on the
barbarian Hereward, to whom she deigned this greeting--"Valiant
barbarian, of whom my fancy recalls some memory, as if in a dream, thou
art now to hear a work, which, if the author be put into comparison
with the subject, might be likened to a portrait of Alexander, in
executing which, some inferior dauber has usurped the pencil of
Apelles; but which essay, however it may appear unworthy of the subject
in the eyes of many, must yet command some envy in those who candidly
consider its contents, and the difficulty of portraying the great
personage concerning whom it is written. Still, I pray thee, give thine
attention to what I have now to read, since this account of the battle
of Laodicea, the details thereof being principally derived from his
Imperial Highness, my excellent father, from the altogether valiant
Protospathaire, his invincible general, together with Achilles Tatius,
the faithful Follower of our victorious Emperor, may nevertheless be in
some circumstances inaccurate. For it is to be thought, that the high
offices of those great commanders retained them at a distance from some
particularly active parts of the fray, in order that they might have
more cool and accurate opportunity to form a judgment upon the whole,
and transmit their orders, without being disturbed by any thoughts of
personal safety. Even so, brave barbarian, in the art of embroidery,
(marvel not that we are a proficient in that mechanical process, since
it is patronized by Minerva, whose studies we affect to follow,) we
reserve to ourselves the superintendence of the entire web, and commit
to our maidens and others the execution of particular parts. Thus, in
the same manner, thou, valiant Varangian, being engaged in the very
thickest of the affray before Laodicea, mayst point out to us, the
unworthy historian of so renowned a war, those chances which befell
where men fought hand to hand, and where the fate of war was decided by
the edge of the sword. Therefore, dread not, thou bravest of the
axe-men to whom we owe that victory, and so many others, to correct any
mistake or misapprehension which we may have been led into concerning
the details of that glorious event."

"Madam," said the Varangian, "I shall attend with diligence to what
your Highness may be pleased to read to me; although, as to presuming
to blame the history of a Princess born in the purple, far be such a
presumption from me; still less would it become a barbaric Varangian to
pass a judgment on the military conduct of the Emperor, by whom he is
liberally paid, or of the commander, by whom he is well treated. Before
an action, if our advice is required, it is ever faithfully tendered;
but according to my rough wit, our censure after the field is fought
would be more invidious than useful. Touching the Protospathaire, if it
be the duty of a general to absent himself from close action, I can
safely say, or swear, were it necessary, that the invincible commander
was never seen by me within a javelin's cast of aught that looked like
danger."

This speech, boldly and bluntly delivered, had a general effect on the
company present. The Emperor himself, and Achilles Tatius, looked like
men who had got off from a danger better than they expected. The
Protospathaire laboured to conceal a movement of resentment. Agelastes
whispered to the Patriarch, near whom he was placed, "The northern
battle-axe lacks neither point nor edge."

"Hush!" said Zosimus, "let us hear how this is to end; the Princess is
about to speak."




CHAPTER THE FOURTH.

     We heard the Tecbir, so these Arabs call
     Their shout of onset, when with loud acclaim
     They challenged Heaven, as if demanding conquest.
     The battle join'd, and through the barb'rous herd,
     Fight, fight! and Paradise was all their cry.
                               THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS.


The voice of the northern soldier, although modified by feelings of
respect to the Emperor, and even attachment to his captain, had more of
a tone of blunt sincerity, nevertheless, than was usually heard by the
sacred echoes of the imperial palace; and though the Princess Anna
Comnena began to think that she had invoked the opinion of a severe
judge, she was sensible, at the same time, by the deference of his
manner, that his respect was of a character more real, and his
applause, should she gain it, would prove more truly flattering, than
the gilded assent of the whole court of her father. She gazed with some
surprise and attention on Hereward, already described as a very
handsome young man, and felt the natural desire to please, which is
easily created in the mind towards a fine person of the other sex. His
attitude was easy and bold, but neither clownish nor uncourtly. His
title of a barbarian, placed him at once free from the forms of
civilized life, and the rules of artificial politeness. But his
character for valour, and the noble self-confidence of his bearing,
gave him a deeper interest than would have been acquired by a more
studied and anxious address, or an excess of reverential awe.

In short, the Princess Anna Comnena, high in rank as she was, and born
in the imperial purple, which she herself deemed the first of all
attributes, felt herself, nevertheless, in preparing to resume the
recitation of her history, more anxious to obtain the approbation of
this rude soldier, than that of all the rest of the courteous audience.
She knew them well, it is true, and felt nowise solicitous about the
applause which the daughter of the Emperor was sure to receive with
full hands from those of the Grecian court to whom she might choose to
communicate the productions of her father's daughter. But she had now a
judge of a new character, whose applause, if bestowed, must have
something in it intrinsically real, since it could only be obtained by
affecting his head or his heart.

It was perhaps under the influence of these feelings, that the Princess
was somewhat longer than usual in finding out the passage in the roll
of history at which she purposed to commence. It was also noticed, that
she began her recitation with a diffidence and embarrassment surprising
to the noble hearers, who had often seen her in full possession of her
presence of mind before what they conceived a more distinguished, and
even more critical audience.

Neither were the circumstances of the Varangian such as rendered the
scene indifferent to him. Anna Comnena had indeed attained her fifth
lustre, and that is a period after which Grecian beauty is understood
to commence its decline. How long she had passed that critical period,
was a secret to all but the trusted ward-women of the purple chamber.
Enough, that it was affirmed by the popular tongue, and seemed to be
attested by that bent towards philosophy and literature, which is not
supposed to be congenial to beauty in its earlier buds, to amount to
one or two years more. She might be seven-and-twenty.

Still Anna Comnena was, or had very lately been, a beauty of the very
first rank, and must be supposed to have still retained charms to
captivate a barbarian of the north; if, indeed, he himself was not
careful to maintain an heedful recollection of the immeasurable
distance between them. Indeed, even this recollection might hardly have
saved Hereward from the charms of this enchantress, bold, free-born,
and fearless as he was; for, during that time of strange revolutions,
there were many instances of successful generals sharing the couch of
imperial princesses, whom perhaps they had themselves rendered widows,
in order to make way for their own pretensions. But, besides the
influence of other recollections, which the reader may learn hereafter,
Hereward, though flattered by the unusual degree of attention which the
Princess bestowed upon him, saw in her only the daughter of his Emperor
and adopted liege lord, and the wife of a noble prince, whom reason and
duty alike forbade him to think of in any other light.

It was after one or two preliminary efforts that the Princess Anna
began her reading, with an uncertain voice, which gained strength and
fortitude as she proceeded with the following passage from a well-known
part of her history of Alexius Comnenus, but which unfortunately has
not been republished in the Byzantine historians. The narrative cannot,
therefore, be otherwise than acceptable to the antiquarian reader; and
the author hopes to receive the thanks of the learned world for the
recovery of a curious fragment, which, without his exertions, must
probably have passed to the gulf of total oblivion.




THE RETREAT OF LAODICEA.

NOW FIRST PUBLISHED FROM THE GREEK OF THE PRINCESS COMNENA'S HISTORY OF
HER FATHER.

"The sun had betaken himself to his bed in the ocean, ashamed, it would
seem, to see the immortal army of our most sacred Emperor Alexius
surrounded by those barbarous hordes of unbelieving barbarians, who, as
described in our last chapter, had occupied the various passes both in
front and rear of the Romans, [Footnote: More properly termed the
Greeks; but we follow the phraseology of the fair authoress.] secured
during the preceding night by the wily barbarians. Although, therefore,
a triumphant course of advance had brought us to this point, it now
became a serious and doubtful question whether our victorious eagles
might be able to penetrate any farther into the country of the enemy,
or even to retreat with safety into their own.

"The extensive acquaintance of the Emperor with military affairs, in
which he exceeds most living princes, had induced him, on the preceding
evening, to ascertain, with marvellous exactitude and foresight, the
precise position of the enemy. In this most necessary service he
employed certain light-armed barbarians, whose habits and discipline
had been originally derived from the wilds of Syria; and, if I am
required to speak according to the dictation of Truth, seeing she ought
always to sit upon the pen of a historian, I must needs say they were
infidels like their enemies; faithfully attached, however, to the Roman
service, and, as I believe, true slaves of the Emperor, to whom they
communicated the information required by him respecting the position of
his dreaded opponent Jezdegerd. These men did not bring in their
information till long after the hour when the Emperor usually betook
himself to rest.

"Notwithstanding this derangement of his most sacred time, our imperial
father, who had postponed the ceremony of disrobing, so important were
the necessities of the moment, continued, until deep in the night, to
hold a council of his wisest chiefs, men whose depth of judgment might
have saved a sinking world, and who now consulted what was to be done
under the pressure of the circumstances in which they were now placed.
And so great was the urgency, that all ordinary observances of the
household were set aside, since I have heard from those who witnessed
the fact, that the royal bed was displayed in the very room where the
council assembled, and that the sacred lamp, called the Light of the
Council, and which always burns when the Emperor presides in person
over the deliberations of his servants, was for that night--a thing
unknown in our annals--fed with unperfumed oil!!"

The fair speaker here threw her fine form into an attitude which
expressed holy horror, and the hearers intimated their sympathy in the
exciting cause by corresponding signs of interest; as to which we need
only say, that the sigh of Achilles Tatius was the most pathetic; while
the groan of Agelastes the Elephant was deepest and most tremendously
bestial in its sound. Hereward seemed little moved, except by a slight
motion of surprise at the wonder expressed by the others. The Princess,
having allowed due time for the sympathy of her hearers to exhibit
itself, proceeded as follows:--

"In this melancholy situation, when even the best-established and most
sacred rites of the imperial household gave way to the necessity of a
hasty provision for the morrow, the opinions of the counsellors were
different, according to their tempers and habits; a thing, by the way,
which may be remarked as likely to happen among the best and wisest on
such occasions of doubt and danger.

"I do not in this place put down the names and opinions of those whose
counsels were proposed and rejected, herein paying respect to the
secrecy and freedom of debate justly attached to the imperial cabinet.
Enough it is to say, that some there were who advised a speedy attack
upon the enemy, in the direction of our original advance. Others
thought it was safer, and might be easier, to force our way to the
rear, and retreat by the same course which had brought us hither; nor
must it be concealed, that there were persons of unsuspected fidelity,
who proposed a third course, safer indeed than the others, but totally
alien to the mind of our most magnanimous father. They recommended that
a confidential slave, in company with a minister of the interior of our
imperial palace, should be sent to the tent of Jezdegerd, in order to
ascertain upon what terms the barbarian would permit our triumphant
father to retreat in safety at the head of his victorious army. On
learning such opinion, our imperial father was heard to exclaim,
'Sancta Sophia!' being the nearest approach to an adjuration which he
has been known to permit himself, and was apparently about to say
something violent both concerning the dishonour of the advice, and the
cowardice of those by whom, it was preferred, when, recollecting the
mutability of human things, and the misfortune of several of his
Majesty's gracious predecessors, some of whom had been compelled to
surrender their sacred persons to the infidels in the same region, his
Imperial Majesty repressed his generous feelings, and only suffered his
army counsellors to understand his sentiments by a speech, in which he
declared so desperate and so dishonourable a course would be the last
which he would adopt, even in the last extremity of danger. Thus did
the judgment of this mighty Prince at once reject counsel that seemed
shameful to his arms, and thereby encourage the zeal of his troops,
while privately he kept this postern in reserve, which in utmost need
might serve for a safe, though not altogether, in less urgent
circumstances, an honourable retreat.

"When the discussion had reached this melancholy crisis, the renowned
Achilles Tatius arrived with the hopeful intelligence, that he himself
and some soldiers of his corps had discovered an opening on the left
flank of our present encampment, by which, making indeed a considerable
circuit, but reaching, if we marched with vigour, the town of Laodicea,
we might, by falling back on our resources, be in some measure in
surety from the enemy.

"So soon as this ray of hope darted on the troubled mind of our
gracious father, he proceeded to make such arrangements as might secure
the full benefit of the advantage. His Imperial Highness would not
permit the brave Varangians, whose battle-axes he accounted the flower
of his imperial army, to take the advanced posts of assailants on the
present occasion. He repressed the love of battle by which these
generous foreigners have been at all times distinguished, and directed
that the Syrian forces in the army, who have been before mentioned,
should be assembled with as little noise as possible in the vicinity of
the deserted pass, with instructions to occupy it. The good genius of
the empire suggested that, as their speech, arms, and appearance,
resembled those of the enemy, they might be permitted unopposed to take
post in the defile with their light-armed forces, and thus secure it
for the passage of the rest of the army, of which he proposed that the
Varangians, as immediately attached to his own sacred person, should
form the vanguard. The well-known battalions, termed the Immortals,
came next, comprising the gross of the army, and forming the centre and
rear. Achilles Tatius, the faithful Follower of his Royal Master,
although mortified that he was not permitted to assume the charge of
the rear, which he had proposed for himself and his valiant troops, as
the post of danger at the time, cheerfully acquiesced, nevertheless, in
the arrangement proposed by the Emperor, as most fit to effect the
imperial safety, and that of the army.

"The imperial orders, as they were sent instantly abroad, were in like
manner executed with the readiest punctuality, the rather that they
indicated a course of safety which had been almost despaired of even by
the oldest soldiers. During the dead period of time, when, as the
divine Homer tells us, gods and men are alike asleep, it was found that
the vigilance and prudence of a single individual had provided safety
for the whole Roman army. The pinnacles of the mountain passes were
scarcely touched by the earliest beams of the dawn, when these beams
were also reflected from the steel caps and spears of the Syrians,
under the command of a captain named Monastras, who, with his tribe,
had attached himself to the empire. The Emperor, at the head of his
faithful Varangians, defiled through the passes in order to gain that
degree of advance on the road to the city of Laodicea which was
desired, so as to avoid coming into collision with the barbarians.

"It was a goodly sight to see the dark mass of northern warriors, who
now led the van of the army, moving slowly and steadily through the
defiles of the mountains, around the insulated rocks and precipices,
and surmounting the gentler acclivities, like the course of a strong
and mighty river; while the loose bands of archers and javelin-men,
armed after the Eastern manner, were dispersed on the steep sides of
the defiles, and might be compared to light foam upon the edge of the
torrent. In the midst of the squadrons of the life-guard might be seen
the proud war-horse of his Imperial Majesty, which pawed the earth
indignantly, as if impatient at the delay which separated, him from his
august burden. The Emperor Alexius himself travelled in a litter, borne
by eight strong African slaves, that he might rise perfectly refreshed
if the army should be overtaken by the enemy. The valiant Achilles
Tatius rode near the couch of his master, that none of those luminous
ideas, by which our august sire so often decided the fate of battle,
might be lost for want of instant communication to those whose duty it
was to execute them. I may also say, that there were close to the
litter of the Emperor, three or four carriages of the same kind; one
prepared for the Moon, as she may be termed, of the universe, the
gracious Empress Irene. Among the others which might be mentioned, was
that which contained the authoress of this history, unworthy as she may
be of distinction, save as the daughter of the eminent and sacred
persons whom the narration chiefly concerns. In this manner the
imperial army pressed on through the dangerous defiles, where their
march was exposed to insults from the barbarians. They were happily
cleared without any opposition. When we came to the descent of the pass
which looks down on the city of Laodicea, the sagacity of the Emperor
commanded the van--which, though the soldiers composing the same were
heavily armed, had hitherto marched extremely fast--to halt, as well
that they themselves might take some repose and refreshment, as to give
the rearward forces time to come up, and close various gaps which the
rapid movement of those in front had occasioned in, the line of march.

"The place chosen for this purpose was eminently beautiful, from the
small and comparatively insignificant ridge of hills which melt
irregularly down into the plains stretching between the pass which we
occupied and Laodicea. The town was about one hundred stadia distant,
and some of our more sanguine warriors pretended that they could
already discern its towers and pinnacles, glittering in the early beams
of the sun, which had not as yet risen high into the horizon. A
mountain torrent, which found its source at the foot of a huge rock,
that yawned to give it birth, as if struck by the rod of the prophet
Moses, poured its liquid treasure down to the more level country,
nourishing herbage and even large trees, in its descent, until, at the
distance of some four or five miles, the stream, at least in dry
seasons, was lost amid heaps of sand and stones, which in the rainy
season marked the strength and fury of its current.

"It was pleasant to see the attention of the Emperor to the comforts of
the companions and guardians of his march. The trumpets from time to
time gave license to various parties of the Varangians to lay down
their arms, to eat the food which was distributed to them, and quench
their thirst at the pure stream, which poured its bounties down the
hill, or they might be seen to extend their bulky forms upon the turf
around them. The Emperor, his most serene spouse, arid the princesses
and ladies, were also served with breakfast, at the fountain formed by
the small brook in its very birth, and which the reverent feelings of
the soldiers had left unpolluted by vulgar touch, for the use of that
family, emphatically said to be born in the purple. Our beloved husband
was also present on this occasion, and was among the first to detect
one of the disasters of the day. For, although all the rest of the
repast had been, by the dexterity of the officers of the imperial
mouth, so arranged, even on so awful an occasion, as to exhibit little
difference from the ordinary provisions of the household, yet, when his
Imperial Highness called for wine, behold, not only was the sacred
liquor, dedicated to his own peculiar imperial use, wholly exhausted or
left behind, but, to use the language of Horace, not the vilest Sabine
vintage could be procured; so that his Imperial Highness was glad to
accept the offer of a rude Varangian, who proffered his modicum of
decocted barley, which these barbarians prefer to the juice of the
grape. The Emperor, nevertheless, accepted of this coarse tribute."

"Insert," said the Emperor, who had been hitherto either plunged in
deep contemplation or in an incipient slumber, "insert, I say, these
very words: 'And with the heat of the morning, and anxiety of so rapid
a march, with a numerous enemy in his rear, the Emperor was so thirsty,
as never in his life to think beverage more delicious.'"

In obedience to her imperial father's orders, the Princess resigned the
manuscript to the beautiful slave by whom it was written, repeating to
the fair scribe the commanded addition, requiring her to note it, as
made by the express sacred command of the Emperor, and then proceeded
thus:--"More had I said here respecting the favourite liquor of your
Imperial Highnesses faithful Varangians; but your Highness having once
graced it with a word of commendation, this _ail_, as they call it,
doubtless because removing all disorders, which they term 'ailments,'
becomes a theme too lofty for the discussion of any inferior person.
Suffice it to say, that thus were we all pleasantly engaged, the ladies
and slaves trying to find some amusement for the imperial ears; the
soldiers, in a long line down the ravine, seen in different postures,
some straggling to the watercourse, some keeping guard over the arms of
their comrades, in which duty they relieved each other, while body
after body of the remaining troops, under command of the
Protospathaire, and particularly those called Immortals, [Footnote: The
[Greek: Athanatoi], or Immortals, of the army of Constantinople, were a
select body, so named, in imitation of the ancient Persians. They were
first embodied, according to Ducange, by Michael Ducas] joined the main
army as they came up. Those soldiers who were already exhausted, were
allowed to take a short repose, after which they were sent forward,
with directions to advance steadily on the road to Laodicea; while
their leader was instructed, so soon as he should open a free
communication with that city, to send thither a command for
reinforcements and refreshments, not forgetting fitting provision of
the sacred wine for the imperial mouth. Accordingly, the Roman bands of
Immortals and others had resumed their march, and held some way on
their journey, it being the imperial pleasure that the Varangians,
lately the vanguard, should now form the rear of the whole army, so as
to bring off in safety the Syrian light troops, by whom the hilly pass
was still occupied, when we heard upon the other side of this defile,
which he had traversed with so much safety, the awful sound of the
_Lelies_, as the Arabs name their shout of onset, though in what
language it is expressed, it would be hard to say. Perchance some in
this audience may enlighten my ignorance."

"May I speak and live," said the Acoulouthos Achilles, proud of his
literary knowledge, "the words are, _Alla illa alla, Mohamed resoul
alla_.[Footnote: i. e. "God is god--Mahomet is the prophet of God."]
These, or something like them, contain the Arabs' profession of faith,
which they always call out when they join battle; I have heard them
many times."

"And so have I," said the Emperor; "and as thou didst, I warrant me, I
have sometimes wished myself anywhere else than within hearing."

All the circle were alive to hear the answer of Achilles Tatius. He was
too good a courtier, however, to make any imprudent reply. "It was my
duty," he replied, "to desire to be as near your Imperial Highness as
your faithful Follower ought, wherever you might wish yourself for the
time."

Agelastes and Zosimus exchanged looks, and the Princess Anna Comnena
proceeded in her recitation.

"The cause of these ominous sounds, which came in wild confusion up the
rocky pass, was soon explained to us by a dozen cavaliers, to whom the
task of bringing intelligence had been assigned.

"These informed us, that the barbarians, whose host had been dispersed
around the position in which they had encamped the preceding day, had
not been enabled to get their forces together until our light troops
were evacuating the post they had occupied for securing the retreat of
our army. They were then drawing off from the tops of the hills into
the pass itself, when, in despite of the rocky ground, they were
charged furiously by Jezdegerd, at the head of a large body of his
followers, which, after repeated exertions, he had at length brought to
operate on the rear of the Syrians. Notwithstanding that the pass was
unfavourable for cavalry, the personal exertions of the infidel chief
made his followers advance with a degree of resolution unknown to the
Syrians of the Roman army, who, finding themselves at a distance from
their companions, formed the injurious idea that they were left thereto
be sacrificed, and thought of flight in various directions, rather than
of a combined and resolute resistance. The state of affairs, therefore,
at the further end of the pass, was less favourable than we could wish,
and those whose curiosity desired to see something which might be
termed the rout of the rear of an army, beheld the Syrians pursued from
the hill tops, overwhelmed, and individually cut down and made
prisoners by the bands of caitiff Mussulmans.

"His Imperial Highness looked upon the scene of battle for a few
minutes, and, much commoved at what he saw, was somewhat hasty in his
directions to the Varangians to resume their arms, and precipitate
their march towards Laodicea; whereupon one of those northern soldiers
said boldly, though in opposition to the imperial command, 'If we
attempt to go hastily down this hill, our rear-guard will be confused,
not only by our own hurry, but by these runaway scoundrels of Syrians,
who in their headlong flight will not fail to mix themselves among our
ranks. Let two hundred Varangians, who will live and die for the honour
of England, abide in the very throat of this pass with me, while the
rest escort the Emperor to this Laodicea, or whatever it is called. We
may perish in our defence, but we shall die in our duty; and I have
little doubt but we shall furnish such a meal as will stay the stomach
of these yelping hounds from seeking any farther banquet this day.'

"My imperial father at once discovered the importance of this advice,
though it made him wellnigh weep to see with what unshrinking fidelity
these poor barbarians pressed to fill up the number of those who were
to undertake this desperate duty--with what kindness they took leave of
their comrades, and with what jovial shouts they followed their
sovereign with their eyes as he proceeded on his march down the hill,
leaving them behind to resist and perish. The Imperial eyes were filled
with tears; and I am not ashamed to confess, that amid the terror of
the moment, the Empress, and I myself, forgot our rank in paying a
similar tribute to these bold and self-devoted men.

"We left their leader carefully arraying his handful of comrades in
defence of the pass, where the middle path was occupied by their
centre, while their wings on either side were so disposed as to act
upon the flanks of the enemy, should he rashly press upon such as
appeared opposed to him in the road. We had not proceeded half way
towards the plain, when a dreadful shout arose, in which the yells of
the Arabs were mingled with the deep and more regular shouts which
these strangers usually repeat thrice, as well when bidding hail to
their commanders and princes, as when in the act of engaging in battle.
Many a look was turned back by their comrades, and many a form was seen
in the ranks which might have claimed the chisel of a sculptor, while
the soldier hesitated whether to follow the line of his duty, which
called him to march forward with his Emperor, or the impulse of
courage, which prompted him to rush back to join his companions.
Discipline, however, prevailed, and the main body marched on.

"An hour had elapsed, during which we heard, from time to time, the
noise of battle, when a mounted Varangian presented himself at the side
of the Emperor's litter. The horse was covered with foam, and had
obviously, from his trappings, the fineness of his limbs, and the
smallness of his joints, been the charger of some chief of the desert,
which had fallen by the chance of battle into the possession of the
northern warrior. The broad axe which the Varangian bore was also
stained with blood, and the paleness of death itself was upon his
countenance. These marks of recent battle were held sufficient to
excuse the irregularity of his salutation, while he exclaimed,--'Noble
Prince, the Arabs are defeated, and you may pursue your march at more
leisure.'

"'Where is Jezdegerd?' said the Emperor, who had many reasons for
dreading this celebrated chief.

"'Jezdegerd,' continued the Varangian, 'is where brave men are who fall
in their duty.'

"'And that is'--said the Emperor, impatient to know distinctly the fate
of so formidable an adversary--

"'Where I am now going,' answered the faithful soldier, who dropped
from his horse as he spoke, and expired at the feet of the
litter-bearers. The Emperor called to his attendants to see that the
body of this faithful retainer, to whom he destined an honourable
sepulchre, was not left to the jackal or vulture; and some of his
brethren, the Anglo-Saxons, among whom he was a man of no mean repute,
raised the body on their shoulders, and resumed their march with this
additional encumbrance, prepared to fight for their precious burden,
like the valiant Menelaus for the body of Patroclus."

The Princess Anna Comnena here naturally paused; for, having attained
what she probably considered as the rounding of a period, she was
willing to gather an idea of the feelings of her audience. Indeed, but
that she had been intent upon her own manuscript, the emotions of the
foreign soldier must have more early attracted her attention. In the
beginning of her recitation, he had retained the same attitude which he
had at first assumed, stiff and rigid as a sentinel upon duty, and
apparently remembering nothing save that he was performing that duty in
presence of the imperial court. As the narrative advanced, however, he
appeared to take more interest in what was read. The anxious fears
expressed by the various leaders in the midnight council, he listened
to with a smile of suppressed contempt, and he almost laughed at the
praises bestowed upon the leader of his own corps, Achilles Tatius. Nor
did, even the name of the Emperor, though listened to respectfully,
gain that applause for which his daughter fought so hard, and used so
much exaggeration.

Hitherto the Varangian's countenance indicated very slightly any
internal emotions; but they appeared to take a deeper hold on his mind
as she came to the description of the halt after the main army had
cleared the pass; the unexpected advance of the Arabs; the retreat of
the column which escorted the Emperor; and the account of the distant
engagement. He lost, on hearing the narration of these events, the
rigid and constrained look of a soldier, who listened to the history of
his Emperor with the same feelings with which he would have mounted
guard at his palace. His colour began to come and go; his eyes to fill
and to sparkle; his limbs to become more agitated than their owner
seemed to assent to; and his whole appearance was changed into that of
a listener, highly interested by the recitation which he hears, and
insensible, or forgetful, of whatever else is passing before him, as
well as of the quality of those who are present.

As the historian proceeded, Hereward became less able to conceal his
agitation; and at the moment the Princess looked round, his feelings
became so acute, that, forgetting where he was, he dropped his
ponderous axe upon the floor, and, clasping his hands together,
exclaimed,--"My unfortunate brother!"

All were startled by the clang of the falling weapon, and several
persons at once attempted to interfere, as called upon to explain a
circumstance so unusual. Achilles Tatius made some small progress in a
speech designed to apologize for the rough mode of venting his sorrows
to which Hereward had given way, by assuring the eminent persons
present, that the poor uncultivated barbarian was actually younger
brother to him who had commanded and fallen at the memorable defile.
The Princess said nothing, but was evidently struck, and affected, and
not ill-pleased, perhaps, at having given rise to feelings of interest
so flattering to her as an authoress. The others, each in their
character, uttered incoherent words of what was meant to be
consolation; for distress which flows from a natural cause, generally
attracts sympathy even from the most artificial characters. The voice
of Alexius silenced all these imperfect speakers: "Hah, my brave
soldier, Edward!" said the Emperor, "I must have been blind that I did
not sooner recognise thee, as I think there is a memorandum entered,
respecting five hundred pieces of gold due from us to Edward the
Varangian; we have it in our secret scroll of such liberalities for
which we stand indebted to our servitors, nor shall the payment be
longer deferred." "Not to me, if it may please you, my liege," said the
Anglo-Dane, hastily composing his countenance into its rough gravity of
lineament, "lest it should be to one who can claim no interest in your
imperial munificence. My name is Hereward; that of Edward is borne by
three of my companions, all of them as likely as I to have deserved
your Highness's reward for the faithful performance of their duty."

Many a sign was made by Tatius in order to guard his soldier against
the folly of declining the liberality of the Emperor. Agelastes spoke
more plainly: "Young man," he said, "rejoice in an honour so
unexpected, and answer henceforth to no other name save that of Edward,
by which it hath pleased the light of the world, as it poured a ray
upon thee, to distinguish thee from other barbarians. What is to thee
the font-stone, or the priest officiating thereat, shouldst thou have
derived from either any epithet different from that by which it hath
now pleased the Emperor to distinguish thee from the common mass of
humanity, and by which proud distinction thou hast now a right to be
known ever afterwards?"

"Hereward was the name of my father," said the soldier, who had now
altogether recovered his composure. "I cannot abandon it while I honour
his memory in death. Edward is the title of my comrade--I must not run
the risk of usurping his interest."

"Peace all!" interrupted the Emperor. "If we have made a mistake, we
are rich enough to right it; nor shall Hereward be the poorer, if an
Edward shall be found to merit this gratuity."

"Your Highness may trust that to your affectionate consort," answered
the Empress Irene.

"His most sacred Highness," said the Princess Anna Comnena, "is so
avariciously desirous to do whatever is good and gracious, that he
leaves no room even for his nearest connexions to display generosity or
munificence. Nevertheless, I, in my degree, will testify my gratitude
to this brave man; for where his exploits are mentioned in this
history, I will cause to be recorded,--'This feat was done by Hereward
the Anglo-Dane, whom it hath pleased his Imperial Majesty to call
Edward.' Keep this, good youth," she continued, bestowing at the same
time a ring of price, "in token that we will not forget our engagement."

Hereward accepted the token with a profound obeisance, and a
discomposure which his station rendered not unbecoming. It was obvious
to most persons present, that the gratitude of the beautiful Princess
was expressed in a manner more acceptable to the youthful
life-guardsman, than that of Alexius Comnenus. He took the ring with
great demonstration of thankfulness:--"Precious relic!" he said, as he
saluted this pledge of esteem by pressing it to his lips; "we may not
remain long together, but be assured," bending reverently to the
Princess, "that death alone shall part us."

"Proceed, our princely daughter," said the Empress Irene; "you have
done enough to show that valour is precious to her who can confer fame,
whether it be found in a Roman or a barbarian."

The Princess resumed her narrative with some slight appearance of
embarrassment.

"Our movement upon Laodicea was now resumed, and continued with good
hopes on the part of those engaged in the march. Yet instinctively we
could not help casting our eyes to the rear, which had been so long the
direction in which we feared attack. At length, to our surprise, a
thick cloud of dust was visible on the descent of the hill, half way
betwixt us and the place at which we had halted. Some of the troops who
composed our retreating body, particularly those in the rear, began to
exclaim 'The Arabs! the Arabs!' and their march assumed a more
precipitate character when they believed themselves pursed by the
enemy. But the Varangian guards affirmed with one voice, that the dust
was raised by the remains of their own comrades, who, left in the
defence of the pass, had marched off after having so valiantly
maintained the station intrusted to them. They fortified their opinion
by professional remarks that the cloud of dust was more concentrated
than if raised by the Arab horse, and they even pretended to assert,
from their knowledge of such cases, that the number of their comrades
had been much diminished in the action. Some Syrian horsemen,
despatched to reconnoitre the approaching body, brought intelligence
corresponding with the opinion of the Varangians in every particular.
The portion of the body-guard had beaten back the Arabs, and their
gallant leader had slain their chief Jezdegerd, in which service he was
mortally wounded, as this history hath already mentioned. The survivors
of the detachment, diminished by one half, were now on their march to
join the Emperor, as fast as the encumbrance of bearing their wounded
to a place of safety would permit.

"The Emperor Alexius, with one of those brilliant and benevolent ideas
which mark his paternal character towards his soldiers, ordered all the
litters, even that for his own most sacred use, to be instantly sent
back to relieve the bold Varangians of the task of bearing the wounded.
The shouts of the Varangians' gratitude may be more easily conceived
than described, when they beheld the Emperor himself descend from his
litter, like an ordinary cavalier, and assume his war-horse, at the
same time that the most sacred Empress, as well as the authoress of
this history, with other princesses born in the purple, mounted upon
mules in order to proceed upon the march, while their litters were
unhesitatingly assigned for the accommodation of the wounded men. This
was indeed a mark, as well of military sagacity as of humanity; for the
relief afforded to the bearers of the wounded, enabled the survivors of
those who had defended the defile at the fountain, to join us sooner
than would otherwise have been possible.

"It was an awful thing to see those men who had left us in the full
splendour which military equipment gives to youth and strength, again
appearing in diminished numbers--their armour shattered--their shields
full of arrows--their offensive weapons marked with blood, and they
themselves exhibiting all the signs of desperate and recent battle. Nor
was it less interesting to remark the meeting of the soldiers who had
been engaged, with the comrades whom they had rejoined. The Emperor, at
the suggestion of the trusty Acoulouthos, permitted them a few moments
to leave their ranks, and learn from each other the fate of the battle.

"As the two bands mingled, it seemed a meeting where grief and joy had
a contest together. The most rugged of these barbarians,--and I who saw
it can bear witness to the fact,--as he welcomed with a grasp of his
strong hand some comrade whom he had given up for lost, had his large
blue eyes filled with tears at hearing of the loss of some one whom he
had hoped might have survived. Other veterans reviewed the standards
which had been in the conflict, satisfied themselves that they had all
been brought back in honour and safety, and counted the fresh
arrow-shots with which they had been pierced, in addition to similar
marks of former battles. All were loud in the praises of the brave
young leader they had lost, nor were the acclamations less general in
laud of him who had succeeded to the command, who brought up the party
of his deceased brother--and whom," said the Princess, in a few words
which seemed apparently interpolated for the occasion, "I now assure of
the high honour and estimation in which he is held by the author of
this history--that is, I would say, by every member of the imperial
family--for his gallant services in such an important crisis."

Having hurried over her tribute to her friend the Varangian, in which
emotions mingled that are not willingly expressed before so many
hearers, Anna Comnena proceeded with composure in the part of her
history which was less personal.

"We had not much time to make more observations on what passed among
those brave soldiers; for a few minutes having been allowed to their
feelings, the trumpet sounded the advance towards Laodicea, and we soon
beheld the town, now about four miles from us, in fields which were
chiefly covered with trees. Apparently the garrison had already some
notice of our approach, for carts and wains were seen advancing from
the gates with refreshments, which the heat of the day, the length of
the march, and columns of dust, as well as the want of water, had
rendered of the last necessity to us. The soldiers joyfully mended
their pace in order to meet the sooner with the supplies of which they
stood so much in need. But as the cup doth not carry in all cases the
liquid treasure to the lips for which it was intended, however much it
may be longed for, what was our mortification to behold a cloud of
Arabs issue at full gallop from the wooded plain betwixt the Roman army
and the city, and throw themselves upon the waggons, slaying the
drivers, and making havoc and spoil of the contents! This, we
afterwards learned, was a body of the enemy, headed by Varanes, equal
in military fame, among those infidels, to Jezdegerd, his slain
brother. When this chieftain saw that it was probable that the
Varangians would succeed in their desperate defence of the pass, he put
himself at the head of a large body of the cavalry; and as these
infidels are mounted on horses unmatched either in speed or wind,
performed a long circuit, traversed the stony ridge of hills at a more
northerly defile, and placed himself in ambuscade in the wooded plain I
have mentioned, with the hope of making an unexpected assault upon the
Emperor and his army, at the very time when they might be supposed to
reckon upon an undisputed retreat. This surprise would certainly have
taken place, and it is not easy to say what might have been the
consequence, had not the unexpected appearance of the train of waggons
awakened the unbridled rapacity of the Arabs, in spite of their
commander's prudence, and attempts to restrain them. In this manner the
proposed ambuscade was discovered.

"But Varanes, willing still to gain some advantage from the rapidity of
his movements, assembled as many of his horsemen as could be collected
from the spoil, and pushed forward towards the Romans, who had stopped
short on their march at so unlooked for an apparition. There was an
uncertainty and wavering in our first ranks which made their hesitation
known even to so poor a judge of military demeanour as myself. On the
contrary, the Varangians joined in a unanimous cry of 'Bills'
[Footnote: Villehardouin says, "Les Anglois et Danois mult bien
rombattoint avec leurs _haches_."] (that is, in their language,
battle-axes,) 'to the front!' and the Emperor's most gracious will
acceding to their valorous desire, they pressed forward from the rear
to the head of the column. I can hardly say how this manoeuvre was
executed, but it was doubtless by the wise directions of my most serene
father, distinguished for his presence of mind upon such difficult
occasions. It was, no doubt, much facilitated by the good will of the
troops themselves; the Roman bands, called the Immortals, showing, as
it seemed to me, no less desire to fall into the rear, than did the
Varangians to occupy the places which the Immortals left vacant in
front. The manoeuvre was so happily executed, that before Varanes and
his Arabs had arrived at the van of our troops, they found it occupied
by the inflexible guard of northern soldiers. I might have seen with my
own eyes, and called upon them as sure evidences of that which chanced
upon the occasion. But, to confess the truth, my eyes were little used
to look upon such sights; for of Varanes's charge I only beheld, as it
were, a thick cloud of dust rapidly driven forward, through which were
seen the glittering points of lances, and the waving plumes of turban'd
cavaliers imperfectly visible. The tecbir was so loudly uttered, that I
was scarcely aware that kettle-drums and brazen cymbals were sounding
in concert with it. But this wild and outrageous storm was met as
effectually as if encountered by a rock.

"The Varangians, unshaken by the furious charge of the Arabs, received
horse and rider with a shower of blows from their massive battle-axes,
which the bravest of the enemy could not face, nor the strongest
endure. The guards strengthened their ranks also, by the hindmost
pressing so close upon those that went before, after the manner of the
ancient Macedonians, that the fine-limbed, though slight steeds of
those Idumeans could not make the least inroad upon the northern
phalanx. The bravest men, the most gallant horses, fell in the first
rank. The weighty, though short, horse javelins, flung from the rear
ranks of the brave Varangians, with good aim and sturdy arm, completed
the confusion of the assailants, who turned their back in affright, and
fled from the field in total confusion.

"The enemy thus repulsed, we proceeded on our march, and only halted
when we recovered our half-plundered waggons. Here, also, some
invidious remarks were made by certain officers of the interior of the
household, who had been on duty over the stores, and having fled from
their posts on the assault of the infidels, had only returned upon
their being repulsed. These men, quick in malice, though slow in
perilous service, reported that, on this occasion, the Varangians so
far forgot their duty as to consume a part of the sacred wine reserved
for the imperial lips alone. It would be criminal to deny that this was
a great and culpable oversight; nevertheless, our imperial hero passed
it over as a pardonable offence; remarking, in a jesting manner, that
since he had drunk the _ail_, as they termed it, of his trusty guard,
the Varangians had acquired a right to quench the thirst, and to
relieve the fatigue, which they had undergone that day in his defence,
though they used for these purposes the sacred contents of the imperial
cellar.

"In the meantime, the cavalry of the army were despatched in pursuit of
the fugitive Arabs; and having succeeded in driving them behind the
chain of hills which had so recently divided them from the Romans, the
imperial arms might justly be considered as having obtained a complete
and glorious victory.

"We are now to mention the rejoicings of the citizens of Laodicea, who,
having witnessed from their ramparts, with alternate fear and hope, the
fluctuations of the battle, now descended to congratulate the imperial
conqueror."

Here the fair narrator was interrupted. The principal entrance of the
apartment flew open, noiselessly indeed, but with both folding leaves
at once, not as if to accommodate the entrance of an ordinary courtier,
studying to create as little disturbance as possible, but as if there
was entering a person, who ranked so high as to make it indifferent how
much attention was drawn to his motions. It could only be one born in
the purple, or nearly allied to it, to whom such freedom was lawful;
and most of the guests, knowing who were likely to appear in that
Temple of the Muses, anticipated, from the degree of bustle, the
arrival of Nicephorus Briennius, the son-in-law of Alexius Comnenus,
the husband to the fair historian, and in the rank of Caesar, which,
however, did not at that period imply, as in early ages, the dignity of
second person in the empire. The policy of Alexius had interposed more
than one person of condition between the Caesar and his original rights
and rank, which had once been second to those only of the Emperor
himself.




CHAPTER THE FIFTH.

    The storm increases--'tis no sunny shower,
    Foster'd in the moist breast of March or April,
    Or such as parched Summer cools his lip with:
    Heaven's windows are flung wide; the inmost deeps
    Call in hoarse greeting one upon another;
    On comes the flood in all its foaming horrors,
    And where's the dike shall stop it!
                             THE DELUGE, _a Poem_.


The distinguished individual who entered was a noble Grecian, of
stately presence, whose habit was adorned with every mark of dignity,
saving those which Alexius had declared sacred to the Emperor's own
person and that of the Sebastocrator, whom he had established as next
in rank to the head of the empire. Nicephorus Briennius, who was in the
bloom of youth, retained all the marks of that manly beauty which had
made the match acceptable to Anna Comnena; while political
considerations, and the desire of attaching a powerful house as
friendly adherents of the throne, recommended the union to the Emperor.

We have already hinted that the royal bride had, though in no great
degree, the very doubtful advantage of years. Of her literary talents
we have seen tokens. Yet it was not believed by those who best knew,
that, with the aid of those claims to respect, Anna Comnena was
successful in possessing the unlimited attachment of her handsome
husband. To treat her with apparent neglect, her connexion with the
crown rendered impossible; while, on the other hand, the power of
Nicephorus's family was too great to permit his being dictated to even
by the Emperor himself. He was possessed of talents, as it was
believed, calculated both for war and peace. His advice was, therefore,
listened to, and his assistance required, so that he claimed complete
liberty with respect to his own time, which he sometimes used with less
regular attendance upon the Temple of the Muses, than the goddess of
the place thought herself entitled to, or than the Empress Irene was
disposed to exact on the part of her daughter. The good-humoured
Alexius observed a sort of neutrality in this matter, and kept it as
much as possible from becoming visible to the public, conscious that it
required the whole united strength of his family to maintain his place
in so agitated an empire.

He pressed his son-in-law's hand, as Nicephorus, passing his
father-in-law's seat, bent his knee in token of homage. The constrained
manner of the Empress indicated a more cold reception of her
son-in-law, while the fair muse herself scarcely deigned to signify her
attention to his arrival, when her handsome mate assumed the vacant
seat by her side, which we have already made mention of.

There was an awkward pause, during which the imperial son-in-law,
coldly received when he expected to be welcomed, attempted to enter
into some light conversation with the fair slave Astarte, who knelt
behind her mistress. This was interrupted by the Princess commanding
her attendant to enclose the manuscript within its appropriate casket,
and convey it with her own hands to the cabinet of Apollo, the usual
scene of the Princess's studies, as the Temple of the Muses was that
commonly dedicated to her recitations.

The Emperor himself was the first to break an unpleasant silence. "Fair
son-in-law," he said, "though it now wears something late in the night,
you will do yourself wrong if you permit our Anna to send away that
volume, with which this company have been so delectably entertained
that they may well say, that the desert hath produced roses, and the
barren rocks have poured forth milk and honey, so agreeable is the
narrative of a toilsome and dangerous campaign, in the language of our
daughter."

"The Caesar," said the Empress, "seems to have little taste for such
dainties as this family can produce. He hath of late repeatedly
absented himself from this Temple of the Muses, and found doubtless
more agreeable conversation and amusement elsewhere."

"I trust, madam," said Nicephorus, "that my taste may vindicate me from
the charge implied. But it is natural that our sacred father should be
most delighted with the milk and honey which is produced for his own
special use."

The Princess spoke in the tone of a handsome woman offended by her
lover, and feeling the offence, yet not indisposed to a reconciliation.

"If," she said, "the deeds of Nicephorus Briennius are less frequently
celebrated in that poor roll of parchment than those of my illustrious
father, he must do me the justice to remember that such was his own
special request; either proceeding from that modesty which is justly
ascribed to him as serving to soften and adorn his other attributes, or
because he with justice distrusts his wife's power to compose their
eulogium."

"We will then summon back Astarte," said the Empress, "who cannot yet
have carried her offering to the cabinet of Apollo."

"With your imperial pleasure," said Nicephorus, "it might incense the
Pythian god were a deposit to be recalled of which he alone can fitly
estimate the value. I came hither to speak with the Emperor upon
pressing affairs of state, and not to hold a literary conversation with
a company which I must needs say is something of a miscellaneous
description, since I behold an ordinary life-guardsman in the imperial
circle."

"By the rood, son-in-law," said Alexius, "you do this gallant man
wrong. He is the brother of that brave Anglo-Dane who secured the
victory at Laodicea by his valiant conduct and death; he himself is
that Edmund--or Edward---or Hereward---to whom we are ever bound for
securing the success of that victorious day. He was called into our
presence, son-in-law, since it imports that you should know so much, to
refresh the memory of any Follower, Achilles Tatius, as well as mine
own, concerning some transactions of the day of which we had become in
some degree oblivious."

"Truly, imperial sir," answered Briennius, "I grieve that, by having
intruded on some such important researches, I may have, in some degree,
intercepted a portion of that light which is to illuminate future ages.
Methinks that in a battle-field, fought under your imperial guidance,
and that of your great captains, your evidence might well supersede the
testimony of such a man as this.--Let me know," he added, turning
haughtily to the Varangian, "what particular thou canst add, that is
unnoticed in the Princess's narrative?"

The Varangian replied instantly, "Only that when we made a halt at the
fountain, the music that was there made by the ladies of the Emperor's
household, and particularly by those two whom I now behold, was the
most exquisite that ever reached my ears."

"Hah! darest thou to speak so audacious an opinion?" exclaimed
Nicephorus; "is it for such as thou to suppose for a moment that the
music which the wife and daughter of the Emperor might condescend to
make, was intended to afford either matter of pleasure or of criticism
to every plebeian barbarian who might hear them? Begone from this
place! nor dare, on any pretext, again to appear before mine
eyes--under allowance always of our imperial father's pleasure."

The Varangian bent his looks upon Achilles Tatius, as the person from
whom he was to take his orders to stay or withdraw. But the Emperor
himself took up the subject with considerable dignity.

"Son," he said, "we cannot permit this. On account of some love
quarrel, as it would seem, betwixt you and our daughter, you allow
yourself strangely to forget our imperial rank, and to order from our
presence those whom we have pleased to call to attend us. This is
neither right nor seemly, nor is it our pleasure that this same
Hereward--or Edward--or whatever be his name--either leave us at this
present moment, or do at any time hereafter regulate himself by any
commands save our own, or those of our Follower, Achilles Tatius. And
now, allowing this foolish affair, which I think was blown among us by
the wind, to pass as it came, without farther notice, we crave to know
the grave matters of state which brought you to our presence at so late
an hour.--You look again at this Varangian.--Withhold not your words, I
pray you, on account of his presence; for he stands as high in our
trust, and we are convinced with as good reason, as any counsellor who
has been sworn our domestic servant."

"To hear is to obey," returned the Emperor's son-in-law, who saw that
Alexius was somewhat moved, and knew that in such cases it was neither
safe nor expedient to drive him to extremity. "What I have to say,"
continued he, "must so soon be public news, that it little matters who
hears it; and yet the West, so full of strange changes, never sent to
the Eastern half of the globe tidings so alarming as those I now come
to tell your Imperial Highness. Europe, to borrow an expression from
this lady, who honours me by calling me husband, seems loosened from
its foundations and about to precipitate itself upon Asia"----

"So I did express myself," said the Princess Anna Comnena, "and, as I
trust, not altogether unforcibly, when we first heard that the wild
impulse of those restless barbarians of Europe had driven a tempest as
of a thousand nations upon our western frontier, with the extravagant
purpose, as they pretended, of possessing themselves of Syria, and the
holy places there marked as the sepulchres of prophets, the martyrdom
of saints, and the great events detailed in the blessed gospel. But
that storm, by all accounts, hath burst and passed away, and we well
hoped that the danger had gone with it. Devoutly shall we sorrow to
find it otherwise."

"And otherwise we must expect to find it," said her husband. "It is
very true, as reported to us, that a huge body of men, of low rank and
little understanding, assumed arms at the instigation of a mad hermit,
and took the road from Germany to Hungary, expecting miracles to be
wrought in their favour, as when Israel was guided through the
wilderness by a pillar of flame and a cloud. But no showers of manna or
of quails relieved their necessities, or proclaimed them the chosen
people of God. No waters gushed from the rock for their refreshment.
They were enraged at their sufferings, and endeavoured to obtain
supplies by pillaging the country. The Hungarians, and other nations on
our western frontiers, Christians, like themselves, did not hesitate to
fall upon this disorderly rabble; and immense piles of bones, in wild
passes and unfrequented deserts, attest the calamitous defeats which
extirpated these unholy pilgrims."

"All this," said the Emperor, "we knew before;--but what new evil now
threatens, since we have already escaped so important a one?"

"Knew before?" said the Prince Nicephorus. "We knew nothing of our real
danger before, save that a wild herd of animals, as brutal and as
furious as wild bulls, threatened to bend their way to a pasture for
which they had formed a fancy, and deluged the Grecian empire, and its
vicinity, in their passage, expecting that Palestine, with its streams
of milk and honey, once more awaited them, as God's predestined people.
But so wild and disorderly an invasion had no terrors for a civilized
nation like the Romans. The brute herd was terrified by our Greek fire;
it was snared and shot down by the wild nations who, while they pretend
to independence, cover our frontier as with a protecting fortification.
The vile multitude has been consumed even by the very quality of the
provisions thrown in their way,--those wise means of resistance which
were at once suggested by the paternal care of the Emperor, and by his
unfailing policy. Thus wisdom has played its part, and the bark over
which the tempest had poured its thunder, has escaped, notwithstanding
all its violence. But the second storm, by which the former is so
closely followed, is of a new descent of these Western nations, more
formidable than any which we or our fathers have yet seen. This
consists not of the ignorant or of the fanatical--not of the base, the
needy, and the improvident. Now,--all that wide Europe possesses of
what is wise and worthy, brave and noble, are united by the most
religious vows, in the same purpose."

"And what is that purpose? Speak plainly," said Alexius. "The
destruction of our whole Roman empire, and the blotting out the very
name of its chief from among the princes of the earth, among which it
has long been predominant, can alone be an adequate motive for a
confederacy such as thy speech infers."

"No such design is avowed," said Nicephorus; "and so many princes, wise
men, and statesmen of eminence, aim, it is pretended, at nothing else
than the same extravagant purpose announced by the brute multitude who
first appeared in these regions. Here, most gracious Emperor, is a
scroll, in which you will find marked down a list of the various armies
which, by different routes, are approaching the vicinity of the empire.
Behold, Hugh of Vermandois, called from his dignity Hugh the Great, has
set sail from the shores of Italy. Twenty knights have already
announced their coming, sheathed in armour of steel, inlaid with gold,
bearing this proud greeting:--'Let the Emperor of Greece, and his
lieutenants, understand that Hugo, Earl of Vermandois, is approaching
his territories. He is brother to the king of kings--The King of
France,[Footnote: Ducange pours out a whole ocean of authorities to
show that the King of France was in those days styled _Rex_, by way of
eminence. See his notes on the Alexiad. Anna Comnena in her history
makes Hugh, of Vermandois assume to himself the titles which could
only, in the most enthusiastic Frenchman's opinion, have been claimed
by his older brother, the reigning monarch.] namely--and is attended by
the flower of the French nobility. He bears the blessed banner of St.
Peter, intrusted to his victorious care by the holy successor of the
apostle, and warns thee of all this, that thou mayst provide a
reception suitable to his rank.'"

"Here are sounding words," said the Emperor; "but the wind which
whistles loudest is not always most dangerous to the vessel. We know
something of this nation of France, and have heard more. They are as
petulant at least as they are valiant; we will flatter their vanity
till we get time and opportunity for more effectual defence. Tush! if
words can pay debt, there is no fear of our exchequer becoming
insolvent.--What follows here, Nicephorus? A list, I suppose, of the
followers of this great count?"

"My liege, no!" answered Nicephorus Briennius; "so many independent
chiefs, as your Imperial Highness sees in that memorial, so many
independent European armies are advancing by different routes towards
the East, and announce the conquest of Palestine from the infidels as
their common object."

"A dreadful enumeration," said the Emperor, as he perused the list;
"yet so far happy, that its very length assures us of the impossibility
that so many princes can be seriously and consistently united in so
wild a project. Thus already my eyes catch the well-known name of an
old friend, our enemy--for such are the alternate chances of peace and
war--Bohemond of Antioch. Is not he the son of the celebrated Robert of
Apulia, so renowned among his countrymen, who raised himself to the
rank of grand duke from a simple cavalier, and became sovereign of
those of his warlike nation, both in Sicily and Italy? Did not the
standards of the German Emperor, of the Roman Pontiff, nay, our own
imperial banners, give way before him; until, equally a wily statesman
and a brave warrior, he became the terror of Europe, from being a
knight whose Norman castle would have been easily garrisoned by six
cross-bows, and as many lances? It is a dreadful family, a race of
craft as well as power. But Bohemond, the son of old Robert, will
follow his father's politics. He may talk of Palestine and of the
interests of Christendom, but if I can make his interests the same with
mine, he is not likely to be guided by any other object. So then, with
the knowledge I already possess of his wishes and projects, it may
chance that Heaven sends us an ally in the guise of an enemy.--Whom
have we next? Godfrey [Footnote: Godfrey of Bouillon, Duke of Lower
Lorraine--the great Captain of the first Crusade, afterwards King of
Jerusalem. See Gibbon,--or Mills, _passim_.] Duke of Bouillon--leading,
I see, a most formidable band from the banks of a huge river called the
Rhine. What is this person's character?"

"As we hear," replied Nicephorus, "this Godfrey is one of the wisest,
noblest, and bravest of the leaders who have thus strangely put
themselves in motion; and among a list of independent princes, as many
in number as those who assembled for the siege of Troy, and followed,
most of them, by subjects ten times more numerous, this Godfrey may be
regarded as the Agamemnon. The princes and counts esteem him, because
he is the foremost in the ranks of those whom they fantastically call
Knights, and also on account of the good faith and generosity which he
practises in all his transactions. The clergy give him credit for the
highest zeal for the doctrines of religion, and a corresponding respect
for the Church and its dignitaries. Justice, liberality, and frankness,
have equally attached to this Godfrey the lower class of the people.
His general attention to moral obligations is a pledge to them that his
religion is real; and, gifted with so much that is excellent, he is
already, although inferior in rank, birth, and power to many chiefs of
the crusade, justly regarded as one of its principal leaders."

"Pity," said the Emperor, "that a character such as you describe this
Prince to be, should be under the dominion of a fanaticism scarce
worthy of Peter the Hermit, or the clownish multitude which he led, or
of the very ass which he rode upon! which I am apt to think the wisest
of the first multitude whom we beheld, seeing that it ran away towards
Europe as soon as water and barley became scarce."

"Might I be permitted here to speak, and yet live," said Agelastes, "I
would remark that the Patriarch himself made a similar retreat so soon
as blows became plenty and food scarce."

"Thou hast hit it, Agelastes," said the Emperor; "but the question now
is, whether an honorable and important principality could not be formed
out of part of the provinces of the Lesser Asia, now laid waste by the
Turks. Such a principality, methinks, with its various advantages of
soil, climate, industrious inhabitants, and a healthy atmosphere, were
well worth the morasses of Bouillon. It might be held as a dependence
upon the sacred Roman empire, and garrisoned, as it were, by Godfrey
and his victorious Franks, would be a bulwark on that point to our just
and sacred person. Ha! most holy patriarch, would not such a prospect
shake the most devout Crusader's attachment to the burning sands of
Palestine?"

"Especially," answered the Patriarch, "if the prince for whom such a
rich _theme_ [Footnote: These provinces were called _Themes_.] was
changed into a feudal appanage, should be previously converted to the
only true faith, as your Imperial Highness undoubtedly means."

"Certainly--most unquestionably," answered the Emperor, with a due
affectation of gravity, notwithstanding he was internally conscious how
often he had been compelled, by state necessities, to admit, not only
Latin Christians, but Manicheans, and other heretics, nay, Mahomedan
barbarians, into the number of his subjects, and that without
experiencing opposition from the scruples of the Patriarch. "Here I
find," continued the Emperor, "such a numerous list of princes and
principalities in the act of approaching our boundaries, as might well
rival the armies of old, who were said to have drunk up rivers,
exhausted realms, and trode down forests, in their wasteful advance."
As he pronounced these words, a shade of paleness came over the
Imperial brow, similar to that which had already clothed in sadness
most of his counsellors.

"This war of nations," said Nicephorus, "has also circumstances
distinguishing it from every other, save that which his Imperial
Highness hath waged in former times against those whom we are
accustomed to call Franks. We must go forth against a people to whom
the strife of combat is as the breath of their nostrils; who, rather
than not be engaged in war, will do battle with their nearest
neighbours, and challenge each other to mortal fight, as much in sport
as we would defy a comrade to a chariot-race. They are covered with an
impenetrable armour of steel, defending them from blows of the lance
and sword, and which the uncommon strength of their horses renders them
able to support, though one of ours could as well bear Mount Olympus
upon his loins. Their foot-ranks carry a missile weapon unknown to us,
termed an arblast, or cross-bow. It is not drawn with the right hand,
like the bow of other nations, but by placing the feet upon the weapon
itself, and pulling with the whole force of the body; and it despatches
arrows called bolts, of hard wood pointed with iron, which the strength
of the bow can send through the strongest breastplates, and even
through stone walls, where not of uncommon thickness."

"Enough," said the Emperor; "we have seen with our own eyes the lances
of Frankish knights, and the cross-bows of their infantry. If Heaven
has allotted them a degree of bravery, which to other nations seems
wellnigh preternatural, the Divine will has given to the Greek councils
that wisdom which it hath refused to barbarians; the art of achieving
conquest by wisdom rather than brute force--obtaining by our skill in
treaty advantages which victory itself could not have procured. If we
have not the use of that dreadful weapon, which our son-in-law terms
the cross-bow, Heaven, in its favour, has concealed from these western
barbarians the composition and use of the Greek fire--well so called,
since by Grecian hands alone it is prepared, and by such only can its
lightnings be darted upon the astonished foe." The Emperor paused, and
looked around him; and although the faces of his counsellors still
looked blank, he boldly proceeded:--"But to return yet again to this
black scroll, containing the names of those nations who approach our
frontier, here occur more than one with which, methinks, old memory
should make us familiar, though our recollections are distant and
confused. It becomes us to know who these men are, that we may avail
ourselves of those feuds and quarrels among them, which, being blown
into life, may happily divert them from the prosecution of this
extraordinary attempt in which they are now united. Here is, for
example, one Robert, styled Duke of Normandy, who commands a goodly
band of counts, with which title we are but too well acquainted; of
_earls_, a word totally strange to us, but apparently some barbaric
title of honour; and of knights whose names are compounded, as we
think, chiefly of the French language, but also of another jargon,
which we are not ourselves competent to understand. To you, most
reverend and most learned Patriarch, we may fittest apply for
information on this subject."

"The duties of my station," replied the patriarch Zosimus, "have
withheld my riper years from studying the history of distant realms;
but the wise Agelastes, who hath read as many volumes as would fill the
shelves of the famous Alexandrian library, can no doubt satisfy your
Imperial Majesty's enquiries."

Agelastes erected himself on those enduring legs which had procured him
the surname of Elephant, and began a reply to the enquiries of the
Emperor, rather remarkable for readiness than accuracy. "I have read,"
said he, "in that brilliant mirror which reflects the time of our
fathers, the volumes of the learned Procopius, that the people
separately called Normans and Angles are in truth the same race, and
that Normandy, sometimes so called, is in fact a part of a district of
Gaul. Beyond, and nearly opposite to it, but separated by an arm of the
sea, lies a ghastly region, on which clouds and tempests for ever rest,
and which is well known to its continental neighbours as the abode to
which departed spirits are sent after this life. On one side of the
strait dwell a few fishermen, men possessed of a strange charter, and
enjoying singular privileges, in consideration of their being the
living ferrymen who, performing the office of the heathen Charon, carry
the spirits of the departed to the island which is their residence
after death. At the dead of night, these fishermen are, in rotation,
summoned to perform the duty by which they seem to hold the permission
to reside on this strange coast. A knock is heard at the door of his
cottage who holds the turn of this singular service, sounded by no
mortal hand. A whispering, as of a decaying breeze, summons the
ferryman to his duty. He hastens to his bark on the sea-shore, and has
no sooner launched it than he perceives its hull sink sensibly in the
water, so as to express the weight of the dead with whom it is filled.
No form is seen, and though voices are heard, yet the accents are
undistinguishable, as of one who speaks in his sleep. Thus he traverses
the strait between the continent and the island, impressed with the
mysterious awe which affects the living when they are conscious of the
presence of the dead. They arrive upon the opposite coast, where the
cliffs of white chalk form a strange contrast with the eternal darkness
of the atmosphere. They stop at a landing-place appointed, but
disembark not, for the land is never trodden by earthly feet. Here the
passage-boat is gradually lightened of its unearthly inmates, who
wander forth in the way appointed to them, while the mariners slowly
return to their own side of the strait, having performed for the time
this singular service, by which they hold their fishing-huts and their
possessions on that strange coast." Here he ceased, and the Emperor
replied,--

"If this legend be actually told us by Procopius, most learned
Agelastes, it shows that that celebrated historian came more near the
heathen than the Christian belief respecting the future state. In
truth, this is little more than the old fable of the infernal Styx.
Procopius, we believe, lived before the decay of heathenism, and, as we
would gladly disbelieve much which he hath told us respecting our
ancestor and predecessor Justinian, so we will not pay him much credit
in future in point of geographical knowledge.--Meanwhile, what ails
thee, Achilles Tatius, and why dost thou whisper with that soldier?"

"My head," answered Achilles Tatius, "is at your imperial command,
prompt to pay for the unbecoming trespass of my tongue. I did but ask
of this Hereward here what he knew of this matter; for I have heard my
Varangians repeatedly call themselves Anglo-Danes, Normans, Britons, or
some other barbaric epithet, and I am sure that one or other, or it may
be all, of these barbarous sounds, at different times serve to
designate the birth-place of these exiles, too happy in being banished
from the darkness of barbarism, to the luminous vicinity of your
imperial presence."

"Speak, then, Varangian, in the name of Heaven," said the Emperor, "and
let us know whether we are to look for friends or enemies in those men
of Normandy who are now approaching our frontier. Speak with courage,
man; and if thou apprehendest danger, remember thou servest a prince
well qualified to protect thee."

"Since I am at liberty to speak," answered the life-guardian, "although
my knowledge of the Greek language, which you term the Roman, is but
slight, I trust it is enough to demand of his Imperial Highness, in
place of all pay, donative, or gift whatsoever, since he has been
pleased to talk of designing such for me, that he would place me in the
first line of battle which shall be formed against these same Normans,
and their Duke Robert; and if he pleases to allow me the aid of such
Varangians as, for love of me, or hatred of their ancient tyrants, may
be disposed to join their arms to mine, I have little doubt so to
settle our long accounts with these men, that the Grecian eagles and
wolves shall do them the last office, by tearing the flesh from their
bones."

"What dreadful feud is this, my soldier," said the Emperor, "that after
so many years still drives thee to such extremities when the very name
of Normandy is mentioned?"

"Your Imperial Highness shall be judge!" said the Varangian. "My
fathers, and those of most, though not all of the corps to whom I
belong, are descended from a valiant race who dwelt in the North of
Germany, called Anglo-Saxons. Nobody, save a priest possessed of the
art of consulting ancient chronicles, can even guess how long it is
since they came to the island of Britain, then distracted with civil
war. They came, however, on the petition of the natives of the island,
for the aid of the Angles was requested by the southern inhabitants.
Provinces were granted in recompense of the aid thus liberally
afforded, and the greater proportion of the island became, by degrees,
the property of the Anglo-Saxons, who occupied it at first as several
principalities, and latterly as one kingdom, speaking the language, and
observing the laws, of most of those who now form your imperial
body-guard of Varangians, or exiles. In process of time, the Northmen
became known to the people of the more southern climates. They were so
called from their coming from the distant regions of the Baltic Sea--an
immense ocean, sometimes frozen with ice as hard as the cliffs of Mount
Caucasus. They came seeking milder regions than nature had assigned
them at home; and the climate of France being delightful, and its
people slow in battle, they extorted from them the grant of a large
province which was, from the name of the new settlers, called Normandy,
though I have heard my father say that was not its proper appellation.
They settled there under a Duke, who acknowledged the superior
authority of the King of France, that is to say, obeying him when it
suited his convenience so to do.

"Now, it chanced many years since, while these two nations of Normans
and Anglo-Saxons were quietly residing upon different sides of the
salt-water channel which divides France from England, that William,
Duke of Normandy, suddenly levied a large army, came over to Kent,
which is on the opposite side of the channel, and there defeated in a
great battle, Harold, who was at that time King of the Anglo-Saxons. It
is but grief to tell what followed. Battles have been fought in old
time, that have had dreadful results, which years, nevertheless, could
wash away; but at Hastings--O woe's me!--the banner of my country fell,
never again to be raised up. Oppression has driven her wheel over us.
All that was valiant amongst us have left the land; and of
Englishmen--for such is our proper designation--no one remains in
England save as the thrall of the invaders. Many men of Danish descent,
who had found their way on different occasions to England, were blended
in the common calamity. All was laid desolate by the command of the
victors. My father's home lies now an undistinguished ruin, amid an
extensive forest, composed out of what were formerly fair fields and
domestic pastures, where a manly race derived nourishment by
cultivating a friendly soil. The fire has destroyed the church where
sleep the fathers of my race; and I, the last of their line, am a
wanderer in other climates--a fighter of the battles of others--the
servant of a foreign, though a kind master; in a word, one of the
banished--a Varangian."

"Happier in that station" said Achilles Tatius, "than in all the
barbaric simplicity which your forefathers prized so highly, since you
are now under the cheering influence of that smile which is the life of
the world."

"It avails not talking of this," said the Varangian, with a cold
gesture.

"These Normans" said the Emperor, "are then the people by whom the
celebrated island of Britain is now conquered and governed?"

"It is but too true" answered the Varangian.

"They are, then, a brave and warlike people?"--said Alexius.

"It would be base and false to say otherwise of an enemy" said
Hereward. "Wrong have they done me, and a wrong never to be atoned; but
to speak falsehood of them were but a woman's vengeance. Mortal enemies
as they are to me, and mingling with all my recollections as that which
is hateful and odious, yet were the troops of Europe mustered, as it
seems they are likely to be, no nation or tribe dared in gallantry
claim the advance of the haughty Norman."

"And this Duke Robert, who is he?"

"That," answered the Varangian, "I cannot so well explain. He is the
son--the eldest son, as men say, of the tyrant William, who subdued
England when I hardly existed, or was a child in the cradle. That
William, the victor of Hastings, is now dead, we are assured by
concurring testimony; but while it seems his eldest son Duke Robert has
become his heir to the Duchy of Normandy, some other of his children
have been so fortunate as to acquire the throne of England,--unless,
indeed, like the petty farm of some obscure yeoman, the fair kingdom
has been divided among the tyrant's issue."

"Concerning this," said the Emperor, "we have heard something, which we
shall try to reconcile with the soldier's narrative at leisure, holding
the words of this honest Varangian as positive proof, in whatsoever he
avers from his own knowledge.--And now, my grave and worthy
counsellors, we must close this evening's service in the Temple of the
Muses, this distressing news, brought us by our dearest son-in-law the
Caesar, having induced us to prolong our worship of these learned
goddesses, deeper into the night than is consistent with the health of
our beloved wife and daughter; while to ourselves, this intelligence
brings subject for grave deliberation."

The courtiers exhausted their ingenuity in forming the most ingenious
prayers, that all evil consequences should be averted which could
attend this excessive vigilance.

Nicephorus and his fair bride spoke together as a pair equally desirous
to close an accidental breach between them. "Some things thou hast
said, my Caesar," observed the lady, "in detailing this dreadful
intelligence, as elegantly turned as if the nine goddesses, to whom
this temple is dedicated, had lent each her aid to the sense and
expression."

"I need none of their assistance," answered Nicephorus, "since I
possess a muse of my own, in whose genius are included all those
attributes which the heathens vainly ascribed to the nine deities of
Parnassus!"

"It is well," said the fair historian, retiring by the assistance of
her husband's arm; "but if you will load your wife with praises far
beyond her merits, you must lend her your arm to support her under the
weighty burden you have been pleased to impose." The council parted
when the imperial persons had retired, and most of them sought to
indemnify themselves in more free though less dignified circles, for
the constraint which they had practised in the Temple of the Muses.




CHAPTER THE SIXTH.

     Vain man! thou mayst, esteem thy love as fair
     As fond hyperboles suffice to raise.
     She may be all that's matchless in her person,
     And all-divine in soul to match her body;
     But take this from me--thou shalt never call her
     Superior to her sex, while _one_ survives,
     And I am her true votary.
                                   OLD PLAY.


Achilles Tatius, with his faithful Varangian close by his shoulder,
melted from the dispersing assembly silently and almost invisibly, as
snow is dissolved from its Alpine abodes as the days become more
genial. No lordly step, nor clash of armour, betokened the retreat of
the military persons. The very idea of the necessity of guards was not
ostentatiously brought forward, because, so near the presence of the
Emperor, the emanation supposed to flit around that divinity of earthly
sovereigns, had credit for rendering it impassive and unassailable.
Thus the oldest and most skilful courtiers, among whom our friend
Agelastes was not to be forgotten, were of opinion, that, although the
Emperor employed the ministry of the Varangians and other guards, it
was rather for form's sake, than from any danger of the commission of a
crime of a kind so heinous, that it was the fashion to account it
almost impossible. And this doctrine, of the rare occurrence of such a
crime, was repeated from month to month in those very chambers, where
it had oftener than once been perpetrated, and sometimes by the very
persons who monthly laid schemes for carrying some dark conspiracy
against the reigning Emperor into positive execution.

At length the captain of the life-guardsmen, and his faithful
attendant, found themselves on the outside of the Blacquernal Palace.
The passage which Achilles found for their exit, was closed by a
postern which a single Varangian shut behind, them, drawing, at the
same time, bolt and bar with an ill-omened and jarring sound. Looking
back at the mass of turrets, battlements, and spires, out of which they
had at length emerged, Hereward could not but feel his heart lighten to
find "himself once more under the deep blue of a Grecian heaven, where
the planets were burning with unusual lustre. He sighed and rubbed his
hands with pleasure, like a man newly restored to liberty. He even
spoke to his leader, contrary to his custom unless
addressed:--"Methinks the air of yonder halls, valorous Captain,
carries with it a perfume, which, though it may be well termed sweet,
is so suffocating, as to be more suitable to sepulchrous chambers, than
to the dwellings of men. Happy I am that I am free, as I trust, from
its influences."

"Be happy, then," said Achilles Tatius, "since thy vile, cloddish
spirit feels suffocation rather than refreshment in gales, which,
instead of causing death, might recall the dead themselves to life. Yet
this I will say for thee, Hereward, that, born a barbarian, within the
narrow circle of a savage's desires and pleasures, and having no idea
of life, save what thou derivest from such vile and base connexions,
thou art, nevertheless, designed by nature for better things, and hast
this day sustained a trial, in which, I fear me, not even one of mine
own noble corps, frozen as they are into lumps of unfashioned
barbarity, could have equalled thy bearing. And speak now in true
faith, hast not thou been rewarded?"

"That will I never deny," said the Varangian. "The pleasure of knowing,
twenty-four hours perhaps before my comrades, that the Normans are
coming hither to afford us a full revenge of the bloody day of
Hastings, is a lordly recompense, for the task of spending some hours
in hearing the lengthened chat of a lady, who has written about she
knows not what, and the flattering commentaries of the bystanders, who
pretended to give her an account of what they did not themselves stop
to witness."

"Hereward, my good youth," said Achilles Tatius, "thou ravest, and I
think I should do well to place thee under the custody of some person
of skill. Too much hardihood, my valiant soldier, is in soberness
allied to over-daring. It was only natural that thou shouldst feel a
becoming pride in thy late position; yet, let it but taint thee with
vanity, and the effect will be little short of madness. Why, thou hast
looked boldly in the face of a Princess born in the purple, before whom
my own eyes, though well used to such spectacles, are never raised
beyond the foldings of her veil."

"So be it in the name of Heaven!" replied Hereward. "Nevertheless,
handsome faces were made to look upon, and the eyes of young men to see
withal."

"If such be their final end," said Achilles, "never did thine, I will
freely suppose, find a richer apology for the somewhat overbold license
which thou tookest in thy gaze upon the Princess this evening."

"Good leader, or Follower, whichever is your favourite title," said the
Anglo-Briton, "drive not to extremity a plain man, who desires to hold
his duty in all honour to the imperial family. The Princess, wife of
the Caesar, and born, you tell me, of a purple colour, has now
inherited, notwithstanding, the features of a most lovely woman. She
hath composed a history, of which I presume not to form a judgment,
since I cannot understand it; she sings like an angel; and to conclude,
after the fashion of the knights of this day--though I deal not
ordinarily with their language--I would say cheerfully, that I am ready
to place myself in lists against any one whomsoever, who dares detract
from the beauty of the imperial Anna Comnena's person, or from the
virtues of her mind. Having said this, my noble captain, we have said
all that it is competent for you to inquire into, or for me to answer.
That there are hansomer women than the Princess, is unquestionable; and
I question it the less, that I have myself seen a person whom I think
far her superior; and with that let us close the dialogue."

"Thy beauty, thou unparalleled fool," said Achilles, "must, I ween, be
the daughter of the large-bodied northern boor, living next door to him
upon whose farm was brought up the person of an ass, curst with such
intolerable want of judgment."

"You may say your pleasure, captain," replied Hereward: "because it is
the safer for us both that thou canst not on such a topic either offend
me, who hold thy judgment as light as thou canst esteem mine, or speak
any derogation of a person whom you never saw, but whom, if you had
seen, perchance I might not so patiently have brooked any reflections
upon, even at the hands of a military superior."

Achilles Tatius had a good deal of the penetration necessary for one in
his situation. He never provoked to extremity the daring spirits whom
he commanded, and never used any freedom with them beyond the extent
that he knew their patience could bear. Hereward was a favourite
soldier, and had, in that respect at least, a sincere liking and regard
for his commander: when, therefore, the Follower, instead of resenting
his petulance, good-humouredly apologized for having hurt his feelings,
the momentary displeasure between them was at an end; the officer at
once reassumed his superiority, and the soldier sunk back with a deep
sigh, given to some period which was long past, into his wonted silence
and reserve. Indeed the Follower had another and further design upon
Hereward, of which he was as yet unwilling to do more than give a
distant hint.

After a long pause, during which they approached the barracks, a gloomy
fortified building constructed for the residence of their corps, the
captain motioned his soldier to draw close up to his side, and
proceeded to ask him, in a confidential tone--"Hereward, my friend,
although it is scarce to be supposed that in the presence of the
imperial family thou shouldst mark any one who did not partake of their
blood, or rather, as Homer has it, who did not participate of the
divine _ichor_, which, in their sacred persons, supplies the place of
that vulgar fluid; yet, during so long an audience, thou mightst
possibly, from his uncourtly person and attire, have distinguished
Agelastes, whom we courtiers call the Elephant, from his strict
observation of the rule which forbids any one to sit down or rest in
the Imperial presence?"

"I think," replied the soldier, "I marked the man you mean; his age was
some seventy and upwards,--a big burly person;--and the baldness which
reached to the top of his head was well atoned for by a white beard of
prodigious size, which descended in waving curls over his breast, and
reached to the towel with which his loins were girded, instead of the
silken sash used by other persons of rank."

"Most accurately marked, my Varangian," said the officer. "What else
didst thou note about this person?"

"His cloak was in its texture as coarse as that of the meanest of the
people, but it was strictly clean, as if it had been the intention of
the wearer to exhibit poverty, or carelessness and contempt of dress,
avoiding, at the same time, every particular which implied anything
negligent, sordid, or disgusting."

"By St. Sophia!" said the officer, "thou astonishest me! The Prophet
Baalam was not more surprised when his ass turned round her head and
spoke to him!--And what else didst thou note concerning this man? I see
those who meet thee must beware of thy observation, as well as of thy
battle-axe."

"If it please your Valour" answered the soldier, "we English have eyes
as well as hands; but it is only when discharging our duty that we
permit our tongues to dwell on what we have observed. I noted but
little of this man's conversation, but from what I heard, it seemed he
was not unwilling to play what we call the jester, or jack-pudding, in
the conversation, a character which, considering the man's age and
physiognomy, is not, I should be tempted to say, natural, but assumed
for some purpose of deeper import."

"Hereward," answered his officer, "thou hast spoken like an angel sent
down to examine men's bosoms: that man, Agelastes, is a contradiction,
such as earth has seldom witnessed. Possessing all that wisdom which in
former times united the sages of this nation with the gods themselves,
Agelastes has the same cunning as the elder Brutus, who disguised his
talents under the semblance of an idle jester. He appears to seek no
office--he desires no consideration--he pays suit at court only when
positively required to do so; yet what shall I say, my soldier,
concerning the cause of an influence gained without apparent effort,
and extending almost into the very thoughts of men, who appear to act
as he would desire, without his soliciting them to that purpose? Men
say strange things concerning the extent of his communications with
other beings, whom our fathers worshipped with prayer and sacrifice. I
am determined, however, to know the road by which he climbs so high and
so easily towards the point to which all men aspire at court, and it
will go hard but he shall either share his ladder with me, or I will
strike its support from under him. Thee, Hereward, I have chosen to
assist me in this matter, as the knights among these Frankish infidels
select, when going upon an adventure, a sturdy squire, or inferior
attendant, to share the dangers and the recompense; and this I am moved
to, as much by the shrewdness thou hast this night manifested, as by
the courage which thou mayst boast, in common with, or rather beyond,
thy companions."

"I am obliged, and I thank your Valour," replied the Varangian, more
coldly perhaps than his officer expected; "I am ready, as is my duty,
to serve you in anything consistent with God and the Emperor's claims
upon my service. I would only say, that, as a sworn inferior soldier, I
will do nothing contrary to the laws of the empire, and, as a sincere
though ignorant Christian, I will have nothing to do with the gods of
the heathens, save to defy them in the name and strength of the holy
saints."

"Idiot!" said Achilles Tatius, "dost thou think that I, already
possessed of one of the first dignities of the empire, could meditate
anything contrary to the interests of Alexius Comnenus? or, what would
be scarce more atrocious, that I, the chosen friend and ally of the
reverend Patriarch Zosimus, should meddle with anything bearing a
relation, however remote, to heresy or idolatry?"

"Truly," answered the Varangian, "no one would be more surprised or
grieved than I should; but when we walk in a labyrinth, we must assume
and announce that we have a steady and forward purpose, which is one
mode at least of keeping a straight path. The people of this country
have so many ways of saying the same thing, that one can hardly know at
last what is their real meaning. We English, on the other hand, can
only express ourselves in one set of words, but it is one out of which
all the ingenuity of the world could not extract a double meaning."

"'Tis well," said his officer, "to-morrow we will talk more of this,
for which purpose thou wilt come to my quarters a little after sunset.
And, hark thee, to-morrow, while the sun is in heaven, shall be thine
own, either to sport thyself or to repose. Employ thy time in the
latter, by my advice, since to-morrow night, like the present, may find
us both watchers."

So saying, they entered the barracks, where they parted company--the
commander of the life-guards taking his way to a splendid set of
apartments which belonged to him in that capacity, and the Anglo-Saxon
seeking his humble accommodations as a subaltern officer of the same
corps.




CHAPTER THE SEVENTH.

     Such forces met not, nor so vast a camp,
     When Agrican, with all his northern powers,
     Besieged Albraeca, as romances tell.
     The city of Gallaphron, from thence to win
     The fairest of her sex, Angelica,
     His daughter, sought by many prowess'd knights,
     Both Paynim, and the Peers of Charlemagne.
                        PARADISE REGAINED.


Early on the morning of the day following that which we have
commemorated, the Imperial Council was assembled, where the number of
general officers with sounding titles, disguised under a thin veil the
real weakness of the Grecian empire. The commanders were numerous and
the distinctions of their rank minute, but the soldiers were very few
in comparison. The offices formerly filled by prefects, praetors, and
questors, were now held by persons who had gradually risen into the
authority of those officers, and who, though designated from their
domestic duties about the Emperor, yet, from that very circumstance,
possessed what, in that despotic court, was the most effectual source
of power. A long train of officers entered the great hall of the Castle
of Blacquernal, and proceeded so far together as their different grades
admitted, while in each chamber through which they passed in
succession, a certain number of the train whose rank permitted them to
advance no farther, remained behind the others. Thus, when the interior
cabinet of audience was gained, which was not until their passage
through ten anterooms, five persons only found themselves in the
presence of the Emperor in this innermost and most sacred recess of
royalty, decorated by all the splendour of the period.

The Emperor Alexius sat upon a stately throne, rich with barbaric gems
and gold, and flanked on either hand, in imitation probably of
Solomon's magnificence, with the form of a couchant lion in the same
precious metal. Not to dwell upon other marks of splendour, a tree
whose trunk seemed also of gold, shot up behind the throne, which it
over-canopied with its branches. Amid the boughs were birds of various
kinds curiously wrought and enamelled, and fruit composed of precious
stones seemed to glisten among the leaves. Five officers alone, the
highest in the state, had the privilege of entering this sacred recess
when the Emperor held council. These were--the Grand Domestic, who
might be termed of rank with a modern prime minister--the Logothete, or
chancellor--the Protospathaire, or commander of the guards, already
mentioned--the Acolyte, or Follower, and leader of the Varangians--and
the Patriarch.

The doors of this secret apartment, and the adjacent antechamber, were
guarded by six deformed Nubian slaves, whose writhen and withered
countenances formed a hideous contrast with their snow-white dresses
and splendid equipment. They were mutes, a species of wretches borrowed
from the despotism of the East, that they might be unable to proclaim
the deeds of tyranny of which they were the unscrupulous agents. They
were generally held in a kind of horror, rather than compassion, for
men considered that slaves of this sort had a malignant pleasure in
avenging upon others the irreparable wrongs which had severed
themselves from humanity. It was a general custom, though, like many
other usages of the Greeks, it would be held childish in modern times,
that by means of machinery easily conceived, the lions, at the entrance
of a stranger, were made, as it were, to rouse themselves and roar,
after which a wind seemed to rustle the foliage of the tree, the birds
hopped from branch to branch, pecked the fruit, and appeared to fill
the chamber with their carolling. This display had alarmed many an
ignorant foreign ambassador, and even the Grecian counsellors
themselves were expected to display the same sensations of fear,
succeeded by surprise, when they heard the roar of the lions, followed
by the concert of the birds, although perhaps it was for the fiftieth
time. On this occasion, as a proof of the urgency of the present
meeting of the council, these ceremonies were entirely omitted.

The speech of the Emperor himself seemed to supply by its commencement
the bellowing of the lions, while it ended in a strain more resembling
the warbling of the birds.

In his first sentences, he treated of the audacity and unheard-of
boldness of the millions of Franks, who, under the pretence of wresting
Palestine from the infidels, had ventured to invade the sacred
territories of the empire. He threatened them with such chastisement as
his innumerable forces and officers would, he affirmed, find it easy to
inflict. To all this the audience, and especially the military
officers, gave symptoms of ready assent. Alexius, however, did not long
persist in the warlike intentions which he at first avowed. The Franks,
he at length seemed to reflect, were, in profession, Christians. They
might possibly be serious in their pretext of the crusade, in which
case their motives claimed a degree of indulgence, and, although
erring, a certain portion of respect. Their numbers also were great,
and their valour could not be despised by those who had seen them fight
at Durazzo, [Footnote: For the battle of Durazzo, Oct. 1081, in which
Alexius was defeated with great slaughter by Robert Guiscard, and
escaped only by the swiftness of his horse, see Gibbon, ch. 56.] and
elsewhere. They might also, by the permission of Supreme Providence,
be, in the long run, the instruments of advantage to the most sacred
empire, though they approached it with so little ceremony. He had,
therefore, mingling the virtues of prudence, humanity, and generosity,
with that valour which must always burn in the heart of an Emperor,
formed a plan, which he was about to submit to their consideration, for
present execution; and, in the first place, he requested of the Grand
Domestic, to let him know what forces he might count upon on the
western side of the Bosphorus.

"Innumerable are the forces of the empire as the stars in heaven, or
the sand on the sea-shore," answered the Grand Domestic.

"That is a goodly answer," said the Emperor, "provided there were
strangers present at this conference; but since we hold consultation in
private, it is necessary that I know precisely to what number that army
amounts which I have to rely upon. Reserve your eloquence till some
fitter time, and let me know what you, at this present moment, mean by
the word _innumerable?_"

The Grand Domestic paused, and hesitated for a short space; but as he
became aware that the moment was one in which the Emperor could not be
trifled with, (for Alexius Comnenus was at times dangerous,) he
answered thus, but not without hesitation. "Imperial master and lord,
none better knows that such an answer cannot be hastily made, if it is
at the same time to be correct in its results. The number of the
imperial host betwixt this city and the western frontier of the empire,
deducting those absent on furlough, cannot be counted upon as amounting
to more than twenty-five thousand men, or thirty thousand at most."

Alexius struck his forehead with his hand; and the counsellors, seeing
him give way to such violent expressions of grief and surprise, began
to enter into discussions, which they would otherwise have reserved for
a fitter place and time.

"By the trust your Highness reposes in me," said the Logothete, "there
has been drawn from your Highness's coffers during the last year, gold
enough to pay double the number of the armed warriors whom the Grand
Domestic now mentions."

"Your Imperial Highness," retorted the impeached minister, with no
small animation, "will at once remember the stationary garrisons, in
addition to the movable troops, for which this figure-caster makes no
allowance."

"Peace, both of you!" said Alexius, composing himself hastily; "our
actual numbers are in truth less than we counted on, but let us not by
wrangling augment the difficulties of the time. Let those troops be
dispersed in valleys, in passes, behind ridges of hills, and in
difficult ground, where a little art being used in the position, can
make few men supply the appearance of numbers, between this city and
the western frontier of the empire. While this disposal is made, we
will continue to adjust with these crusaders, as they call themselves,
the terms on which we will consent to let them pass through our
dominions; nor are we without hope of negotiating with them, so as to
gain great advantage to our kingdom. We will insist that they pass
through our country only by armies of perhaps fifty thousand at once,
whom we will successively transport into Asia, so that no greater
number shall, by assembling beneath our walls, ever endanger the safety
of the metropolis of the world.

"On their way towards the banks of the Bosphorus, we will supply them
with provisions, if they march peaceably, and in order; and if any
straggle from their standards, or insult the country by marauding, we
suppose our valiant peasants will not hesitate to repress their
excesses, and that without our giving positive orders, since we would
not willingly be charged with any thing like a breach of engagement. We
suppose, also, that the Scythians, Arabs, Syrians, and other
mercenaries in our service, will not suffer our subjects to be
overpowered in their own just defence; as, besides that there is no
justice in stripping our own country of provisions, in order to feed
strangers, we will not be surprised nor unpardonably displeased to
learn, that of the ostensible quantity of flour, some sacks should be
found filled with chalk, or lime, or some such substance. It is,
indeed, truly wonderful, what the stomach of a Frank will digest
comfortably. Their guides, also, whom you shall choose with reference
to such duty, will take care to conduct the crusaders by difficult and
circuitous routes; which will be doing them a real service, by inuring
them to the hardships of the country and climate, which they would
otherwise have to face without seasoning.

"In the meantime, in your intercourse with their chiefs, whom they call
counts, each of whom thinks himself as great as an Emperor, you will
take care to give no offence to their natural presumption, and omit no
opportunity of informing them of the wealth and bounty of our
government. Sums of money may be even given to persons of note, and
largesses of less avail to those under them. You, our Logothete, will
take good order for this, and you, our Grand Domestic, will take care
that such soldiers as may cut off detached parties of the Franks shall
be presented, if possible, in savage dress, and under the show of
infidels. In commending these injunctions to your care, I purpose that,
the crusaders having found the value of our friendship, and also in
some sort the danger of our enmity, those whom we shall safely
transport to Asia, shall be, however unwieldy, still a smaller and more
compact body, whom we may deal with in all Christian prudence. Thus, by
using fair words to one, threats to another, gold to the avaricious,
power to the ambitious, and reasons to those that are capable of
listening to them, we doubt not but to prevail upon those Franks, met
as they are from a thousand points, and enemies of each other, to
acknowledge us as their common superior, rather than choose a leader
among themselves, when they are made aware of the great fact, that
every village in Palestine, from Dan to Beersheba, is the original
property of the sacred Roman empire, and that whatever Christian goes
to war for their recovery, must go as our subject, and hold any
conquest which he may make, as our vassal. Vice and virtue, sense and
folly, ambition and disinterested devotion, will alike recommend to the
survivors of these singular-minded men, to become the feudatories of
the empire, not its foe, and the shield, not the enemy, of your
paternal Emperor."

There was a general inclination of the head among the courtiers, with
the Eastern acclamation of,--"Long live the Emperor!"

When the murmur of this applausive exclamation had subsided, Alexius
proceeded:--"Once more, I say, that my faithful Grand Domestic, and
those who act under him, will take care to commit the execution of such
part of these orders as may seem aggressive, to troops of foreign
appearance and language, which, I grieve to say, are more numerous in
our imperial army than our natural-born and orthodox subjects."

The Patriarch here interposed his opinion.--"There is a consolation,"
he said,"in the thought, that the genuine Romans in the imperial army
are but few, since a trade so bloody as war, is most fitly prosecuted
by those whose doctrines, as well as their doings, on earth, merit
eternal condemnation in the next world."

"Reverend Patriarch," said the Emperor, "we would not willingly hold
with the wild infidels, that Paradise is to be gained by the sabre;
nevertheless, we would hope that a Roman dying in battle for his
religion and his Emperor, may find as good hope of acceptation, after
the mortal pang is over, as a man who dies in peace, and with unblooded
hand."

"It is enough for me to say," resumed the Patriarch, "that the Church's
doctrine is not so indulgent: she is herself peaceful, and her promises
of favour are for those who have been men of peace. Yet think not I bar
the gates of Heaven against a soldier, as such, if believing all the
doctrines of our Church, and complying with all our observances; far
less would I condemn your Imperial Majesty's wise precautions, both for
diminishing the power and thinning the ranks of those Latin heretics,
who come hither to despoil us, and plunder perhaps both church and
temple, under the vain pretext that Heaven would permit them, stained
with so many heresies, to reconquer that Holy Land, which true orthodox
Christians, your Majesty's sacred predecessors, have not been enabled
to retain from the infidel. And well I trust that no settlement made
under the Latins will be permitted by your Majesty to establish itself,
in which the Cross shall not be elevated with limbs of the same length,
instead of that irregular and most damnable error which prolongs, in
western churches, the nether limb of that most holy emblem."

"Reverend Patriarch," answered the Emperor, "do not deem that we think
lightly of your weighty scruples; but the question is now, not in what
manner we may convert these Latin heretics to the true faith, but how
we may avoid being overrun by their myriads, which resemble those of
the locusts by which their approach was preceded and intimated."

"Your Majesty," said the Patriarch, "will act with your usual wisdom;
for my part, I have only stated my doubts, that I may save my own soul
alive."

"Our construction," said the Emperor, "does your sentiments no wrong,
most reverend Patriarch; and you," addressing himself to the other
counsellors, "will attend to these separate charges given out for
directing the execution of the commands which have been generally
intimated to you. They are written out in the sacred ink, and our
sacred subscription is duly marked with the fitting tinge of green and
purple. Let them, therefore, be strictly obeyed. Ourselves will assume
the command of such of the Immortal Bands as remain in the city, and
join to them the cohorts of our faithful Varangians. At the head of
these troops, we will await the arrival of these strangers under the
walls of the city, and, avoiding combat while our policy can postpone
it, we will be ready, in case of the worst, to take whatsoever chance
it shall please the Almighty to send us."

Here the council broke up, and the different chiefs began to exert
themselves in the execution of their various instructions, civil and
military, secret or public, favourable or hostile to the crusaders. The
peculiar genius of the Grecian people was seen upon this occasion.
Their loud and boastful talking corresponded with the ideas which the
Emperor wished to enforce upon the crusaders concerning the extent of
his power and resources. Nor is it to be disguised, that the wily
selfishness of most of those in the service of Alexius, endeavoured to
find some indirect way of applying the imperial instruction, so as
might best suit their own private ends.

Meantime, the news had gone abroad in Constantinople of the arrival of
the huge miscellaneous army of the west upon the limits of the Grecian
empire, arid of their purpose to pass to Palestine. A thousand reports
magnified, if that was possible, an event so wonderful. Some said, that
their ultimate view was the conquest of Arabia, the destruction of the
Prophet's tomb, and the conversion of his green banner into a
horse-cloth for the King of France's brother. Others supposed that the
ruin and sack of Constantinople was the real object of the war. A third
class thought it was in order to compel the Patriarch to submit himself
to the Pope, adopt the Latin form of the cross, and put an end to the
schism.

The Varangians enjoyed an addition to this wonderful news, seasoned as
it everywhere was with something peculiarly suited to the prejudices of
the hearers. It was gathered originally from what our friend Hereward,
who was one of their inferior officers, called sergeants or constables,
had suffered to transpire of what he had heard the preceding evening.
Considering that the fact must be soon matter of notoriety, he had no
hesitation to give his comrades to understand that a Norman army was
coming hither under Duke Robert, the son of the far-famed William the
Conqueror, and with hostile intentions, he concluded, against them in
particular. Like all other men in peculiar circumstances, the
Varangians adopted an explanation applicable to their own condition.
These Normans, who hated the Saxon nation, and had done so much to
dishonour and oppress them, were now following them, they supposed, to
the foreign capital where they had found refuge, with the purpose of
making war on the bountiful prince who protected their sad remnant.
Under this belief, many a deep oath was sworn in Norse and Anglo-Saxon,
that their keen battle-axes should avenge the slaughter of Hastings,
and many a pledge, both in wine and ale, was quaffed who should most
deeply resent, and most effectually revenge, the wrongs which the
Anglo-Saxons of England had received at the hand of their oppressors.

Hereward, the author of this intelligence, began soon to be sorry that
he had ever suffered it to escape him, so closely was he cross-examined
concerning its precise import, by the enquiries of his comrades, from
whom he thought himself obliged to keep concealed the adventures of the
preceding evening, and the place in which he had gained his information.

About noon, when he was effectually tired with returning the same
answer to the same questions, and evading similar others which were
repeatedly put to him, the sound of trumpets announced the presence of
the Acolyte, Achilles Tatius, who came immediately, it was
industriously whispered, from the sacred Interior, with news of the
immediate approach of war.

The Varangians, and the Roman bands called Immortal, it was said, were
to form a camp under the city, in order to be prompt to defend it at
the shortest notice. This put the whole barracks into commotion, each
man making the necessary provision for the approaching campaign. The
noise was chiefly that of joyful bustle and acclamation; and it was so
general, that Hereward, whose rank permitted him to commit to a page or
esquire the task of preparing his equipments, took the opportunity to
leave the barracks, in order to seek some distant place apart from his
comrades, and enjoy his solitary reflections upon the singular
connexion into which he had been drawn, and his direct communication
with the Imperial family.

Passing through the narrow streets, then deserted, on account of the
heat of the sun, he reached at length one of those broad terraces,
which, descending as it were by steps, upon the margin of the
Bosphorus, formed one of the most splendid walks in the universe, and
still, it is believed, preserved as a public promenade for the pleasure
of the Turks, as formerly for that of the Christians. These graduated
terraces were planted with many trees, among which the cypress, as
usual, was most generally cultivated. Here bands of the inhabitants
were to be seen: some passing to and fro, with business and anxiety in
their faces; some standing still in groups, as if discussing the
strange and weighty tidings of the day, and some, with the indolent
carelessness of an eastern climate, eating their noontide refreshment
in the shade, and spending their time as if their sole object was to
make much of the day as it passed, and let the cares of to-morrow
answer for themselves.

While the Varangian, afraid of meeting some acquaintance in this
concourse, which would have been inconsistent with the desire of
seclusion which had brought him thither, descended or passed from one
terrace to another, all marked him with looks of curiosity and enquiry,
considering him to be one, who, from his arms and connexion with the
court, must necessarily know more than others concerning the singular
invasion by numerous enemies, and from various quarters, which was the
news of the day.

None, however, had the hardihood to address the soldier of the guard,
though all looked at him with uncommon interest. He walked from the
lighter to the darker alleys, from the more closed to the more open
terraces, without interruption from any one, yet not without a feeling
that he must not consider himself as alone.

The desire that he felt to be solitary rendered him at last somewhat
watchful, so that he became sensible that he was dogged by a black
slave, a personage not so unfrequent in the streets of Constantinople
as to excite any particular notice. His attention, however, being at
length fixed on this individual, he began to be desirous to escape his
observation; and the change of place which he had at first adopted to
avoid society in general, he had now recourse to, in order to rid
himself of this distant, though apparently watchful attendant. Still,
however, though he by change of place had lost sight of the <DW64> for a
few minutes, it was not long ere he again discovered him at a distance
too far for a companion, but near enough to serve all the purposes of a
spy. Displeased at this, the Varangian turned short in his walk, and
choosing a spot where none was in sight but the object of his
resentment, walked suddenly up to him, and demanded wherefore, and by
whose orders, he presumed to dog his footsteps. The <DW64> answered in a
jargon as bad as that in which he was addressed though of a different
kind, "that he had orders to remark whither he went."

"Orders from whom?" said the Varangian.

"From my master and yours," answered the <DW64>, boldly.

"Thou infidel villain!" exclaimed the angry soldier, "when was it that
we became fellow-servants, and who is it that thou darest to call my
master?"

"One who is master of the world," said the slave, "since he commands
his own passions."

"I shall scarce command mine," said the Varangian, "if thou repliest to
my earnest questions with thine affected quirks of philosophy. Once
more, what dost thou want with me? and why hast thou the boldness to
watch me?"

"I have told thee already," said the slave, "that I do my master's
commands."

"But I must know who thy master is," said Hereward.

"He must tell thee that himself," replied the <DW64>; "he trusts not a
poor slave like me with the purpose of the errands on which he sends
me."

"He has left thee a tongue, however," said the Varangian, "which some
of thy countrymen would. I think, be glad to possess. Do not provoke me
to abridge it by refusing me the information which I have a right to
demand."

The black meditated, as it seemed from the grin on his face, further
evasions, when Hereward cut them short by raising the staff of his
battle-axe. "Put me not" he said, "to dishonour myself by striking thee
with this weapon, calculated for a use so much more noble."

"I may not do so, valiant sir," said the <DW64>, laying aside an
impudent, half-gibing tone which he had hitherto made use of, and
betraying personal fear in his manner. "If you beat the poor slave to
death, you cannot learn what his master hath forbid him to tell. A
short walk will save your honour the stain, and yourself the trouble,
of beating what cannot resist, and me the pain of enduring what I can
neither retaliate nor avoid."

"Lead on then," said the Varangian. "Be assured thou shalt not fool me
by thy fair words, and I will know the person who is impudent enough to
assume the right of watching my motions."

The black walked on with a species of leer peculiar to his physiognomy,
which might be construed as expressive either of malice or of mere
humour. The Varangian followed him with some suspicion, for it happened
that he had had little intercourse with the unhappy race of Africa, and
had not totally overcome the feeling of surprise with which he had at
first regarded them, when he arrived a stranger from the north. So
often did this man look back upon him during their walk, and with so
penetrating and observing a cast of countenance, that Hereward felt
irresistibly renewed in his mind the English prejudices, which assigned
to the demons the sable colour and distorted cast of visage of his
conductor. The scene into which he was guided, strengthened an
association which was not of itself unlikely to occur to the ignorant
and martial islander.

The <DW64> led the way from the splendid terraced walks which we have
described, to a path descending to the sea-shore, when a place
appeared, which, far from being trimmed, like other parts of the coast,
into walks of embankments, seemed, on the contrary, abandoned to
neglect, and was covered with the mouldering ruins of antiquity, where
these had not been overgrown by the luxuriant vegetation of the
climate. These fragments of building, occupying a sort of recess of the
bay, were hidden by steep banks on each side, and although in fact they
formed part of the city, yet they were not seen from any part of it,
and, embosomed in the manner we have described, did not in turn command
any view of the churches, palaces, towers, and fortifications, amongst
which they lay. The sight of this solitary, and apparently deserted
spot, encumbered with ruins, and overgrown with cypress and other
trees, situated as it was in the midst of a populous city, had
something in it impressive and awful to the imagination. The ruins were
of an ancient date, and in the style of a foreign people. The gigantic
remains of a portico, the mutilated fragments of statues of great size,
but executed in a taste and attitude so narrow and barbaric as to seem
perfectly the reverse of the Grecian, and the half-defaced
hieroglyphics which could be traced on some part of the decayed
sculpture, corroborated the popular account of their origin, which we
shall briefly detail.

According to tradition, this had been a temple dedicated to the
Egyptian goddess Cybele, built while the Roman Empire was yet heathen,
and while Constantinople was still called by the name of Byzantium. It
is well known that the superstition of the Egyptians--vulgarly gross in
its literal meaning as well as in its mystical interpretation, and
peculiarly the foundation of many wild doctrines,--was disowned by the
principles of general toleration, and the system of polytheism received
by Rome, and was excluded by repeated laws from the respect paid by the
empire to almost every other religion, however extravagant or absurd.
Nevertheless, these Egyptian rites had charms for the curious and the
superstitious, and had, after long opposition, obtained a footing in
the empire.

Still, although tolerated, the Egyptian priests were rather considered
as sorcerers than as pontiffs, and their whole ritual had a nearer
relation, to magic in popular estimation, than to any regular system of
devotion.

Stained with these accusations, even among the heathen themselves, the
worship of Egypt was held in more mortal abhorrence by the Christians,
than the other and more rational kinds of heathen devotion; that is, if
any at all had a right to be termed so. The brutal worship of Apis and
Cybele was regarded, not only as a pretext for obscene and profligate
pleasures, but as having a direct tendency to open and encourage a
dangerous commerce with evil spirits, who were supposed to take upon
themselves, at these unhallowed altars, the names and characters of
these foul deities. Not only, therefore, the temple of Cybele, with its
gigantic portico, its huge and inelegant statues, and its fantastic
hieroglyphics, was thrown down and defaced when the empire was
converted to the Christian faith, but the very ground on which it stood
was considered as polluted and unhallowed; and no Emperor having yet
occupied the site with a Christian church, the place still remained
neglected and deserted as we have described it.

The Varangian Hereward was perfectly acquainted with the evil
reputation of the place; and when the <DW64> seemed disposed to advance
into the interior of the ruins, he hesitated, and addressed his guide
thus:--"Hark thee, my black friend, these huge fantastic images, some
having dogs' heads, some cows' heads, and some no heads at all, are not
held reverently in popular estimation. Your own colour, also, my
comrade, is greatly too like that of Satan himself, to render you an
unsuspicious companion amid ruins, in which the false spirit, it is
said, daily walks his rounds. Midnight and Noon are the times, it is
rumoured, of his appearance. I will go no farther with you, unless you
assign me a fit reason for so doing."

"In making so childish a proposal" said the <DW64>, "you take from me,
in effect, all desire to guide you to my master. I thought I spoke to a
man of invincible courage, and of that good sense upon which courage is
best founded. But your valour only emboldens you to beat a black slave,
who has neither strength nor title to resist you; and your courage is
not enough to enable you to look without trembling on the dark side of
a wall, even when the sun is in the heavens."

"Thou art insolent," said Hereward, raising his axe.

"And thou art foolish," said the <DW64>, "to attempt to prove thy
manhood and thy wisdom by the very mode which gives reason for calling
them both in question. I have already said there can be little valour
in beating a wretch like me; and no man, surely, who wishes to discover
his way, would begin by chasing away his guide."

"I follow thee" said Hereward, stung with the insinuation of cowardice;
"but if thou leadest me into a snare, thy free talk shall not save thy
bones, if a thousand of thy complexion, from earth or hell, were
standing ready to back thee."

"Thou objectest sorely to my complexion," said the <DW64>; "how knowest
thou that it is, in fact, a thing to be counted and acted upon as
matter of reality? Thine own eyes daily apprize thee, that the colour
of the sky nightly changes from bright to black, yet thou knowest that
this is by no means owing to any habitual colour of the heavens
themselves. The same change that takes place in the hue of the heavens,
has existence in the tinge of the deep sea--How canst thou tell, but
what the difference of my colour from thine own may be owing to some
deceptions change of a similar nature--not real in itself, but only
creating an apparent reality?"

"Thou mayst have painted thyself, no doubt," answered the Varangian,
upon reflection, "and thy blackness, therefore, may be only apparent;
but I think thy old friend himself could hardly have presented these
grinning lips, with the white teeth and flattened nose, so much to the
life, unless that peculiarity of Nubian physiognomy, as they call it,
had accurately and really an existence; and to save thee some trouble,
my dark friend, I will tell thee, that though thou speakest to an
uneducated Varangian, I am not entirely unskilled in the Grecian art of
making subtle words pass upon the hearers instead of reason."

"Ay?" said the <DW64>, doubtfully, and somewhat surprised; "and may the
slave Diogenes--for so my master has christened me--enquire into the
means by which you reached knowledge so unusual?"

"It is soon told," replied Hereward. "My countryman, Witikind, being a
constable of our bands, retired from active service, and spent the end
of a long life in this city of Constantinople. Being past all toils of
battle, either those of reality, as you word it, or the pomp and
fatigue of the exercising ground, the poor old man, in despair of
something to pass his time, attended the lectures of the philosophers."

"And what did he learn there?" said the <DW64>; "for a barbarian, grown
grey under the helmet, was not, as I think, a very hopeful student in
our schools."

"As much though, I should think, as a menial slave, which I understand
to be thy condition," replied the soldier. "But I have understood from
him, that the masters of this idle science make it their business to
substitute, in their argumentations, mere words instead of ideas; and
as they never agree upon the precise meaning of the former, their
disputes can never arrive at a fair or settled conclusion, since they
do not agree in the language in which they express them. Their
theories, as they call them, are built on the sand, and the wind and
tide shall prevail against them."

"Say so to my master," answered the black, in a serious tone.

"I will," said the Varangian; "and he shall know me as an ignorant
soldier, having but few ideas, and those only concerning my religion
and my military duty. But out of these opinions I will neither be
beaten by a battery of sophisms, nor cheated by the arts or the terrors
of the friends of heathenism, either in this world or the next."

"You may speak your mind to him then yourself," said Diogenes. He
stepped aside as if to make way for the Varangian, to whom he motioned
to go forward.

Hereward advanced accordingly, by a half-worn and almost imperceptible
path leading through the long rough grass, and, turning round a
half-demolished shrine, which exhibited the remains of Apis, the bovine
deity, he came immediately in front of the philosopher, Agelastes, who,
sitting among the ruins, reposed his limbs on the grass.




CHAPTER THE EIGHTH.

     Through the vain webs which puzzle sophists' skill,
     Plain sense and honest meaning work their way;
     So sink the varying clouds upon the hill,
     When the clear dawning--brightens into day.
                                     DR. WATTS.


The old man rose from the ground with alacrity, as Hereward approached.
"My bold Varangian" he said, "thou who valuest men and things not
according to the false estimate ascribed to them in this world, but to
their real importance and actual value, thou art welcome, whatever has
brought thee hither--thou art welcome to a place, where it is held the
best business of philosophy to strip man of his borrowed ornaments, and
reduce him to the just value of his own attributes of body and mind,
singly considered."

"You are a courtier, sir," said the Saxon, "and as a permitted
companion of the Emperor's Highness, you must be aware, that there are
twenty times more ceremonies than such a man as I can be acquainted
with, for regulating the different ranks in society; while a plain man
like myself may be well excused from pushing himself into the company
of those above him, where he does not exactly know how he should
comport himself."

"True," said the philosopher; "but a man like yourself, noble Hereward,
merits more consideration in the eyes of a real philosopher, than a
thousand of those mere insects, whom the smiles of a court call into
life, and whom its frowns reduce to annihilation."

"You are yourself, grave sir, a follower of the court," said Hereward.

"And a most punctilious one," said Agelastes. "There is not, I trust, a
subject in the empire who knows better the ten thousand punctilios
exigible from those of different ranks, and clue to different
authorities. The man is yet to be born who has seen me take advantage
of any more commodious posture than that of standing in presence of the
royal family. But though I use those false scales in society, and so
far conform to its errors, my real judgment is of a more grave
character, and more worthy of man, as said to be formed in the image of
his Creator."

"There can be small occasion," said the Varangian, "to exercise your
judgment in any respect upon me, nor am I desirous that any one should
think of me otherwise than I am; a poor exile, namely, who endeavours
to fix his faith upon Heaven, and to perform his duty to the world he
lives in, and to the prince in whose service he is engaged. And now,
grave sir, permit me to ask, whether this meeting is by your desire,
and for what is its purpose? An African slave, whom I met in the public
walks, and who calls himself Diogenes, tells me that you desired to
speak with me; he hath somewhat the humour of the old scoffer, and so
he may have lied. If so, I will even forgive him the beating which I
owe his assurance, and make my excuse at the same time for having
broken in upon your retirement, which I am totally unfit to share."

"Diogenes has not played you false," answered Agelastes; "he has his
humours, as you remarked even now, and with these some qualities also
that put him upon a level with those of fairer complexion and better
features."

"And for what," said the Varangian, "have you so employed him? Can your
wisdom possibly entertain a wish to converse with me?"

"I am an observer of nature and of humanity," answered the philosopher;
"is it not natural that I should tire of those beings who are formed
entirely upon artifice, and long to see something more fresh from the
hand of nature?"

"You see not that in me," said the Varangian; "the rigour of military
discipline, the camp--the centurion--the armour--frame a man's
sentiments and limbs to them, as the sea-crab is framed to its shell.
See one of us, and you see us all."

"Permit me to doubt that," said Agelastes; "and to suppose that in
Hereward, the son of Waltheoff, I see an extraordinary man, although he
himself may be ignorant, owing to his modesty, of the rarity of his own
good qualities."

"The son of Waltheoff!" answered the Varangian, somewhat startled.--"Do
you know my father's name?"

"Be not surprised," answered the philosopher, "at my possessing so
simple a piece of information. It has cost me but little trouble to
attain it, yet I would gladly hope that the labour I have taken in that
matter may convince you of my real desire to call you friend."

"It was indeed an unusual compliment," said Hereward, "that a man of
your knowledge and station should be at the trouble to enquire, among
the Varangian cohorts, concerning the descent of one of their
constables. I scarcely think that my commander, the Acolyte himself,
would think such knowledge worthy of being collected or preserved."

"Greater men than he," said Agelastes, "certainly would not-----You
know one in high office, who thinks the names of his most faithful
soldiers of less moment than those of his hunting dogs or his hawks,
and would willingly save himself the trouble of calling them otherwise
than by a whistle."

"I may not hear this," answered the Varangian.

"I would not offend you," said the philosopher, "I would not even shake
your good opinion of the person I allude to; yet it surprises me that
such should be entertained by one of your great qualities."

"A truce with this, grave sir, which is in fact trifling in a person of
your character and appearance," answered the Anglo-Saxon. "I am like
the rocks of my country; the fierce winds cannot shake me, the soft
rains cannot melt me; flattery and loud words are alike lost upon me."

"And it is even for that inflexibility of mind," replied Agelastes,
"that steady contempt of every thing that approaches thee, save in the
light of a duty, that I demand, almost like a beggar, that personal
acquaintance, which thou refusest like a churl."

"Pardon me," said Hereward, "if I doubt this. Whatever stories you may
have picked up concerning me, not unexaggerated probably--since the
Greeks do not keep the privilege of boasting so entirely to themselves
but the Varangians have learned a little of it--you can have heard
nothing of me which can authorise your using your present language,
excepting in jest."

"You mistake, my son," said Agelastes; "believe me not a person to mix
in the idle talk respecting you, with your comrades at the ale-cup.
Such as I am, I can strike on this broken image of Anubis"--(here he
touched a gigantic fragment of a statue by his side)--"and bid the
spirit who long prompted the oracle, descend, and once more reanimate
the trembling mass. We that are initiated enjoy high privileges--we
stamp upon those ruined vaults, and the echo which dwells there answers
to our demand. Do not think, that although I crave thy friendship, I
Heed therefore supplicate thee for information either respecting
thyself or others."

"Your words are wonderful," said the Anglo-Saxon; "but by such
promising words I have heard that many souls have been seduced from the
path of heaven. My grandsire, Kenelm, was wont to say, that the fair
words of the heathen philosophy were more hurtful to the Christian
faith than the menaces of the heathen tyrants."

"I know him," said Agelastes. "What avails it whether it was in the
body or in the spirit?--He was converted from the faith of Woden by a
noble monk, and died a priest at the shrine of saint Augustin."
[Footnote: At Canterbury.]

"True"--said Hereward; "all this is certain--and I am the rather bound
to remember his words now that he is dead and gone. When I hardly knew
his meaning, he bid me beware of the doctrine which causeth to err,
which is taught by false prophets, who attest their doctrine by unreal
miracles."

"This," said Agelastes, "is mere superstition. Thy grandsire was a good
and excellent man, but narrow-minded, like other priests; and, deceived
by their example, he wished but to open a small wicket in the gate of
truth, and admit the world only on that limited scale. Seest thou,
Hereward, thy grandsire and most men of religion would fain narrow our
intellect to the consideration of such parts of the Immaterial world as
are essential to our moral guidance here, and our final salvation
hereafter; but it is not the less true, that man has liberty, provided
he has wisdom and courage, to form intimacies with beings more powerful
than himself, who can defy the bounds of space by which he is
circumscribed, and overcome, by their metaphysical powers, difficulties
which, to the timid and unlearned, may appear wild and impossible."

"You talk of a folly," answered Hereward, "at which childhood gapes and
manhood smiles."

"On the contrary," said the sage, "I talk of a longing wish which every
man feels at the bottom of his heart, to hold communication with beings
more powerful than himself, and who are not naturally accessible to our
organs. Believe me, Hereward, so ardent and universal an aspiration had
not existed in our bosoms, had there not also been means, if steadily
and wisely sought, of attaining its accomplishment. I will appeal to
thine own heart, and prove to thee even by a single word, that what I
say is truth. Thy thoughts are even now upon a being long absent or
dead, and with the name of BERTHA, a thousand emotions rush to thy
heart, which in thy ignorance thou hadst esteemed furled up for ever,
like spoils of the dead hung above a tombstone!--Thou startest and
changest thy colour--I joy to see by these signs, that the firmness and
indomitable courage which men ascribe to thee, have left the avenues of
the heart as free as ever to kindly and to generous affections, while
they have barred them against those of fear, uncertainty, and all the
caitiff tribe of meatier sensations. I have proffered to esteem thee,
and I have no hesitation in proving it. I will tell thee, If thou
desirest to know it, the fate of that very Bertha, whose memory thou
hast cherished in thy breast in spite of thee, amidst the toil of the
day and the repose of the night, in the battle and in the truce, when
sporting with thy companions in fields of exercise, or attempting to
prosecute the study of Greek learning, in which if thou wouldst
advance, I can teach it by a short road."

While Agelastes thus spoke, the Varangian in some degree recovered his
composure, and made answer, though his voice was somewhat
tremulous,--"Who thou art, I know not--what thou wouldst with me, I
cannot tell--by what means thou hast gathered intelligence of such
consequence to me, and of so little to another, I have no
conception--But this I know, that by intention or accident, thou hast
pronounced a name which agitates my heart to its deepest recesses; yet
am I a Christian and Varangian, and neither to my God nor to my adopted
prince will I willingly stagger in my faith. What is to be wrought by
idols or by false deities, must be a treason to the real divinity. Nor
is it less certain that thou hast let glance some arrows, though the
rules of thy allegiance strictly forbid it, at the Emperor himself.
Henceforward, therefore, I refuse to communicate with thee, be it for
weal or woe. I am the Emperor's waged soldier, and although I affect
not the nice precisions of respect and obedience, which are exacted in
so many various cases, and by so many various rules, yet I am his
defence, and my battle-axe is his body-guard."

"No one doubts it," said the philosopher. "But art not thou also bound
to a nearer dependence upon' the great Acolyte, Achilles Tatius?"

"No. He is my general, according to the rules of our service," answered
the Varangian; "to me he has always shown himself a kind and
good-natured man, and, his dues of rank apart, I may say has deported
himself as a friend rather than a commander. He is, however, my
master's servant as well as I am; nor do I hold the difference of great
amount, which the word of a man can give or take away at pleasure."

"It is nobly spoken," said Agelastes; "and you yourself are surely
entitled to stand erect before one whom you supersede in courage and in
the art of war."

"Pardon me," returned the Briton, "if I decline the attributed
compliment, as what in no respect belongs to me. The Emperor chooses
his own officers, in respect of their power of serving him as he
desires to be served. In this it is likely I might fail; I have said
already, I owe my Emperor my obedience, my duty, and my service, nor
does it seem to me necessary to carry our explanation farther."

"Singular man!" said Agelastes; "is there nothing than can move thee
but things that are foreign to thyself? The name of thy Emperor and thy
commander are no spell upon thee, and even that of the object thou has
loved"--

Here the Varangian interrupted him.

"I have thought," he said, "upon the words thou hast spoken--thou hast
found the means to shake my heart-strings, but not to unsettle my
principles. I will hold no converse with thee on a matter in which thou
canst not have interest.--Necromancers, it is said, perform their
spells by means of the epithets of the Holiest; no marvel, then, should
they use the names of the purest of his creation to serve their
unhallowed purposes. I will none of such truckling, disgraceful to the
dead perhaps as to the living. Whatever has been thy purpose, old
man--for, think not thy strange words have passed unnoticed--be thou
assured I bear that in my heart which defies alike the seduction of men
and of fiends."

With this the soldier turned, and left the ruined temple, after a
slight inclination of his head to the philosopher.

Agelastes, after the departure of the soldier, remained alone,
apparently absorbed in meditation, until he was suddenly disturbed by
the entrance, into the ruins, of Achilles Tatius. The leader of the
Varangians spoke not until he had time to form some result from the
philosopher's features. He then said, "Thou remainest, sage Agelastes,
confident in the purpose of which we have lately spoke together?"

"I do," said Agelastes, with gravity and firmness.

"But," replied Achilles Tatius, "thou hast not gained to our side that
proselyte, whose coolness and courage would serve us better in our hour
of need than the service of a thousand cold-hearted slaves?"

"I have not succeeded," answered the philosopher.

"And thou dost not blush to own it?" said the imperial officer in reply.

"Thou, the wisest of those who yet pretend to Grecian wisdom, the most
powerful of those who still assert the skill by words, signs, names,
periapts, and spells, to exceed the sphere to which thy faculties
belong, hast been foiled in thy trade of persuasion, like an infant
worsted in debate with its domestic tutor? Out upon thee, that thou
canst not sustain in argument the character which thou wouldst so fain,
assume to thyself!"

"Peace!" said the Grecian. "I have as yet gained nothing, it is true,
over this obstinate and inflexible man; but, Achilles Tatius, neither
have I lost. We both stand where yesterday we did, with this advantage
on my side, that I have suggested to him such an object of interest as
he shall never be able to expel from his mind, until he hath had
recourse to me to obtain farther knowledge concerning it.--And now let
this singular person remain for a time unmentioned; yet, trust me,
though flattery, avarice, and ambition may fail to gain him, a bait
nevertheless remains, that shall make him as completely our own as any
that is bound within our mystic and inviolable contract. Tell me then,
how go on the affairs of the empire? Does this tide of Xiatin warriors,
so strangely set aflowing, still rush on to the banks of the Bosphorus?
and does Alexius still entertain hopes to diminish and divide the
strength of numbers, which he could in vain hope to defy?"

"Something further of intelligence has been gained, even within a very
few hours," answered Achilles Tatius. "Bohemond came to the city with
some six or eight light horse, and in a species of disguise.
Considering how often he had been the Emperor's enemy, his project was
a perilous one. But when is it that these Franks draw back on account
of danger? The Emperor perceived at once that the Count was come to see
what he might obtain, by presenting himself as the very first object of
his liberality, and by offering his assistance as mediator with Godfrey
of Bouillon and the other princes of the crusade."

"It is a species of policy," answered the sage, "for which he would
receive full credit from the Emperor."

Achilles Tatius proceeded:--"Count Bohemond was discovered to the
imperial court as if it were by mere accident, and he was welcomed with
marks of favour and splendour which had never been even mentioned as
being fit for any one of the Frankish race. There was no word of
ancient enmity or of former wars, no mention of Bohemond as the ancient
usurper of Antioch, and the encroacher upon the empire. But thanks to
Heaven were returned on all sides, which had sent a faithful ally to
the imperial assistance at a moment of such imminent peril."

"And what said Bohemond?" enquired the philosopher.

"Little or nothing," said the captain of the Varangians, "until, as I
learned from the domestic slave Narses, a large sum of gold had been
abandoned to him. Considerable districts were afterwards agreed to be
ceded to him, and other advantages granted, on condition he should
stand on this occasion the steady friend of the empire and its master.
Such was the Emperor's munificence towards the greedy barbarian, that a
chamber in the palace was, by chance, as it were, left exposed to his
view, containing large quantities of manufactured silks, of jewellers'
work, of gold and silver, and other articles of great value. When the
rapacious Frank could not forbear some expressions of admiration, he
was assured, that the contents of the treasure-chamber were his own,
provided he valued them as showing forth the warmth and sincerity of
his imperial ally towards his friends; and these precious articles were
accordingly conveyed to the tent of the Norman leader. By such
measures, the Emperor must make himself master of Bohemond, both body
and soul, for the Franks themselves say it is strange to see a man of
undaunted bravery, and towering ambition, so infected, nevertheless,
with avarice, which they term a mean and unnatural vice."

"Bohemond," said Agelastes, "is then the Emperor's for life and
death--always, that is, till the recollection of the royal munificence
be effaced by a greater gratuity. Alexius, proud as he naturally is of
his management with this important chieftain, will no doubt expect to
prevail by his counsels, on most of the other crusaders, and even on
Godfrey of Bouillon himself, to take an oath of submission and fidelity
to the Emperor, which, were it not for the sacred nature of their
warfare, the meanest gentleman among them would not submit to, were it
to be lord of a province. There, then, we rest. A few days must
determine what we have to do. An earlier discovery would be
destruction."

"We meet not then to-night?" said the Acolyte.

"No," replied the sage; "unless we are summoned to that foolish
stage-play or recitation; and then we meet as playthings in the hand of
a silly woman, the spoiled child of a weak-minded parent."

Tatius then took his leave of the philosopher, and, as if fearful of
being seen in each other's company, they left their solitary place of
meeting by different routes. The Varangian, Hereward, received, shortly
after, a summons from his superior, who acquainted him, that he should
not, as formerly intimated, require his attendance that evening.

Achilles then paused, and added,--"Thou hast something on thy lips thou
wouldst say to me, which, nevertheless hesitates to break forth."

"It is only this," answered the soldier: "I have had an interview with
the man called Agelastes, and he seems something so different from what
he appeared when we last spoke of him, that I cannot forbear mentioning
to you what I have seen. He is not an insignificant trifler, whose
object it is to raise a laugh at his own expense, or that of any other.
He is a deep-thinking and far-reaching man, who, for some reason or
other, is desirous of forming friends, and drawing a party to himself.
Your own wisdom will teach you to beware of him."

"Thou art an honest fellow, my poor Hereward," said Achilles Tatius,
with an affectation of good-natured contempt. "Such men as Agelastes do
often frame their severest jests in the shape of formal gravity--they
will pretend to possess the most unbounded power over elements and
elemental spirits--they will make themselves masters of the names and
anecdotes best known to those whom they make their sport; and any one
who shall listen to them, shall, in the words of the Divine Homer, only
expose himself to a flood of inextinguishable laughter. I have often
known him select one of the rawest and most ignorant persons in
presence, and to him for the amusement of the rest, he has pretended to
cause the absent to appear, the distant to draw near, and the dead
themselves to burst the cerements of the grave. Take care, Hereward,
that his arts make not a stain on the credit of one of my bravest
Varangians."

"There is no danger," answered Hereward. "I shall not be fond of being
often with this man. If he jests upon one subject which he hath
mentioned to me, I shall be but too likely to teach him seriousness
after a rough manner. And if he is serious in his pretensions in such
mystical matters, we should, according to the faith of my grandfather,
Kenelm, do insult to the deceased, whose name is taken in the mouth of
a soothsayer, or impious enchanter. I will not, therefore, again go
near this Agelastes, be he wizard, or be he impostor."

"You apprehend me not," said the Acolyte, hastily; "you mistake my
meaning. He is a man from whom, if he pleases to converse with such as
you, you may derive much knowledge; keeping out of the reach of those
pretended secret arts, which he will only use to turn thee into
ridicule." With these words, which he himself would perhaps have felt
it difficult to reconcile, the leader and his follower parted.




CHAPTER THE NINTH.

     Between the foaming jaws of the white torrent,
     The skilful artist draws a sudden mound;
     By level long he subdivides their strength,
     Stealing the waters from their rocky bed,
     First to diminish what he means to conquer;
     Then, for the residue he forms a road,
     Easy to keep, and painful to desert,
     And guiding to the end the planner aim'd at.
                     THE ENGINEER


It would have been easy for Alexius, by a course of avowed suspicion,
or any false step in the manner of receiving this tumultuary invasion
of the European nations, to have blown into a flame the numerous but
smothered grievances under which they laboured; and a similar
catastrophe would not have been less certain, had he at once abandoned
all thoughts of resistance, and placed his hope of safety in
surrendering to the multitudes of the west whatsoever they accounted
worth taking. The Emperor chose a middle course; and, unquestionably,
in the weakness of the Greek empire, it was the only one which would
have given him at once safety, and a great degree of consequence in the
eyes of the Frank invaders and those of his own subjects. The means
with, which he acted were of various kinds, and, rather from policy
than inclination, were often stained with falsehood or meanness;
therefore it follows that the measures of the Emperor resembled those
of the snake, who twines himself through the grass, with the purpose of
stinging insidiously those whom he fears to approach with the step of
the bold and generous lion. We are not, however, writing the History of
the Crusades, and what we have already said of the Emperor's
precautions on the first appearance of Godfrey of Bouillon, and his
associates, may suffice for the elucidation of our story.

About four weeks had now passed over, marked by quarrels and
reconcilements between the crusaders and the Grecians of the empire.
The former were, as Alexius's policy dictated, occasionally and
individually, received with extreme honour, and their leaders loaded
with respect and favour; while, from time to time, such bodies of them
as sought distant or circuitous routes to the capital, were intercepted
and cut to pieces by light-armed troops, who easily passed upon their
ignorant opponents for Turks, Scythians, or other infidels, and
sometimes were actually such, but in the service of the Grecian
monarch. Often, too, it happened, that while the more powerful chiefs
of the crusade were feasted by the Emperor and his ministers with the
richest delicacies, and their thirst slaked with iced wines, their
followers were left at a distance, where, intentionally supplied with
adulterated flour, tainted provisions, and bad water, they contracted
diseases, and died in great numbers, without having once seen a foot of
the Holy Land, for the recovery of which they had abandoned their
peace, their competence, and their native country. These aggressions
did not pass without complaint. Many of the crusading chiefs impugned
the fidelity of their allies, exposed the losses sustained by their
armies as evils voluntarily inflicted on them by the Greeks, and on
more than one occasion, the two nations stood opposed to each other on
such terms that a general war seemed to be inevitable.

Alexius, however, though obliged to have recourse to every finesse,
still kept his ground, and made peace with the most powerful chiefs,
under one pretence or other. The actual losses of the crusaders by the
sword he imputed to their own aggressions--their misguidance, to
accident and to wilfulness--the effects produced on them by the
adulterated provisions, to the vehemence of their own appetite for raw
fruits and unripened wines. In short, there was no disaster of any kind
whatsoever which could possibly befall the unhappy pilgrims, but the
Emperor stood prepared to prove that it was the natural consequence of
their own violence, wilfulness of conduct, or hostile precipitancy.

The chiefs, who were not ignorant of their strength, would not, it was
likely, have tamely suffered injuries from a power so inferior to their
own, were it not that they had formed extravagant ideas of the wealth
of the Eastern empire, which Alexius seemed willing to share with them
with an excess of bounty as new to the leaders as the rich productions
of the East were tempting to their followers.

The French nobles would perhaps have been the most difficult to be
brought into order when differences arose; but an accident, which the
Emperor might have termed providential, reduced the high-spirited Count
of Vermandois to the situation, of a suppliant, when he expected to
hold that of a dictator. A fierce tempest surprised his fleet after he
set sail from Italy, and he was finally driven on the coast of Greece.
Many ships were destroyed, and those troops who got ashore were so much
distressed, that they were obliged to surrender themselves to the
lieutenants of Alexius. So that the Count of Vermandois, so haughty in
his bearing when he first embarked, was sent to the court of
Constantinople, not as a prince, but as a prisoner. In this case, the
Emperor instantly set the soldiers at liberty, and loaded them with
presents. [Footnote: See Mills' History of the Crusades, vol. i, p. 96]

Grateful, therefore, for attentions in which Alexius was unremitting,
Count Hugh was by gratitude as well as interest, inclined to join the
opinion of those who, for other reasons, desired the subsistence of
peace betwixt the crusaders and the empire of Greece. A better
principle determined the celebrated Godfrey, Raymond of Thoulouse, and
some others, in whom devotion was something more than a mere burst of
fanaticism. These princes considered with what scandal their whole
journey must be stained, if the first of their exploits should be a war
upon the Grecian empire, which might justly be called the barrier of
Christendom. If it was weak, and at the same time rich--if at the same
time it invited rapine, and was unable to protect itself against it--it
was the more their interest and duty, as Christian soldiers, to protect
a Christian state, whose existence was of so much consequence to the
common cause, even when it could not defend itself. It was the wish of
these frank-hearted men to receive the Emperor's professions of
friendship with such sincere returns of amity--to return his kindness
with so much usury, as to convince him that their purpose towards him
was in every respect fair and honourable, and that it would be his
interest to abstain from every injurious treatment which might induce
or compel them to alter their measures towards him.

It was with this accommodating spirit towards Alexius, which, for many
different and complicated reasons, had now animated most of the
crusaders, that the chiefs consented to a measure which, in other
circumstances, they would probably have refused, as undue to the
Greeks, and dishonourable to themselves. This was the famous
resolution, that, before crossing the Bosphorus to go in quest of that
Palestine which they had vowed to regain, each chief of crusaders would
acknowledge individually the Grecian Emperor, originally lord paramount
of all these regions, as their liege lord and suzerain.

The Emperor Alexius, with trembling joy, beheld the crusaders approach
a conclusion to which he had hoped to bribe them rather by interested
means than by reasoning, although much might be said why provinces
reconquered from the Turks or Saracens should, if recovered from the
infidel, become again a part of the Grecian empire, from which they had
been rent without any pretence, save that of violence.

Though fearful, and almost despairing of being able to manage the rude
and discordant army of haughty chiefs, who were wholly independent of
each other, Alexius failed not, with eagerness and dexterity, to seize
upon the admission of Godfrey and his compeers, that the Emperor was
entitled to the allegiance of all who should war on Palestine, and
natural lord paramount of all the conquests which should be made in the
course of the expedition. He was resolved to make this ceremony so
public, and to interest men's minds in it by such a display of the
imperial pomp and munificence, that it should not either pass unknown,
or be readily forgotten.

An extensive terrace, one of the numerous spaces which extend along the
coast of the Propontis, was chosen for the site of the magnificent
ceremony. Here was placed an elevated and august throne, calculated for
the use of the Emperor alone. On this occasion, by suffering no other
seats within view of the pageant, the Greeks endeavoured to secure a
point of ceremony peculiarly dear to their vanity, namely, that none of
that presence, save the Emperor himself, should be seated. Around the
throne of Alexius Comnenus were placed in order, but standing, the
various dignitaries of his splendid court, in their different ranks,
from the Protosebastos and the Caesar, to the Patriarch, splendid in
his ecclesiastical robes, and to Agelastes, who, in his simple habit,
gave also the necessary attendance. Behind and around the splendid
display of the Emperor's court, were drawn many dark circles of the
exiled Anglo-Saxons. These, by their own desire, were not, on that
memorable day, accoutred in the silver corslets which were the fashion
of an idle court, but sheathed in mail and plate. They desired, they
said, to be known as warriors to warriors. This was the more readily
granted, as there was no knowing what trifle might infringe a truce
between parties so inflammable as were now assembled.

Beyond the Varangians, in much greater numbers, were drawn up the bands
of Grecians, or Romans, then known by the title of Immortals, which had
been borrowed by the Romans originally from the empire of Persia. The
stately forms, lofty crests, and splendid apparel of these guards,
would have given the foreign princes present a higher idea of their
military prowess, had there not occurred in their ranks a frequent
indication of loquacity and of motion, forming a strong contrast to the
steady composure and death-like silence with which the well-trained
Varangians stood in the parade, like statues made of iron.

The reader must then conceive this throne in all the pomp of Oriental
greatness, surrounded by the foreign and Roman troops of the empire,
and closed on the rear by clouds of light-horse, who shifted their
places repeatedly, so as to convey an idea of their multitude, without
affording the exact means of estimating it. Through the dust which they
raised by these evolutions, might be seen banners and standards, among
which could be discovered by glances, the celebrated LABARUM,
[Footnote: Ducange fills half a column of his huge page with the mere
names of the authors who have written at length on the _Labarum_, or
principal standard of the empire for the time of Constantine. It
consisted of a spear of silver, or plated with that metal, having
suspended from, a cross beam below the spoke a small square silken
banner, adorned with portraits of the reigning family, and over these
the famous Monogram which expresses at once the figure of the cross and
the initial letters of the name of Christ. The bearer of the _Labarum_
was an officer of high rank down to the last days of the Byzantine
government.--See Gibbon, chap. 20.

Ducange seems to have proved, from the evidence of coins and triumphial
monuments, that a standard of the form of the _Labarum_ was used by
various barbarous nations long before it was adopted by their Roman
conquerors, and he is of opinion that its name also was borrowed from
either Teutonic Germany, or Celtic Gaul, or Sclavonic Illyria. It is
certain that either the German language or the Welsh may afford at this
day a perfectly satisfactory etymon: _Lap-heer_ in the former and
_Lab-hair_ in the latter, having precisely the same meaning--_the cloth
of the host_.

The form of the _Labarum_ may still be recognised in the banners
carried in ecclesiastical processions in all Roman Catholic countries.]
the pledge of conquest to the imperial banners, but whose sacred
efficacy had somewhat failed of late days. The rude soldiers of the
West, who viewed the Grecian army, maintained that the standards which
were exhibited in front of their line, were at least sufficient for the
array of ten times the number of soldiers.

Far on the right, the appearance of a very large body of European
cavalry drawn up on the sea-shore, intimated the presence of the
crusaders. So great was the desire to follow the example of the chief
Princes, Dukes, and Counts, in making the proposed fealty, that the
number of independent knights and nobles who were to perform this
service, seemed very great when collected together for that purpose;
for every crusader who possessed a tower, and led six lances, would
have thought himself abridged of his dignity if he had not been called
to acknowledge the Grecian Emperor, and hold the lands he should
conquer of his throne, as well as Godfrey of Bouillon, or Hugh the
Great, Count of Vermandois. And yet, with strange inconsistency, though
they pressed to fulfil the homage, as that which was paid by greater
persons than themselves, they seemed, at the very same time, desirous
to find some mode of intimating that the homage which they rendered
they felt as an idle degradation, and in fact held the whole show as a
mere piece of mockery.

The order of the procession had been thus settled:--The Crusaders, or,
as the Grecians called them, the _Counts_,--that being the most common
title among them,--were to advance from the left of their body, and
passing the Emperor one by one, were apprized, that, in passing, each
was to render to him, in as few words as possible, the homage which had
been previously agreed on. Godfrey of Bouillon, his brother Baldwin,
Bohemond of Antioch, and several other crusaders of eminence, were the
first to perform the ceremony, alighting when their own part was
performed, and remaining in attendance by the Emperor's chair, to
prevent, by the awe of their presence, any of their numerous associates
from being guilty of petulance or presumption during the solemnity.
Other crusaders of less degree retained their station near the Emperor,
when they had once gained it, out of mere curiosity, or to show that
they were as much at liberty to do so as the greater commanders who
assumed that privilege.

Thus two great bodies of troops, Grecian and European, paused at some
distance from each other on the banks of the Bosphorus canal, differing
in language, arms, and appearance. The small troops of horse which from
time to time issued forth from these bodies, resembled the flashes of
lightning passing from one thunder-cloud to another, which communicate
to each other by such emissaries their overcharged contents. After some
halt on the margin of the Bosphorus, the Franks who had performed
homage, straggled irregularly forward to a quay on the shore, where
innumerable galleys and smaller vessels, provided for the purpose, lay
with sails and oars prepared to waft the warlike pilgrims across the
passage, and place them on that Asia which they longed so passionately
to visit, and from which but few of them were likely to return. The gay
appearance of the vessels which were to receive them, the readiness
with which they were supplied with refreshments, the narrowness of the
strait they had to cross, the near approach of that active service
which they had vowed and longed to discharge, put the warriors into gay
spirits, and songs and music bore chorus to the departing oars.

While such was the temper of the crusaders, the Grecian Emperor did his
best through the whole ceremonial to impress on the armed multitude the
highest ideas of his own grandeur, and the importance of the occasion
which had brought them together. This was readily admitted by the
higher chiefs; some because their vanity had been propitiated,--some
because their avarice had been gratified,--some because their ambition
had been inflamed,--and a few, a very few, because to remain friends
with Alexius was the most probable means of advancing the purposes of
their expedition. Accordingly the great lords, from these various
motives, practised a humility which perhaps they were far from feeling,
and carefully abstained from all which might seem like irreverence at
the solemn festival of the Grecians. But there were very many of a
different temper.

Of the great number of counts, lords, and knights, under whose variety
of banners the crusaders were led to the walls of Constantinople, many
were too insignificant to be bribed to this distasteful measure of
homage; and these, though they felt it dangerous to oppose resistance,
yet mixed their submission with taunts, ridicule, and such
contraventions of decorum, as plainly intimated that they entertained
resentment and scorn at the step they were about to take, and esteemed
it as proclaiming themselves vassals to a prince, heretic in his faith,
limited in the exercise of his boasted power, their enemy when he dared
to show himself such, and the friend of those only among their number,
who were able to compel him to be so; and who, though to them an
obsequious ally, was to the others, when occasion offered, an insidious
and murderous enemy.

The nobles of Frankish origin and descent were chiefly remarkable for
their presumptuous contempt of every other nation engaged in the
crusade, as well as for their dauntless bravery, and for the scorn with
which they regarded the power and authority of the Greek empire. It was
a common saying among them, that if the skies should fall, the French
crusaders alone were able to hold them up with their lances. The same
bold and arrogant disposition showed itself in occasional quarrels with
their unwilling hosts, in which the Greeks, notwithstanding all their
art, were often worsted; so that Alexius was determined, at all events,
to get rid of these intractable and fiery allies, by ferrying them over
the Bosphorus with all manner of diligence. To do this with safety, he
availed himself of the presence of the Count of Vermandois, Godfrey of
Bouillon, and other chiefs of great influence, to keep in order the
lesser Frankish knights, who were so numerous and unruly. [Footnote:
See Mills, vol. i. chap. 3.]

Struggling with his feelings of offended pride, tempered by a prudent
degree of apprehension, the Emperor endeavoured to receive with
complacence a homage tendered in mockery. An incident shortly took
place of a character highly descriptive of the nations brought together
in so extraordinary a manner, and with such different feelings and
sentiments. Several bands of French had passed, in a sort of
procession, the throne of the Emperor, and rendered, with some
appearance of gravity, the usual homage. On this occasion they bent
their knees to Alexius, placed their hands within his, and in that
posture paid the ceremonies of feudal fealty. But when it came to the
turn of Bohemond of Antioch, already mentioned, to render this fealty,
the Emperor, desirous to show every species of honour to this wily
person, his former enemy, and now apparently his ally, advanced two or
three paces towards the sea-side, where the boats lay as if in
readiness for his use.

The distance to which the Emperor moved was very small, and it was
assumed as a piece of deference to Bohemond; but it became the means of
exposing Alexius himself to a cutting affront, which his guards and
subjects felt deeply, as an intentional humiliation. A half score of
horsemen, attendants of the Frankish Count who was next to perform the
homage, with their lord at their head, set off at full gallop from the
right flank of the French squadrons, and arriving before the throne,
which was yet empty, they at once halted. The rider at the head of the
band was a strong herculean figure, with a decided and stern
countenance, though extremely handsome, looking out from thick black
curls. His head was surmounted with a barret cap, while his hands,
limbs, and feet were covered with garments of chamois leather, over
which he in general wore the ponderous and complete armour of his
country. This, however, he had laid aside for personal convenience,
though in doing so he evinced a total neglect of the ceremonial which
marked so important a meeting. He waited not a moment for the Emperor's
return, nor regarded the impropriety of obliging Alexius to hurry his
steps back to his throne, but sprung from his gigantic horse, and threw
the reins loose, which were instantly seized by one of the attendant
pages. Without a moment's hesitation the Frank seated himself in the
vacant throne of the Emperor, and extending his half-armed and robust
figure on the golden cushions which were destined for Alexius, he
indolently began to caress a large wolf-hound which had followed him,
and which, feeling itself as much at ease as its master, reposed its
grim form on the carpets of silk and gold damask, which tapestried the
imperial foot-stool. The very hound stretched itself with a bold,
ferocious insolence, and seemed to regard no one with respect, save the
stern knight whom it called master.

The Emperor, turning back from the short space which, as a special mark
of favour, he had accompanied Bohemond, beheld with astonishment his
seat occupied by this insolent Frank. The bands of the half-savage
Varangians who were stationed around, would not have hesitated an
instant in avenging the insult, by prostrating the violator of their
master's throne even in this act of his contempt, had they not been
restrained by Achilles Tatius and other officers, who were uncertain
what the Emperor would do, and somewhat timorous of taking a resolution
for themselves.

Meanwhile, the unceremonious knight spoke aloud, in a speech which,
though provincial, might be understood by all to whom the French
language was known, while even those who understood it not, gathered
its interpretation from his tone and manner. "What churl is this," he
said, "who has remained sitting stationary like a block of wood, or the
fragment of a rock, when so many noble knights, the flower of chivalry
and muster of gallantry, stand uncovered around, among the thrice
conquered Varangians?"

A deep, clear accent replied, as if from the bottom of the earth, so
like it was to the accents of some being from the other world,--"If the
Normans desire battle of the Varangians, they will meet them in the
lists man to man, without the poor boast of insulting the Emperor of
Greece, who is well known to fight only by the battle-axes of his
guard."

The astonishment was so great when this answer was heard, as to affect
even the knight, whose insult upon the Emperor had occasioned it; and
amid the efforts of Achilles to retain his soldiers within the bounds
of subordination and silence, a loud murmur seemed to intimate that
they would not long remain so. Bohemond returned through the press with
a celerity which did not so well suit the dignity of Alexius, and
catching the crusader by the arm, he, something between fair means and
a gentle degree of force, obliged him to leave the chair of the
Emperor, in which he had placed himself so boldly.

"How is it," said Bohemond, "noble Count of Paris? Is there one of this
great assembly who can see with patience, that your name, so widely
renowned for valour, is now to be quoted in an idle brawl with
hirelings, whose utmost boast it is to bear a mercenary battle-axe in
the ranks of the Emperor's guards? For shame--for shame--do not, for
the discredit of Norman chivalry, let it be so!"

"I know not," said the crusader, rising reluctantly--"I am not nice in
choosing the degree of my adversary, when he bears himself like one who
is willing and forward in battle. I am good-natured, I tell thee, Count
Bohemond; and Turk or Tartar, or wandering Anglo-Saxon, who only
escapes from the chain of the Normans to become the slave of the Greek,
is equally welcome to whet his blade clean against my armour, if he
desires to achieve such an honourable office."

The Emperor had heard what passed--had heard it with indignation, mixed
with fear; for he imagined the whole scheme of his policy was about to
be overturned at once by a premeditated plan of personal affront, and
probably an assault upon his person. He was about to call to arms,
when, casting his eyes on the right flank of the crusaders, he saw that
all remained quiet after the Frank Baron had transferred himself from
thence. He therefore instantly resolved to let the insult pass, as one
of the rough pleasantries of the Franks, since the advance of more
troops did not give any symptom of an actual onset.

Resolving on his line of conduct with the quickness of thought, he
glided back to his canopy, and stood beside his throne, of which,
however, he chose not instantly to take possession, lest he should give
the insolent stranger some ground for renewing and persisting in a
competition for it.

"What bold Vavasour is this," said he to Count Baldwin, "whom, as is
apparent from his dignity, I ought to have received seated upon my
throne, and who thinks proper thus to vindicate his rank?"

"He is reckoned one of the bravest men in our host," answered Baldwin,
"though the brave are as numerous there as the sands of the sea. He
will himself tell you his name and rank."

Alexius looked at the Vavasour. He saw nothing in his large,
well-formed features, lighted by a wild touch of enthusiasm which spoke
in his quick eye, that intimated premeditated insult, and was induced
to suppose that what had occurred, so contrary to the form and
ceremonial of the Grecian court, was neither an intentional affront,
nor designed as the means of introducing a quarrel. He therefore spoke
with comparative ease, when he addressed the stranger thus:--"We know
not by what dignified name to salute you: but we are aware, from Count
Baldwin's information, that we are honoured in having in our presence
one of the bravest knights whom a sense of the wrongs done to the Holy
Land has brought thus far on his way to Palestine, to free it from its
bondage."

"If you mean to ask my name," answered the European knight, "any one of
these pilgrims can readily satisfy you, and more gracefully than I can
myself; since we use to say in our country, that many a fierce quarrel
is prevented from being fought out by an untimely disclosure of names,
when men, who might have fought with the fear of God before their eyes,
must, when their names are manifested, recognise each other as
spiritual allies, by baptism, gossipred, or some such irresistible bond
of friendship; whereas, had they fought first and told their names
afterwards, they could have had some assurance of each other's valour,
and have been able to view their relationship as an honour to both."

"Still," said the Emperor, "methinks I would know if you, who, in this
extraordinary press of knights, seem to assert a precedence to
yourself, claim the dignity due to a king or prince?"

"How speak you that?" said the Frank, with a brow somewhat
over-clouded; "do you feel that I have not left you unjostled by my
advance to these squadrons of yours?"

Alexius hastened to answer, that he felt no particular desire to
connect the Count with an affront or offence; observing, that in the
extreme necessity of the Empire, it was no time for him, who was at the
helm, to engage in idle or unnecessary quarrels.

The Frankish knight heard him, and answered drily--"Since such are your
sentiments, I wonder that you have ever resided long enough within the
hearing of the French language to learn to speak it as you do. I would
have thought some of the sentiments of the chivalry of the nation,
since you are neither a monk nor a woman, would, at the same time with
the words of the dialect, have found their way into your heart." "Hush,
Sir Count," said Bohemond, who remained by the Emperor to avert the
threatening quarrel. "It is surely requisite to answer the Emperor with
civility; and those who are impatient for warfare, will have infidels
enough to wage it with. He only demanded your name and lineage, which
you of all men can have the least objection to disclose."

"I know not if it will interest this prince, or Emperor as you term
him," answered the Frank Count; "but all the account I can give of
myself is this:--In the midst of one of the vast forests which, occupy
the centre of France, my native country, there stands a chapel, sunk so
low into the ground, that it seems as if it were become decrepid by its
own great age. The image of the Holy Virgin who presides over its
altar, is called by all men our Lady of the Broken Lances, and is
accounted through the whole kingdom the most celebrated for military
adventures. Four beaten roads, each leading from an opposite point in
the compass, meet before the principal door of the chapel; and ever and
anon, as a good knight arrives at this place, he passes in to the
performance of his devotions in the chapel, having first sounded his
horn three times, till ash and oak-tree quiver and ring. Having then
kneeled down to his devotions, he seldom arises from the mass of Her of
the Broken Lances, but there is attending on his leisure some
adventurous knight ready to satisfy the new comer's desire of battle.
This station have I held for a month and more against all comers, and
all gave me fair thanks for the knightly manner of quitting myself
towards them, except one, who had the evil hap to fall from his horse,
and did break his neck; and another, who was struck through the body,
so that the lance came out behind his back about a cloth-yard, all
dripping with blood. Allowing for such accidents, which cannot easily
be avoided, my opponents parted with me with fair acknowledgment of the
grace I had done them."

"I conceive, Sir Knight," said the Emperor, "that a form like yours,
animated by the courage you display, is likely to find few equals even
among your adventurous countrymen; far less among men who are taught
that to cast away their lives in a senseless quarrel among themselves,
is to throw away, like a boy, the gift of Providence."

"You are welcome to your opinion," said the Frank, somewhat
contemptuously; "yet I assure you, if you doubt that our gallant strife
was unmixed with sullenness and anger, and that we hunt not the hart or
the boar with merrier hearts in the evening, than we discharge our task
of chivalry by the morn had arisen, before the portal of the old
chapel, you do us foul injustice."

"With the Turks you will not enjoy this amiable exchange of
courtesies," answered Alexius. "Wherefore I would advise you neither to
stray far into the van nor into the rear, but to abide by the standard
where the best infidels make their efforts, and the best knights are
required to repel them."

"By our Lady of the Broken Lances," said the Crusader, "I would not
that the Turks were more courteous than they are Christian, and am well
pleased that unbeliever and heathen hound are a proper description for
the best of them, as being traitor alike to their God and to the laws
of chivalry; and devoutly do I trust that I shall meet with them in the
front rank of our army, beside our standard, or elsewhere, and have an
open field to my devoir against them, both as the enemies of our Lady
and the holy saints, and as, by their evil customs, more expressly my
own. Meanwhile you have time to seat yourself and receive my homage,
and I will be bound to you for despatching this foolish ceremony with
as little waste and delay of time as the occasion will permit."

The Emperor hastily seated himself, and received into his the sinewy
hands of the Crusader, who made the acknowledgment of his homage, and
was then guided off by Count Baldwin, who walked with the stranger to
the ships, and then, apparently well pleased at seeing him in the
course of going on board, returned back to the side of the Emperor.

"What is the name," said the Emperor, "of that singular and assuming
man?"

"It is Robert, Count of Paris," answered Baldwin, "accounted one of the
bravest peers who stand around the throne of France."

After a moment's recollection, Alexius Comnenus issued orders, that the
ceremonial of the day should be discontinued, afraid, perhaps, lest the
rough and careless humour of the strangers should produce some new
quarrel. The crusaders were led, nothing loth, back to palaces in which
they had been hospitably received, and readily resumed the interrupted
feast, from which they had been called to pay their homage. The
trumpets of the various leaders blew the recall of the few troops of an
ordinary character who were attendant, together with the host of
knights and leaders, who, pleased with the indulgences provided for
them, and obscurely foreseeing that the passage of the Bosphorus would
be the commencement of their actual suffering, rejoiced in being called
to the hither side.

It was not probably intended; but the hero, as he might be styled, of
the tumultuous day, Count Robert of Paris, who was already on his road
to embarkation on the strait, was disturbed in his purpose by the sound
of recall which was echoed around; nor could Bohemond, Godfrey, or any
one who took upon him to explain the signal, alter his resolution of
returning to Constantinople. He laughed to scorn the threatened
displeasure of the Emperor, and seemed to think there would be a
peculiar pleasure in braving Alexius at his own board, or, at least,
that nothing could be more indifferent than whether he gave offence or
not.

To Godfrey of Bouillon, to whom he showed some respect, he was still
far from paying deference; and that sagacious prince, having used every
argument which might shake his purpose of returning to the imperial
city, to the very point of making it a quarrel with him in person, at
length abandoned him to his own discretion, and pointed him out to the
Count of Thoulouse, as he passed, as a wild knight-errant, incapable of
being influenced by any thing save his own wayward fancy. "He brings
not five hundred men to the crusade," said Godfrey; "and I dare be
sworn, that even in this, the very outset of the undertaking, he knows
not where these five hundred men are, and how their wants are provided
for. There is an eternal trumpet in his ear sounding to assault, nor
has he room or time to hear a milder or more rational signal. See how
he strolls along yonder, the very emblem of an idle schoolboy, broke
out of the school-bounds upon a holyday, half animated by curiosity and
half by love of mischief."

"And," said Raymond, Count of Thoulouse, "with resolution sufficient to
support the desperate purpose of the whole army of devoted crusaders.
And yet so passionate a Rodomont is Count Robert, that he would rather
risk the success of the whole expedition, that omit an opportunity of
meeting a worthy antagonist _en champ-clos_, or lose, as he terms it, a
chance of worshipping our Lady of the Broken Lances. Who are yon with
whom he has now met, and who are apparently walking, or rather
strolling in the same way with him, back to Constantinople?"

"An armed knight, brilliantly equipped--yet of something less than
knightly stature," answered Godfrey. "It is, I suppose, the celebrated
lady who won Robert's heart in the lists of battle, by bravery and
valour equal to his own; and the pilgrim form in the long vestments may
be their daughter or niece."

"A singular spectacle, worthy Knight," said the Count of Thoulouse, "do
our days present to us, to which we have had nothing similar, since
Gaita, [Footnote: This Amazon makes a conspicuous figure in Anna
Comnena's account of her father's campaigns against Robert Guiscard. On
one occasion (Alexiad, lib. iv. p. 93) she represents her as thus
recalling the fugitive soldiery of her husband to their duty,--[Greek:
Hae de ge Taita Aeallas allae, kan mae Athaenae kat auton megisaen
apheisa phonaen, monon ou to Homaerikon epos tae idia dialektio legein
eokei. Mechri posou pheuxesthou; ataete aneres ese. Hos de eti
pheugontas toutous eora, dory makron enagkalisamenae, holous rhytaeras
endousa kata ton pheugonton ietai].--That is, exhorting them, in all
but Homeric language, at the top of her voice; and when this failed,
brandishing a long spear, and rushing upon the fugitives at the utmost
speed of her horse.

This heroic lady, according to the _Chronigue Scandaleuse_, of those
days, was afterwards deluded by some cunning overtures of the Greek
Emperor, and poisoned her husband in expectation of gaining a place on
the throne of Constantinople. Ducange, however, rejects the story, and
so does Gibbon.] wife of Robert Guiscard, first took upon her to
distinguish herself by manly deeds of emprise, and rival her husband,
as well in the front of battle as at the dancing-room or banquet."

"Such is the custom of this pair, most noble knight," answered another
Crusader, who had joined them, "and Heaven pity the poor man who has no
power to keep domestic peace by an appeal to the stronger hand!"

"Well!" replied Raymond, "if it be rather a mortifying reflection, that
the lady of our love is far past the bloom of youth, it is a
consolation that she is too old-fashioned to beat us, when we return
back with no more of youth or manhood than a long crusade has left. But
come, follow on the road to Constantinople, and in the rear of this
most doughty knight."




CHAPTER THE TENTH.

     Those were wild times--the antipodes of ours:
     Ladies were there, who oftener saw themselves
     In the broad lustre of a foeman's shield
     Than in a mirror, and who rather sought
     To match themselves in battle, than in dalliance
     To meet a lover's onset.--But though Nature
     Was outraged thus, she was not overcome.
                                FEUDAL TIMES.


Brenhilda, Countess of Paris, was one of those stalwart dames who
willingly hazarded themselves in the front of battle, which, during the
first crusade, was as common as it was possible for a very unnatural
custom to be, and, in fact, gave the real instances of the Marphisas
and Bradamantes, whom the writers of romance delighted to paint,
assigning them sometimes the advantage of invulnerable armour, or a
spear whose thrust did not admit of being resisted, in order to soften
the improbability of the weaker sex being frequently victorious over
the male part of the creation.

But the spell of Brenhilda was of a more simple nature, and rested
chiefly in her great beauty.

From a girl she despised the pursuits of her sex; and they who ventured
to become suitors for the hand of the young Lady of Aspramonte, to
which warlike fief she had succeeded, and which perhaps encouraged her
in her fancy, received for answer, that they must first merit it by
their good behaviour in the lists. The father of Brenhilda was dead;
her mother was of a gentle temper, and easily kept under management by
the young lady herself.

Brenhilda's numerous suitors readily agreed to terms which were too
much according to the manners of the age to be disputed. A tournament
was held at the Castle of Aspramonte, in which one half of the gallant
assembly rolled headlong before their successful rivals, and withdrew
from the lists mortified and disappointed. The successful party among
the suitors were expected to be summoned to joust among themselves. But
they were surprised at being made acquainted with the lady's further
will. She aspired to wear armour herself, to wield a lance, and back a
steed, and prayed the knights that they would permit a lady, whom they
professed to honour so highly, to mingle in their games of chivalry.
The young knights courteously received their young mistress in the
lists, and smiled at the idea of her holding them triumphantly against
so many gallant champions of the other sex. But the vassals and old
servants of the Count, her father, smiled to each other, and intimated
a different result than the gallants anticipated. The knights who
encountered the fair Brenhilda were one by one stretched on the sand;
nor was it to be denied, that the situation of tilting with one of the
handsomest women of the time was an extremely embarrassing one. Each
youth was bent to withhold his charge in full volley, to cause his
steed to swerve at the full shock, or in some other way to flinch from
doing the utmost which was necessary to gain the victory, lest, in so
gaining it, he might cause irreparable injury to the beautiful opponent
he tilted with. But the Lady of Aspramonte was not one who could be
conquered by less than the exertion of the whole strength and talents
of the victor. The defeated suitors departed from the lists the more
mortified at their discomfiture, because Robert of Paris arrived at
sunset, and, understanding what was going forward, sent his name to the
barriers, as that of a knight who would willingly forego the reward of
the tournament, in case he had the fortune to gain it, declaring, that
neither lauds nor ladies' charms were what he came thither to seek.
Brenhilda, piqued and mortified, chose a new lance, mounted her best
steed, and advanced into the lists as one determined to avenge upon the
new assailant's brow the slight of her charms which he seemed to
express. But whether her displeasure had somewhat interfered with her
usual skill, or whether she had, like others of her sex, felt a
partiality towards one whose heart was not particularly set upon
gaining hers--or whether, as is often said on such occasions, her fated
hour was come, so it was that Count Robert tilted with his usual
address and good fortune. Brenhilda of Aspramonte was unhorsed and
unhelmed, and stretched on the earth, and the beautiful face, which
faded from very red to deadly pale before the eyes of the victor,
produced its natural effect in raising the value of his conquest. He
would, in conformity with his resolution, have left the castle after
having mortified the vanity of the lady; but her mother opportunely
interposed; and when she had satisfied herself that no serious injury
had been sustained by the young heiress, she returned her thanks to the
stranger knight who had taught her daughter a lesson, which, she
trusted, she would not easily forget. Thus tempted to do what he
secretly wished, Count Robert gave ear to those sentiments, which
naturally whispered to him to be in no hurry to withdraw.

He was of the blood of Charlemagne, and, what was still of more
consequence in the young lady's eyes, one of the most renowned of
Norman knights in that jousting day. After a residence of ten days in
the castle of Aspramonte, the bride and bridegroom set out, for such
was Count Robert's will, with a competent train, to our Lady of the
Broken Lances, where it pleased him to be wedded. Two knights who were
waiting to do battle, as was the custom of the place, were rather
disappointed at the nature of the cavalcade, which seemed to interrupt
their purpose. But greatly were they surprised when they received a
cartel from the betrothed couple, offering to substitute their own
persons in the room of other antagonists, and congratulating themselves
in commencing their married life in a manner so consistent with that
which they had hitherto led. They were victorious as usual; and the
only persons having occasion to rue the complaisance of the Count and
his bride, were the two strangers, one of whom broke an arm in the
rencontre, and the other dislocated a collar-bone.

Count Robert's course of knight-errantry did not seem to be in the
least intermitted by his marriage; on the contrary, when he was called
upon to support his renown, his wife was often known also in military
exploits, nor was she inferior to him in thirst after fame. They both
assumed the cross at the same time, that being then the predominating
folly in Europe.

The Countess Brenhilda was now above six-and-twenty years old, with as
much beauty as can well fall to the share of an Amazon. A figure, of
the largest feminine size, was surmounted by a noble countenance, to
which even repeated warlike toils had not given more than a sunny hue,
relieved by the dazzling whiteness of such parts of her face as were
not usually displayed.

As Alexius gave orders that his retinue should return to
Constantinople, he spoke in private to the Follower, Achilles Tatius.
The Satrap answered with a submissive bend of the head, and separated
with a few attendants from the main body of the Emperor's train. The
principal road to the city was, of course, filled with the troops, and
with the numerous crowds of spectators, all of whom were inconvenienced
in some degree by the dust and heat of the weather.

Count Robert of Paris had embarked his horses on board of ship, and all
his retinue, except an old squire or valet of his own, and an attendant
of his wife. He felt himself more incommoded in this crowd than he
desired, especially as his wife shared it with him, and began to look
among the scattered trees which fringed the shores, down almost to the
tide-mark, to see if he could discern any by-path which might carry
them more circuitously, but more pleasantly, to the city, and afford
them at the same time, what was their principal object in the East,
strange sights, or adventures of chivalry. A broad and beaten path
seemed to promise them all the enjoyment which shade could give in a
warm climate. The ground through which it wound its way was beautifully
broken by the appearance of temples, churches, and kiosks, and here and
there a fountain distributed its silver produce, like a benevolent
individual, who, self-denying to himself, is liberal to all others who
are in necessity. The distant sound of the martial music still regaled
their way; and, at the same time, as it detained the populace on the
high-road, prevented the strangers from becoming incommoded with
fellow-travellers.

Rejoicing in the abated heat of the day-wondering, at the same time, at
the various kinds of architecture, the strange features of the
landscape, or accidental touches of manners, exhibited by those who met
or passed them upon their journey, they strolled easily onwards. One
figure particularly caught the attention of the Countess Brenhilda.
This was an old man of great stature, engaged, apparently, so deeply
with the roll of parchment which he held in his hand, that he paid no
attention to the objects which were passing around him. Deep thought
appeared to reign on his brow, and his eye was of that piercing kind
which seems designed to search and winnow the frivolous from the
edifying part of human discussion, and limit its inquiry to the last.
Raising his eyes slowly from the parchment on which he had been gazing,
the look of Agelastes--for it was the sage himself--encountered those
of Count Robert and his lady, and addressing them, with the kindly
epithet of "my children," he asked if they had missed their road, or
whether there was any thing in which he could do them any pleasure.

"We are strangers, father," was the answer, "from a distant country,
and belonging to the army which has passed hither upon pilgrimage; one
object brings us here in common, we hope, with all that host. We desire
to pay our devotions where the great ransom was paid for us, and to
free, by our good swords, enslaved Palestine, from the usurpation and
tyranny of the infidel. When we have said this, we have announced our
highest human motive. Yet Robert of Paris and his Countess would not
willingly set their foot on a land, save what should resound its echo.
They have not been accustomed to move in silence upon the face of the
earth, and they would purchase an eternal life of fame, though it were
at the price of mortal existence."

"You seek, then, to barter safety for fame," said Agelastes, "though
you may, perchance, throw death into the scale by which you hope to
gain it?"

"Assuredly," said Count Robert; "nor is there one wearing such a belt
as this, to whom such a thought is stranger."

"And as I understand," said Agelastes, "your lady shares with your
honourable self in these valorous resolutions?--Can this be?"

"You may undervalue my female courage, father, if such is your will,"
said the Countess; "but I speak in presence of a witness who can attest
the truth, when I say that a man of half your years had not doubted the
truth with impunity."

"Nay, Heaven protect me from the lightning of your eyes," said
Agelastes, "whether in anger or in scorn. I bear an aegis about myself
against what I should else have feared. But age, with its incapacities,
brings also its apologies. Perhaps, indeed, it is one like me whom you
seek to find, and in that case I should be happy to render to you such
services as it is my duty to offer to all worthy knights."

"I have already said," replied Count Robert, "that after the
accomplishment of my vow,"--he looked upwards and crossed
himself,--"there is nothing on earth to which I am more bound than to
celebrate my name in arms as becomes a valiant cavalier. When men die
obscurely, they die for ever. Had my ancestor Charles never left the
paltry banks of the Saale, he had not now been much better known than
any vine-dresser who wielded his pruning-hook in the same territories.
But he bore him like a brave man, and his name is deathless in the
memory of the worthy."

"Young man," said the old Grecian, "although it is but seldom that such
as you, whom I was made to serve and to value, visit this country, it
is not the less true that I am well qualified to serve you in the
matter which you have so much at heart. My acquaintance with nature has
been so perfect and so long, that, during its continuance, she has
disappeared, and another world has been spread before me, in which she
has but little to do. Thus the curious stores which I have assembled
are beyond the researches of other men, and not to be laid before those
whose deeds of valour are to be bounded by the ordinary probabilities
of everyday nature. No romancer of your romantic country ever devised
such extraordinary adventures out of his own imagination, and to feed
the idle wonder of those who sat listening around, as those which I
know, not of idle invention, but of real positive existence, with the
means of achieving and accomplishing the conditions of each adventure."

"If such be your real profession," said the French Count, "you have met
one of those whom you chiefly search for; nor will my Countess and I
stir farther upon our road until you have pointed out to us some one of
those adventures which, it is the business of errant-knights to be
industrious in seeking out."

So saying, he sat down by the side of the old man; and his lady, with a
degree of reverence which had something in it almost diverting,
followed his example.

"We have fallen right, Brenhilda," said Count Robert; "our guardian.
angel has watched his charge carefully. Here have we come among an,
ignorant set of pedants, chattering their absurd language, and holding
more important the least look that a cowardly Emperor can give, than
the best blow that a good knight can deal. Believe me, I was wellnigh
thinking that we had done ill to take the cross--God forgive such an
impious doubt! Yet here, when we were even despairing to find the road
to fame, we have met with one of those excellent men whom the knights
of yore were wont to find sitting by springs, by crosses, and by
altars, ready to direct the wandering knight where fame was to be
found. Disturb him not, my Brenhilda," said the Count, "but let him
recall to himself his stories of the ancient time, and thou shalt see
he will enrich us with the treasures of his information."

"If," replied Agelastes, after some pause, "I have waited for a longer
term than human life is granted to most men, I shall still be overpaid
by dedicating what remains of existence to the service of a pair so
devoted to chivalry. What first occurs to me is a story of our Greek
country, so famous in adventures, and which I shall briefly detail to
you:--

"Afar hence, in our renowned Grecian Archipelago, amid storms and
whirlpools, rocks which, changing their character, appear to
precipitate themselves against each other, and billows that are never
in a pacific state, lies the rich island of Zulichium, inhabited,
notwithstanding its wealth, by a very few natives, who live only upon
the sea-coast. The inland part of the island is one immense mountain,
or pile of mountains, amongst which, those who dare approach near
enough, may, we are assured, discern the moss-grown and antiquated
towers and pinnacles of a stately, but ruinous castle, the habitation
of the sovereign of the island, in which she has been, enchanted for a
great many years.

"A bold knight, who came upon, a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, made a vow to
deliver this unhappy victim of pain and sorcery; feeling, with justice,
vehemently offended, that the fiends of darkness should exercise any
authority near the Holy Land, which might be termed the very fountain
of light. Two of the oldest inhabitants of the island undertook to
guide him as near to the main gate as they durst, nor did they approach
it more closely than the length of a bow-shot. Here, then, abandoned to
himself, the brave Frank set forth upon his enterprise, with a stout
heart, and Heaven alone to friend. The fabric which he approached
showed, by its gigantic size, and splendour of outline, the power and
wealth of the potentate who had erected it. The brazen gates unfolded
themselves as if with hope and pleasure; and aerial voices swept around
the spires and turrets, congratulating the genius of the place, it
might be, upon the expected approach of its deliverer.

"The knight passed on, not unmoved with wonder, though untainted by
fear; and the Gothic splendours which he saw were of a kind highly to
exalt his idea of the beauty of the mistress for whom a prison-house
had been so richly decorated. Guards there were in Eastern dress and
arms, upon bulwark and buttress, in readiness, it appeared, to bend
their bows; but the warriors were motionless and silent, and took no
more notice of the armed step of the knight than if a monk or hermit
had approached their guarded post. They were living, and yet, as to all
power and sense, they might be considered among the dead. If there was
truth in the old tradition, the sun had shone and the rain had fallen
upon them for more than four hundred changing seasons, without their
being sensible of the genial warmth of the one or the coldness of the
other. Like the Israelites in the desert, their shoes had not decayed,
nor their vestments waxed old. As Time left them, so and without
alteration was he again to find them." The philosopher began now to
recall what he had heard of the cause of their enchantment.

"The sage to whom this potent charm is imputed, was one of the Magi who
followed the tenets of Zoroaster. He had come to the court of this
youthful Princess, who received him with every attention which
gratified vanity could dictate, so that in a short time her awe of this
grave personage was lost in the sense of ascendency which her beauty
gave her over him. It was no difficult matter--in fact it happens every
day--for the beautiful woman to lull the wise man into what is not
inaptly called a fool's paradise. The sage was induced to attempt feats
of youth which his years rendered ridiculous; he could command the
elements, but the common course of nature was beyond his power. When,
therefore, he exerted his magic strength, the mountains bent and the
seas receded; but when the philosopher attempted to lead forth the
Princess of Zulichium in the youthful dance, youths and maidens turned
their heads aside lest they should make too manifest the ludicrous
ideas with which they were impressed.

"Unhappily, as the aged, even the wisest of them, will forget
themselves, so the young naturally enter into an alliance to spy out,
ridicule, and enjoy their foibles. Many were the glances which the
Princess sent among her retinue, intimating the nature of the amusement
which she received from the attentions of her formidable lover. In
process of time she lost her caution, and a glance was detected,
expressing to the old man the ridicule and contempt in which he had
been all along held by the object of his affections. Earth has no
passion so bitter as love converted to hatred; and while the sage
bitterly regretted what he had done, he did not the less resent the
light-hearted folly of the Princess by whom he had been duped.

"If, however, he was angry, he possessed the art to conceal it. Not a
word, not a look expressed the bitter disappointment which he had
received. A shade of melancholy, or rather gloom, upon his brow, alone
intimated the coming storm. The Princess became somewhat alarmed; she
was besides extremely good-natured, nor had her intentions of leading
the old man into what would render him ridiculous, been so accurately
planned with malice prepense, as they were the effect of accident and
chance. She saw the pain which he suffered, and thought to end it by
going up to him, when about to retire, and kindly wishing him
good-night.

"'You say well, daughter,' said the sage, 'good-night--but who, of the
numbers who hear me, shall say good-morning?'

"The speech drew little attention, although two or three persons to
whom the character of the sage was known, fled from the island that
very night, and by their report made known the circumstances attending
the first infliction of this extraordinary spell on those who remained
within the Castle. A sleep like that of death fell upon them, and was
not removed. Most of the inhabitants left the island; the few who
remained were cautious how they approached the Castle, and watched
until some bold adventurer should bring that happy awakening which the
speech of the sorcerer seemed in some degree to intimate.

"Never seemed there a fairer opportunity for that awakening to take
place than when the proud step of Artavan de Hautlieu was placed upon
those enchanted courts. On the left, lay the palace and donjon-keep;
but the right, more attractive, seemed to invite to the apartment of
the women. At a side door, reclined on a couch, two guards of the
haram, with their naked swords grasped in their hands, and features
fiendishly contorted between sleep and dissolution, seemed to menace
death to any who should venture to approach. This threat deterred not
Artavan de Hautlieu. He approached the entrance, when the doors, like
those of the great entrance to the Castle, made themselves instantly
accessible to him. A guard-room of the same effeminate soldiers
received him, nor could the strictest examination have discovered to
him whether it was sleep or death which arrested the eyes that seemed
to look upon and prohibit his advance. Unheeding the presence of these
ghastly sentinels, Artavan pressed forward into an inner apartment,
where female slaves of the most distinguished beauty were visible in
the attitude of those who had already assumed their dress for the
night. There was much in this scene which might have arrested so young
a pilgrim as Artavan of Hautlieu; but his heart was fixed on achieving
the freedom of the beautiful Princess, nor did he suffer himself to be
withdrawn from that object by any inferior consideration. He passed on,
therefore, to a little ivory door, which, after a moment's pause, as if
in maidenly hesitation, gave way like the rest, and yielded access to
the sleeping apartment of the Princess herself. A soft light,
resembling that of evening, penetrated into a chamber where every thing
seemed contrived to exalt the luxury of slumber. The heaps of cushions,
which formed a stately bed, seemed rather to be touched than impressed
by the form of a nymph of fifteen, the renowned Princess of Zulichium."

"Without interrupting you, good father," said the Countess Brenhilda,
"it seems to me that we can comprehend the picture of a woman asleep
without much dilating upon it, and that such a subject is little
recommended either by our age or by yours."

"Pardon me, noble lady," answered Agelastes, "the most approved part of
my story has ever been this passage, and while I now suppress it in
obedience to your command, bear notice, I pray you, that I sacrifice
the most beautiful part of the tale."

"Brenhilda," added the Count, "I am surprised you think of interrupting
a story which has hitherto proceeded with so much fire; the telling of
a few words more or less will surely have a much greater influence
upon, the sense of the narrative, than such an addition can possibly
possess over our sentiments of action."

"As you will," said his lady, throwing herself carelessly back upon the
seat; "but methinks the worthy father protracts this discourse, till it
becomes of a nature more trifling than interesting."

"Brenhilda," said the Count, "this is the first time I have remarked in
you a woman's weakness."

"I may as well say, Count Robert, that it is the first time," answered
Brenhilda, "that you have shown to me the inconstancy of your sex."

"Gods and goddesses," said the philosopher, "was ever known a quarrel
more absurdly founded! The Countess is jealous of one whom her husband
probably never will see, nor is there any prospect that the Princess of
Zulichium will be hereafter better known, to the modern world, than if
the curtain hung before her tomb."

"Proceed," said Count Robert of Paris; "if Sir Artavan of Hautlieu has
not accomplished the enfranchisement of the Princess of Zulichium, I
make a vow to our Lady of the Broken Lances,"--

"Remember," said his lady interfering, "that you are already under a
vow to free the Sepulchre of God; and to that, methinks, all lighter
engagements might give place."

"Well, lady--well," said Count Robert, but half satisfied with this
interference, "I will not engage myself, you may be assured, on any
adventure which may claim precedence of the enterprise of the Holy
Sepulchre, to which we are all bound."

"Alas!" said Agelastes, "the distance of Zulichium from the speediest
route to the sepulchre is so small that"--

"Worthy father," said the Countess, "we will, if it pleases you, hear
your tale to an end, and then determine what we will do. We Norman
ladies, descendants of the old Germans, claim a voice with our lords in
the council which precedes the battle; nor has our assistance in the
conflict been deemed altogether useless."

The tone in which this was spoken conveyed an awkward innuendo to the
philosopher, who began to foresee that the guidance of the Norman
knight would be more difficult than he had foreseen, while his consort
remained by his side. He took up, therefore, his oratory on somewhat a
lower key than before, and avoided those warm descriptions which had
given such offence to the Countess Brenhilda.

"Sir Artavan de Hautlieu, says the story, considered in what way he
should accost the sleeping damsel, when it occurred to him in what
manner the charm would be most likely to be reversed. I am in your
judgment, fair lady, if he judged wrong in resolving that the method of
his address should be a kiss upon the lips." The colour of Brenhilda
was somewhat heightened, but she did not deem the observation worthy of
notice.

"Never had so innocent an action," continued the philosopher, "an
effect more horrible. The delightful light of a summer evening was
instantly changed into a strange lurid hue, which, infected with
sulphur, seemed to breathe suffocation through the apartment. The rich
hangings, and splendid furniture of the chamber, the very walls
themselves, were changed into huge stones tossed together at random,
like the inside of a wild beast's den, nor was the den without an
inhabitant. The beautiful and innocent lips to which Artavan de
Hautlieu had approached his own, were now changed into the hideous and
bizarre form, and bestial aspect of a fiery dragon. A moment she
hovered upon the wing, and it is said, had Sir Artavan found courage to
repeat his salute three times, he would then have remained master of
all the wealth, and of the disenchanted princess. But the opportunity
was lost, and the dragon, or the creature who seemed such, sailed out
at a side window upon its broad pennons, uttering loud wails of
disappointment."

Here ended the story of Agelastes. "The Princess," he said, "is still
supposed to abide her doom in the Island of Zulichium, and several
knights have undertaken the adventure; but I know not whether it was
the fear of saluting the sleeping maiden, or that of approaching the
dragon into which she was transformed, but so it is, the spell remains
unachieved. I know the way, and if you say the word, you may be
to-morrow on the road to the castle of enchantment."

The Countess heard this proposal with the deepest anxiety, for she knew
that she might, by opposition, determine her husband irrevocably upon
following out the enterprise. She stood therefore with a timid and
bashful look, strange in a person whose bearing was generally so
dauntless, and prudently left it to the uninfluenced mind of Count
Robert to form the resolution which should best please him.

"Brenhilda," he said, taking her hand, "fame and honour are dear to thy
husband as ever they were to knight who buckled a brand upon his side.
Thou hast done, perhaps, I may say, for me, what I might in vain have
looked for from ladies of thy condition; and therefore thou mayst well
expect a casting voice in such points of deliberation.--Why dost thou
wander by the side of a foreign and unhealthy shore, instead of the
banks of the lovely Seine?--Why dost thou wear a dress unusual to thy
sex?--Why dost thou seek death, and think it little in comparison of
shame?--Why? but that the Count of Paris may have a bride worthy of
him.--Dost thou think that this affection is thrown away? No, by the
saints! Thy knight repays it as he best ought, and sacrifices to thee
every thought which thy affection may less than entirely approve."

Poor Brenhilda, confused as she was by the various emotions with which
she was agitated, now in vain endeavoured to maintain the heroic
deportment which her character as an Amazon required from her. She
attempted to assume the proud and lofty look which was properly her
own, but failing in the effort, she threw herself into the Count's
arms, hung round his neck, and wept like a, village maiden, whose true
love is pressed for the wars. Her husband, a little ashamed, while he
was much moved by this burst of affection in one to whose character it
seemed an unusual attribute, was, at the same time, pleased and proud
that he could have awakened an affection so genuine and so gentle in a
soul so high-spirited and so unbending.

"Not thus," he said, "my Brenhilda! I would not have it thus, either
for thine own sake or for mine. Do not let this wise old man suppose
that thy heart is made of the malleable stuff which forms that of other
maidens; and apologize to him, as may well become thee, for having
prevented my undertaking the adventure of Zulichium, which he
recommends."

It was not easy for Brenhilda to recover herself, after having afforded
so notable an instance how nature can vindicate her rights, with
whatever rigour she may have been disciplined and tyrannized over. With
a look of ineffable affection, she disjoined herself from her husband,
still keeping hold of his hand, and turning to the old man with a
countenance in which the half-effaced tears were succeeded by smiles of
pleasure and of modesty, she spoke to Agelastes as she would to a
person whom she respected, and towards whom she had some offence to
atone. "Father," she said, respectfully, "be not angry with me that I
should have been an obstacle to one of the best knights that ever
spurred steed, undertaking the enterprise of thine enchanted Princess;
but the truth is, that in our land, where knighthood and religion agree
in permitting only one lady love, and one lady wife, we do not quite so
willingly see our husbands run into danger--especially of that kind
where lonely ladies are the parties relieved--and--and kisses are the
ransom paid. I have as much confidence in my Robert's fidelity, as a
lady can have in a loving knight, but still"--

"Lovely lady," said Agelastes, who, notwithstanding his highly
artificial character, could not help being moved by the simple and
sincere affection of the handsome young pair, "you have done no evil.
The state of the Princess is no worse than it was, and there cannot be
a doubt that the knight fated to relieve her, will appear at the
destined period." The Countess smiled sadly, and shook her head. "You
do not know," she said, "how powerful is the aid of which I have
unhappily deprived this unfortunate lady, by a jealousy which I now
feel to have been alike paltry and unworthy; and, such is my regret,
that I could find in my heart to retract my opposition to Count
Robert's undertaking this adventure." She looked at her husband with
some anxiety, as one that had made an offer she would not willingly see
accepted, and did not recover her courage until he said, decidedly,
"Brenhilda, that may not be."

"And why, then, may not Brenhilda herself take the adventure,"
continued the Countess, "since she can neither fear the charms of the
Princess nor the terrors of the dragon?"

"Lady," said Agelastes, "the Princess must be awakened by the kiss of
love, and not by that of friendship."

"A sufficient reason," said the Countess, smiling, "why a lady may not
wish her lord to go forth upon an adventure of which the conditions are
so regulated."

"Noble minstrel, or herald, or by whatever name this country calls
you," said Count Robert, "accept a small remuneration for an hour
pleasantly spent, though spent, unhappily, in vain. I should make some
apology for the meanness of my offering, but French knights, you may
have occasion to know, are more full of fame than of wealth."

"Not for that, noble sir," replied Agelastes, "would I refuse your
munificence; a besant from your worthy hand, or that of your
noble-minded lady, were centupled in its value, by the eminence of the
persons from whom it came. I would hang it round my neck by a string of
pearls, and when I came into the presence of knights and of ladies, I
would proclaim that this addition to my achievement of armorial
distinction, was bestowed by the renowned Count Robert of Paris, and
his unequalled lady." The Knight and the Countess looked on each other,
and the lady, taking from her finger a ring of pure gold, prayed the
old man to accept of it, as a mark of her esteem and her husband's.
"With one other condition," said the philosopher, "which I trust you
will not find altogether unsatisfactory. I have, on the way to the city
by the most pleasant road, a small kiosk, or hermitage, where I
sometimes receive my friends, who, I venture to say, are among the most
respectable personages of this empire. Two or three of these will
probably honour my residence today, and partake of the provision it
affords. Could I add to these the company of the noble Count and
Countess of Paris, I should deem my poor habitation honoured for ever."

"How say you, my noble wife?" said the Count. "The company of a
minstrel befits the highest birth, honours the highest rank, and adds
to the greatest achievements; and the invitation does us too much
credit to be rejected."

"It grows somewhat late," said the Countess: "but we came not here to
shun a sinking sun or a darkening sky, and I feel it my duty, as well
as my satisfaction, to place at the command of the good father every
pleasure which it is in my power to offer to him, for having been the
means of your neglecting his advice."

"The path is so short," said Agelastes, "that we had better keep our
present mode of travelling, if the lady should not want the assistance
of horses."

"No horses on my account," said the Lady Brenhilda. "My waiting-woman,
Agatha, has what necessaries I may require; and, for the rest, no
knight ever travelled so little embarrassed with baggage as my husband."

Agelastes, therefore, led the way through the deepening wood, which was
freshened by the cooler breath of evening, and his guests accompanied
him.




CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH.

     Without, a ruin, broken, tangled, cumbrous,
     Within, it was a little paradise,
     Where Taste had made her dwelling. Statuary,
     First-born of human art, moulded her images,
     And bade men. mark and worship.
                                    ANONYMOUS.


The Count of Paris and his lady attended the old man, whose advanced
age, his excellence in the use of the French language, which he spoke
to admiration,--above all, his skill in applying it to poetical and
romantic subjects, which was essential to what was then termed history
and belles lettres,--drew from the noble hearers a degree of applause,
which, as Agelastes had seldom been vain enough to consider as his due,
so, on the part of the Knight of Paris and his lady, had it been but
rarely conferred. They had walked for some time by a path which
sometimes seemed to hide itself among the woods that came down to the
shore of the Propontis, sometimes emerged from concealment, and skirted
the open margin of the strait, while, at every turn, it seemed guided
by the desire to select a choice and contrast of beauty. Variety of
scenes and manners enlivened, from their novelty, the landscape to the
pilgrims. By the sea-shore, nymphs were seen dancing, and shepherds
piping, or beating the tambourine to their steps, as represented in
some groups of ancient statuary. The very faces had a singular
resemblance to the antique. If old, their long robes, their attitudes,
and magnificent heads, presented the ideas which distinguish prophets
and saints; while, on the other hand, the features of the young
recalled the expressive countenances of the heroes of antiquity, and
the charms of those lovely females by whom their deeds were inspired.
But the race of the Greeks was no longer to be seen, even in its native
country, unmixed, or in absolute purity; on the contrary, they saw
groups of persons with features which argued a different descent.

In a retiring bosom of the shore, which was traversed by the path, the
rocks, receding from the beach, rounded off a spacious portion of level
sand, and, in some degree, enclosed it. A party of heathen Scythians
whom they beheld, presented the deformed features of the demons they
were said to worship--flat noses with expanded nostrils, which seemed
to admit the sight to their very brain; faces which extended rather in
breadth than length, with strange unintellectual eyes placed in the
extremity; figures short and dwarfish, yet garnished with legs and arms
of astonishing sinewy strength, disproportioned to their bodies. As the
travellers passed, the savages held a species of tournament, as the
Count termed it. In this they exercised themselves by darting at each
other long reeds, or canes, balanced for the purpose, which, in this
rude sport, they threw with such force, as not unfrequently to strike
each other from their steeds, and otherwise to cause serious damage.
Some of the combatants being, for the time, out of the play, devoured
with greedy looks the beauty of the Countess, and eyed her in such a
manner, that she said to Count Robert,--"I have never known fear, my
husband, nor is it for me to acknowledge it now; but if disgust be an
ingredient of it, these misformed brutes are qualified to inspire it."
"What, ho, Sir Knight!" exclaimed one of the infidels, "your wife, or
your lady love, has committed a fault against the privileges of the
Imperial Scythians, and not small will be the penalty she has incurred.
You may go your way as fast as you will out of this place, which is,
for the present; our hippodrome, or atmeidan, call it which you will,
as you prize the Roman or the Saracen language; but for your wife, if
the sacrament has united you, believe my word, that she parts not so
soon or so easy."

"Scoundrel heathen," said the Christian Knight, "dost thou hold that
language to a Peer of France?"

Agelastes here interposed, and using the sounding language of a Grecian
courtier, reminded the Scythians, (mercenary soldiers, as they seemed,
of the empire,) that all violence against the European pilgrims was, by
the Imperial orders, strictly prohibited under pain of death.

"I know better," said the exulting savage, shaking one or two javelins
with broad steel heads, and wings of the eagle's feather, which last
were dabbled in blood. "Ask the wings of my javelin," he said, "in
whose heart's blood these feathers have been dyed. They shall reply to
you, that if Alexius Comnenus be the friend of the European pilgrims,
it is only while he looks upon them; and we are too exemplary soldiers
to serve our Emperor otherwise than he wishes to be served."

"Peace, Toxartis," said the philosopher, "thou beliest thine Emperor."

"Peace thou!" said Toxartis, "or I will do a deed that misbecomes a
soldier, and rid the world of a prating old man."

So saying, he put forth his hand to take hold of the Countess's veil.
With the readiness which frequent use had given to the warlike lady,
she withdrew herself from the heathen's grasp, and with her trenchant
sword dealt him so sufficient a blow, that Toxartis lay lifeless on the
plain. The Count leapt on the fallen leader's steed, and crying his
war-cry, "Son of Charlemagne, to the rescue!" he rode amid the rout of
heathen cavaliers with a battle-axe, which he found at the saddlebow of
the deceased chieftain, and wielding it with remorseless dexterity, he
soon slew or wounded, or compelled to flight, the objects of his
resentment; nor was there any of them who abode an instant to support
the boast which they had made. "The despicable churls!" said the
Countess to Agelastes; "it irks me that a drop of such coward blood
should stain the hands of a noble knight. They call their exercise a
tournament, although in their whole exertions every blow is aimed
behind the back, and not one has the courage to throw his windlestraw
while he perceives that of another pointed against himself."

"Such is their custom," said Agelastes; "not perhaps so much from
cowardice as from habit, in exercising before his Imperial Majesty. I
have seen that Toxartis literally turn his back upon the mark when he
bent his bow in full career, and when in the act of galloping the
farthest from his object, he pierced it through the very centre with a
broad arrow."

"A force of such soldiers," said Count Robert, who had now rejoined his
friends, "could not, methinks, be very formidable, where there was but
an ounce of genuine courage in the assailants."

"Mean time, let us pass on to my kiosk," said Agelastes, "lest the
fugitives find friends to encourage them in thoughts of revenge."

"Such friends," said Count Robert, "methinks the insolent heathens
ought not to find in any land which calls itself Christian; and if I
survive the conquest of the Holy Sepulchre, I shall make it my first
business to enquire by what right your Emperor retains in his service a
band of Paynim and unmannerly cut-throats, who dare offer injury upon
the highway, which ought to be sacred to the peace of God and the king,
and to noble ladies and inoffensive pilgrims. It is one of a list of
many questions which, my vow accomplished, I will not fail to put to
him; ay, and expecting an answer, as they say, prompt and categorical."

"You shall gain no answer from me though," said Agelastes to himself.
"Your demands, Sir Knight, are over-peremptory, and imposed under too
rigid conditions, to be replied to by those who can evade them." He
changed the conversation, accordingly, with easy dexterity; and they
had not proceeded much farther, before they reached a spot, the natural
beauties of which called forth the admiration of his foreign
companions. A copious brook, gushing out of the woodland, descended to
the sea with no small noise and tumult; and, as if disdaining a quieter
course, which it might have gained by a little circuit to the right, it
took the readiest road to the ocean, plunging over the face of a lofty
and barren precipice which overhung the sea-shore, and from thence led
its little tribute, with as much noise as if it had the stream of a
full river to boast of, to the waters of the Hellespont.

The rock, we have said, was bare, unless in so far as it was clothed
with the foaming waters of the cataract; but the banks on each side
were covered with plane-trees, walnut-trees, cypresses, and other kinds
of large timber proper to the East. The fall of water, always agreeable
in a warm climate, and generally produced by artificial means, was here
natural, and had been chosen, something like the Sibyl's temple at
Tivoli, for the seat of a goddess to whom the invention of Polytheism
had assigned a sovereignty over the department around. The shrine was
small and circular, like many of the lesser temples of the rustic
deities, and enclosed by the wall of an outer court. After its
desecration, it had probably been converted into a luxurious summer
retreat by Agelastes, or some Epicurean philosopher. As the building,
itself of a light, airy, and fantastic character, was dimly seen
through the branches and foliage on the edge of the rock, so the mode
by which it was accessible was not at first apparent amongst the mist
of the cascade. A pathway, a good deal hidden, by vegetation, ascended
by a gentle acclivity, and prolonged by the architect by means of a few
broad and easy marble steps, making part of the original approach,
conducted the passenger to a small, but exquisitely lovely velvet lawn,
in front of the turret or temple we have described, the back part of
which building overhung the cataract.




CHAPTER THE TWELFTH.

     The parties met. The wily, wordy Greek,
     Weighing each word, and canvassing each syllable;
     Evading, arguing, equivocating.
     And the stern Frank came with his two-hand sword,
     Watching to see which way the balance sways,
     That he may throw it in, and turn the scales.
                                        PALESTINE.


At a signal made by Agelastes, the door of this romantic retreat was
opened by Diogenes, the <DW64> slave, to whom our readers have been
already introduced; nor did it escape the wily old man, that the Count
and his lady testified some wonder at his form and lineaments, being
the first African perhaps whom they had ever seen so closely. The
philosopher lost not the opportunity of making an impression on their
minds, by a display of the superiority of his knowledge.

"This poor being," he observed, "is of the race of Ham, the undutiful
son of Noah; for his transgressions against his parent, he was banished
to the sands of Africa, and was condemned to be the father of a race
doomed to be the slaves of the issue of his more dutiful brethren."

The knight and his lady gazed on the wonderful appearance before them,
and did not, it may be believed, think of doubting the information
which was so much of a piece with their prejudices, while their opinion
of their host was greatly augmented by the supposed extent of his
knowledge.

"It gives pleasure to a man of humanity," continued Agelastes, "when,
in old age, or sickness, we must employ the services of others, which
is at other times scarce lawful, to choose his assistants out of a race
of beings, hewers of wood and drawers of water--from their birth
upwards destined to slavery; and to whom, therefore, by employing them
as slaves, we render no injury, but carry into effect, in a slight
degree, the intentions of the Great Being who made us all."

"Are there many of a race," said the Countess, "so singularly unhappy
in their destination? I have hitherto thought the stories of black men
as idle as those which minstrels tell of fairies and ghosts."

"Do not believe so," said the philosopher; "the race is numerous as the
sands of the sea, neither are they altogether unhappy in discharging
the duties which their fate has allotted them. Those who are of worse
character suffer even in this life the penance due to their guilt; they
become the slaves of the cruel and tyrannical, are beaten, starved, and
mutilated. To those whose moral characters are better, better masters
are provided, who share with their slaves, as with their children, food
and raiment, and the other good things which they themselves enjoy. To
some, Heaven allots the favour of kings and of conquerors, and to a
few, but those the chief favourites of the species, hath been assigned
a place in the mansions of philosophy, where, by availing themselves of
the lights which their masters can afford, they gain a prospect into
that world which is the residence of true happiness."

"Methinks I understand you," replied the Countess, "and if so, I ought
rather to envy our sable friend here than to pity him, for having been
allotted in the partition of his kind to the possession of his present
master, from whom, doubtless, he has acquired the desirable knowledge
which you mention."

"He learns, at least," said Agelastes, modestly, "what I can teach,
and, above all, to be contented with his situation.--Diogenes, my good
child," said he, changing his address to the slave, "thou seest I have
company--What does the poor hermit's larder afford, with which he may
regale his honoured guests?"

Hitherto they had advanced no farther than a sort of outer room, or
hall of entrance, fitted up with no more expense than might have suited
one who desired at some outlay, and more taste, to avail himself of the
ancient building for a sequestered and private retirement. The chairs
and couches were covered with Eastern wove mats, and were of the
simplest and most primitive form. But on touching a spring, an interior
apartment was displayed, which had considerable pretension to splendour
and magnificence. The furniture and hangings of this apartment were of
straw- silk, wrought on the looms of Persia, and crossed with
embroidery, which produced a rich, yet simple effect. The ceiling was
carved in Arabesque, and the four corners of the apartment were formed
into recesses for statuary, which had been produced in a better age of
the art than that which existed at the period of our story. In one
nook, a shepherd seemed to withdraw himself, as if ashamed to produce
his scantily-covered person, while he was willing to afford the
audience the music of the reed which he held in his hand. Three
damsels, resembling the Graces in the beautiful proportions of their
limbs, and the slender clothing which they wore, lurked in different
attitudes, each in her own niche, and seemed but to await the first
sound of the music, to bound forth from thence and join in the frolic
dance. The subject was beautiful, yet somewhat light, to ornament the
study of such a sage as Agelastes represented himself to be.

He seemed to be sensible that this might attract observation.--"These
figures," he said, "executed at the period of the highest excellence of
Grecian art, were considered of old as the choral nymphs assembled to
adore the goddess of the place, waiting but the music to join in the
worship of the temple. And, in truth, the wisest may be interested in
seeing how near to animation the genius of these wonderful men could
bring the inflexible marble. Allow but for the absence of the divine
afflatus, or breath of animation, and an unenlightened heathen might
suppose the miracle of Prometheus was about to be realized. But we,"
said he, looking upwards, "are taught to form a better judgment between
what man can do and the productions of the Deity."

Some subjects of natural history were painted on the walls, and the
philosopher fixed the attention of his guests upon the half-reasoning
elephant, of which he mentioned several anecdotes, which they listened
to with great eagerness.

A distant strain was here heard, as if of music in the woods,
penetrating by fits through the hoarse roar of the cascade, which, as
it sunk immediately below the windows, filled the apartment with its
deep voice.

"Apparently," said Agelastes, "the friends whom I expected are
approaching, and bring with them the means of enchanting another sense.
It is well they do so, since wisdom tells us that we best honour the
Deity by enjoying the gifts he has provided us."

These words called the attention of the philosopher's Frankish guests
to the preparations exhibited in this tasteful saloon. These were made
for an entertainment in the manner of the ancient Romans, and couches,
which were laid beside a table ready decked, announced that the male
guests, at least, were to assist at the banquet in the usual recumbent
posture of the ancients; while seats, placed among the couches, seemed
to say that females were expected, who would observe the Grecian
customs, in eating seated. The preparations for good cheer were such
as, though limited in extent, could scarce be excelled in quality,
either by the splendid dishes which decked Trimalchio's banquet of
former days, or the lighter delicacies of Grecian cookery, or the
succulent and highly-spiced messes indulged in by the nations of the
East, to whichever they happened to give the preference; and it was
with an air of some vanity that Agelastes asked his guests to share a
poor pilgrim's meal.

"We care little for dainties," said the Count; "nor does our present
course of life as pilgrims, bound by a vow, allow us much choice on
such subjects. Whatever is food for soldiers, suffices the Countess and
myself; for, with our will, we would at every hour be ready for battle,
and the less time we use in preparing for the field, it is even so much
the better. Sit then, Brenhilda, since the good man will have it so,
and let us lose no time in refreshment, lest we waste that which should
be otherwise employed." "A moment's forgiveness," said Agelastes,
"until the arrival of my other friends, whose music you may now hear is
close at hand, and who will not long, I may safely promise, divide you
from your meal."

"For that," said the Count, "there is no haste; and since you seem to
account it a part of civil manners, Brenhilda and I can with ease
postpone our repast, unless you will permit us, what I own would be
more pleasing, to take a morsel of bread and a cup of water presently;
and, thus refreshed, to leave the space clear for your more curious and
more familiar guests."

"The saints above forbid!" said Agelastes; "guests so honoured never
before pressed these cushions, nor could do so, if the sacred family of
the imperial Alexius himself even now stood at the gate."

He had hardly uttered these words, when the full-blown peal of a
trumpet, louder in a tenfold degree than the strains of music they had
before heard, was now sounded in the front of the temple, piercing
through the murmur of the waterfall, as a Damascus blade penetrates the
armour, and assailing the ears of the hearers, as the sword pierces the
flesh of him who wears the harness.

"You seem surprised or alarmed, father," said Count Robert. "Is there
danger near, and do you distrust our protection?"

"No," said Agelastes, "that would give me confidence in any extremity;
but these sounds excite awe, not fear. They tell me that some of the
Imperial family are about to be my guests. Yet fear nothing, my noble
friends--they, whose look is life, are ready to shower their favours
with profusion upon strangers so worthy of honour as they will see
here. Meantime, my brow must touch my threshold, in order duly to
welcome them." So saying, he hurried to the outer door of the building.

"Each land has its customs," said the Count, as he followed his host,
with his wife hanging on his arm; "but, Brenhilda, as they are so
various, it is little wonder that they appear unseemly to each other.
Here, however, in deference to my entertainer, I stoop my crest, in the
manner which seems to be required." So saying, he followed Agelastes
into the anteroom, where a new scene awaited them.




CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH.


Agelastes gained his threshold before Count Robert of Paris and his
lady. He had, therefore, time to make his prostrations before a huge
animal, then unknown to the western world, but now universally
distinguished as the elephant. On its back was a pavilion or palanquin,
within which were enclosed the august persons of the Empress Irene, and
her daughter Anna Comnena. Nicephorus Briennius attended the Princesses
in the command of a gallant body of light horse, whose splendid armour
would have given more pleasure to the crusader, if it had possessed
less an air of useless wealth and effeminate magnificence. But the
effect which it produced in its appearance was as brilliant as could
well be conceived. The officers alone of this _corps de garde_ followed
Nicephorus to the platform, prostrated themselves while the ladies of
the Imperial house descended, and rose up again under a cloud of waving
plumes and flashing lances, when they stood secure upon the platform in
front of the building. Here the somewhat aged, but commanding form of
the Empress, and the still juvenile beauties of the fair historian,
were seen to great advantage. In the front of a deep back-ground of
spears and waving crests, stood the sounder of the sacred trumpet,
conspicuous by his size and the richness of his apparel; he kept his
post on a rock above the stone staircase, and, by an occasional note of
his instrument, intimated to the squadrons beneath that they should
stay their progress, and attend the motions of the Empress and the wife
of the Caesar.

The fair form of the Countess Brenhilda, and the fantastic appearance
of her half masculine garb, attracted the attention of the ladies of
Alexius' family, but was too extraordinary to command their admiration.
Agelastes became sensible there was a necessity that he should
introduce his guests to each other, if he desired they should meet on
satisfactory terms. "May I speak," he said, "and live? The armed
strangers whom you find now with me are worthy companions of those
myriads, whom zeal for the suffering inhabitants of Palestine has
brought from the western extremity of Europe, at once to enjoy the
countenance of Alexius Comnenus, and to aid him, since it pleases him
to accept their assistance, in expelling the Paynims from the bounds of
the sacred empire, and garrison those regions in their stead, as
vassals of his Imperial Majesty."

"We are pleased," said the Empress, "worthy Agelastes, that you should
be kind to those who are disposed to be so reverent to the Emperor. And
We are rather disposed to talk with them ourselves, that our daughter
(whom Apollo hath gifted with the choice talent of recording what she
sees) may become acquainted with one of those female warriors of the
West, of whom we have heard so much by common fame, and yet know so
little with certainty."

"Madam," said the Count, "I can but rudely express to you what I have
to find fault with in the explanation which this old man hath given of
our purpose in coming hither. Certain it is, we neither owe Alexius
fealty, nor had we the purpose of paying him any, when we took the vow
upon ourselves which brought us against Asia. We came, because we
understood that the Holy Land had been torn from the Greek Emperor by
the Pagans, Saracens, Turks, and other infidels, from whom we are come
to win it back. The wisest and most prudent among us have judged it
necessary to acknowledge the Emperor's authority, since there was no
such safe way of passing to the discharge of our vow, as that of
acknowledging fealty to him, as the best mode of preventing quarrels
among Christian States. We, though independent of any earthly king, do
not pretend to be greater men than they, and therefore have
condescended to pay the same homage."

The Empress  several times with indignation in the course of
this speech, which, in more passages than one, was at variance with
those imperial maxims of the Grecian court, which held its dignity so
high, and plainly intimated a tone of opinion which was depreciating to
the Emperor's power. But the Empress Irene had received instructions
from her imperial spouse to beware how she gave, or even took, any
ground of quarrel with the crusaders, who, though coming in the
appearance of subjects, were, nevertheless, too punctilious and ready
to take fire, to render them safe discussers of delicate differences.
She made a graceful reverence accordingly, as if she had scarce
understood what the Count of Paris had explained so bluntly.

At this moment the appearance of the principal persons on either hand
attracted, in a wonderful degree, the attention of the other party, and
there seemed to exist among them a general desire of further
acquaintance, and, at the same time, a manifest difficulty in
expressing such a wish.

Agelastes--to begin with the master of the house--had risen from the
ground indeed, but without venturing to assume an upright posture; he
remained before the Imperial ladies with his body and head still bent,
his hand interposed between his eyes and their faces, like a man that
would shade his eyesight from the level sun, and awaited in silence the
commands of those to whom he seemed to think it disrespectful to
propose the slightest action, save by testifying in general, that his
house and his slaves were at their unlimited command. The Countess of
Paris, on the other hand, and her warlike husband, were the peculiar
objects of curiosity to Irene, and her accomplished daughter, Anna
Comnena; and it occurred to both these Imperial ladies, that they had
never seen finer specimens of human strength and beauty; but by a
natural instinct, they preferred the manly bearing of the husband to
that of the wife, which seemed to her own sex rather too haughty and
too masculine to be altogether pleasing.

Count Robert and his lady had also their own object of attention in the
newly arrived group, and, to speak truth, it was nothing else than the
peculiarities of the monstrous animal which they now saw, for the first
time, employed as a beast of burden in the service of the fair Irene
and her daughter. The dignity and splendour of the elder Princess, the
grace and vivacity of the younger, were alike lost in Brenhilda's
earnest inquiries into the history of the elephant, and the use which
it made of its trunk, tusks, and huge ears, upon different occasions.

Another person, who took a less direct opportunity to gaze on Brenhilda
with a deep degree of interest, was the Caesar, Nicephorus. This Prince
kept his eye as steadily upon the Frankish Countess as he could well
do, without attracting the attention, and exciting perhaps the
suspicions, of his wife and mother-in-law; he therefore endeavoured to
restore speech to an interview which would have been awkward without
it. "It is possible," he said, "beautiful Countess, that this being
your first visit to the Queen, of the world, you have never hitherto
seen the singularly curious animal called the elephant."

"Pardon me," said the Countess, "I have been treated by this learned
gentleman to a sight, and some account of that wonderful creature."

By all who heard this observation, the Lady Brenhilda was supposed to
have made a satirical thrust at the philosopher himself, who, in the
imperial court, usually went by the name of the elephant.

"No one could describe the beast more accurately than Agelastes," said
the Princess, with a smile of intelligence, which went round her
attendants.

"He knows its docility, its sensibility, and its fidelity," said the
philosopher, in a subdued tone.

"True, good Agelastes," said the Princess; "we should not criticise the
animal which kneels to take us up.--Come, lady of a foreign land," she
continued, turning to the Frank Count, and especially his
Countess--"and you her gallant lord! When you return to your native
country, you shall say you have seen the imperial family partake of
their food, and in so far acknowledge themselves to be of the same clay
with other mortals, sharing their poorest wants, and relieving them in
the same manner."

"That, gentle lady, I can well believe," said Count Robert; "my
curiosity would be more indulged by seeing this strange animal at his
food."

"You will see the elephant more conveniently at his mess within doors,"
answered the Princess, looking at Agelastes.

"Lady," said Brenhilda, "I would not willingly refuse an invitation
given in courtesy, but the sun has waxed low unnoticed, and we must
return to the city."

"Be not afraid," said the fair historian; "you shall have the advantage
of our Imperial escort to protect you in your return."

"Fear?---afraid?--escort?--protect?--These are words I know not. Know,
lady, that my husband, the noble Count of Paris, is my sufficient
escort; and even were he not with me, Brenhilda de Aspramonte fears
nothing, and can defend herself."

"Fair daughter," said Agelastes, "if I may be permitted to speak, you
mistake the gracious intentions of the Princess, who expresses herself
as to a lady of her own land. What she desires is to learn from you
some of the most marked habits and manners of the Franks, of which you
are so beautiful an example; and in return for such information the
illustrious Princess would be glad to procure your entrance to those
spacious collections, where animals from all corners of the habitable
world have been assembled at the command of our Emperor Alexius, as if
to satisfy the wisdom of those sages to whom all creation is known,
from the deer so small in size that it is exceeded by an ordinary rat,
to that huge and singular inhabitant of Africa that can browse on the
tops of trees that are forty feet high, while the length of its
hind-legs does not exceed the half of that wondrous height."

"It is enough," said the Countess, with some eagerness; but Agelastes
had got a point of discussion after his own mind.

"There is also," he said, "that huge lizard, which, resembling in shape
the harmless inhabitant of the moors of other countries, is in Egypt a
monster thirty feet in length, clothed in impenetrable scales, and
moaning over his prey when he catches it, with the hope and purpose of
drawing others within his danger, by mimicking the lamentations of
humanity."

"Say no more, father!" exclaimed the lady. "My Robert, we will go--will
we not, where such objects are to be seen?"

"There is also," said Agelastes, who saw that he would gain his point
by addressing himself to the curiosity of the strangers, "the huge
animal, wearing on its back an invulnerable vestment, having on its
nose a horn, and sometimes two, the folds of whose hide are of the most
immense thickness, and which never knight was able to wound."

"We will go, Robert--will we not?" reiterated the Countess.

"Ay," replied the Count, "and teach, these Easterns how to judge of a
knight's sword, by a single blow of my trusty Tranchefer."

"And who knows," said Brenhilda, "since this is a land of enchantment,
but what some person, who is languishing in a foreign shape, may have
their enchantment unexpectedly dissolved by a stroke of the good
weapon?"

"Say no more, father!" exclaimed the Count. "We will attend this
Princess, since such she is, were her whole escort bent to oppose our
passage, instead of being by her command to be our guard. For know, all
who hear me, thus much of the nature of the Franks, that when you tell
us of danger and difficulties, you give us the same desire to travel
the road where they lie, as other men have in seeking either pleasure
or profit in the paths in which such are to be found."

As the Count pronounced these words, he struck his hand upon his
Tranchefer, as an illustration of the manner in which he purposed upon
occasion to make good his way. The courtly circle startled somewhat at
the clash of steel, and the fiery look of the chivalrous Count Robert.
The Empress indulged her alarm by retreating into the inner apartment
of the pavilion.

With a grace, which was rarely deigned to any but those in close
alliance with the Imperial family, Anna Comnena took the arm of the
noble Count. "I see," she said, "that the Imperial Mother has honoured
the house of the learned Agelastes, by leading the way; therefore, to
teach you Grecian breeding must fall to my share." Saying this she
conducted him to the inner apartment.

"Fear not for your wife," she said, as she noticed the Frank look
round; "our husband, like ourselves, has pleasure in showing attention
to the stranger, and will lead the Countess to our board. It is not the
custom of the Imperial family to eat in company with strangers; but we
thank Heaven for having instructed us in that civility, which can know
no degradation in dispensing with ordinary rules to do honour to
strangers of such merit as yours. I know it will be my mother's
request, that you will take your places without ceremony; and also,
although the grace be somewhat particular, I am sure that it will have
my Imperial father's approbation.

"Be it as your ladyship lists," said Count Robert. "There are few men
to whom I would yield place at the board, if they had not gone before
me in the battle-field. To a lady, especially so fair a one, I
willingly yield my place, and bend my knee, whenever I have the good
hap to meet her."

The Princess Anna, instead of feeling herself awkward in the discharge
of the extraordinary, and, as she might have thought it, degrading
office of ushering a barbarian chief to the banquet, felt, on the
contrary, flattered, at having bent to her purpose a heart so obstinate
as that of Count Robert, and elated, perhaps, with a certain degree of
satisfied pride while under his momentary protection.

The Empress Irene had already seated herself at the head of the table.
She looked with some astonishment, when her daughter and son-in-law,
taking their seats at her right and left hand, invited the Count and
Countess of Paris, the former to recline, the latter to sit at the
board, in the places next to themselves; but she had received the
strictest orders from her husband to be deferential in every respect to
the strangers, and did not think it right, therefore, to interpose any
ceremonious scruples.

The Countess took her seat, as indicated, beside the Caesar; and the
Count, instead of reclining in the mode of the Grecian men, also seated
himself in the European fashion by the Princess.

"I will not lie prostrate," said he, laughing, "except in consideration
of a blow weighty enough to compel me to do so; nor then either, if I
am able to start up and return it."

The service of the table then began, and, to say truth, it appeared to
be an important part of the business of the day. The officers who
attended to perform their several duties of deckers of the table,
sewers of the banquet, removers and tasters to the Imperial family,
thronged into the banqueting room, and seemed to vie with each other in
calling upon Agelastes for spices, condiments, sauces, and wines of
various kinds, the variety and multiplicity of their demands being
apparently devised _ex preposito_, for stirring the patience of the
philosopher. But Agelastes, who had anticipated most of their requests,
however unusual, supplied them completely, or in the greatest part, by
the ready agency of his active slave Diogenes, to whom, at the same
time, he contrived to transfer all blame for the absence of such
articles as he was unable to provide.

"Be Homer my witness, the accomplished Virgil, and the curious felicity
of Horace, that, trifling and unworthy as this banquet was, my note of
directions to this thrice unhappy slave gave the instructions to
procure every ingredient necessary to convey to each dish its proper
gusto.--Ill-omened carrion that thou art, wherefore placedst thou the
pickled cucumber so far apart from the boar's head? and why are these
superb congers unprovided with a requisite quantity of fennel? The
divorce betwixt the shell-fish and the Chian wine, in a presence like
this, is worthy of the divorce of thine own soul from thy body; or, to
say the least, of a lifelong residence in the Pistrinum." While thus
the philosopher proceeded with threats, curses, and menaces against his
slave, the stranger might have an opportunity of comparing the little
torrent of his domestic eloquence, which the manners of the times did
not consider as ill-bred, with the louder and deeper share of adulation
towards his guests. They mingled like the oil with the vinegar and
pickles which Diogenes mixed for the sauce. Thus the Count and Countess
had an opportunity to estimate the happiness and the felicity reserved
for those slaves, whom the Omnipotent Jupiter, in the plenitude of
compassion for their state, and in guerdon of their good morals, had
dedicated to the service of a philosopher. The share they themselves
took in the banquet, was finished with a degree of speed which gave
surprise not only to their host, but also to the Imperial guests.

The Count helped himself carelessly out of a dish which stood near him,
and partaking of a draught of wine, without enquiring whether it was of
the vintage which the Greeks held it matter of conscience to mingle
with that species of food, he declared himself satisfied; nor could the
obliging entreaties of his neighbour, Anna Comnena, induce him to
partake of other messes represented as being either delicacies or
curiosities. His spouse ate still more moderately of the food which
seemed most simply cooked, and stood nearest her at the board, and
partook of a cup of crystal water, which she slightly tinged with wine,
at the persevering entreaty of the Caesar. They then relinquished the
farther business of the banquet, and leaning back upon their seats,
occupied themselves in watching the liberal credit done to the feast by
the rest of the guests present.

A modern synod of gourmands would hardly have equalled the Imperial
family of Greece seated, at a philosophical banquet, whether in the
critical knowledge displayed of the science of eating in all its
branches, or in the practical cost and patience with which they
exercised it. The ladies, indeed, did not eat much of any one dish, but
they tasted of almost all that were presented to them, and their name
was Legion. Yet, after a short time, in Homeric phrase, the rage of
thirst and hunger was assuaged, or, more probably, the Princess Anna
Comnena was tired of being an object of some inattention to the guest
who sat next her, and who, joining his high military character to his
very handsome presence, was a person by whom few ladies would willingly
be neglected. There is no new guise, says our father Chaucer, but what
resembles an old one; and the address of Anna Comnena to the Frankish
Count might resemble that of a modern lady of fashion, in her attempts
to engage in conversation the _exquisite_, who sits by her side in an
apparently absent fit. "We have piped unto you," said the Princess,
"and you have not danced! We have sung to you the jovial chorus of
_Evoe, evoe,_ and you will neither worship Comus nor Bacchus! Are we
then to judge you a follower of the Muses, in whose service, as well as
in that of Phoebus, we ourselves pretend to be enlisted?"

"Fair lady," replied the Frank, "be not offended at my stating once for
all, in plain terms, that I am a Christian man, spitting at, and
bidding defiance to Apollo, Bacchus, Comus, and all other heathen
deities whatsoever."

"O! cruel interpretation of my unwary words!" said the Princess; "I did
but mention the gods of music, poetry, and eloquence, worshipped by our
divine philosophers, and whose names are still used to distinguish the
arts and sciences over which they presided--and the Count interprets it
seriously into a breach of the second commandment! Our Lady preserve
me, we must take care how we speak, when our words are so sharply
interpreted."

The Count laughed as the Princess spoke. "I had no offensive meaning,
madam," he said, "nor would I wish to interpret your words otherwise
than as being most innocent and praiseworthy. I shall suppose that your
speech contained all that was fair and blameless. You are, I have
understood, one of those who, like our worthy host, express in
composition the history and feats of the warlike time in which you
live, and give to the posterity which shall succeed us, the knowledge
of the brave deeds which have been achieved in our day. I respect the
task to which you have dedicated yourself, and know not how a lady
could lay after ages under an obligation to her in the same degree,
unless, like my wife, Brenhilda, she were herself to be the actress of
deeds which she recorded. And, by the way, she now looks towards her
neighbour at the table, as if she were about to rise and leave him; her
inclinations are towards Constantinople, and, with your ladyship's
permission, I cannot allow her to go thither alone."

"That you shall neither of you do," said Anna Comnena; "since we all go
to the capital directly, and for the purpose of seeing those wonders of
nature, of which numerous examples have been collected by the splendour
of my Imperial father.--If my husband seems to have given offence to
the Countess, do not suppose that it was intentionally dealt to her; on
the contrary, you will find the good man, when you are better
acquainted with him, to be one of those simple persons who manage so
unhappily what they mean for civilties, that those to whom they are
addressed receive them frequently in another sense."

The Countess of Paris, however, refused again to sit down to the table
from which she had risen, so that Agelastes and his Imperial guests saw
themselves under the necessity either to permit the strangers to
depart, which they seemed unwilling to do, or to detain them by force,
to attempt which might not perhaps have been either safe or pleasant;
or, lastly, to have waived the etiquette of rank and set out along with
them, at the same time managing their dignity, so as to take the
initiatory step, though the departure took place upon the motion of
their wilful guests. Much tumult there was--bustling, disputing, and
shouting--among the troops and officers who were thus moved from their
repast, two hours at least sooner than had been experienced upon
similar occasions in the memory of the oldest among them. A different
arrangement of the Imperial party likewise seemed to take place by
mutual consent.

Nicephorus Briennius ascended the seat upon the elephant, and remained
there placed beside his august mother-in-law. Agelastes, on a
sober-minded palfrey, which permitted him to prolong his philosophical
harangues at his own pleasure, rode beside the Countess Brenhilda, whom
he made the principal object of his oratory. The fair historian, though
she usually travelled in a litter, preferred upon this occasion a
spirited horse, which enabled her to keep pace with Count Robert of
Paris, on whose imagination, if not his feelings, she seemed to have it
in view to work a marked impression. The conversation of the Empress
with her son-in-law requires no special detail. It was a tissue of
criticisms upon the manners and behaviour of the Franks, and a hearty
wish that they might be soon transported from the realms of Greece,
never more to return. Such was at least the tone of the Empress, nor
did the Caesar find it convenient to express any more tolerant opinion
of the strangers. On the other hand, Agelastes made a long circuit ere
he ventured to approach the subject which he wished to introduce. He
spoke of the menagerie of the Emperor as a most superb collection of
natural history; he extolled different persons at court for having
encouraged Alexius Comnenus in this wise and philosophical amusement.
But, finally, the praise of all others was abandoned that the
philosopher might dwell upon that of Nicephorus Briennius, to whom the
cabinet or collection of Constantinople was indebted, he said, for the
principal treasures it contained.

"I am glad it is so," said the haughty Countess, without lowering her
voice or affecting any change of manner; "I am glad that he understands
some things better worth understanding than whispering with stranger
young women. Credit me, if he gives much license to his tongue among
such women of nay country as these stirring times may bring hither,
some one or other of them will fling him into the cataract which dashes
below."

"Pardon me, fair lady," said Agelastes; "no female heart could meditate
an action so atrocious against so fine a form as that of the Caesar
Nicephorus Briennius."

"Put it not on that issue, father," said the offended Countess; "for,
by my patroness Saint, our Lady of the Broken Lances, had it not been
for regard to these two ladies, who seemed to intend some respect to my
husband and myself, that same Nicephorus should have been as perfectly
a Lord of the Broken Bones as any Caesar who has borne the title since
the great Julius!"

The philosopher, upon this explicit information, began to entertain
some personal fear for himself, and hastened, by diverting the
conversation, which he did with great dexterity, to the story of Hero
and Leander, to put the affront received out of the head of this
unscrupulous Amazon.

Meantime, Count Robert of Paris was engrossed, as it may be termed, by
the fair Anna Comnena. She spoke on all subjects, on some better,
doubtless, others worse, but on none did she suspect herself of any
deficiency; while the good Count wished heartily within himself that
his companion had been safely in bed with the enchanted Princess of
Zulichium. She performed, right or wrong, the part of a panegyrist of
the Normans, until at length the Count, tired of hearing her prate of
she knew not exactly what, broke in as follows:--

"Lady," he said, "notwithstanding I and my followers are sometimes so
named, yet we are not Normans, who come hither as a numerous and
separate body of pilgrims, under the command of their Duke Robert, a
valiant, though extravagant, thoughtless, and weak man. I say nothing
against the fame of these Normans. They conquered, in our fathers'
days, a kingdom far stronger than their own, which men call England; I
see that you entertain some of the natives of which country in your
pay, under the name of Varangians. Although defeated, as I said, by the
Normans, they are, nevertheless, a brave race; nor would we think
ourselves much dishonoured by mixing in battle with them. Still we are
the valiant Franks, who had their dwelling on the eastern banks of the
Rhine and of the Saale, who were converted to the Christian faith by
the celebrated Clovis, and are sufficient, by our numbers and courage,
to re-conquer the Holy Land, should all Europe besides stand neutral in
the contest."

There are few things more painful to the vanity of a person like the
Princess, than the being detected in an egregious error, at the moment
she is taking credit to herself for being peculiarly accurately
informed.

"A false slave, who knew not what he was saying, I suppose," said the
Princess, "imposed upon me the belief that the Varangians were the
natural enemies of the Normans. I see him marching there by the side of
Achilles Tatius, the leader of his corps.--Call him hither, you
officers!--Yonder tall man, I mean, with the battle-axe upon his
shoulder."

Hereward, distinguished by his post at the head of the squadron, was
summoned from thence to the presence of the Princess, where he made his
military obeisance with a cast of sternness in his aspect, as his
glance lighted upon the proud look of the Frenchman who rode beside
Anna Comnena.

"Did I not understand thee, fellow," said Anna Comnena, "to have
informed me, nearly a month ago, that the Normans and the Franks were
the same people, and enemies to the race from which you spring?"

"The Normans are our mortal enemies, Lady," answered Hereward, "by whom
we were driven from our native land. The Franks are subjects of the
same Lord-Paramount with the Normans, and therefore they neither love
the Varangians, nor are beloved by them."

"Good fellow," said the French Count, "you do the Franks wrong, and
ascribe to the Varangians, although not unnaturally, an undue degree of
importance, when you suppose that a race which has ceased to exist as
an independent nation for more than a generation, can be either an
object of interest or resentment to such as we are."

"I am no stranger," said the Varangian, "to the pride of your heart, or
the precedence which you assume over those who have been less fortunate
in war than yourselves. It is God who casteth down and who buildeth up,
nor is there in the world a prospect to which the Varangians would look
forward with more pleasure than that a hundred of their number should
meet in a fair field, either with the oppressive Normans, or their
modern compatriots, the vain Frenchmen, and let God be the judge which
is most worthy of victory."

"You take an insolent advantage of the chance," said the Count of
Paris, "which gives you an unlooked-for opportunity to brave a
nobleman."

"It is my sorrow and shame," said the Varangian, "that that opportunity
is not complete; and that there is a chain around me which forbids me
to say, Slay me, or I'll kill thee before we part from this spot!"

"Why, thou foolish and hot-brained churl," replied the Count, "what
right hast thou to the honour of dying by my blade? Thou art mad, or
hast drained the ale-cup so deeply that thou knowest not what thou
thinkest or sayest."

"Thou liest," said the Varangian; "though such a reproach be the utmost
scandal of thy race."

The Frenchman motioned his hand quicker than light to his sword, but
instantly withdrew it, and said with dignity, "thou canst not offend
me."

"But thou," said the exile, "hast offended me in a matter which can
only be atoned by thy manhood."

"Where and how?" answered the Count; "although it is needless to ask
the question, which thou canst not answer rationally."

"Thou hast this day," answered the Varangian, "put a mortal affront
upon a great prince, whom thy master calls his ally, and by whom thou
hast been received with every rite of hospitality. Him thou hast
affronted as one peasant at a merry-making would do shame to another,
and this dishonour thou hast done to him in the very face of his own
chiefs and princes, and the nobles from every court of Europe."

"It was thy master's part to resent my conduct," said the Frenchman,
"if in reality he so much felt it as an affront."

"But that," said Hereward, "did not consist with the manners of his
country to do. Besides that, we trusty Varangians esteem ourselves
bound by our oath as much to defend our Emperor, while the service
lasts, on every inch of his honour as on every foot of his territory; I
therefore tell thee, Sir Knight, Sir Count, or whatever thou callest
thyself, there is mortal quarrel between thee and the Varangian guard,
ever and until thou hast fought it out in fair and manly battle, body
to body, with one of the said Imperial Varangians, when duty and
opportunity shall permit:--and so God schaw the right!"

As this passed in the French language, the meaning escaped the
understanding of such Imperialists as were within hearing at the time;
and the Princess, who waited with some astonishment till the Crusader
and the Varangian had finished their conference, when it was over, said
to him with interest, "I trust you feel that poor man's situation to be
too much at a distance from your own, to admit of your meeting him in
what is termed knightly battle?"

"On such a question," said the knight, "I have but one answer to any
lady who does not, like my Brenhilda, cover herself with a shield, and
bear a sword by her side, and the heart of a knight in her bosom."

"And suppose for once," said the Princess Anna Comnena, "that I
possessed such titles to your confidence, what would your answer be to
me?"

"There can be little reason for concealing it," said the Count. "The
Varangian is a brave man, and a strong one; it is contrary to my vow to
shun his challenge, and perhaps I shall derogate from my rank by
accepting it; but the world is wide, and he is yet to be born who has
seen Robert of Paris shun the face of mortal man. By means of some
gallant officer among the Emperor's guards, this poor fellow, who
nourishes so strange an ambition, shall learn that he shall have his
wish gratified."

"And then?"--said Anna Comnena.

"Why, then," said the Count, "in the poor man's own language, God schaw
the right!"

"Which is to say," said the Princess, "that if my father has an officer
of his guards honourable enough to forward so pious and reasonable a
purpose, the Emperor must lose an ally, in whose faith he puts
confidence, or a most trusty and faithful soldier of his personal
guard, who has distinguished himself upon many occasions?"

"I am happy to hear," said the Count, "that the man bears such a
character. In truth, his ambition ought to have some foundation. The
more I think of it, the rather am I of opinion that there is something
generous, rather than derogatory, in giving to the poor exile, whose
thoughts are so high and noble, those privileges of a man of rank,
which some who were born in such lofty station are too cowardly to
avail themselves of. Yet despond not, noble Princess; the challenge is
not yet accepted of, and if it was, the issue is in the hand of God. As
for me, whose trade is war, the sense that I have something so serious
to transact with this resolute man, will keep me from other less
honourable quarrels, in which a lack of occupation might be apt to
involve me."

The Princess made no farther observation, being resolved, by private
remonstrance to Achilles Tatius, to engage him to prevent a meeting
which might be fatal to the one or the other of two brave men. The town
now darkened before them, sparkling, at the same time, through its
obscurity, by the many lights which illuminated the houses of the
citizens. The royal cavalcade held their way to the Golden Gate, where
the trusty centurion put his guard under arms to receive them.

"We must now break off, fair ladies," said the Count, as the party,
having now dismounted, were standing together at the private gate of
the Blacquernal Palace, "and find as we can, the lodgings which we
occupied last night."

"Under your favour, no," said the Empress. "You must be content to take
your supper and repose in quarters more fitting your rank; and," added
Irene, "with no worse quartermaster than one of the Imperial family who
hag been your travelling companion."

This the Count heard, with considerable inclination to accept the
hospitality which was so readily offered. Although as devoted as a man
could well be to the charms of his Brenhilda, the very idea never
having entered his head of preferring another's beauty to hers, yet,
nevertheless, he had naturally felt himself flattered by the attentions
of a woman of eminent beauty and very high rank; and the praises with
which the Princess had loaded him, had not entirely fallen to the
ground. He was no longer in the humour in which the morning had found
him, disposed to outrage the feelings of the Emperor, and to insult his
dignity; but, flattered by the adroit sycophancy which the old
philosopher had learned from the schools, and the beautiful Princess
had been gifted with by nature, he assented to the Empress's proposal;
the more readily, perhaps, that the darkness did not permit him to see
that there was distinctly a shade of displeasure on the brow of
Brenhilda. Whatever the cause, she cared not to express it, and the
married pair had just entered that labyrinth of passages through which
Hereward had formerly wandered, when a chamberlain, and a female
attendant, richly dressed, bent the knee before them, and offered them
the means and place to adjust their attire, ere they entered the
Imperial presence. Brenhilda looked upon her apparel and arms, spotted
with the blood of the insolent Scythian, and, Amazon as she was, felt
the shame of being carelessly and improperly dressed. The arms of the
knight were also bloody, and in disarrangement.

"Tell my female squire, Agatha, to give her attendance," said the
Countess. "She alone is in the habit of assisting to unarm and to
attire me."

"Now, God be praised," thought the Grecian lady of the bed-chamber,
"that I am not called to a toilet where smiths' hammers and tongs are
like to be the instruments most in request!"

"Tell Marcian, my armourer," said the Count, "to attend with the silver
and blue suit of plate and mail which I won in a wager from the Count
of Thoulouse." [Footnote: Raymond Count of Thoulouse, and St. Giles,
Duke of Carboune, and Marquis of Provence, an aged warrior who had won
high distinction in the contests against the Saracens in Spain, was the
chief leader of the Crusaders from the south of France. His title of
St. Giles is corrupted by Anna Comnena into _Sangles_, by which name
she constantly mentions him in the Alexiad.]

"Might I not have the honour of adjusting your armour," said a
splendidly drest courtier, with some marks of the armourer's
profession, "since I have put on that of the Emperor himself?--may his
name be sacred!"

"And how many rivets hast thou clenched upon the occasion with this
hand," said the Count, catching hold of it, "which looks as if it had
never been washed, save with milk of roses,--and with this childish
toy?" pointing to a hammer with ivory haft and silver head, which,
stuck into a milk-white kidskin apron, the official wore as badges of
his duty. The armourer fell back in some confusion. "His grasp," he
said to another domestic, "is like the seizure of a vice!"

While this little scene passed apart, the Empress Irene, her daughter,
and her son-in-law, left the company, under pretence of making a
necessary change in their apparel. Immediately after, Agelastes was
required to attend the Emperor, and the strangers were conducted to two
adjacent chambers of retirement, splendidly fitted up, and placed for
the present at their disposal, and that of their attendants. There we
shall for a time leave them, assuming, with the assistance of their own
attendants, a dress which their ideas regarded as most fit for a great
occasion; those of the Grecian court willingly keeping apart from a
task which they held nearly as formidable as assisting at the lair of a
royal tiger or his bride.

Agelastes found the Emperor sedulously arranging his most splendid
court-dress; for, as in the court of Pekin, the change of ceremonial
attire was a great part of the ritual observed at Constantinople.

"Thou hast done well, wise Agelastes," said Alexius to the philosopher,
as he approached with abundance of prostrations and genuflexions--"Thou
hast done well, and we are content with thee. Less than thy wit and
address must have failed in separating from their company this tameless
bull, and unyoked heifer, over whom, if we obtain influence, we shall
command, by every account, no small interest among those who esteem
them the bravest in the host."

"My humble understanding," said Agelastes, "had been infinitely
inferior to the management of so prudent and sagacious a scheme, had it
not been shaped forth and suggested by the inimitable wisdom of your
most sacred Imperial Highness."

"We are aware," said Alexius, "that we had the merit of blocking forth
the scheme of detaining these persons, either by their choice as
allies, or by main force as hostages. Their friends, ere yet they have
missed them, will be engaged in war with the Turks, and at no liberty,
if the devil should suggest such an undertaking, to take arms against
the sacred empire. Thus, Agelastes, we shall obtain hostages at least
as important and as valuable as that Count of Vermandois, whose liberty
the tremendous Godfrey of Bouillon extorted from us by threats of
instant war."

"Pardon," said Agelastes, "if I add another reason to those which of
themselves so heavily support your august resolution. It is possible
that we may, by observing the greatest caution and courtesy towards
these strangers, win them in good earnest to our side."

"I conceive you, I conceive you,"--said the Emperor; "and this very
night I will exhibit myself to this Count and his lady in the royal
presence chamber, in the richest robes which our wardrobe can furnish.
The lions of Solomon shall roar, the golden tree of Comnenus shall
display its wonders, and the feeble eyes of these Franks shall be
altogether dazzled by the splendour of the empire. These spectacles
cannot but sink into their minds, and dispose them to become the allies
and servants of a nation so much more powerful, skilful, and wealthy
than their own--Thou hast something to say, Agelastes. Years and long
study have made thee wise; though we have given our opinion, thou mayst
speak thine own, and live."

Thrice three times did Agelastes press his brow against the hem of the
Emperor's garment, and great seemed his anxiety to find such words as
might intimate his dissent from his sovereign, yet save him from the
informality of contradicting him expressly.

"These sacred words, in which your sacred Highness has uttered your
most just and accurate opinions, are undeniable, and incapable of
contradiction, were any vain enough to attempt to impugn them.
Nevertheless, be it lawful to say, that men show the wisest arguments
in vain to those who do not understand reason, just as you would in
vain exhibit a curious piece of limning to the blind, or endeavour to
bribe, as scripture saith, a sow by the offer of a precious stone. The
fault is not, in such case, in the accuracy of your sacred reasoning,
but in the obtuseness and perverseness of the barbarians to whom it is
applied."

"Speak more plainly," said the Emperor; "how often must we tell thee,
that in cases in which we really want counsel, we know we must be
contented to sacrifice ceremony?"

"Then in plain words," said Agelastes, "these European barbarians are
like no others under the cope of the universe, either on the things on
which they look with desire, or on those which they consider as
discouraging. The treasures of this noble empire, so far as they
affected their wishes, would merely inspire them with the desire to go
to war with a nation possessed of so much wealth, and who, in their
self-conceited estimation, were less able to defend, than they
themselves are powerful to assail. Of such a description, for instance,
is Bohemond of Tarentum,--and such, a one is many a crusader less able
and sagacious than he;--for I think I need not tell your Imperial
Divinity, that he holds his own self-interest to be the devoted guide
of his whole conduct through this extraordinary war; and that,
therefore, you can justly calculate his course, when once you are aware
from which point of the compass the wind of avarice and self-interest
breathes with respect to him. But there are spirits among the Franks of
a very different nature, and who must be acted upon by very different
motives, if we would make ourselves masters of their actions, and the
principles by which they are governed. If it were lawful to do so, I
would request your Majesty to look at the manner by which an artful
juggler of your court achieves his imposition upon the eyes of
spectators, yet needfully disguises the means by which he attains his
object. This people--I mean the more lofty-minded of these crusaders,
who act up to the pretences of the doctrines which they call
chivalry--despise the thirst of gold, and gold itself, unless to hilt
their swords, or to furnish forth some necessary expenses, as alike
useless and contemptible. The man who can be moved by the thirst of
gain, they contemn, scorn, and despise, and liken him, in the meanness
of his objects, to the most paltry serf that ever followed the plough,
or wielded the spade. On the other hand, if it happens that they
actually need gold, they are sufficiently unceremonious in taking it
where they can most easily find it. Thus, they are neither easily to be
bribed by giving them sums of gold, nor to be starved into compliance
by withholding what chance may render necessary for them. In the one
case, they set no value upon the gift of a little paltry yellow dross;
in the other, they are accustomed to take what they want."

"Yellow dross," interrupted Alexius. "Do they call that noble metal,
equally respected by Roman and barbarian, by rich and poor, by great
and mean, by churchmen and laymen, which all mankind are fighting for,
plotting for, planning for, intriguing for, and damning themselves for,
both soul and body--by the opprobrious name of yellow dross? They are
mad, Agelastes, utterly mad. Perils and dangers, penalties and
scourges, are the arguments to which men who are above the universal
influence which moves all others, can possibly be accessible."

"Nor are they," said Agelastes, "more accessible to fear than they are
to self-interest. They are indeed, from their boyhood, brought up to
scorn those passions which influence ordinary minds, whether by means
of avarice to impel, or of fear to hold back. So much is this the case,
that what is enticing to other men, must, to interest them, have the
piquant sauce of extreme danger. I told, for instance, to this very
hero, a legend of a Princess of Zulichium, who lay on an enchanted
couch, beautiful as an angel, awaiting the chosen knight who should, by
dispelling her enchanted slumbers, become master of her person, of her
kingdom of Zulichium, and of her countless treasures; and, would your
Imperial Majesty believe me, I could scarce get the gallant to attend
to my legend or take any interest in the adventure, till I assured him
he would have to encounter a winged dragon, compared to which the
largest of those in the Frank romances was but like a mere dragon-fly?"

"And did this move the gallant?" said the Emperor.

"So much so," replied the philosopher, "that had I not unfortunately,
by the earnestness of my description, awakened the jealousy of his
Penthesilea of a Countess, he had forgotten the crusade and all
belonging to it, to go in quest of Zulichium and its slumbering
sovereign."

"Nay, then," said the Emperor, "we have in our empire (make us sensible
of the advantage!) innumerable tale-tellers who are not possessed in
the slightest degree of that noble scorn of gold which is proper to the
Franks, but shall, for a brace of besants, lie with the devil, and beat
him to boot, if in that manner we can gain, as mariners say, the
weathergage of the Franks."

"Discretion," said Agelastes, "is in the highest degree necessary.
Simply to lie is no very great matter; it is merely a departure from
the truth, which is little different from missing a mark at archery,
where the whole horizon, one point alone excepted, will alike serve the
shooter's purpose; but to move the Frank as is desired, requires a
perfect knowledge of his temper and disposition, great caution and
presence of mind, and the most versatile readiness in changing from one
subject to another. Had I not myself been, somewhat alert, I might have
paid the penalty of a false step in your Majesty's service, by being
flung into my own cascade by the virago whom I offended."

"A perfect Thalestris!" said the Emperor; "I shall take care what
offence I give her."

"If I might speak and live," said Agelastes, "the Caesar Nicephorus
Briennius had best adopt the same precaution."

"Nicephorus," said the Emperor, "must settle that with our daughter. I
have ever told her that she gives him too much of that history, of
which a page or two is sufficiently refreshing; but by our own self we
must swear it, Agelastes, that, night after night, hearing nothing
else, would subdue the patience of a saint!--Forget, good Agelastes,
that them hast heard me say such a thing--more especially, remember it
not when thou art in presence of our Imperial wife and daughter."

"Nor were the freedoms taken by the Caesar beyond the bounds of an
innocent gallantry," said Agelastes; "but the Countess, I must needs
say, is dangerous. She killed this day the Scythian Toxartis, by what
seemed a mere fillip on the head."

"Hah!" said the Emperor; "I knew that Toxartis, and he was like enough
to deserve his death, being a bold unscrupulous marauder. Take notes,
however, how it happened, the names of witnesses, &c., that, if
necessary, we may exhibit the fact as a deed of aggression on the part
of the Count and Countess of Paris, to the assembly of the crusaders."

"I trust," said Agelastes, "your Imperial Majesty will not easily
resign the golden opportunity of gaining to your standard persons whose
character stands so very high in chivalry. It would cost you but little
to bestow upon them a Grecian island, worth a hundred of their own
paltry lordship of Paris; and if it were given under the condition of
their expelling the infidels or the disaffected who may have obtained
the temporary possession, it would be so much the more likely to be an
acceptable offer. I need not say that the whole knowledge, wisdom, and
skill of the poor Agelastes is at your Imperial Majesty's disposal."

The Emperor paused for a moment, and then said, as if on full
consideration, "Worthy Agelastes, I dare trust thee in this difficult
and somewhat dangerous matter; but I will keep my purpose of exhibiting
to them the lions of Solomon, and the golden tree of our Imperial
house."

"To that there can be no objection," returned the philosopher; "only
remember to exhibit few guards, for these Franks are like a fiery
horse; when in temper he may be ridden with a silk thread, but when he
has taken umbrage or suspicion, as they would likely do if they saw
many armed men, a steel bridle would not restrain him."

"I will be cautious," said the Emperor, "in that particular, as well as
others.--Sound the silver bell, Agelastes, that the officers of our
wardrobe may attend."

"One single word, while your Highness is alone," said Agelastes. "Will
your Imperial Majesty transfer to me the direction of your menagerie,
or collection of extraordinary creatures?"

"You make me wonder," said the Emperor, taking a signet, bearing upon
it a lion, with the legend, _Vicit Leo ex tribu Judae_. "This," he
said, "will give thee the command of our dens. And now, be candid for
once with thy master--for deception is thy nature even with me--By what
charm wilt thou subdue these untamed savages?"

"By the power of falsehood," replied Agelastes, with deep reverence.

"I believe thee an adept in it," said the Emperor. "And to which of
their foibles wilt thou address it?"

"To their love of fame," said the philosopher; and retreated backwards
out of the royal apartment, as the officers of the wardrobe entered to
complete the investment of the Emperor in his Imperial habiliments.




CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH.

     I will converse with iron-witted fools,
     And unrespective boys; none are for me,
     That look into me with considerate eyes;--
     High-reaching Buckingham grows circumspect.
                                    RICHARD III.


As they parted from each other, the Emperor and philosopher had each
their own anxious thoughts on the interview which had passed between
them; thoughts which they expressed in broken sentences and
ejaculations, though for the better understanding of the degree of
estimation in which they held each other, we will give them a more
regular and intelligible form.

"Thus, then," half muttered half said Alexius, but so low as to hide
his meaning from the officers of the wardrobe, who entered to do their
office,--"thus, then, this bookworm--this remnant of old heathen
philosophy, who hardly believes, so God save me, the truth of the
Christian creed, has topp'd his part so well that he forces his Emperor
to dissemble in his presence. Beginning by being the buffoon of the
court, he has wormed himself into all its secrets, made himself master
of all its intrigues, conspired with my own son-in-law against me,
debauched my guards,--indeed so woven his web of deceit, that my life
is safe no longer, than he believes me the imperial dolt which I have
affected to seem, in order to deceive him; fortunate that even so can I
escape his cautionary anticipation of my displeasure, by avoiding to
precipitate his measures of violence. But were this sudden storm of the
crusade fairly passed over, the ungrateful Caesar, the boastful coward
Achilles Tatius, and the bosom serpent Agelastes, shall know whether
Alexius Comnenus has been born their dupe. When Greek meets Greek,
comes the strife of subtlety, as well as the tug of war." Thus saying,
he resigned himself to the officers of his wardrobe, who proceeded to
ornament him as the solemnity required,

"I trust him not," said Agelastes, the meaning of whose gestures and
exclamations, we, in like manner, render into a connected meaning. "I
cannot, and do not trust him--he somewhat overacts his part. He has
borne himself upon other occasions with the shrewd wit of his family
the Comneni; yet he now trusts to the effect of his trumpery lions upon
such a shrewd people as the Franks and Normans, and seems to rely upon
me for the character of men with whom he has been engaged in peace and
war for many years. This can be but to gain my confidence; for there
were imperfect looks, and broken sentences, which seemed to say,
'Agelastes, the Emperor knows thee and confides not in thee.' Yet the
plot is successful and undiscovered, as far as can be judged; and were
I to attempt to recede now, I were lost for ever. A little time to
carry on this intrigue with the Frank, when possibly, by the assistance
of this gallant, Alexius shall exchange the crown for a cloister, or a
still narrower abode; and then, Agelastes, thou deservest to be blotted
from the roll of philosophers, if thou canst not push out of the throne
the conceited and luxurious Caesar, and reign in his stead, a second
Marcus Antoninus, when the wisdom of thy rule, long unfelt in a world
which has been guided by tyrants and voluptuaries, shall soon
obliterate recollection of the manner in which thy power was acquired.
To work then--be active, and be cautious. The time requires it, and the
prize deserves it."

While these thoughts passed through his mind, he arrayed himself, by
the assistance of Diogenes, in a clean suit of that simple apparel in
which he always frequented the court; a garb as unlike that of a
candidate for royalty, as it was a contrast to the magnificent robes
with which Alexius was now investing himself,

In their separate apartments, or dressing-rooms, the Count of Paris and
his lady put on the best apparel which they had prepared to meet such a
chance upon their journey. Even in France, Robert was seldom seen in
the peaceful cap and sweeping mantle, whose high plumes and flowing
folds were the garb of knights in times of peace. He was now arrayed in
a splendid suit of armour, all except the head, which was bare
otherwise than as covered by his curled locks. The rest of his person
was sheathed in the complete mail of the time, richly inlaid with
silver, which contrasted with the azure in which the steel was
damasked. His spurs were upon his heels--his sword was by his side, and
his triangular shield was suspended round his neck, bearing, painted
upon it, a number of _fleures-de-lis semees_, as it is called, upon the
field, being the origin of those lily flowers which after times reduced
to three only; and which were the terror of Europe, until they suffered
so many reverses in our own time.

The extreme height of Count Robert's person adapted him for a garb,
which had a tendency to make persons of a lower stature appear rather
dwarfish and thick when arrayed _cap-a-pie_. The features, with their
self-collected composure, and noble contempt of whatever could have
astounded or shaken an ordinary mind, formed a well-fitted capital to
the excellently proportioned and vigorous frame which they terminated.
The Countess was in more peaceful attire; but her robes were short and
succinct, like those of one who might be called to hasty exercise. The
upper part of her dress consisted of more than one tunic, sitting close
to the body, while a skirt, descending from the girdle, and reaching to
the ankles, embroidered elegantly but richly, completed an attire which
a lady might have worn in much more modern times. Her tresses were
covered with a light steel head-piece, though some of them, escaping,
played round her face, and gave relief to those handsome features which
might otherwise have seemed too formal, if closed entirely within the
verge of steel. Over these undergarments was flung a rich velvet cloak
of a deep green colour, descending from the head, where a species of
hood was loosely adjusted over the helmet, deeply laced upon its verges
and seams, and so long as to sweep the ground behind. A dagger of rich
materials ornamented a girdle of curious goldsmith's work, and was the
only offensive weapon which, notwithstanding her military occupation,
she bore upon this occasion.

The toilet--as modern times would say--of the Countess, was not nearly
so soon ended as that of Count Robert, who occupied his time, as
husbands of every period are apt to do, in little sub-acid complaints
between jest and earnest, upon the dilatory nature of ladies, and the
time which they lose in doffing and donning their garments. But when
the Countess Brenhilda came forth in the pride of loveliness, from the
inner chamber where she had attired herself, her husband, who was still
her lover, clasped her to his breast and expressed his privilege by the
kiss which he took as of right from a creature so beautiful. Chiding
him for his folly, yet almost returning the kiss which she received,
Brenhilda began now to wonder how they were to find their way to the
presence of the Emperor.

The query was soon solved, for a gentle knock at the door announced
Agelastes, to whom, as best acquainted with the Frankish manners, had
been committed, by the Emperor, the charge of introducing the noble
strangers. A distant sound, like that of the roaring of a lion, or not
unsimilar to a large and deep gong of modern times, intimated the
commencement of the ceremonial. The black slaves upon guard, who, as
hath been observed, were in small numbers, stood ranged in their state
dresses of white and gold, bearing in one hand a naked sabre, and in
the other a torch of white wax, which served to guide the Count and
Countess through the passages that led to the interior of the palace,
and to the most secret hall of audience.

The door of this _sanctum sanctorum_ was lower than usual, a simple
stratagem devised by some superstitious officer of the Imperial
household, to compel the lofty-crested Frank to lower his body, as he
presented himself in the Imperial presence. Robert, when the door flew
open, and he discovered in the background the Emperor seated upon his
throne amidst a glare of light, which was broken and reflected in ten
thousand folds by the jewels with which his vestments were covered,
stopt short, and demanded the meaning of introducing him through so low
an arch? Agelastes pointed to the Emperor by way of shifting from
himself a question which he could not have answered. The mute, to
apologize for his silence, yawned, and showed the loss of his tongue.

"Holy Virgin!" said the Countess, "what can these unhappy Africans have
done, to have deserved a condemnation which involves so cruel a fate?"

"The hour of retribution is perhaps come," said the Count, in a
displeased tone, while Agelastes, with such hurry as time and place
permitted, entered, making his prostrations and genuflexions, little
doubting that the Frank must follow him, and to do so must lower his
body to the Emperor. The Count, however, in the height of displeasure
at the trick which he conceived had been, intended him, turned himself
round, and entered the presence-chamber with his back purposely turned
to the sovereign, and did not face Alexius until he reached the middle
of the apartment, when he was joined by the Countess, who had made her
approach in a more seemly manner. The Emperor, who had prepared to
acknowledge the Count's expected homage in the most gracious manner,
found himself now even more unpleasantly circumstanced than when this
uncompromising Frank had usurped the royal throne in the course of the
day.

The officers and nobles who stood around, though a very select number,
were more numerous than usual, as the meeting was not held for counsel,
but merely for state. These assumed such an appearance of mingled
displeasure and confusion as might best suit with the perplexity of
Alexius, while the wily features of the Norman-Italian, Bohemond of
Tarentum, who was also present, had a singular mixture of fantastical
glee and derision. It is the misfortune of the weaker on such
occasions, or at least the more timid, to be obliged to take the petty
part of winking hard, as if not able to see what they cannot avenge.

Alexius made the signal that the ceremonial of the grand reception
should immediately commence. Instantly the lions of Solomon, which had
been newly furbished, raised their heads, erected their manes,
brandished their tails, until they excited the imagination of Count
Robert, who, being already on fire at the circumstances of his
reception, conceived the bellowing of these automata to be the actual
annunciation of immediate assault. Whether the lions, whose forms he
beheld, were actually lords of the forest,--whether they were mortals
who had suffered transformation,--whether they were productions of the
skill of an artful juggler or profound naturalist, the Count neither
knew nor cared. All that he thought of the danger was, it was worthy of
his courage; nor did his heart permit him a moment's irresolution. He
strode to the nearest lion, which seemed in the act of springing up,
and said, in a tone loud and formidable as its own, "How now, dog!" At
the same time he struck the figure with his clenched fist and steel
gauntlet with so much force, that its head burst, and the steps and
carpet of the throne were covered with wheels, springs, and other
machinery, which had been the means of producing its mimic terrors.

On this display of the real nature of the cause of his anger, Count
Robert could not but feel a little ashamed of having given way to
passion on such an occasion. He was still more confused when Bohemond,
descending from his station near the Emperor, addressed him in the
Frank language;--"You have done a gallant deed, truly, Count Robert, in
freeing the court of Byzantium from an object of fear which has long
been used to frighten peevish children and unruly barbarians!"

Enthusiasm has no greater enemy than ridicule. "Why, then," said Count
Robert, blushing deeply at the same time, "did they exhibit its
fantastic terrors to me? I am neither child nor barbarian."

"Address yourself to the Emperor, then, as an intelligent man,"
answered Bohemond. "Say something to him in excuse of your conduct, and
show that our bravery has not entirely run away with our common sense.
And hark you also, while I have a moment's speech of you,--do you and
your wife heedfully follow my example at supper!" These words were
spoken with a significant tone and corresponding look.

The opinion of Bohemond, from his long intercourse, both in peace and
war, with the Grecian Emperor, gave him great influence with the other
crusaders, and Count Robert yielded to his advice. He turned towards
the Emperor with something liker an obeisance than he had hitherto
paid. "I crave your pardon," he said, "for breaking that gilded piece
of pageantry; but, in sooth, the wonders of sorcery, and the portents
of accomplished and skilful jugglers, are so numerous in this country,
that one does not clearly distinguish what is true from what is false,
or what is real from what is illusory."

The Emperor, notwithstanding the presence of mind for which he was
remarkable, and the courage in which he was not held by his countrymen
to be deficient, received this apology somewhat awkwardly. Perhaps the
rueful complaisance with which he accepted the Count's apology, might
be best compared to that of a lady of the present day when an awkward
guest has broken a valuable piece of china. He muttered something about
the machines having been long preserved in the Imperial family, as
being made on the model of those which guarded the throne of the wise
King of Israel; to which the blunt plain-spoken Count expressed his
doubt in reply, whether the wisest prince in the world ever
condescended to frighten his subjects or guests by the mimic roarings
of a wooden lion. "If," said he, "I too hastily took it for a living
creature, I have had the worst, by damaging my excellent gauntlet in
dashing to pieces its timber skull."

The Emperor, after a little more had been said, chiefly on the same
subject, proposed that they should pass to the banquet-room.
Marshalled, accordingly, by the grand sewer of the Imperial table, and
attended by all present, excepting the Emperor and the immediate
members of his family, the Frankish guests were guided through a
labyrinth of apartments, each of which was filled with wonders of
nature and art, calculated to enhance their opinion of the wealth and
grandeur which had assembled together so much that was wonderful. Their
passage being necessarily slow and interrupted, gave the Emperor time
to change his dress, according to the ritual of his court, which did
not permit his appearing twice in the same vesture before the same
spectators. He took the opportunity to summon Agelastes into his
presence, and, that their conference might be secret, he used, in
assisting his toilet, the agency of some of the mutes destined for the
service of the interior.

The temper of Alexius Comnenus was considerably moved, although it was
one of the peculiarities of his situation to be ever under the
necessity of disguising the emotions of his mind, and of affecting, in
presence of his subjects, a superiority to human passion, which he was
far from feeling. It was therefore with gravity, and even reprehension,
that he asked, "By whose error it was that the wily Bohemond,
half-Italian, and half-Norman, was present at this interview? Surely,
if there be one in the crusading army likely to conduct that foolish
youth and his wife behind the scenes of the exhibition by which we
hoped to impose upon them, the Count of Tarentum, as he entitles
himself, is that person."

"It was that old man," said Agelastes, "(if I may reply and live,)
Michael Cantacuzene, who deemed that his presence was peculiarly
desired; but he returns to the camp this very night."

"Yes," said Alexius, "to inform Godfrey, and the rest of the crusaders,
that one of the boldest and most highly esteemed of their number is
left, with his wife, a hostage in our Imperial city, and to bring back,
perhaps, an alternative of instant war, unless they are delivered up!"

"If it is your Imperial Highness's will to think so," said Agelastes,
"you can suffer Count Robert and his wife to return to the camp with
the Italian-Norman."

"What?" answered the Emperor, "and so lose all the fruits of an
enterprise, the preparations for which have already cost us so much in
actual expense; and, were our heart made of the same stuff with that of
ordinary mortals, would have cost us so much more in vexation and
anxiety? No, no; issue warning to the crusaders, who are still on the
hither side, that farther rendering of homage is dispensed with, and
that they repair to the quays on the banks of the Bosphorus, by peep of
light to-morrow. Let our admiral, as he values his head, pass every man
of them over to the farther side before noon. Let there be largesses, a
princely banquet on the farther bank--all that may increase their
anxiety to pass. Then, Agelastes, we will trust to ourselves to meet
this additional danger, either by bribing the venality of Bohemond, or
by bidding defiance to the crusaders. Their forces are scattered, and
the chief of them, with the leaders themselves, are all now--or by far
the greater part--on the east side of the Bosphorus.--And now to the
banquet! seeing that the change of dress has been made sufficient to
answer the statutes of the household; since our ancestors chose to make
rules for exhibiting us to our subjects, as priests exhibit their
images at their shrines!"

"Under grant of life," said Agelastes, "it was not done
inconsiderately, but in order that the Emperor, ruled ever by the same
laws from father to son, might ever be regarded as something beyond the
common laws of humanity--the divine image of a saint, therefore, rather
than a human being."

"We know it, good Agelastes," answered the Emperor, with a smile, "and
we are also aware, that many of our subjects, like the worshippers of
Bel in holy writ, treat us so far as an image, as to assist us in
devouring the revenues of our provinces, which are gathered in our
name, and for our use. These things we now only touch lightly, the time
not suiting them."

Alexius left the secret council accordingly, after the order for the
passage of the crusaders had been written out and subscribed in due
form, and in the sacred ink of the Imperial chancery.

Meantime, the rest of the company had arrived in a hall, which, like
the other apartments in the palace, was most tastefully as well as
gorgeously fitted up, except that a table, which presented a princely
banquet, might have been deemed faulty in this respect, that the
dishes, which were most splendid, both in the materials of which they
were composed, and in the viands which they held, were elevated by
means of feet, so as to be upon a level with female guests as they sat,
and with men as they lay recumbent at the banquet which it offered.

Around stood a number of black slaves richly attired, while the grand
sewer, Michael Cantazucene, arranged the strangers with his golden
wand, and conveyed orders to them, by signs, that all should remain
standing around the table, until a signal should be given.

The upper end of the board, thus furnished, and thus surrounded, was
hidden by a curtain of muslin and silver, which fell from the top of
the arch under which the upper part seemed to pass. On this curtain the
sewer kept a wary eye; and when he observed it slightly shake, he waved
his wand of office, and all expected the result.

As if self-moved, the mystic curtain arose, and discovered behind it a
throne eight steps higher than the end of the table, decorated in the
most magnificent manner, and having placed before it a small table of
ivory inlaid with silver, behind which was seated Alexius Comnenus, in
a dress entirely different from what he had worn in the course of the
day, and so much more gorgeous than his former vestments, that it
seemed not unnatural that his subjects should prostrate themselves
before a figure so splendid. His wife, his daughter, and his son-in-law
the Caesar, stood behind him with faces bent to the ground, and it was
with deep humility, that, descending from the throne at the Emperor's
command, they mingled with the guests of the lower table, and, exalted
as they were, proceeded to the festive board at the signal of the grand
sewer. So that they could not be said to partake of the repast with the
Emperor, nor to be placed at the Imperial table, although they supped
in his presence, and were encouraged by his repeated request to them to
make good cheer. No dishes presented at the lower table were offered at
the higher; but wines, and more delicate sorts of food, which arose
before the Emperor as if by magic, and seemed designed for his own
proper use, were repeatedly sent, by his special directions, to one or
other of the guests whom Alexius delighted to honour--among these the
Franks being particularly distinguished.

The behaviour of Bohemond was on this occasion particularly remarkable.

Count Robert, who kept an eye upon him, both from his recent words, and
owing to an expressive look which he once or twice darted towards him,
observed, that in no liquors or food, not even those sent from the
Emperor's own table, did this astucious prince choose to indulge. A
piece of bread, taken from the canister at random, and a glass of pure
water, was the only refreshment of which he was pleased to partake. His
alleged excuse was, the veneration due to the Holy Festival of the
Advent, which chanced to occur that very night, and which both the
Greek and Latin rule agree to hold sacred.

"I had not expected this of you, Sir Bohemond," said the Emperor, "that
you should have refused my personal hospitality at my own board, on the
very day on which you honoured me by entering into my service as vassal
for the principality of Antioch."

"Antioch is not yet conquered," said Sir Bohemond; "and conscience,
dread sovereign, must always have its exceptions, in whatever temporal
contracts we may engage."

"Come, gentle Count," said the Emperor, who obviously regarded
Bohemond's inhospitable humour as something arising more from suspicion
than devotion, "we invite, though it is not our custom, our children,
our noble guests, and our principal officers here present, to a general
carouse. Fill the cups called the Nine Muses! let them be brimful of
the wine which is said to be sacred to the Imperial lips!"

At the Emperor's command the cups were filled; they were of pure gold,
and there was richly engraved upon each the effigy of the Muse to whom
it was dedicated.

"You at least," said the Emperor, "my gentle Count Robert, you and your
lovely lady, will not have any scruple to pledge your Imperial host?"

"If that scruple is to imply suspicion of the provisions with which we
are here served, I disdain to nourish such," said Count Robert. "If it
is a sin which I commit by tasting wine to-night, it is a venial one;
nor shall I greatly augment my load by carrying it, with the rest of my
trespasses, to the next confessional."

"Will you then, Prince Bohemond, not be ruled by the conduct of your
friend?" said the Emperor.

"Methinks," replied the Norman-Italian, "my friend might have done
better to have been, ruled by mine; but be it as his wisdom pleases.
The flavour of such exquisite wine is sufficient for me."

"So saying, he emptied the wine into another goblet, and seemed
alternately to admire the carving of the cup, and the flavour of what
it had lately contained.

"You are right, Sir Bohemond," said the Emperor; "the fabric of that
cup is beautiful; it was done by one of the ancient gravers of Greece.
The boasted cup of Nestor, which Homer has handed down to us, was a
good deal larger perhaps, but neither equalled these in the value of
the material, nor the exquisite beauty of the workmanship. Let each
one, therefore, of my stranger guests, accept of the cup which he
either has or might have drunk out of, as a recollection of me; and may
the expedition against the infidels be as propitious as their
confidence and courage deserve!"

"If I accept your gift, mighty Emperor," said Bohemond, "it is only to
atone for the apparent discourtesy, when my devotion, compels me to
decline your Imperial pledge, and to show you that we part on the most
intimate terms of friendship."

So saying, he bowed deeply to the Emperor, who answered him with a
smile, into which was thrown, a considerable portion of sarcastic
expression.

"And I," said the Count of Paris, "having taken upon my conscience the
fault of meeting your Imperial pledge, may stand excused from incurring
the blame of aiding to dismantle your table of these curious drinking
cups. We empty them to your health, and we cannot in any other respect
profit by them."

"But Prince Bohemond can," said the Emperor; "to whose quarters they
shall be carried, sanctioned by your generous use. And we have still a
set for you, and for your lovely Countess, equal to that of the Graces,
though no longer matching in number the nymphs of Parnassus.--The
evening bell rings, and calls us to remember the hour of rest, that we
may be ready to meet the labours of to-morrow."

The party then broke up for the evening. Bohemond left the palace that
night, not forgetting the Muses, of whom he was not in general a
devotee. The result was, as the wily Greek had intended, that he had
established between Bohemond and the Count, not indeed a quarrel, but a
kind of difference of opinion; Bohemond feeling that the fiery Count of
Paris must think his conduct sordid and avaricious, while Count Robert
was far less inclined than before to rely on him as a counsellor.




CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH.


The Count of Paris and his lady were that night lodged in the Imperial
Palace of the Blacquernal. Their apartments were contiguous, but the
communication between them was cut off for the night by the mutual door
being locked and barred. They marvelled somewhat at this precaution.
The observance, however, of the festival of the Church, was pleaded as
an admissible, and not unnatural excuse for this extraordinary
circumstance. Neither the Count nor his lady entertained, it may be
believed, the slightest personal fear for any thing which could happen
to them. Their attendants, Marcian and Agatha, having assisted their
master and mistress in the performance of their usual offices, left
them, in order to seek the places of repose assigned to them among
persons of their degree.

The preceding day had been one of excitation, and of much bustle and
interest; perhaps, also, the wine, sacred to the Imperial lips, of
which Count Robert had taken a single, indeed, but a deep draught, was
more potent than the delicate and high-flavoured juice of the Gascogne
grape, to which he was accustomed; at any rate, it seemed to him that,
from the time he felt that he had slept, daylight ought to have been
broad in his chamber when he awaked, and yet it was still darkness
almost palpable. Somewhat surprised, he gazed eagerly around, but could
discern nothing, except two balls of red light which shone from among
the darkness with a self-emitted brilliancy, like the eyes of a wild
animal while it glares upon its prey. The Count started from bed to put
on his armour, a necessary precaution if what he saw should really be a
wild creature and at liberty; but the instant he stirred, a deep growl
was uttered, such as the Count had never heard, but which might be
compared to the sound of a thousand monsters at once; and, as the
symphony, was heard the clash of iron chains, and the springing of a
monstrous creature towards the bedside, which appeared, however, to be
withheld by some fastening from attaining the end of its bound. The
roars which it uttered now ran thick on each other. They were most
tremendous, and must have been heard throughout the whole palace. The
creature seemed to gather itself many yards nearer to the bed than by
its glaring eyeballs it appeared at first to be stationed, and how much
nearer, or what degree of motion, might place him within the monster's
reach, the Count was totally uncertain. Its breathing was even heard,
and Count Robert thought he felt the heat of its respiration, while his
defenceless limbs might not be two yards distant from the fangs which
he heard grinding against each other, and the claws which tore up
fragments of wood from the oaken floor. The Count of Paris was one of
the bravest men who lived in a time when bravery was the universal
property of all who claimed a drop of noble blood, and the knight was a
descendant of Charlemagne. He was, however, a man, and therefore cannot
be said to have endured unappalled a sense of danger so unexpected and
so extraordinary. But his was not a sudden alarm or panic, it was a
calm sense of extreme peril, qualified by a resolution to exert his
faculties to the uttermost, to save his life if it were possible. He
withdrew himself within the bed, no longer a place of rest, being thus
a few feet further from the two glaring eyeballs which remained so
closely fixed upon him, that, in spite of his courage, nature painfully
suggested the bitter imagination of his limbs being mangled, torn, and
churned with their life-blood, in the jaws of some monstrous beast of
prey. One saving thought alone presented itself--this might be a trial,
an experiment of the philosopher Agelastes, or of the Emperor his
master, for the purpose of proving the courage of which the Christians
vaunted so highly, and punishing the thoughtless insult which the Count
had been misadvised enough to put upon the Emperor the preceding day.

"Well is it said," he reflected in his agony, "beard not the lion in
his den! Perhaps even, now some base slave deliberates whether I have
yet tasted enough of the preliminary agonies of death, and whether he
shall yet slip the chain which keeps the savage from doing his work.
But come death when it will, it shall never be said that Count Robert
was heard to receive it with prayers for compassion, or with cries of
pain or terror." He turned his face to the wall, and waited, with a
strong mental exertion, the death which he conceived to be fast
approaching.

His first feelings had been unavoidably of a selfish nature. The danger
was too instant, and of a description too horrible, to admit of any
which involved a more comprehensive view of his calamity; and other
reflections of a more distant kind, were at first swallowed up in the
all-engrossing thought of immediate death. But as his ideas became
clearer, the safety of his Countess rushed upon his mind--what might
she now be suffering! and, while he was subjected to a trial so
extraordinary, for what were her weaker frame and female courage
reserved? Was she still within a few yards of him, as when he lay down
the last night? or had the barbarians, who had devised for him a scene
so cruel, availed themselves of his and his lady's incautious
confidence to inflict upon her some villany of the same kind, or even
yet more perfidious? Did she sleep or wake, or could she sleep within
the close hearing of that horrible cry, which shook all around? He
resolved to utter her name, warning her, if possible, to be upon her
guard, and to answer without venturing rashly into the apartment which
contained a guest so horribly perilous.

He uttered, therefore, his wife's name, but in trembling accents, as if
he had been afraid of the savage beast overhearing him.

"Brenhilda! Brenhilda!--there is danger-awake, and speak to me, but do
not arise." There was no answer.--"What am I become," he said to
himself, "that I call upon Brenhilda of Aspramonte, like a child on its
sleeping nurse, and all because there is a wild-cat in the same room
with me? Shame on thee, Count of Paris! Let thy arms be rent, and thy
spurs be hacked from thy heels!--What ho!" he cried aloud, but still
with a tremulous voice, "Brenhilda, we are beset, the foe are upon us!
--Answer me, but stir not."

A deep growl from the monster which garrisoned his apartment was the
only answer. The sound seemed to say, "Thou hast no hope!" and it ran
to the knight's bosom as the genuine expression of despair.

"Perhaps, however, I am still too cold in making my misery known. What
ho! my love! Brenhilda!"

A voice, hollow and disconsolate as that which might have served an
inhabitant of the grave, answered as if from a distance. "What
disconsolate wretch art thou, who expectest that the living can answer
thee from the habitations of the dead?"

"I am a Christian man, a free noble of the kingdom of France," answered
the Count. "Yesterday the captain of five hundred men, the bravest in
France--the bravest, that is, who breathe mortal air--and I am here
without a glimpse of light, to direct me how to avoid the corner in
which lies a wild tiger-cat, prompt to spring upon and to devour me."

"Thou art an example," replied the voice, "and wilt not long be the
last, of the changes of fortune. I, who am now suffering in my third
year, was that mighty Ursel, who rivalled Alexius Comnenus for the
Crown of Greece, was betrayed by my confederates, and being deprived of
that eyesight which is the chief blessing of humanity, I inhabit these
vaults, no distant neighbour of the wild animals by whom they are
sometimes occupied, and whose cries of joy I hear when unfortunate
victims like thyself are delivered up to their fury."

"Didst thou not then hear," said Count Robert, in return, "a warlike
guest and his bride conducted hither last night, with sounds as it
might seem, of bridal music?--O, Brenhilda! hast thou, so young--so
beautiful--been so treacherously done to death by means so unutterably
horrible!"

"Think not," answered Ursel, as the voice had called its owner, "that
the Greeks pamper their wild beasts on such lordly fare. For their
enemies, which term includes not only all that are really such, but all
those whom they fear or hate, they have dungeons whose locks never
revolve; hot instruments of steel, to sear the eyeballs in the head;
lions and tigers, when it pleases them to make a speedy end of their
captives--but these are only for the male prisoners. While for the
women--if they be young and beautiful, the princes of the land have
places in their bed and bower; nor are they employed like the captives
of Agamemnon's host, to draw water from an Argive spring, but are
admired and adored by those whom fate has made the lords of their
destiny."

"Such shall never be the doom of Brenhilda!" exclaimed Count Robert;
"her husband still lives to assist her, and should he die, she knows
well how to follow him without leaving a blot in the epitaph of either."

The captive did not immediately reply, and a short pause ensued, which
was broken by Ursel's voice. "Stranger," he said, "what noise is that I
hear?"

"Nay, I hear nothing," said Count Robert.

"But I do," said Ursel. "The cruel deprivation of my eyesight renders
my other senses more acute."

"Disquiet not thyself about the matter, fellow-prisoner," answered the
Count, "but wait the event in silence."

Suddenly a light arose in the apartment, lurid, red, and smoky. The
knight had bethought him of a flint and match which he usually carried
about him, and with as little noise as possible had lighted the torch
by the bedside; this he instantly applied to the curtains of the bed,
which, being of thin muslin, were in a moment in flames. The knight
sprung, at the same instant, from his bed. The tiger, for such it was,
terrified at the flame, leaped backwards as far as his chain would
permit, heedless of any thing save this new object of terror. Count
Robert upon this seized on a massive wooden stool, which was the only
offensive weapon on which he could lay his hand, and, marking at those
eyes which now reflected the blaze of fire, and which had recently
seemed so appalling, he discharged against them this fragment of
ponderous oak, with a force which less resembled human strength than
the impetus with which an engine hurls a stone. He had employed his
instant of time so well, and his aim was so true, that the missile went
right to the mark and with incredible force. The skull of the tiger,
which might be, perhaps, somewhat exaggerated if described as being of
the very largest size, was fractured by the blow, and with the
assistance of his dagger, which had fortunately been left with him, the
French Count despatched the monster, and had the satisfaction to see
him grin his last, and roll, in the agony of death, those eyes which
were lately so formidable.

Looking around him, he discovered, by the light of the fire which he
had raised, that the apartment in which he now lay was different from
that in which he had gone to bed overnight; nor could there be a
stronger contrast between the furniture of both, than the flickering
half-burnt remains of the thin muslin curtains, and the strong, bare,
dungeon-looking walls of the room itself, or the very serviceable
wooden stool, of which he had made such good use.

The knight had no leisure to form conclusions upon such a subject. He
hastily extinguished the fire, which had, indeed, nothing that it could
lay hold of, and proceeded, by the light of the flambeau, to examine
the apartment, and its means of entrance. It is scarce necessary to
say, that he saw no communication with the room of Brenhilda, which
convinced him that they had been separated the evening before under
pretence of devotional scruples, in order to accomplish some most
villanous design upon one or both of them. His own part of the night's
adventure we have already seen, and success, so far, over so formidable
a danger, gave him a trembling hope that Brenhilda, by her own worth
and valour, would be able to defend herself against all attacks of
fraud or force, until he could find his way to her rescue. "I should
have paid more regard," he said, "to Bohemond's caution last night,
who, I think, intimated to me as plainly as if he had spoke it in
direct terms, that that same cup of wine was a drugged potion. But
then, fie upon him for an avaricious hound! How was it possible I
should think he suspected any such thing, when he spoke not out like a
man, but, for sheer coldness of heart, or base self-interest, suffered
me to run the risk of being poisoned by the wily despot?"

Here he heard a voice from the same quarter as before. "Ho, there! Ho,
stranger! Do you live, or have you been murdered? What means this
stifling smell of smoke? For God's sake, answer him who can receive no
information from eyes, closed, alas, for ever!"

"I am at liberty," said the Count, "and the monster destined to devour
me has groaned its last. I would, my friend Ursel, since such is thy
name, thou hadst the advantage of thine eyes, to have borne witness to
yonder combat; it had been worth thy while, though thou shouldst have
lost them a minute afterwards, and it would have greatly advantaged
whoever shall have the task of compiling my history."

While he gave a thought to that vanity which strongly ruled him, he
lost no time in seeking some mode of escape from the dungeon, for by
that means only might he hope to recover his Countess. At last he found
an entrance in the wall, but it was strongly locked and bolted. "I have
found the passage,"--he called out; "and its direction is the same in
which thy voice is heard--But how shall I undo the door?"

"I'll teach thee that secret," said Ursel. "I would I could as easily
unlock each bolt that withholds us from the open air; but, as for thy
seclusion within the dungeon, heave up the door by main strength, and
thou shalt lift the locks to a place where, pushing then the door from
thee, the fastenings will find a grooved passage in the wall, and the
door itself will open. Would that I could indeed see thee, not only
because, being a gallant man, thou must be a goodly sight, but also
because I should thereby know that I was not caverned in darkness for
ever."

While he spoke thus, the Count made a bundle of his armour, from which
he missed nothing except his sword, Tranchefer, and then proceeded to
try what efforts he could make, according to the blind man's
instructions, to open the door of his prison-house. Pushing in a direct
line was, he soon found, attended with no effect; but when he applied
his gigantic strength, and raised the door as high as it would go, he
had the satisfaction to find that the bolts yielded, though
reluctantly. A space had been cut so as to allow them to move out of
the socket into which they had been forced; and without the turn of a
key, but by a powerful thrust forwards, a small passage was left open.
The knight entered, bearing his armour in his hand.

"I hear thee," said Ursel, "O stranger! and am aware thou art come into
my place of captivity. For three years have I been employed in cutting
these grooves, corresponding to the sockets which hold these iron
bolts, and preserving the knowledge of the secret from the
prison-keepers. Twenty such bolts, perhaps, must be sawn through, ere
my steps shall approach the upper air. What prospect is there that I
shall have strength of mind sufficient to continue the task? Yet,
credit me, noble stranger, I rejoice in having been thus far aiding to
thy deliverance; for if Heaven blesses not, in any farther degree, our
aspirations after freedom, we may still be a comfort to each other,
while tyranny permits our mutual life."

Count Robert looked around, and shuddered that a human being should
talk of any thing approaching to comfort, connected with his residence
in what seemed a living tomb. Ursel's dungeon was not above twelve feet
square, vaulted in the roof, and strongly built in the walls by stones
which the chisel had morticed closely together. A bed, a coarse
footstool, like that which Robert had just launched at the head of the
tiger, and a table of equally massive materials, were its only articles
of furniture. On a long stone, above the bed, were these few, but
terrible words:--Zedekias Ursel, imprisoned here on the Ides of March,
A.D.----. Died and interred on the spot"--A blank was left for filling
up the period. The figure of the captive could hardly be discerned amid
the wildness of his dress and dishabille. The hair of his head, uncut
and uncombed, descended in elf-locks, and mingled with a beard of
extravagant length.

"Look on me," said the captive, "and rejoice that thou canst yet see
the wretched condition to which iron-hearted tyranny can reduce a
fellow-creature, both in mortal existence and in future hope."

"Was it thou," said Count Robert, whose blood ran cold in his veins,
"that hadst the heart to spend thy time in sawing through the blocks of
stone by which these bolts are secured?"

"Alas!" said Ursel, "what could a blind man do? Busy I must be, if I
would preserve my senses. Great as the labour was, it was to me the
task of three years; nor can you wonder that I should have devoted to
it my whole time, when I had no other means of occupying it. Perhaps,
and most likely, my dungeon does not admit the distinction of day and
night; but a distant cathedral clock told me how hour after hour fled
away, and found me expending them in rubbing one stone against another.
But when the door gave way, I found I had only cut an access into a
prison more strong than that which held me. I rejoice, nevertheless,
since it has brought us together, given thee an entrance to my dungeon,
and me a companion in my misery."

"Think better than that," said Count Robert, "think of liberty--think
of revenge! I cannot believe such unjust treachery will end
successfully, else needs must I say, the heavens are less just than
priests tell us of. How art thou supplied with food in this dungeon of
thine?"

"A warder," said Ursel, "and who, I think, understands not the Greek
language--at least he never either answers or addresses me--brings a
loaf and a pitcher of water, enough to supply my miserable life till
two days are past. I must, therefore, pray that you will retire for a
space into the next prison, so that the warder may have no means of
knowing that we can hold correspondence together."

"I see not," said Count Robert, "by what access the barbarian, if he is
one, can enter my dungeon without passing through yours; but no matter,
I will retire into the inner or outer room, whichever it happens to be,
and be thou then well aware that the warder will have some one to
grapple with ere he leaves his prison-work to-day. Meanwhile, think
thyself dumb as thou art blind, and be assured that the offer of
freedom itself would not induce me to desert the cause of a companion
in adversity."

"Alas," said the old man, "I listen to thy promises as I should to
those of the morning gale, which tells me that the sun is about to
rise, although I know that I at least shall never behold it. Thou art
one of those wild and undespairing knights, whom for so many years the
west of Europe hath sent forth to attempt impossibilities, and from
thee, therefore, I can only hope for such a fabric of relief as an idle
boy would blow out of soap bubbles."

"Think better of us, old man," said Count Robert, retiring; "at least
let me die with my blood warm, and believing it possible for me to be
once more united to my beloved Brenhilda."

So saying, he retired into his own cell, and replaced the door, so that
the operations of Ursel, which indeed were only such as three years'
solitude could have achieved, should escape observation when again
visited by the Warder. "It is ill luck," said he, when once more within
his own prison--for that in which the tiger had been secured, he
instinctively concluded to be destined for him--"It is ill luck that I
had not found a young and able fellow-captive, instead of one decrepit
by imprisonment, blind, and broken down past exertion. But God's will
be done! I will not leave behind me the poor wretch whom I have found
in such a condition, though he is perfectly unable to assist me in
accomplishing my escape, and is rather more likely to <DW44> it.
Meantime, before we put out the torch, let us see, if, by close
examination, we can discover any door in the wall save that to the
blind man's dungeon. If not, I much suspect that my descent has been
made through the roof. That cup of wine--that Muse, as they called it,
had a taste more like medicine than merry companions' pledge."

He began accordingly a strict survey of the walls, which he resolved to
conclude by extinguishing the torch, that he might take the person who
should enter his dungeon darkling and by surprise, For a similar
reason, he dragged into the darkest corner the carcass of the tiger,
and covered it with the remains of the bed-clothes, swearing at the
same time, that a half tiger should be his crest in future, if he had
the fortune, which his bold heart would not suffer him to doubt, of
getting through the present danger. "But," he added, "if these
necromantic vassals of hell shall raise the devil upon, me, what shall
I do then? And so great is the chance, that methinks I would fain
dispense with extinguishing the flambeau. Yet it is childish for one
dubbed in the chapel of Our Lady of the Broken Lances, to make much
difference between a light room and a dark one. Let them come, as many
fiends as the cell can hold, and we shall see if we receive them not as
becomes a Christian knight; and surely, Our Lady, to whom I was ever a
true votary, will hold it an acceptable sacrifice that I tore myself
from my Brenhilda, even for a single moment, in honour of her advent,
and thus led the way for our woful separation. Fiends! I defy ye in the
body as in the spirit, and I retain the remains of this flambeau until
some more convenient opportunity." He dashed it against the wall as he
spoke, and then quietly sat down in a corner, to watch what should next
happen.

Thought after thought chased each other through his mind. His
confidence in his wife's fidelity, and his trust in her uncommon
strength and activity, were the greatest comforts which he had; nor
could her danger present itself to him in any shape so terrible, but
that he found consolation in these reflections: "She is pure," he said,
"as the dew of heaven, and heaven will not abandon its own."




CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH.

      Strange ape of man! who loathes thee while he scorns thee.
      Half a reproach to us and half a jest.
      What fancies can be ours ere we have pleasure
      In viewing our own form, our pride and passions,
      Reflected in a shape grotesque as thine!
                                             ANONYMOUS.


Count Robert of Paris having ensconced himself behind the ruins of the
bed, so that he could not well be observed, unless a strong light was
at once flung upon the place of his retreat, waited with anxiety how
and in what manner the warder of the dungeon, charged with the task of
bringing food to the prisoners, should make himself visible; nor was it
long ere symptoms of his approach began to be heard and observed.

A light was partially seen, as from a trap-door opening in the roof,
and a voice was heard to utter these words in Anglo-Saxon, "Leap,
sirrah; come, no delay; leap, my good Sylvan, show your honour's
activity." A strange chuckling hoarse voice, in a language totally
unintelligible to Count Robert, was heard to respond, as if disputing
the orders which were received.

"What, sir," said his companion, "you must contest the point, must you?
Nay, if thou art so lazy, I must give your honour a ladder, and perhaps
a kick to hasten your journey." Something then, of very great size, in
the form of a human being, jumped down from the trap-door, though the
height might be above fourteen feet. This figure was gigantic, being
upwards of seven feet high. In its left hand it held a torch, and in
its right a skein of fine silk, which unwinding itself as it descended,
remained unbroken, though it was easy to conceive it could not have
afforded a creature so large any support in his descent from the roof.
He alighted with perfect safety and activity upon his feet, and, as if
rebounding from the floor, he sprung upwards again, so as almost to
touch the roof. In this last gambaud the torch which he bore was
extinguished; but this extraordinary warder whirled it round his head
with infinite velocity, so that it again ignited. The bearer, who
appeared to intend the accomplishment of this object, endeavoured to
satisfy himself that it was really attained by approaching, as if
cautiously, its left hand to the flame of the torch. This practical
experiment seemed attended with consequences which the creature had not
expected, for it howled with pain, shaking the burnt hand, and
chattering as if bemoaning itself.

"Take heed there, Sylvanus!" said the same voice in Anglo-Saxon, and in
a tone of rebuke. "Ho, there! mind thy duty, Sylvan! Carry food to the
blind man, and stand not there to play thyself, lest I trust thee not
again alone on such an errand!"

The creature--for it would have been rash to have termed it a
man--turning its eye upwards to the place from whence the voice came,
answered with a dreadful grin and shaking of its fist, yet presently
began to undo a parcel, and rummage in the pockets of a sort of jerkin
and pantaloons which it wore, seeking, it appeared, a bunch of keys,
which at length it produced, while it took from the pocket a loaf of
bread. Heating the stone of the wall, it affixed the torch to it by a
piece of wax, and then cautiously looked out for the entrance to the
old man's dungeon, which it opened with a key selected from the bunch.
Within the passage it seemed to look for and discover the handle of a
pump, at which it filled a pitcher that it bore, and bringing back the
fragments of the former loaf, and remains of the pitcher of water, it
ate a little, as if it were in sport, and very soon making a frightful
grimace, flung the fragments away. The Count of Paris, in the
meanwhile, watched anxiously the proceedings of this unknown animal.
His first thought was, that the creature, whose limbs were so much
larger than humanity, whose grimaces were so frightful, and whose
activity seemed supernatural, could be no other than the Devil himself,
or some of his imps, whose situation and office in those gloomy regions
seemed by no means hard to conjecture. The human voice, however, which
he had heard, was less that of a necromancer conjuring a fiend than
that of a person giving commands to a wild animal, over whom he had, by
training, obtained a great superiority.

"A shame on it," said the Count, "if I suffer a common jackanapes,--for
such I take this devil-seeming beast to be, although twice as large as
any of its fellows whom I have ever seen,--to throw an obstacle in the
way of my obtaining daylight and freedom! Let us but watch, and the
chance is that we make that furry gentleman our guide to the upper
regions."

Meantime the creature, which rummaged about everywhere, at length.
discovered the body of the tiger,--touched it, stirred it, with many
strange motions, and seemed to lament and wonder at its death. At once
it seemed struck with the idea that some one must have slain it, and
Count Robert had the mortification to see it once more select the key,
and spring towards the door of Ursel's prison with such alacrity, that
had its intention been to strangle him, it would have accomplished its
purpose before the interference of Count Robert could have prevented
its revenge taking place. Apparently, however, it reflected, that for
reasons which seemed satisfactory, the death of the tiger could not be
caused by the unfortunate Ursel, but had been accomplished by some one
concealed within the outer prison.

Slowly grumbling, therefore, and chattering to itself, and peeping
anxiously into every corner, the tremendous creature, so like yet so
very unlike to the human form, came stealing along the walls, moving
whatever he thought could seclude a man from his observation. Its
extended legs and arms were protruded forward with great strides, and
its sharp eyes, on the watch to discover the object of its search, kept
prying, with the assistance of the torch, into every corner.

Considering the vicinity of Alexius's collection of animals, the
reader, by this time, can have little doubt that the creature in
question, whose appearance seemed to the Count of Paris so very
problematical, was a specimen of that gigantic species of ape--if it is
not indeed some animal more nearly allied to ourselves--to which, I
believe, naturalists have given the name of the Ourang Outang. This
creature differs from the rest of its fraternity, in being
comparatively more docile and serviceable: and though possessing the
power of imitation which is common to the whole race, yet making use of
it less in mere mockery, than in the desire of improvement and
instruction perfectly unknown to his brethren. The aptitude which it
possesses of acquiring information, is surprisingly great, and
probably, if placed in a favourable situation, it might admit of being
domesticated in a considerable degree; but such advantages the ardour
of scientific curiosity has never afforded this creature. The last we
have heard of was seen, we believe, in the Island of Sumatra--it was of
great size and strength, and upwards of seven feet high. It died
defending desperately its innocent life against a party of Europeans,
who, we cannot help thinking, might have better employed the
superiority which their knowledge gave them over the poor native of the
forest. It was probably this creature, seldom seen, but when once seen
never forgotten, which occasioned the ancient belief in the god Pan,
with his sylvans and satyrs. Nay, but for the gift of speech, which we
cannot suppose any of the family to have attained, we should have
believed the satyr seen by St. Anthony in the desert to have belonged
to this tribe.

We can, therefore, the more easily credit the annals which attest that
the collection of natural history belonging to Alexius Comnenus,
preserved an animal of this kind, which had been domesticated and
reclaimed to a surprising extent, and showed a degree of intelligence
never perhaps to be attained in any other case. These explanations
being premised, we return to the thread of our story.

The animal advanced with long noiseless steps; its shadow on the wall,
when it held the torch so as to make it visible to the Frank, forming
another fiend-resembling mimicry of its own large figure and
extravagant-looking members. Count Robert remained in his lurking hole,
in no hurry to begin a strife, of which it was impossible to foretell
the end. In the meantime, the man of the woods came nigh, and every
step by which he approached, caused the Count's heart to vibrate almost
audibly, at the idea of meeting danger of a nature so strange and new.
At length the creature approached the bed--his hideous eyes were fixed
on those of the Count; and, as much surprised at seeing him as Robert
was at the meeting, he skipped about fifteen paces backwards at one
spring, with a cry of instinctive terror, and then advanced on tiptoe,
holding his torch as far forward as he could, between him and the
object of his fears, as if to examine him at the safest possible
distance. Count Robert caught up a fragment of the bedstead, large
enough to form a sort of club, with which he menaced the native of the
wilds.

Apparently this poor creature's education, like education of most
kinds, had not been acquired without blows, of which the recollection
was as fresh as that of the lessons which they enforced. Sir Robert of
Paris was a man at once to discover and to avail himself of the
advantage obtained by finding that he possessed a degree of ascendancy
over his enemy, which he had not suspected. He erected his warlike
figure, assumed a step as if triumphant in the lists, and advanced
threatening his enemy with his club, as he would have menaced his
antagonist with the redoutable Tranchefer. The man of the woods, on the
other hand, obviously gave way, and converted his cautious advance into
a retreat no less cautious. Yet apparently the creature had not
renounced some plan of resistance; he chattered in an angry and hostile
tone, held out his torch in opposition, and seemed about to strike the
crusader with it. Count Robert, however, determined to take his
opponent at advantage, while his fears influenced him, and for this
purpose resolved, if possible, to deprive him of his natural
superiority in strength and agility, which his singular form showed he
could not but possess over the human species. A master of his weapon,
therefore, the Count menaced his savage antagonist with a stroke on the
right side of his head, but suddenly averting the blow, struck him with
his whole force on the left temple, and in an instant was kneeling
above him, when, drawing his dagger, he was about to deprive him of
life.

The Ourang Outang, ignorant of the nature of this new weapon with which
he was threatened, attempted at one and the same moment, to rise from
the ground, overthrow his antagonist, and wrench the dagger from his
grasp. In the first attempt, he would probably have succeeded; and as
it was, he gained his knees, and seemed likely to prevail in the
struggle, when he became sensible that the knight, drawing his poniard
sharply through his grasp, had cut his paw severely, and seeing him aim
the trenchant weapon at his throat, became probably aware that his
enemy had his life at command. He suffered himself to be borne
backwards without further resistance, with a deep wailing and
melancholy cry, having in it something human, which excited compassion.
He covered his eyes with the unwounded hand, as if he would have hid
from his own sight the death which seemed approaching him.

Count Robert, notwithstanding his military frenzy, was, in ordinary
matters, a calm-tempered and mild man, and particularly benevolent to
the lower classes of creation. The thought rushed through his mind,
"Why take from this unfortunate monster the breath which is in its
nostrils, after which it cannot know another existence? And then, may
it not be some prince or knight changed to this grotesque shape, that
it may help to guard these vaults, and the wonderful adventures that
attach to them? Should I not, then, be guilty of a crime by slaying
him, when he has rendered himself, rescue or no rescue, which he has
done as completely as his transformed figure permits; and if he be
actually a bestial creature, may he not have some touch of gratitude? I
have heard the minstrels sing the lay of Androcles and the Lion. I will
be on my guard with him."'

So saying, he rose from above the man of the woods, and permitted him.
also to arise. The creature seemed sensible of the clemency, for he
muttered in a low and supplicating tone, which seemed at once to crave
for mercy, and to return thanks for what he had already experienced. He
wept too, as he saw the blood dropping from his wound, and with an
anxious countenance, which had more of the human now that it was
composed into an expression of pain and melancholy, seemed to await in
terror the doom of a being more powerful than himself.

The pocket which the knight wore under his armour, capable of
containing but few things, had, however, some vulnerary balsam, for
which its owner had often occasion, a little lint, and a small roll of
linen; these the knight took out, and motioned to the animal to hold
forth his wounded hand. The man of the woods obeyed with hesitation and
reluctance, and Count Robert applied the balsam and the dressings,
acquainting his patient, at the same time, in a severe tone of voice,
that perhaps he did wrong in putting to his use a balsam compounded for
the service of the noblest knights; but that, if he saw the least sign
of his making an ungrateful use of the benefit he had conferred, he
would bury the dagger, of which he had felt the efficacy, to the very
handle, in his body.

The Sylvan looked fixedly upon Count Robert, almost as if he understood
the language used to him, and, making one of its native murmurs, it
stooped to the earth, kissed the feet of the knight, and embracing his
knees, seemed to swear to him eternal gratitude and fidelity.
Accordingly, when the Count retired to the bed and assumed his armour,
to await the re-opening of the trap-door, the animal sat down by his
side, directing its eyes in the line with his, and seemed quietly to
wait till the door should open. After waiting about an hour, a slight
noise was heard in the upper chamber, and the wild man plucked the
Frank by the cloak, as if to call his attention to what was about to
happen. The same voice which had before spoken, was, after a whistle or
two, heard to call, "Sylvan, Sylvan! where loiterest thou? Come
instantly, or, by the rood, thou shalt abye thy sloth!"

The poor monster, as Trinculo might have called him, seemed perfectly
aware of the meaning of this threat, and showed his sense of it by
pressing close to the side of Count Robert, making at the same time a
kind of whining, entreating, it would seem, the knight's protection.
Forgetting the great improbability there was, even in his own opinion,
that the creature could understand him, Count Robert said, "Why, my
friend, thou hast already learned the principal court prayer of this
country, by which men. entreat permission, to speak and live. Fear
nothing, poor creature--I am thy protector."

"Sylvan! what, ho!" said the voice again; "whom hast thou got for a
companion?--some of the fiends, or ghosts of murdered men, who they say
are frequent in these dungeons? or dost thou converse with the old
blind rebel Grecian?--or, finally, is it true what men say of thee,
that thou canst talk intelligibly when thou wilt, and only gibberest
and chatterest for fear thou art sent to work? Come, thou lazy rascal!
thou shalt have the advantage of the ladder to ascend by, though thou
needest it no more than a daw to ascend the steeple of the Cathedral of
St. Sophia. [Footnote: Now the chief mosque of the Ottoman capital.]
Come along then," he said, putting a ladder down the trap-door, "and
put me not to the trouble of descending to fetch thee, else, by St.
Swithin, it shall be the worse for thee. Come along, therefore, like a
good fellow, and for once I shall spare the whip."

The animal, apparently, was moved by this rhetoric, for, with a doleful
look, which Count Robert saw by means of the nearly extinguished torch,
he seemed to bid him farewell, and to creep away towards the ladder
with the same excellent good-will wherewith a condemned criminal
performs the like evolution. But no sooner did the Count look angry,
and shake the formidable dagger, than the intelligent animal seemed at
once to take his resolution, and clenching his hands firmly together in
the fashion of one who has made up his mind, he returned from the
ladder's foot, and drew up behind Count Robert,--with the air, however,
of a deserter, who feels himself but little at home when called into
the field against his ancient commander.

In a short time the warder's patience was exhausted, and despairing of
the Sylvan's voluntary return, he resolved to descend in quest of him.
Down the ladder he came, a bundle of keys in one hand, the other
assisting his descent, and a sort of dark lantern, whose bottom was so
fashioned that he could wear it upon his head like a hat. He had scarce
stept on the floor, when he was surrounded by the nervous arms of the
Count of Paris. At first the warder's idea was, that he was seized by
the recusant Sylvan.

"How now, villain!" he said; "let me go, or thou shalt die the death."

"Thou diest thyself," said the Count, who, between the surprise and his
own skill in wrestling, felt fully his advantage in the struggle.

"Treason! treason!" cried the warder, hearing by the voice that a
stranger had mingled in the contest; "help, ho! above there! help,
Hereward--Varangian!--Anglo-Saxon, or whatever accursed name thou
callest thyself!"

While he spoke thus, the irresistible grasp of Count Robert seized his
throat, and choked his utterance. They fell heavily, the jailor
undermost, upon the floor of the dungeon, and Robert of Paris, the
necessity of whose case excused the action, plunged his dagger in the
throat of the unfortunate. Just as he did so, a noise of armour was
heard, and, rattling down the ladder, our acquaintance Hereward stood
on the floor of the dungeon. The light, which had rolled from the head
of the warder, continued to show him streaming with blood, and in the
death-grasp of a stranger. Hereward hesitated not to fly to his
assistance, and, seizing upon the Count of Paris at the same advantage
which that knight had gained over his own adversary a moment before,
held him forcibly down with his face to the earth. Count Robert was one
of the strongest men of that military age; but then so was the
Varangian; and save that the latter had obtained a decided advantage by
having his antagonist beneath him, it could not certainly have been
conjectured which way the combat was to go.

"Yield, as your own jargon goes, rescue or no rescue," said the
Varangian, "or die on the point of my dagger!"

"A French Count never yields," answered Robert, who began to conjecture
with what sort of person he was engaged, "above all to a vagabond slave
like thee!" With this he made an effort to rise, so sudden, so strong,
so powerful, that he had almost freed himself from the Varangian's
grasp, had not Hereward, by a violent exertion of his great strength,
preserved the advantage he had gained, and raised his poniard to end
the strife for ever; but a loud chuckling laugh of an unearthly sound
was at this instant heard. The Varangian's extended arm was seized with
vigour, while a rough arm embracing his throat, turned him over on his
back, and gave the French Count an opportunity of springing up.

"Death to thee, wretch!" said the Varangian, scarce knowing whom he
threatened; but the man of the woods apparently had an awful
recollection of the prowess of human beings. He fled, therefore,
swiftly up the ladder, and left Hereward and his deliverer to fight it
out with what success chance might determine between them.

The circumstances seemed to argue a desperate combat; both were tall,
strong, and courageous, both had defensive armour, and the fatal and
desperate poniard was their only offensive weapon. They paused facing
each other, and examined eagerly into their respective means of defence
before hazarding a blow, which, if it missed, its attaint would
certainly be fatally requited. During this deadly pause, a gleam shone
from the trapdoor above, as the wild and alarmed visage of the man of
the woods was seen peering down by the light of a newly kindled torch
which he held as low into the dungeon as he well could.

"Fight bravely, comrade," said Count Robert of Paris, "for we no longer
battle in private; this respectable person, having chosen to constitute
himself judge of the field."

Hazardous as his situation was, the Varangian looked up, and was so
struck with the wild and terrified expression which the creature had
assumed, and the strife between curiosity and terror which its
grotesque features exhibited, that he could not help bursting into a
fit of laughter.

"Sylvan is among those," said Hereward, "who would rather hold the
candle to a dance so formidable than join in it himself."

"Is there then," said Count Robert, "any absolute necessity that thou
and I perform this dance at all?"

"None but our own pleasure," answered Hereward; "for I suspect there is
not between us any legitimate cause of quarrel demanding to be fought
out in such a place, and before such a spectator. Thou art, if I
mistake not, the bold Frank, who was yesternight imprisoned in this
place with, a tiger, chained within no distant spring of his bed?"

"I am," answered the Count.

"And where is the animal who was opposed to thee?"

"He lies yonder," answered the Count, "never again to be the object of
more terror than the deer whom he may have preyed on in his day." He
pointed to the body of the tiger, which Hereward examined by the light
of the dark lantern already mentioned.

"And this, then, was thy handiwork?" said the wondering Anglo-Saxon.

"Sooth to say it was," answered the Count, with indifference.

"And thou hast slain my comrade of this strange watch?" said the
Varangian.

"Mortally wounded him at the least," said Count Robert.

"With your patience, I will be beholden to you for a moment's truce,
while I examine his wound," said Hereward.

"Assuredly," answered the Count; "blighted be the arm which strikes a
foul blow at an open antagonist!"

Without demanding further security, the Varangian quitted his posture
of defence and precaution, and set himself, by the assistance of the
dark lantern, to examine the wound of the first warder who appeared on
the field, who seemed, by his Roman military dress, to be a soldier of
the bands called Immortals. Pie found him in the death-agony, but still
able to speak.

"So, Varangian, thou art come at last,--and is it to thy sloth or
treachery that I am to impute my fate?--Nay, answer me not!--The
stranger struck me over the collar-bone--had we lived long together, or
met often, I had done the like by thee, to wipe out the memory of
certain transactions at the Golden Gate.--I know the use of the knife
too well to doubt the effect of a blow aimed over the collar-bone by so
strong a hand--I feel it coming. The Immortal, so called, becomes now,
if priests say true, an immortal indeed, and Sebastes of Mytilene's bow
is broken ere his quiver is half emptied."

The robber Greek sunk back in Hereward's arms, and closed his life with
a groan, which was the last sound he uttered. The Varangian laid the
body at length on the dungeon floor.

"This is a perplexed matter," he said; "I am certainly not called upon
to put to death a brave man, although my national enemy, because he
hath killed a miscreant who was privately meditating my own murder.
Neither is this a place or a light by which to fight as becomes the
champions of two nations. Let that quarrel be still for the
present.--How say you then, noble sir, if we adjourn the present
dispute till we effect your deliverance from the dungeons of the
Blacquernal, and your restoration to your own friends and followers? If
a poor Varangian should be of service to you in this matter, would you,
when it was settled, refuse to meet him in fair fight, with your
national weapons or his own?"

"If," said Count Robert, "whether friend or enemy, thou wilt extend thy
assistance to my wife, who is also imprisoned somewhere in this
inhospitable palace, be assured, that whatever be thy rank, whatever be
thy country, whatever be thy condition, Robert of Paris will, at thy
choice, proffer thee his right hand in friendship, or raise it against
thee in fair and manly battle--a strife not of hatred, but of honour
and esteem; and this I vow by the soul of Charlemagne, my ancestor, and
by the shrine of my patroness, Our Lady of the Broken Lances."

"Enough said," replied Hereward. "I am as much bound to the assistance
of your Lady Countess, being a poor exile, as if I were the first in
the ranks of chivalry; for if any thing can make the cause of worth and
bravery yet more obligatory, it must be its being united with that of a
helpless and suffering female."

"I ought," said Count Robert, "to be here silent, without loading thy
generosity with farther requests; yet thou art a man, whom, if fortune
has not smiled at thy birth, by ordaining thee to be born within the
ranks of noblesse and knighthood, yet Providence hath done thee more
justice by giving thee a more gallant heart than is always possessed, I
fear, by those who are inwoven in the gayest wreath of chivalry. There
lingers here in these dungeons, for I cannot say he lives--a blind old
man, to whom for three years every thing beyond his prison has been a
universal blot. His food is bread and water, his intercourse limited to
the conversation of a sullen warder, and if death can ever come as a
deliverer, it must be to this dark old man. What sayst thou? Shall he,
so unutterably miserable, not profit by perhaps the only opportunity of
freedom that may ever occur to him?"

"By St. Dunstan," answered the Varangian, "thou keepest over truly the
oath thou hast taken as a redresser of wrongs! Thine own case is
well-nigh desperate, and thou art willing to make it utterly so by
uniting with it that of every unhappy person whom fate throws in thy
way!"

"The more of human misery we attempt to relieve," said Robert of Paris,
"the more we shall carry with us the blessing of our merciful saints,
and Our Lady of the Broken Lances, who views with so much pain every
species of human suffering or misfortune, save that which occurs within
the enclosure of the lists. But come, valiant Anglo-Saxon, resolve me
on my request as speedily as thou canst. There is something in thy face
of candour as well as sense, and it is with no small confidence that I
desire to see us set forth in quest of my beloved Countess, who, when
her deliverance is once achieved, will be a powerful aid to us in
recovering that of others."

"So be it, then," said the Varangian; "we will proceed in quest of the
Countess Brenhilda; and if, on recovering her, we find ourselves strong
enough to procure the freedom of the dark old man, my cowardice, or
want of compassion, shall never stop the attempt."




CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH.

     'Tis strange that, in the dark sulphureous mine,
     Where wild ambition piles its ripening stores
     Of slumbering thunder, Love will interpose
     His tiny torch, and cause the stern explosion
     To burst, when the deviser's least aware.
                                         ANONYMOUS.


About noon of the same day, Agelastes met with Achilles Tatius, the
commander of the Varangian guard, in those ruins of the Egyptian temple
in which we formerly mentioned Hereward having had an interview with
the philosopher. They met, as it seemed, in a very different humour.
Tatius was gloomy, melancholy, and downcast; while the philosopher
maintained the calm indifference which procured for him, and in some
sort deserved, the title of the Elephant. "Thou blenchest, Achilles
Tatius," said the philosopher, "now that thou hast frankly opposed
thyself to all the dangers which stood between thee and greatness. Thou
art like the idle boy who turned the mill-stream upon the machine, and
that done, instead of making a proper use of it, was terrified at
seeing it in motion."

"Thou dost me wrong, Agelastes," answered the Acolyte, "foul wrong; I
am but like the mariner, who although determined upon his voyage, yet
cannot forbear a sorrowing glance at the shore, before he parts with
it, it may be, for ever."

"It may have been right to think of this, but pardon me, valiant
Tatius, when I tell you the account should have been made up before;
and the grandson of Alguric the Hun ought to have computed chances and
consequences ere he stretched his hand to his master's diadem."

"Hush! for Heaven's sake," said Tatius, looking round; "that, thou
knowest, is a secret between our two selves; for if Nicephorus, the
Caesar, should learn it, where were we and our conspiracy?"

"Our bodies on the gibbet, probably," answered Agelastes, "and our
souls divorced from them, and in the way of discovering the secrets
which thou hast hitherto taken upon trust."

"Well," said Achilles, "and should not the consciousness of the
possibility of this fate render us cautious?"

"Cautious _men_, if you will," answered Agelastes, "but not timid
children."

"Stone walls can hear,"--said the Follower, lowering his voice.
"Dionysius the tyrant, I have read, had an ear which conveyed to him
the secrets spoken within his state-prison at Syracuse."

"And that Ear is still stationary at Syracuse," said the philosopher.
"Tell me, my most simple friend, art thou afraid it has been
transported hither in one night, as the Latins believe of Our Lady's
house of Loretto?"

"No," answered Achilles, "but in an affair so important too much
caution cannot be used."

"Well, thou most cautious of candidates for empire, and most cold of
military leaders, know that the Caesar, deeming, I think, that there is
no chance of the empire falling to any one but himself, hath taken in
his head to consider his succession to Alexius as a matter of course,
whenever the election takes place. In consequence, as matters of course
are usually matters of indifference, he has left all thoughts of
securing his interest upon, this material occasion to thee and to me,
while the foolish voluptuary hath himself run mad--for what think you?
Something between man and woman,--female in her lineaments, her limbs,
and a part at least of her garments; but, so help me St. George, most
masculine in the rest of her attire, in her propensities, and in her
exercises."

"The Amazonian wife, thou meanest," said Achilles, "of that iron-handed
Frank, who dashed to pieces last night the golden lion of Solomon with
a blow of his fist? By St. George, the least which can come of such an
amour is broken bones."

"That," said Agelastes, "is not quite so improbable as that Dionysius's
Ear should fly hither from Syracuse in a single night; but he is
presumptuous in respect of the influence which his supposed good looks
have gained him among the Grecian dames."

"He was too presumptuous, I suppose," said Achilles Tatius, "to make a
proper allowance for his situation as Caesar, and the prospect of his
being Emperor."

"Meantime," said Agelastes, "I have promised him an interview with his
Bradamante, who may perhaps reward his tender epithets of _Zoe kai
psyche_, [Footnote: "Life and Soul."] by divorcing his amorous soul
from his unrivalled person."

"Meantime," said the Follower, "thou obtainest, I conclude, such orders
and warrants as the Caesar can give for the furtherance of our plot?"

"Assuredly," said Agelastes, "it is an opportunity not to be lost. This
love fit, or mad fit, has blinded him; and without exciting too much
attention to the progress of the plot, we can thus in safety conduct
matters our own way, without causing malevolent remarks; and though I
am conscious that, in doing so, I act somewhat at variance with my age
and character, yet the end being to convert a worthy Follower into an
Imperial Leader, I shame me not in procuring that interview with the
lady, of which the Caesar, as they term him, is so desirous.--What
progress, meanwhile, hast thou made with the Varangians, who are, in
respect of execution, the very arm of our design?"

"Scarce so good as I could wish," said Achilles Tatius; "yet I have
made sure of some two or three score of those whom I found most
accessible; nor have I any doubt, that when the Caesar is set aside,
their cry will be for Achilles Tatius."

"And what of the gallant who assisted at our prelections?" said
Agelastes; "your Edward, as Alexius termed him?"

"I have made no impression upon him," said the Follower; "and I am
sorry for it, for he is one whom his comrades think well of, and would
gladly follow. Meantime I have placed him as an additional sentinel
upon the iron-witted Count of Paris, whom, both having an inveterate
love of battle, he is very likely to put to death; and if it is
afterwards challenged by the crusaders as a cause of war, it is only
delivering up the Varangian, whose personal hatred will needs be
represented as having occasioned the catastrophe. All this being
prepared beforehand, how and when shall we deal with the Emperor?"

"For that," said Agelastes, "we must consult the Caesar, who, although
his expected happiness of to-day is not more certain than the state
preferment that he expects to-morrow, and although his ideas are much
more anxiously fixed upon his success with this said Countess than his
succession to the empire, will, nevertheless, expect to be treated as
the head of the enterprise for accelerating the latter. But, to speak
my opinion, valiant Tatius, to-morrow will be the last day that Alexius
shall hold the reins of empire."

"Let me know for certain," said the Follower, "as soon as thou canst,
that I may warn our brethren, who are to have in readiness the
insurgent citizens, and those of the Immortals who are combined with
us, in the neighbourhood of the court, and in readiness to act--And,
above all, that I may disperse upon distant guards such Varangians as I
cannot trust."

"Rely upon me," said Agelastes, "for the most accurate information and
instructions, so soon as I have seen Nicephorus Briennius. One word
permit me to ask--in what manner is the wife of the Caesar to be
disposed of?"

"Somewhere," said the Follower, "where I can never be compelled to hear
more of her history. Were it not for that nightly pest of her lectures,
I could be good-natured enough to take care of her destiny myself, and
teach her the difference betwixt a real emperor and this Briennius, who
thinks so much of himself." So saying, they separated; the Follower
elated in look and manner considerably above what he had been when they
met.

Agelastes looked after his companion with a scornful laugh. "There," he
said, "goes a fool, whose lack of sense prevents his eyes from being
dazzled by the torch which cannot fail to consume them. A half-bred,
half-acting, half-thinking, half-daring caitiff, whose poorest
thoughts--and those which deserve that name must be poor indeed--are
not the produce of his own understanding. He expects to circumvent the
fiery, haughty, and proud Nicephorus Briennius! If he does so, it will
not be by his own policy, and still less by his valour. Nor shall Anna
Comnena, the soul of wit and genius, be chained to such an
unimaginative log as yonder half-barbarian. No--she shall have a
husband of pure Grecian extraction, and well stored with that learning
which was studied when Rome was great, and Greece illustrious. Nor will
it be the least charm of the Imperial throne, that it is partaken by a
partner whose personal studies have taught her to esteem and value
those of the Emperor." He took a step or two with conscious elevation,
and then, as conscience-checked, he added, in a suppressed voice, "But
then, if Anna were destined for Empress, it follows of course that
Alexius must die--no consent could be trusted.--And what then?--the
death of an ordinary man is indifferent, when it plants on the throne a
philosopher and a historian; and at what time were possessors of the
empire curious to enquire when or by whose agency their predecessors
died?--Diogenes! Ho, Diogenes!" The slave did not immediately come, so
that Agelastes, wrapt in the anticipation of his greatness, had time to
add a few more words "Tush--I must reckon with Heaven, say the priests,
for many things, so I will throw this also into the account. The death
of the Emperor may be twenty ways achieved without my having the blame
of it. The blood which we have shed may spot our hand, if closely
regarded, but it shall scarce stain our forehead." Diogenes here
entered--"Has the Frank lady been removed?" said the philosopher.

The slave signified his assent.

"How did she bear her removal?"

"As authorised by your lordship, indifferently well. She had resented
her separation from her husband, and her being detained in the palace,
and committed some violence upon the slaves of the Household, several
of whom were said to be slain, although we perhaps ought only to read
sorely frightened. She recognised me at once, and when I told her that
I came to offer her a day's retirement in your own lodgings, until it
should be in your power to achieve the liberation of her husband, she
at once consented, and I deposited her in the secret Cytherean
garden-house."

"Admirably done, my faithful Diogenes," said the philosopher; "thou art
like the genii who attended on the Eastern talisman; I have but to
intimate my will to thee, and it is accomplished."

Diogenes bowed deeply, and withdrew.

"Yet remember, slave!" said Agelastes, speaking to himself; "there is
danger in knowing too much---and should my character ever become
questioned, too many of my secrets are in the power of Diogenes."

At this moment a blow thrice repeated, and struck upon one of the
images without, which had been so framed as to return a tingling sound,
and in so far deserved the praise of being vocal, interrupted his
soliloquy.

"There knocks," said he, "one of our allies; who can it be that comes
so late?" He touched the figure of Iris with his staff, and the Caesar
Nicephorus Briennius entered in the full Grecian habit, and that
graceful dress anxiously arranged to the best advantage. "Let me hope,
my Lord," said Agelastes, receiving the Caesar with an apparently grave
and reserved face, "your Highness comes to tell me that your sentiments
are changed on reflection, and that whatever you had to confer about
with this Frankish lady, may be at least deferred until the principal
part of our conspiracy has been successfully executed."

"Philosopher," answered the Caesar, "no. My resolution, once taken, is
not the sport of circumstances. Believe me, that I have not finished so
many labours without being ready to undertake others. The favour of
Venus is the reward of the labours of Mars, nor would I think it worth
while to worship the god armipotent with the toil and risk attending
his service, unless I had previously attained some decided proofs that
I was wreathed with the myrtle, intimating the favour of his beautiful
mistress."

"I beg pardon for my boldness," said Agelastes; "but has your Imperial
Highness reflected, that you were wagering, with the wildest rashness,
an empire, including thine own life, mine, and all who are joined with
us, in a hardy scheme? And against what were they waged? Against the
very precarious favour of a woman, who is altogether divided betwixt
fiend and female, and in either capacity is most likely to be fatal to
our present scheme, either by her good will, or by the offence which
she may take. If she prove such as you wish, she will desire to keep
her lover by her side, and to spare him the danger of engaging in a
perilous conspiracy; and if she remains, as the world believe her,
constant to her husband, and to the sentiments she vowed to him at the
altar, you may guess what cause of offence you are likely to give, by
urging a suit which she has already received so very ill."

"Pshaw, old man! Thou turnest a dotard, and in the great knowledge thou
possessest of other things, hast forgotten the knowledge best worth
knowing---that of the beautiful part of the creation. Think of the
impression likely to be made by a gallant neither ignoble in situation,
nor unacceptable in presence, upon a lady who must fear the
consequences of refusal! Come, Agelastes, let me have no more of thy
croaking, auguring bad fortune like the raven from the blasted oak on
the left hand; but declaim, as well thou canst, how faint heart never
won fair lady, and how those best deserve empire who can wreathe the
myrtles of Venus with the laurels of Mars. Come, man, undo me the
secret entrance which combines these magical ruins with groves that are
fashioned rather like those of Cytheros or Naxos."

"It must be as you will!" said the philosopher, with a deep and
somewhat affected sigh.

"Here, Diogenes!" called aloud the Caesar; "when thou art summoned,
mischief is not far distant. Come, undo the secret entrance. Mischief,
my trusty <DW64>, is not so distant but she will answer the first
clatter of the stones."

The <DW64> looked at his master, who returned him a glance acquiescing
in the Caesar's proposal. Diogenes then went to a part of the ruined
wall which was covered by some climbing shrubs, all of which he
carefully removed. This showed a little postern door, closed
irregularly, and filled up, from the threshold to the top, with large
square stones, all of which the slave took out and piled aside, as if
for the purpose of replacing them. "I leave thee," said Agelastes to
the <DW64>, "to guard this door, and let no one enter, except he has the
sign, upon the peril of thy life. It were dangerous it should be left
open at this period of the day."

The obsequious Diogenes put his hand to his sabre and to his head, as
if to signify the usual promise of fidelity or death, by which those in
his condition generally expressed their answer to their master's
commands. Diogenes then lighted a small lantern, and pulling out a key,
opened an inner door of wood, and prepared to step forward.

"Hold, friend Diogenes," said the Caesar; "thou wantest not my lantern,
to discern an honest man, whom, if thou didst seek, I must needs say
thou hast come to the wrong place to find one. Nail thou up these
creeping shrubs before the entrance of the place, and abide thou there
as already directed, till our return, to parry the curiosity of any who
may be attracted by the sight of the private passage."

The black slave drew back as he gave the lamp to the Caesar, and
Agelastes followed the light through a long, but narrow, arched
passage, well supplied with air from space to space, and not neglected
in the inside to the degree which its exterior would have implied.

"I will not enter with you into the Gardens," said Agelastes, "or to
the bower of Cytherea, where I am too old to be a worshipper. Thou
thyself, I think, Imperial Caesar, art well aware of the road, having
travelled it divers times! and, if I mistake not, for the fairest
reasons."

"The more thanks," said the Caesar, "are due to mine excellent friend
Agelastes, who forgets his own age to accommodate the youth of his
friends."




CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH.


We must now return to the dungeon of the Blacquernal, where
circumstances had formed at least a temporary union between the stout
Varangian and Count Robert of Paris, who had a stronger resemblance to
each other in their dispositions than probably either of them would
have been willing to admit. The virtues of the Varangian were all of
that natural and unrefined kind which Nature herself dictates to a
gallant man, to whom a total want of fear, and the most prompt alacrity
to meet danger, had been attributes of a life-long standing. The Count,
on the other hand, had all that bravery, generosity, and love of
adventure, which was possessed by the rude soldier, with the virtues,
partly real, partly fantastic, which those of his rank and country
acquired from the spirit of chivalry. The one might be compared to the
diamond as it came from the mine, before it had yet received the
advantages of cutting and setting; the other was the ornamented gem,
which, cut into facets and richly set, had lost perhaps a little of its
original substance, yet still, at the same time, to the eye of an
inspector, had something more showy and splendid than when it was,
according to the phrase of lapidaries, _en brut_. In the one case, the
value was more artificial; in the other, it was the more natural and
real of the two. Chance, therefore, had made a temporary alliance
between two men, the foundation of whose characters bore such strong
resemblance to each other, that they were only separated by a course of
education, which had left rigid prejudices on both sides, and which
prejudices were not unlikely to run counter to each other. The
Varangian commenced his conversation with the Count in a tone of
familiarity, approaching nearer to rudeness than the speaker was aware
of, and much of which, though most innocently intended by Hereward,
might be taken amiss by his new brother in arms. The most offensive
part of his deportment, however, was a blunt, bold disregard to the
title of those whom he addressed, adhering thereby to the manners of
the Saxons, from whom he drew his descent, and which was likely to be
at least unpleasing to the Franks as well as Normans, who had already
received and become very tenacious of the privileges of the feudal
system, the mummery of heraldry, and the warlike claims assumed by
knights, as belonging only to their own order.

Hereward was apt, it must be owned, to think too little of these
distinctions; while he had at least a sufficient tendency to think
enough of the power and wealth of the Greek empire which he served,--of
the dignity inherent in Alexius Comnenus, and which he was also
disposed to grant to the Grecian officers, who, under the Emperor,
commanded his own corps, and particularly to Achilles Tatius. This man
Hereward knew to be a coward, and half-suspected to be a villain.
Still, however, the Follower was always the direct channel through
which the Imperial graces were conferred on the Varangians in general,
as well as upon Hereward himself; and he had always the policy to
represent such favours as being more or less indirectly the consequence
of his own intercession. He was supposed vigorously to espouse the
quarrel of the Varangians, in all the disputes between them and the
other corps; he was liberal and open-handed; gave every soldier his
due; and, bating the trifling circumstance of valour, which was not
particularly his forte, it would have been difficult for these
strangers to have demanded a leader more to their wishes. Besides this,
our friend Hereward was admitted by him into his society, attended him,
as we have seen, upon secret expeditions, and shared, therefore,
deeply, in what may be termed by an expressive, though vulgar phrase,
the sneaking kindness entertained for this new Achilles by the greater
part of his myrmidons. Their attachment might be explained, perhaps, as
a liking to their commander, as strong as could well exist with a
marvellous lack of honour and esteem. The scheme, therefore, formed by
Hereward to effect the deliverance of the Count of Paris, comprehended
as much faith to the Emperor, and his representative, the Acolyte or
Follower, as was consistent with rendering justice to the injured Frank.

In furtherance of this plan, he conducted Count Robert from the
subterranean vaults of the Blacquernal, of the intricacies of which he
was master, having been repeatedly, of late, stationed sentinel there,
for the purpose of acquiring that knowledge of which Tatius promised
himself the advantage in the ensuing conspiracy. When they were in the
open air, and at some distance from the gloomy towers of the Palace, he
bluntly asked the Count of Paris whether he knew Agelastes the
Philosopher. The other answered in the negative.

"Look you now, Sir Knight, you hurt yourself in attempting to impose
upon me," said Hereward. "You must know him; for I saw you dined with
him yesterday."

"O! with that learned old man?" said the Count. "I know nothing of him
worth owning or disguising to thee or any one. A wily person he is,
half herald and half minstrel."

"Half procurer and whole knave," subjoined the Varangian. "With the
mask of apparent good-humour he conceals his pandering to the vices of
others; with the specious jargon of philosophy, he has argued himself
out of religious belief and moral principle; and, with the appearance
of the most devoted loyalty, he will, if he is not checked in time,
either argue his too confiding master out of life and empire, or, if he
fails in this, reason his simple associates into death and misery."

"And do you know all this," said Count Robert, "and permit this man to
go unimpeached?"

"O, content you, sir," replied the Varangian; "I cannot yet form any
plot which Agelastes may not countermine; but the time will come, nay
it is already approaching, when the Emperor's attention shall be
irresistibly turned to the conduct of this man, and then let the
philosopher sit fast, or by St. Dunstan the barbarian overthrows him! I
would only fain, methinks, save from his clutches a foolish friend, who
has listed to his delusions."

"But what have I to do," said the Count, "with this man, or with his
plots?"

"Much," said Hereward, "although you know it not. The main supporter of
this plot is no other than the Caesar, who ought to be the most
faithful of men; but ever since Alexius has named a Sebastocrator, an
officer that is higher in rank, and nearer to the throne than the
Caesar himself, so long has Nicephorus Briennius been displeased and
dissatisfied, though for what length of time he has joined the schemes
of the astucious Agelastes it is more difficult to say. This I know,
that for many months he has fed liberally, as his riches enable him to
do, the vices and prodigality of the Caesar. He has encouraged him to
show disrespect to his wife, although the Emperor's daughter; has put
ill-will between him and the royal family. And if Briennius bears no
longer the fame of a rational man, and the renown of a good leader, he
is deprived of both by following the advice of this artful sycophant."

"And what is all this to me?" said, the Frank. "Agelastes may be a true
man or a time-serving slave; his master, Alexius Comnenus, is not so
much allied to me or mine that I should meddle in the intrigues of his
court."

"You may be mistaken in that," said the blunt Varangian; "if these
intrigues involve the happiness and virtue"'--

"Death of a thousand martyrs!" said the Frank, "doth paltry intrigues
and quarrels of slaves involve a single thought of suspicion of the
noble Countess of Paris? The oaths of thy whole generation were
ineffectual to prove but that one of her hairs had changed its colour
to silver!"

"Well imagined, gallant knight," said the Anglo-Saxon; "thou art a
husband fitted for the atmosphere of Constantinople, which calls for
little vigilance and a strong belief. Thou wilt find many followers and
fellows in this court of ours."

"Hark thee, friend," replied the Frank, "let us have no more words, nor
walk farther together than just to the most solitary nook of this
bewildered city, and let us there set to that work which we left even
now unfinished."

"If thou wert a Duke, Sir Count," replied the Varangian, "thou couldst
not invite to a combat one who is more ready for it. Yet consider the
odds on which we fight. If I fall, my moan is soon made; but will my
death set thy wife at liberty if she is under restraint, or restore her
honour if it is tarnished?--Will it do any thing more than remove from
the world the only person who is willing to give thee aid, at his own
risk and danger, and who hopes to unite thee to thy wife, and replace
thee at the head of thy forces?"

"I was wrong," said the Count of Paris; "I was entirely wrong; but
beware, my good friend, how thou couplest the name of Brenhilda of
Aspramonte with the word of dishonour, and tell me, instead of this
irritating discourse, whither go we now?"

"To the Cytherean gardens of Agelastes, from which we are not far
distant," said the Anglo-Saxon; "yet he hath a nearer way to it than
that by which we now travel, else I should be at a loss to account for
the short space in which he could exchange the charms of his garden for
the gloomy ruins of the Temple of Isis, and the Imperial palace of the
Blacquernal."

"And wherefore, and how long," said Count Robert, "dost thou conclude
that my Countess is detained in these gardens?"

"Ever since yesterday," replied Hereward. "When both I, and several of
my companions, at my request, kept close watch upon the Caesar and your
lady, we did plainly perceive passages of fiery admiration on his part,
and anger as it seemed on hers, which Agelastes, being Nicephorus's
friend, was likely, as usual, to bring to an end, by a separation of
you both from the army of the crusaders, that your wife, like many a
matron before, might have the pleasure of taking up her residence in
the gardens of that worthy sage; while you, my Lord, might take up your
own permanently in the castle of Blacquernal."

"Villain! why didst thou not apprize me of this yesterday?"

"A likely thing," said Hereward, "that I should feel myself at liberty
to leave the ranks, and make such a communication to a man, whom, far
from a friend, I then considered in the light of a personal enemy!
Methinks, that instead of such language as this, you should be thankful
that so many chance circumstances have at length brought me to befriend
and assist you."

Count Robert felt the truth of what was said, though at the same time
his fiery temper longed to avenge itself, according to its wont, upon
the party which was nearest at hand.

But now they arrived at what the citizens of Constantinople called the
Philosopher's Gardens. Here Hereward hoped to obtain entrance, for he
had gained a knowledge of some part, at least, of the private signals
of Achilles and Agelastes, since he had been introduced to the last at
the ruins of the Temple of Isis. They had not indeed admitted him to
their entire secret; yet, confident in his connexion with the Follower,
they had no hesitation in communicating to him snatches of knowledge,
such as, committed to a man of shrewd natural sense like the
Anglo-Saxon, could scarce fail, in time and by degrees, to make him
master of the whole. Count Robert and his companion stood before an
arched door, the only opening in a high wall, and the Anglo-Saxon was
about to knock, when, as if the idea had suddenly struck him,--

"What if the wretch Diogenes opens the gate? We must kill him, ere he
can fly back and betray us. Well, it is a matter of necessity, and the
villain has deserved his death by a hundred horrid crimes."

"Kill him then, thyself," retorted Count Robert; "he is nearer thy
degree, and assuredly I will not defile the name of Charlemagne with
the blood of a black slave."

"Nay, God-a-mercy!" answered the Anglo-Saxon, "but you must bestir
yourself in the action, supposing there come rescue, and that I be
over-borne by odds."

"Such odds," said the knight, "will render the action more like a
_melee_, or general battle; and assure yourself, I will not be slack
when I may, with my honour, be active."

"I doubt it not," said the Varangian; "but the distinction seems a
strange one, that before permitting a man to defend himself, or annoy
his enemy, requires him to demand the pedigree of his ancestor."

"Fear you not, sir," said Count Robert. "The strict rule of chivalry
indeed bears what I tell thee, but when the question is, Fight or not?
there is great allowance to be made for a decision in the affirmative."

"Let me give then the exorciser's rap," replied Hereward, "and see what
fiend will appear."

So saying, he knocked in a particular manner, and the door opened
inwards; a dwarfish negress stood in the gap--her white hair contrasted
singularly with her dark complexion, and with the broad laughing look
peculiar to those slaves. She had something in her physiognomy which,
severely construed, might argue malice, and a delight in human misery.

"Is Agelastes"---said the Varangian; but he had not completed the
sentence, when she answered him, by pointing down a shadowed walk.

The Anglo-Saxon and Frank turned in that direction, when the hag rather
muttered, than said distinctly, "You are one of the initiated,
Varangian; take heed whom you take with you, when you may hardly,
peradventure, be welcomed even going alone."

Hereward made a sign that he understood her, and they were instantly
out of her sight. The path winded beautifully through the shades of an
Eastern garden, where clumps of flowers and labyrinths of flowering
shrubs, and the tall boughs of the forest trees, rendered even the
breath of noon cool and acceptable.

"Here we must use our utmost caution," said Hereward, speaking in a low
tone of voice; "for here it is most likely the deer that we seek has
found its refuge. Better allow me to pass before, since you are too
deeply agitated to possess the coolness necessary for a scout. Keep
concealed beneath yon oak, and let no vain scruples of honour deter you
from creeping beneath the underwood, or beneath the earth itself, if
you should hear a footfall. If the lovers have agreed, Agelastes, it is
probable, walks his round, to prevent intrusion."

"Death and furies! it cannot be!" exclaimed the fiery Frank.--"Lady of
the Broken Lances, take thy votary's life, ere thou torment him with
this agony!"

He saw, however, the necessity of keeping a strong force upon himself,
and permitted, without further remonstrance, the Varangian to pursue
his way, looking, however, earnestly after him.

By advancing forward a little, he could observe Hereward draw near to a
pavilion which arose at no great distance from the place where they had
parted. Here he observed him apply, first his eye, and then his ear, to
one of the casements, which were in a great measure grown over, and
excluded from the light, by various flowering shrubs. He almost thought
he saw a grave interest take place in the countenance of the Varangian,
and he longed to have his share of the information which he had
doubtless obtained.

He crept, therefore, with noiseless steps, through the same labyrinth
of foliage which had covered the approaches of Hereward; and so silent
were his movements, that he touched the Anglo-Saxon, in order to make
him aware of his presence, before he observed his approach.

Hereward, not aware at first by whom he was approached, turned on the
intruder with a countenance like a burning coal. Seeing, however, that
it was the Frank, he shrugged his shoulders, as if pitying the
impatience which could not be kept under prudent restraint, and drawing
himself back allowed the Count the privilege of a peeping place through
plinths of the casement, which could not be discerned by the sharpest
eye from the inner side. The sombre character of the light which
penetrated into this abode of pleasure, was suited to that species of
thought to which a Temple of Cytherea was supposed to be dedicated.
Portraits and groups of statuary were also to be seen, in the taste of
those which they had beheld at the Kiosk of the waterfall, yet
something more free in the ideas which they conveyed than were to be
found at their first resting-place. Shortly after, the door of the
pavilion opened, and the Countess entered, followed by her attendant
Agatha. The lady threw herself on a couch as she came in, while her
attendant, who was a young and very handsome woman, kept herself
modestly in the background, so much so as hardly to be distinguished.

"What dost thou think," said the Countess, "of so suspicious a friend
as Agelastes? so gallant an enemy as the Caesar, as he is called?"

"What should I think," returned the damsel, "except that what the old
man calls friendship is hatred, and what the Caesar terms a patriotic
love for his country, which will not permit him to set its enemies at
liberty, is in fact too strong an affection for his fair captive?"

"For such an affection," said the Countess, "he shall have the same
requital as if it were indeed the hostility of which he would give it
the colour.--My true and noble lord; hadst thou an idea of the
calamities to which they have subjected me, how soon wouldst thou break
through every restraint to hasten to my relief!"

"Art thou a man," said Count Robert to his companion; "and canst thou
advise me to remain still and hear this?"

"I am one man," said the Anglo-Saxon; "you, sir, are another; but all
our arithmetic will not make us more than two; and in this place, it is
probable that a whistle from the Caesar, or a scream from Agelastes,
would bring a thousand to match us, if we were as bold as Bevis of
Hampton.--Stand still and keep quiet. I counsel this, less as
respecting my own life, which, by embarking upon a wild-goose chase
with so strange a partner, I have shown I put at little value, than for
thy safety, and that of the lady thy Countess, who shows herself as
virtuous as beautiful."

"I was imposed on at first," said the Lady Brenhilda to her attendant.
"Affectation of severe morals, of deep learning, and of rigid
rectitude, assumed by this wicked old man, made me believe in part the
character which he pretended; but the gloss is rubbed off since he let
me see into his alliance with the unworthy Caesar, and the ugly picture
remains in its native loathsomeness. Nevertheless, if I can, by address
or subtlety, deceive this arch-deceiver,--as he has taken from me, in a
great measure, every other kind of assistance,--I will not refuse that
of craft, which he may find perhaps equal to his own?"

"Hear you that?" said the Varangian to the Count of Paris. "Do not let
your impatience mar the web of your lady's prudence. I will weigh a
woman's wit against a man's valour where there is aught to do! Let us
not come in with our assistance until time shall show us that it is
necessary for her safety and our success."

"Amen," said the Count of Paris; "but hope not, Sir Saxon, that thy
prudence shall persuade me to leave this garden without taking full
vengeance on that unworthy Caesar, and the pretended philosopher, if
indeed he turns out to have assumed a character"---The Count was here
beginning to raise his voice, when the Saxon, without ceremony, placed
his hand on his mouth. "Thou takest a liberty," said Count Robert,
lowering however his tones.

"Ay, truly," said Hereward; "when the house is on fire, I do not stop
to ask whether the water which I pour on it be perfumed or no."

This recalled the Frank to a sense of his situation; and if not
contented with the Saxon's mode of making an apology, he was at least
silenced. A distant noise was now heard--the Countess listened, and
changed colour. "Agatha," she said, "we are like champions in the
lists, and here comes the adversary. Let us retreat into this side
apartment, and so for a while put off an encounter thus alarming." So
saying, the two females withdrew into a sort of anteroom, which opened
from the principal apartment behind the seat which Brenhilda had
occupied.

They had scarcely disappeared, when, as the stage direction has it,
enter from the other side the Caesar and Agelastes. They had perhaps
heard the last words of Brenhilda, for the Caesar repeated in a low
tone--

    "Militat omnis amans, habet et sua castra Cupido.

"What, has our fair opponent withdrawn her forces? No matter, it shows
she thinks of the warfare, though the enemy be not in sight. Well, thou
shalt not have to upbraid me this time, Agelastes, with precipitating
my amours, and depriving myself of the pleasure of pursuit. By Heavens,
I will be as regular in my progress as if in reality I bore on my
shoulders the whole load of years which make the difference between us;
for I shrewdly suspect that with thee, old man, it is that envious
churl Time that hath plucked the wings of Cupid."

"Say not so, mighty Caesar," said the old man; "it is the hand of
Prudence, which, depriving Cupid's wing of some wild feathers, leaves
him still enough to fly with an equal and steady flight."

"Thy flight, however, was less measured, Agelastes, when thou didst
collect that armoury--that magazine of Cupid's panoply, out of which
thy kindness permitted me but now to arm myself, or rather to repair my
accoutrements."

So saying, he glanced his eye over his own person, blazing with gems,
and adorned with a chain of gold, bracelets, rings, and other
ornaments, which, with a new and splendid habit, assumed since his
arrival at these Cytherean gardens, tended to set off his very handsome
figure.

"I am glad," said Agelastes, "if you have found among toys, which I now
never wear, and seldom made use of even when life was young with me,
anything which may set off your natural advantages. Remember only this
slight condition, that such of these trifles as have made part of your
wearing apparel on this distinguished day, cannot return to a meaner
owner, but must of necessity remain the property of that greatness of
which they had once formed the ornament."

"I cannot consent to this, my worthy friend," said the Caesar; "I know
thou valuest these jewels only in so far as a philosopher may value
them; that is, for nothing save the remembrances which attach to them.
This large seal-ring, for instance, was--I have heard you say--the
property of Socrates; if so, you cannot view it save with devout
thankfulness, that your own philosophy has never been tried with the
exercise of a Xantippe. These clasps released, in older times, the
lovely bosom of Phryne; and they now belong to one who could do better
homage to the beauties they concealed or discovered than could the
cynic Diogenes. These buckles, too"---

"I will spare thy ingenuity, good youth," said Agelastes, somewhat
nettled; "or rather, noble Caesar. Keep thy wit--thou wilt have ample
occasion for it."

"Fear not me," said the Caesar. "Let us proceed, since you will, to
exercise the gifts which we possess, such as they are, either natural
or bequeathed to us by our dear and respected friend. Hah!" he said,
the door opening suddenly, and the Countess almost meeting him, "our
wishes are here anticipated."

He bowed accordingly with the deepest deference to the Lady Brenhilda,
who, having made some alterations to enhance the splendour of her
attire, now moved forward from the withdrawing-room into which she had
retreated.

"Hail, noble lady," said the Caesar, "whom I have visited with the
intention of apologizing for detaining you, in some degree against your
will, in those strange regions in which yon unexpectedly find yourself."

"Not in some degree," answered the lady, "but entirely contrary to my
inclinations, which are, to be with my husband, the Count of Paris, and
the followers who have taken the cross under his banner."

"Such, doubtless, were your thoughts when you left the land of the
west," said Agelastes; "but, fair Countess, have they experienced no
change? You have left a shore streaming with human blood when the
slightest provocation occurred, and thou hast come to one whose
principal maxim is to increase the sum of human happiness by every mode
which can be invented. In the west yonder, he or she is respected most
who can best exercise their tyrannical strength in making others
miserable, while, in these more placid realms, we reserve our garlands
for the ingenious youth, or lovely lady, who can best make happy the
person whose affection is fixed upon her."

"But, reverend philosopher," said the Countess, "who labourest so
artificially in recommending the yoke of pleasure, know that you
contradict every notion which I have been taught from my infancy. In
the land where my nurture lay, so far are we from acknowledging your
doctrines, that we match not, except like the lion and the lioness,
when the male has compelled the female to acknowledge his superior
worth and valour. Such is our rule, that a damsel, even of mean degree,
would think herself heinously undermatched, if wedded to a gallant
whose fame in arms was yet unknown."

"But, noble lady," said the Caesar, "a dying man may then find room for
some faint hope. Were there but a chance that distinction in arms could
gain those affections which have been stolen, rather than fairly
conferred, how many are there who would willingly enter into the
competition where the prize is so fair! What is the enterprise too bold
to be under-taken on such a condition! And where is the individual
whose heart would not feel, that in baring his sword for the prize, he
made vow never to return it to the scabbard, without the proud boast,
What I have not yet won, I have deserved!"

"You see, lady," said Agelastes, who, apprehending that the last speech
of the Caesar had made some impression, hastened to follow it up with a
suitable observation---"You see that the fire of chivalry burns as
gallantly in the bosom of the Grecians as in that of the western
nations."

"Yes," answered Brenhilda, "and I have heard of the celebrated siege of
Troy, on which occasion a dastardly coward carried off the wife of a
brave man, shunned every proffer of encounter with the husband whom he
had wronged, and finally caused the death of his numerous brothers, the
destruction of his native city, with all the wealth which it contained,
and died himself the death of a pitiful poltroon, lamented only by his
worthless leman, to show how well the rules of chivalry were understood
by your predecessors."

"Lady, you mistake," said the Caesar; "the offences of Paris were those
of a dissolute Asiatic; the courage which avenged them was that of the
Greek Empire."

"You are learned, sir," said the lady; "but think not that I will trust
your words until you produce before me a Grecian knight, gallant enough
to look upon the armed crest of my husband without quaking."

"That, methinks, were not extremely difficult," returned the Caesar;
"if they have not flattered me, I have myself been thought equal in
battle to more dangerous men than him who has been strangely mated with
the Lady Brenhilda."

"That is soon tried," answered the Countess. "You will hardly, I think,
deny, that my husband, separated from me by some unworthy trick, is
still at thy command, and could be produced at thy pleasure. I will ask
no armour for him save what he wears, no weapon but his good sword
Tranchefer; then place him in this chamber, or any other lists equally
narrow, and if he flinch, or cry craven, or remain dead under shield,
let Brenhilda be the prize of the conqueror.--Merciful Heaven!" she
concluded, as she sunk back upon her seat, "forgive me for the crime of
even imagining such a termination, which is equal almost to doubting
thine unerring judgment!"

"Let me, however," said the Caesar, "catch up these precious words
before they fall to the ground,--Let me hope that he, to whom the
heavens shall give power and strength to conquer this highly-esteemed
Count of Paris, shall succeed him in the affections of Brenhilda; and
believe me, the sun plunges not through the sky to his resting-place,
with the same celerity that I shall hasten to the encounter."

"Now, by Heaven!" said Count Robert, in an anxious whisper to Hereward,
"it is too much to expect me to stand by and hear a contemptible Greek,
who durst not stand even the rattling farewell which Tranchefer takes
of his scabbard, brave me in my absence, and affect to make love to my
lady _par amours!_ And she, too--methinks Brenhilda allows more license
than she is wont to do to yonder chattering popinjay. By the rood! I
will spring into the apartment, front them with my personal appearance,
and confute yonder braggart in a manner he is like to remember."

"Under favour," said the Varangian, who was the only auditor of this
violent speech, "you shall be ruled by calm reason while I am with you.
When we are separated, let the devil of knight-errantry, which has such
possession of thee, take thee upon his shoulders, and carry thee full
tilt wheresoever he lists."

"Thou art a brute," said the Count, looking at him with a contempt
corresponding to the expression he made use of; "not only without
humanity, but without the sense of natural honour or natural shame. The
most despicable of animals stands not by tamely and sees another assail
his mate. The bull offers his horns to a rival--the mastiff uses his
jaws--and even the timid stag becomes furious, and gores."

"Because they are beasts," said the Varangian, "and their mistresses
also creatures without shame or reason, who are not aware of the
sanctity of a choice. But thou, too, Count, canst thou not see the
obvious purpose of this poor lady, forsaken by all the world, to keep
her faith towards thee, by eluding the snares with which wicked men
have beset her? By the souls of my fathers! my heart is so much moved
by her ingenuity, mingled as I see it is with the most perfect candour
and faith, that I myself, in fault of a better champion, would
willingly raise the axe in her behalf!"

"I thank thee, my good friend," said the Count; "I thank thee as
heartily as if it were possible thou shouldst be left to do that good
office for Brenhilda, the beloved of many a noble lord, the mistress of
many a powerful vassal; and, what is more, much more than thanks, I
crave thy pardon for the wrong I did thee but now."

"My pardon you cannot need" said the Varangian; "for I take no offence
that is not seriously meant.--Stay, they speak again."

"It is strange it should be so," said the Caesar, as he paced the
apartment; "but methinks, nay, I am almost certain, Agelastes, that I
hear voices in the vicinity of this apartment of thy privacy." "It is
impossible," said Agelastes; "but I will go and see." Perceiving him to
leave the pavilion, the Varangian made the Frank sensible that they
must crouch down among a little thicket of evergreens, where they lay
completely obscured. The philosopher made his rounds with a heavy step,
but a watchful eye; and the two listeners were obliged to observe the
strictest silence, without motion of any kind, until he had completed
an ineffectual search, and returned into the pavilion. "By my faith,
brave man," said the Count, "ere we return to our skulking-place, I
must tell thee in thine ear, that never, in my life, was temptation so
strong upon me, as that which prompted me to beat out that old
hypocrite's brains, provided I could have reconciled it with my honour;
and heartily do I wish that thou, whose honour no way withheld thee,
had experienced and given way to some impulse of a similar nature."

"Such fancies have passed through my head," said the Varangian; "but I
will not follow them till they are consistent both with our own safety,
and more particularly with that of the Countess."

"I thank thee again for thy good-will to her," said Count Robert; "and,
by Heaven! if fight we must at length, as it seems likely, I will
neither grudge thee an honourable antagonist, nor fair quarter if the
combat goes against thee."

"Thou hast my thanks," was the reply of Hereward; "only, for Heaven's
sake, be silent in this conjecture, and do what thou wilt afterwards."
Before the Varangian and the Count had again resumed their posture of
listeners, the parties within the pavilion, conceiving themselves
unwatched, had resumed their conversation, speaking low, yet with
considerable animation.

"It is in vain you would persuade me," said the Countess, "that you
know not where my husband is, or that you have not the most absolute
influence over his captivity. Who else could have an interest in
banishing or putting to death the husband, but he that affects to
admire the wife?" "You do me wrong, beautiful lady," answered the
Caesar, "and forget that I can in no shape be termed the moving-spring
of this empire; that my father-in-law, Alexius, is the Emperor; and
that the woman who terms herself my wife, is jealous as a fiend can be
of my slightest motion.-What possibility was there that I should work
the captivity of your husband and your own? The open affront which the
Count of Paris put upon the Emperor, was one which he was likely to
avenge, either by secret guile or by open force. Me it no way touched,
save as the humble vassal of thy charms; and it was by the wisdom and
the art of the sage Agelastes, that I was able to extricate thee from
the gulf in which thou hadst else certainly perished. Nay, weep not,
lady, for as yet we know not the fate of Count Robert; but, credit me,
it is wisdom to choose a better protector, and consider him as no more."

"A better than him," said Brenhilda, "I can never have, were I to
choose out of the knighthood of all the world!"

"This hand," said the Caesar, drawing himself into a martial attitude,
"should decide that question, were the man of whom thou thinkest so
much yet moving on the face of this earth and at liberty."

"Thou art," said Brenhilda, looking fixedly at him with the fire of
indignation flashing from every feature--"thou art--but it avails not
telling thee what is thy real name; believe me, the world shall one day
ring with it, and be justly sensible of its value. Observe what I am
about to say--Robert of Paris is gone--or captive, I know not where. He
cannot fight the match of which thou seemest so desirous--but here
stands Brenhilda, born heiress of Aspramonte, by marriage the wedded
wife of the good Count of Paris. She was never matched in the lists by
mortal man, except the valiant Count, and since thou art so grieved
that thou canst not meet her husband in battle, thou canst not surely
object, if she is willing to meet thee in his stead!"

"How, madam?" said the Caesar, astonished; "do you propose yourself to
hold the lists against me?"

"Against you!" said the Countess; "against all the Grecian Empire, if
they shall affirm that Robert of Paris is justly used and lawfully
confined."

"And are the conditions," said the Caesar, "the same as if Count Robert
himself held the lists? The vanquished must then be at the pleasure of
the conqueror for good or evil."

"It would seem so," said the Countess, "nor do I refuse the hazard;
only, that if the other champion shall bite the dust, the noble Count
Robert shall be set at liberty, and permitted to depart with all
suitable honours."

"This I refuse not," said the Caesar, "provided it is in my power."

A deep growling sound, like that of a modern gong, here interrupted the
conference.




CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH.


The Varangian and Count Robert, at every risk of discovery, had
remained so near as fully to conjecture, though they could not
expressly overhear, the purport of the conversation.

"He has accepted her challenge!" said the Count of Paris.

"And with apparent willingness," said Hereward.

"O, doubtless, doubtless,"--answered the Crusader; "but he knows not
the skill in war which a woman may attain; for my part, God knows I
have enough depending upon the issue of this contest, yet such is my
confidence, that I would to God I had more. I vow to our Lady of the
Broken Lances, that I desire every furrow of land I possess--every
honour which I can call my own, from the Countship of Paris, down to
the leather that binds my spur, were dependent and at issue upon this
fair field, between your Caesar, as men term him, and Brenhilda of
Aspramonte."

"It is a noble confidence," said the Varangian, "nor durst I say it is
a rash one; only I cannot but remember that the Caesar is a strong man,
as well as a handsome, expert in the use of arms, and, above all, less
strictly bound than you esteem yourself by the rules of honour. There
are many ways in which advantage may be given and taken, which will
not, in the Caesar's estimation, alter the character of the field from
an equal one, although it might do so in the opinion of the chivalrous
Count of Paris, or even in that of the poor Varangian. But first let me
conduct you to some place of safety, for your escape must be soon, if
it is not already, detected. The sounds which we heard intimate that
some of his confederate plotters have visited the garden on other than
love affairs. I will guide thee to another avenue than that by which we
entered. But you would hardly, I suppose, be pleased to adopt the
wisest alternative?"

"And what may that be?" said the Count.

"To give thy purse, though it were thine all, to some poor ferryman to
waft thee over the Hellespont, then hasten to carry thy complaint to
Godfrey of Bouillon, and what friends thou mayst have among thy
brethren crusaders, and determine, as thou easily canst, on a
sufficient number of them to come back and menace the city with instant
war, unless the Emperor should deliver up thy lady, most unfairly made
prisoner, and prevent, by his authority, this absurd and unnatural
combat."

"And would you have me, then," said Count Robert, "move the crusaders
to break a fairly appointed field of battle? Do you think that Godfrey
of Bouillon would turn back upon his pilgrimage for such an unworthy
purpose; or that the Countess of Paris would accept as a service, means
of safety which would stain her honour for ever, by breaking an
appointment solemnly made on her own challenge?--Never!"

"My judgment is then at fault," said the Varangian, "for I see I can
hammer out no expedient which is not, in some extravagant manner or
another, controlled by your foolish notions. Here is a man who has been
trapped into the power of his enemy, that he might not interfere to
prevent a base stratagem upon his lady, involving both her life and
honour; yet he thinks it a matter of necessity that he keeps faith as
precisely with these midnight poisoners, as he would had it been
pledged to the most honourable men!"

"Thou say'st a painful truth," said Count Robert; "but my word is the
emblem of my faith; and if it pass to a dishonourable or faithless foe,
it is imprudently done on my part; but if I break it, being once
pledged, it is a dishonourable action, and the disgrace can never be
washed from my shield."

"Do you mean, then," said the Varangian, "to suffer your wife's honour
to remain pledged as it at present is, on the event of an unequal
combat?"

"God and the saints pardon thee such a thought!" said the Count of
Paris. "I will go to see this combat with a heart as firm, if not as
light, as any time I ever saw spears splintered. If by the influence of
any accident or treachery,--for fairly, and with such an antagonist,
Brenhilda of Aspramonte cannot be overthrown,--I step into the lists,
proclaim the Caesar as he is--a villain--show the falsehood of his
conduct from beginning to end,--appeal to every noble heart that hears
me, and then--God show the right!"

Hereward paused, and shook his head. "All this," he said, "might be
feasible enough provided the combat were to be fought in the presence
of your own countrymen, or even, by the mass! if the Varangians were to
be guards of the lists. But treachery of every kind is so familiar to
the Greeks, that I question if they would view the conduct of their
Caesar as any thing else than a pardonable and natural stratagem of Dan
Cupid, to be smiled at, rather than subjected to disgrace or
punishment."

"A nation," said Count Robert, "who could smile at such a jest, may
heaven refuse them sympathy at their utmost need, when their sword is
broken in their hand, and their wives and daughters shrieking in the
relentless grasp of a barbarous enemy!"

Hereward looked upon his companion, whose flushed cheeks and sparkling
eyes bore witness to his enthusiasm.

"I see," he said, "you are resolved, and I know that your resolution
can in justice be called by no other name than an act of heroic folly:
--What then? it is long since life has been bitter to the Varangian
exile. Morn has raised him from a joyless bed, which night has seen him
lie down upon, wearied with wielding a mercenary weapon in the wars of
strangers. He has longed to lay down his life in an honourable cause,
and this is one in which the extremity and very essence of honour is
implicated. It tallies also with my scheme of saving the Emperor, which
will be greatly facilitated by the downfall of his ungrateful
son-in-law." Then addressing himself to the Count, he continued, "Well,
Sir Count, as thou art the person principally concerned, I am willing
to yield to thy reasoning in this affair; but I hope you will permit me
to mingle with your resolution some advices of a more everyday and less
fantastic nature. For example, thy escape from the dungeons of the
Blacquernal must soon be generally known. In prudence, indeed, I myself
must be the first to communicate it, since otherwise the suspicion will
fall on me--Where do you think of concealing yourself? for assuredly
the search will be close and general."

"For that," said the Count of Paris, "I must be indebted to thy
suggestion, with thanks for every lie which thou findest thyself
obliged to make, to contrive, and produce in my behalf, entreating thee
only to render them as few as possible, they being a coin which I
myself never fabricate."

"Sir knight," answered Hereward, "let me begin first by saying, that no
knight that ever belted sword is more a slave to truth, when truth is
observed towards him, than the poor soldier who talks to thee; but when
the game depends not upon fair play, but upon lulling men's
cautiousness asleep by falsehood, and drugging their senses by opiate
draughts, they who would scruple at no means of deceiving me, can
hardly expect that I, who am paid in such base money, should pass
nothing on my part but what is lawful and genuine. For the present thou
must remain concealed within my poor apartment, in the barracks of the
Varangians, which is the last place where they will think of seeking
for thee. Take this, my upper cloak, and follow me; and now that we are
about to leave these gardens, thou mayst follow me unsuspected as a
sentinel attending his officer; for, take it along with you, noble
Count, that we Varangians are a sort of persons upon whom the Greeks
care not to look very long or fixedly."

They now reached the gate where they had been admitted by the negress,
and Hereward, who was intrusted with the power, it seems, of letting
himself out of the philosopher's premises, though not of entering
without assistance from the portress, took out a key which turned the
lock on the garden side, so that they soon found themselves at liberty.
They then proceeded by by-paths through the city, Hereward leading the
way, and the Count following, without speech or remonstrance, until
they stood before the portal of the barracks of the Varangians.

"Make haste," said the sentinel who was on duty, "dinner is already
begun." The communication sounded joyfully in the ears of Hereward, who
was much afraid that his companion might have been stopt and examined.
By a side passage he reached his own quarters, and introduced the Count
into a small room, the sleeping chamber of his squire, where he
apologized for leaving him for some time; and, going out, locked the
door, for fear, as he said, of intrusion.

The demon of suspicion was not very likely to molest a mind so frankly
constituted as that of Count Robert, and yet the last action of
Hereward did not fail to occasion some painful reflections.

"This man," he said, "had needs be true, for I have reposed in him a
mighty trust, which few hirelings in his situation would honourably
discharge. What is to prevent him to report to the principal officer of
his watch, that the Frank prisoner, Robert, Count of Paris, whose wife
stands engaged for so desperate a combat with the Caesar, has escaped,
indeed, this morning, from the prisons of the Blacquernal, but has
suffered himself to be trepanned at noon, and is again a captive in the
barracks of the Varangian Guard?---what means of defence are mine, were
I discovered to these mercenaries?--What man could do, by the favour of
our Lady of the Broken Lances, I have not failed to achieve. I have
slain a tiger in single combat--I have killed one warder, and conquered
the desperate and gigantic creature by whom he was supported. I have
had terms enough at command to bring over this Varangian to my side, in
appearance at least; yet all this does not encourage me to hope that I
could long keep at bay ten or a dozen such men as these beef-fed knaves
appear to be, led in upon me by a fellow of thewes and sinews such as
those of my late companion.--Yet for shame, Robert! such thoughts are
unworthy a descendant of Charlemagne. When wert thou wont so curiously
to count thine enemies, and when wert thou wont to be suspicious, since
he, whose bosom may truly boast itself incapable of fraud, ought in
honesty to be the last to expect it in another? The Varangian's look is
open, his coolness in danger is striking, his speech is more frank and
ready than ever was that of a traitor. If he is false, there is no
faith in the hand of nature, for truth, sincerity, and courage are
written upon his forehead."

While Count Robert was thus reflecting upon his condition, and
combating the thick-coming doubts and suspicions which its
uncertainties gave rise to, he began to be sensible that he had not
eaten for many hours; and amidst many doubts and fears of a more heroic
nature, he half entertained a lurking suspicion, that they meant to let
hunger undermine his strength before they adventured into the apartment
to deal with him.

We shall best see how far these doubts were deserved by Hereward, or
how far they were unjust, by following his course after he left his
barrack-room. Snatching a morsel of dinner, which he ate with an
affectation of great hunger, but, in fact, that his attention to his
food might be a pretence for dispensing with disagreeable questions, or
with conversation of any kind, he pleaded duty, and immediately leaving
his comrades, directed his course to the lodgings of Achilles Tatius,
which were a part of the same building. A Syrian slave, who opened the
door, after a deep reverence to Hereward, whom he knew as a favourite
attendant of the Acolyte, said to him that his master was gone forth,
but had desired him to say, that if he wished to see him, he would find
him at the Philosopher's Gardens, so called, as belonging to the sage
Agelastes.

Hereward turned about instantly, and availing himself of his knowledge
of Constantinople to thread its streets in the shortest time possible,
at length stood alone before the door in the garden-wall, at which he
and the Count of Paris had previously been admitted in the earlier part
of the day. The same negress appeared at the same private signal, and
when he asked for Achilles Tatius, she replied, with some sharpness,
"Since you were here this morning, I marvel you did not meet him, or
that, having business with him, you did not stay till he arrived. Sure
I am, that not long after you entered the garden the Acolyte was
enquiring for you."

"It skills not, old woman" said the Varangian; "I communicate the
reason of my motions to my commander, but not to thee." He entered the
garden accordingly, and avoiding the twilight path that led to the
Bower of Love,--so was the pavilion named in which he had overheard the
dialogue between the Caesar and the Countess of Paris,--he arrived
before a simple garden-house, whose humble and modest front seemed to
announce that it was the abode of philosophy and learning. Here,
passing before the windows, he made some little noise, expecting to
attract the attention either of Achilles Tatius, or his accomplice
Agelastes, as chance should determine. It was the first who heard, and
who replied. The door opened; a lofty plume stooped itself, that its
owner might cross the threshold, and the stately form of Achilles
Tatius entered the gardens. "What now," he said, "our trusty sentinel?
what hast thou, at this time of day, come to report to us? Thou art our
good friend, and highly esteemed soldier, and well we wot thine errand
must be of importance, since thou hast brought it thyself, and at an
hour so unusual."

"Pray Heaven," said Hereward, "that the news I have brought deserve a
welcome."

"Speak them instantly," said the Acolyte, "good or bad; thou speakest
to a man to whom fear is unknown." But his eye, which quailed as he
looked on the soldier--his colour, which went and came--his hands,
which busied themselves in an uncertain manner in adjusting the belt of
his sword,--all argued a state of mind very different from that which
his tone of defiance would fain have implied. "Courage," he said, "my
trusty soldier! speak the news to me. I can bear the worst thou hast to
tell."

"In a word, then," said the Varangian, "your Valour directed me this
morning to play the office of master of the rounds upon those dungeons
of the Blacquernal palace, where last night the boisterous Count Robert
of Paris was incarcerated"--

"I remember well," said Achilles Tatius.--"What then?"

"As I reposed me," said Hereward, "in an apartment above the vaults, I
heard cries from beneath, of a kind which attracted my attention. I
hastened to examine, and my surprise was extreme, when looking down
into the dungeon, though I could see nothing distinctly, yet, by the
wailing and whimpering sounds, I conceived that the Man of the Forest,
the animal called Sylvan, whom our soldiers have so far indoctrinated
in our Saxon tongue as to make him useful in the wards of the prison,
was bemoaning himself on account of some violent injury. Descending
with a torch, I found the bed on which the prisoner had been let down
burnt to cinders; the tiger which had been chained within a spring of
it, with its skull broken to pieces; the creature called Sylvan,
prostrate, and writhing under great pain and terror, and no prisoner
whatever in the dungeon. There were marks that all the fastenings had
been withdrawn by a Mytilenian soldier, companion of my watch, when he
visited the dungeon at the usual hour; and as, in my anxious search, I
at length found his dead body, slain apparently by a stab in the
throat, I was obliged to believe that while I was examining the cell,
he, this Count Robert, with whose daring life the adventure is well
consistent, had escaped into the upper air, by means, doubtless, of the
ladder and trap-door by which I had descended."

"And wherefore didst thou not instantly call treason, and raise the hue
and cry?" demanded the Acolyte.

"I dared not venture to do so," replied the Varangian, "till I had
instructions from your Valour. The alarming cry of treason, and the
various rumours likely at this moment to ensue, might have involved a
search so close, as perchance would have discovered matters in which
the Acolyte himself would have been rendered subject to suspicion."

"Thou art right," said Achilles Tatius, in a whisper: "and yet it will
be necessary that we do not pretend any longer to conceal the flight of
this important prisoner, if we would not pass for being his
accomplices. Where thinkest thou this unhappy fugitive can have taken
refuge?"

"That I was in hopes of learning from your Valour's greater wisdom,"
said Hereward.

"Thinkest thou not," said Achilles, "that he may have crossed the
Hellespont, in order to rejoin his own countrymen and adherents?"

"It is much to be dreaded," said Hereward. "Undoubtedly, if the Count
listened to the advice of any one who knew the face of the country,
such would be the very counsel he would receive."

"The danger, then, of his return at the head of a vengeful body of
Franks," said the Acolyte, "is not so immediate as I apprehended at
first, for the Emperor gave positive orders that the boats and galleys
which yesterday transported the crusaders to the shores of Asia should
recross the strait, and bring back no single one of them from the step
upon their journey on which he had so far furthered them.--Besides,
they all,--their leaders, that is to say,--made their vows before
crossing, that they would not turn back so much as a foot's pace, now
that they had set actually forth on the road to Palestine."

"So, therefore," said Hereward, "one of the two propositions is
unquestionable; either Count Robert is on the eastern side of the
strait, having no means of returning with his brethren to avenge the
usage he has received, and may therefore be securely set, at
defiance,--or else he lurks somewhere in Constantinople, without a
friend or ally to take his part, or encourage him openly to state his
supposed wrongs; in either case, there can, I think, be no tact in
conveying to the palace the news that he has freed himself, since it
would only alarm the court, and afford the Emperor ground for many
suspicions.--But it is not for an ignorant barbarian like me to
prescribe a course of conduct to your valour and wisdom, and methinks
the sage Agelastes were a fitter counsellor than such as I am."

"No, no, no," said the Acolyte, in a hurried whisper; "the philosopher
and I are right good friends, sworn good friends, very especially bound
together; but should it come to this, that one of us must needs throw
before the footstool of the Emperor the head of the other, I think thou
wouldst not advise that I, whose hairs have not a trace of silver,
should be the last in making the offering; therefore we will say
nothing of this mishap, but give thee full power, and the highest
charge to seek for Count Robert of Paris, be he dead or alive, to
secure him within the dungeons set apart for the discipline of our own
corps, and when thou hast done so, to bring me notice. I may make him
my friend in many ways, by extricating his wife from danger by the axes
of my Varangians. What is there in this metropolis that they have to
oppose them?"

"When raised in a just cause," answered Hereward, "nothing."

"Hah!--say'st thou?" said the Acolyte; "how meanest thou by that?--but
I know--Thou art scrupulous about having the just and lawful command of
thy officer in every action in which thou art engaged, and, thinking in
that dutiful and soldierlike manner, it is my duty as thine Acolyte to
see thy scruples satisfied. A warrant shalt thou have, with full
powers, to seek for and imprison this foreign Count of whom we have
been speaking--And, hark thee, my excellent friend," he continued, with
some hesitation, "I think thou hadst better begone, and begin, or
rather continue thy search. It is unnecessary to inform our friend
Agelastes of what has happened, until his advice be more needful than
as yet it is on the occasion. Home--home to the barracks; I will
account to him for thy appearance here, if he be curious on the
subject, which, as a suspicious old man, he is likely to be. Go to the
barracks, and act as if thou hadst a warrant in every respect full and
ample. I will provide thee with one when I come back to my quarters."

The Varangian turned hastily homewards.

"Now, is it not," he said, "a strange thing, and enough to make a man a
rogue for life--to observe how the devil encourages young beginners in
falsehood! I have told a greater lie--at least I have suppressed more
truth--than on any occasion before in my whole life--and what is the
consequence? Why, my commander throws almost at my head a warrant
sufficient to guarantee and protect me in all I have done, or propose
to do! If the foul fiend were thus regular in protecting his votaries,
methinks they would have little reason to complain of him, or better
men to be astonished at their number. But a time comes, they say, when
he seldom fails to desert them. Therefore, get thee behind me, Satan!
If I have seemed to be thy servant for a short time, it is but with an
honest and Christian purpose."

As he entertained these thoughts, he looked back upon the path, and was
startled at an apparition of a creature of a much greater size, and a
stranger shape than human, covered, all but the face, with a reddish
dun fur; his expression an ugly, and yet a sad melancholy; a cloth was
wrapped round one hand, and an air of pain and languor bespoke
suffering from a wound. So much was Hereward pre-occupied with his own
reflections, that at first he thought his imagination had actually
raised the devil; but after a sudden start of surprise, he recognised
his acquaintance Sylvan. "Hah! old friend," he said, "I am happy thou
hast made thy escape to a place where them wilt find plenty of fruit to
support thee. Take my advice--keep out of the way of discovery--Keep
thy friend's counsel."

The Man of the Wood uttered a chattering noise in return to this
address.

"I understand thee," said Hereward, "thou wilt tell no tales, thou
sayest; and faith, I will trust thee rather than the better part of my
own two-legged race, who are eternally circumventing or murdering each
other."

A minute after the creature was out of sight, Hereward heard the shriek
of a female, and a voice which cried for help. The accents must have
been uncommonly interesting to the Varangian, since, forgetting his own
dangerous situation, he immediately turned and flew to the suppliant's
assistance.




CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH.

     She comes! she comes! in all the charms of youth,
     Unequall'd love, and unsuspected truth!


Hereward was not long in tracing the cry through the wooded walks, when
a female rushed into his arms; alarmed, as it appeared, by Sylvan, who
was pursuing her closely. The figure of Hereward, with his axe
uplifted, put an instant stop to his career, and with a terrified note
of his native cries, he withdrew into the thickest of the adjoining
foliage.

Relieved from his presence, Hereward had time to look at the female
whom he had succoured: She was arrayed in a dress which consisted of
several colours, that which predominated being a pale yellow; her tunic
was of this colour, and, like a modern gown, was closely fitted to the
body, which, in the present case, was that of a tall, but very
well-formed person. The mantle, or upper garment, in which the whole
figure was wrapped, was of fine cloth; and the kind of hood which was
attached to it having flown back with the rapidity of her motion, gave
to view the hair beautifully adorned and twisted into a natural
head-dress. Beneath this natural head-gear appeared a face pale as
death, from a sense of the supposed danger, but which preserved, even
amidst its terrors, an exquisite degree of beauty.

Hereward was thunderstruck at this apparition. The dress was neither
Grecian, Italian, nor of the costume of the Franks;--it was
_Saxon!_--connected by a thousand tender remembrances with Hereward's
childhood and youth. The circumstance was most extraordinary. Saxon
women, indeed, there were in Constantinople, who had united their
fortunes with those of the Varangians; and those often chose to wear
their national dress in the city, because the character and conduct of
their husbands secured them a degree of respect, which they might not
have met with either as Grecian or as stranger females of a similar
rank. But almost all these were personally known to Hereward. It was no
time, however, for reverie--he was himself in danger---the situation of
the young female might be no safe one. In every case, it was judicious
to quit the more public part of the gardens; he therefore lost not a
moment in conveying the fainting Saxon to a retreat he fortunately was
acquainted with. A covered path, obscured by vegetation, led through a
species of labyrinth to an artificial cave, at the bottom of which,
half-paved with shells, moss, and spar, lay the gigantic and
half-recumbent statue of a river deity, with its usual attributes--that
is, its front crowned with water-lilies and sedges, and its ample hand
half-resting upon an empty urn. The attitude of the whole figure
corresponded with the motto,--"I SLEEP--AWAKE ME NOT."

"Accursed relic of paganism," said Hereward, who was, in proportion to
his light, a zealous Christian--"brutish stock or stone that thou art!
I will wake thee with a vengeance." So saying, he struck the head of
the slumbering deity with his battle-axe, and deranged the play of the
fountain so much that the water began to pour into the basin.

"Thou art a good block, nevertheless," said the Varangian, "to send
succour so needful to the aid of my poor countrywoman. Thou shalt give
her also, with thy leave, a portion of thy couch." So saying he
arranged his fair burden, who was as yet insensible, upon the pedestal
where the figure of the River God reclined. In doing this, his
attention was recalled to her face, and again and again he was thrilled
with an emotion of hope, but so excessively like fear, that it could
only be compared to the flickering of a torch, uncertain whether it is
to light up or be instantly extinguished. With a sort of mechanical
attention, he continued to make such efforts as he could to recall the
intellect of the beautiful creature before him. His feelings were those
of the astronomical sage, to whom the rise of the moon slowly restores
the contemplation of that heaven, which is at once, as a Christian, his
hope of felicity, and, as a philosopher, the source of his knowledge.
The blood returned to her cheek, and reanimation, and even
recollection, took place in her earlier than in the astonished
Varangian.

"Blessed Mary!" she said, "have I indeed tasted the last bitter cup,
and is it here where thou reunitest thy votaries after death!--Speak,
Hereward! if thou art aught but an empty creature of the
imagination!--speak, and tell me, if I have but dreamed of that
monstrous ogre!"

"Collect thyself, my beloved Bertha," said the Anglo-Saxon, recalled by
the sound of her voice, "and prepare to endure what thou livest to
witness, and thy Hereward survives to tell. That hideous thing
exists--nay, do not start, and look for a hiding-place--thy own gentle
hand with a riding rod is sufficient to tame its courage. And am I not
here, Bertha? Wouldst thou wish another safeguard?"

"No--no," exclaimed she, seizing on the arm of her recovered lover. "Do
I not know you now?"

"And is it but now you know me, Bertha?" said Hereward.

"I suspected before," she said, casting down her eyes; "but I know with
certainty that mark of the boar's tusk."

Hereward suffered her imagination to clear itself from the shock it had
received so suddenly, before he ventured to enter upon present events,
in which there was so much both to doubt and to fear. He permitted her,
therefore, to recall to her memory all the circumstances of the rousing
the hideous animal, assisted by the tribes of both their fathers. She
mentioned in broken words the flight of arrows discharged against the
boar by young and old, male and female, and how her own well aimed, but
feeble shaft, wounded him sharply; she forgot not how, incensed at the
pain, the creature rushed upon her as the cause, laid her palfrey dead
upon the spot, and would soon have slain her, had not Hereward, when
every attempt failed to bring his horse up to the monster, thrown
himself from his seat, and interposed personally between the boar and
Bertha. The battle was not decided without a desperate struggle; the
boar was slain, but Hereward received the deep gash upon his brow which
she whom he had saved how recalled to her memory. "Alas!" she said,
"what have we been to each other since that period? and what are we
now, in this foreign land?"

"Answer for thyself, my Bertha," said the Varangian, "if thou
canst;--and if thou canst with truth say that thou art the same Bertha
who vowed affection to Hereward, believe me, it were sinful to suppose
that the saints have brought us together with a view of our being
afterwards separated."

"Hereward," said Bertha, "you have not preserved the bird in your bosom
safer than I have; at home or abroad, in servitude or in freedom,
amidst sorrow or joy, plenty or want, my thought was always on the
troth I had plighted to Hereward at the stone of Odin."

"Say no more of that," said Hereward; "it was an impious rite, and good
could not come of it."

"Was it then so impious?" she said, the unbidden tear rushing into her
large blue eyes.--"Alas! it was a pleasure to reflect that Hereward was
mine by that solemn engagement!"

"Listen to me, my Bertha," said Hereward, taking her hand: "We were
then almost children; and though our vow was in itself innocent, yet it
was so far wrong, as being sworn in the presence of a dumb idol,
representing one who was, while alive, a bloody and cruel magician. But
we will, the instant an opportunity offers itself, renew our vow before
a shrine of real sanctity, and promise suitable penance for our
ignorant acknowledgment of Odin, to propitiate the real Deity, who can
bear us through those storms of adversity which are like to surround
us."

Leaving them for the time to their love-discourse, of a nature pure,
simple, and interesting, we shall give, in a few words, all that the
reader needs to know of their separate history between the boar's hunt
and the time of their meeting in the gardens of Agelastes.

In that doubtful state experienced by outlaws, Waltheoff, the father of
Hereward, and Engelred, the parent of Bertha, used to assemble their
unsubdued tribes, sometimes in the fertile regions of Devonshire,
sometimes in the dark wooded solitudes of Hampshire, but as much as
possible within the call of the bugle of the famous Edric the Forester,
so long leader of the insurgent Saxons. The chiefs we have mentioned
were among the last bold men who asserted the independence of the Saxon
race of England; and like their captain Edric, they were generally
known by the name of Foresters, as men who lived by hunting, when their
power of making excursions was checked and repelled. Hence they made a
step backwards in civilization, and became more like to their remote
ancestors of German descent, than they were to their more immediate and
civilized predecessors, who before the battle of Hastings, had advanced
considerably in the arts of civilized life.

Old superstitions had begun to revive among them, and hence the
practice of youths and maidens plighting their troth at the stone
circles dedicated, as it was supposed, to Odin, in whom, however, they
had long ceased to nourish any of the sincere belief which was
entertained by their heathen ancestors.

In another respect these outlaws were fast resuming a striking
peculiarity of the ancient Germans. Their circumstances naturally
brought the youth of both sexes much together, and by early marriage,
or less permanent connexions, the population would have increased far
beyond the means which the outlaws had to maintain, or even to protect
themselves. The laws of the Foresters, therefore, strictly enjoined
that marriages should be prohibited until the bridegroom was twenty-one
years complete. Future alliances were indeed often formed by the young
people, nor was this discountenanced by their parents, provided that
the lovers waited until the period when the majority of the bridegroom
should permit them to marry. Such youths as infringed this rule,
incurred the dishonourable epithet of _niddering_, or worthless,--an
epithet of a nature so insulting, that men were known to have slain
themselves, rather than endure life under such opprobrium. But the
offenders were very few amidst a race trained in moderation and
self-denial; and hence it was that woman, worshipped for so many years
like something sacred, was received, when she became the head of a
family, into the arms and heart of a husband who had so long expected
her, was treated as something more elevated than the mere idol of the
moment; and feeling the rate at which she was valued, endeavoured by
her actions to make her life correspond with it.

It was by the whole population of these tribes, as well as their
parents, that after the adventure of the boar hunt, Hereward and Bertha
were considered as lovers whose alliance was pointed out by Heaven, and
they were encouraged to approximate as much as their mutual
inclinations prompted them. The youths of the tribe avoided asking
Martha's hand at the dance, and the maidens used no maidenly entreaty
or artifice to detain Hereward beside them, if Bertha was present at
the feast. They clasped each other's hands through the perforated
stone, which they called the altar of Odin, though later ages have
ascribed it to the Druids, and they implored that if they broke their
faith to each other, their fault might be avenged by the twelve swords
which were now drawn around them during the ceremony by as many youths,
and that their misfortunes might be so many as twelve maidens, who
stood around with their hair loosened, should be unable to recount,
either in prose or verse.

The torch of the Saxon Cupid shone for some years as brilliant as when
it was first lighted. The time, however, came when they were to be
tried by adversity, though undeserved by the perfidy of either. Years
had gone past, and Hereward had to count with anxiety how many months
and weeks were to separate him from the bride, who was beginning
already by degrees to shrink less shyly from the expressions and
caresses of one who was soon to term her all his own. William Rufus,
however, had formed a plan of totally extirpating the Foresters, whose
implacable hatred, and restless love of freedom, had so often disturbed
the quiet of his kingdom, and despised his forest laws. He assembled
his Norman forces, and united to them a body of Saxons who had
submitted to his rule. He thus brought an overpowering force upon the
bands of Waltheoff and Engelred, who found no resource but to throw the
females of their tribe, and such as could, not bear arms, into a
convent dedicated to St. Augustin, of which Kenelm their relation was
prior, and then turning to the battle, vindicated their ancient valour
by fighting it to the last. Both the unfortunate chiefs remained dead
on the field, and Hereward and his brother had wellnigh shared their
fate; but some Saxon inhabitants of the neighbourhood, who adventured
on the field of battle, which the victors had left bare of every thing
save the booty of the kites and the ravens, found the bodies of the
youths still retaining life. As they were generally well known and much
beloved by these people, Hereward and his brother were taken care of
till their wounds began to close, and their strength returned. Hereward
then heard the doleful news of the death of his father and Engelred.
His next enquiry was concerning his betrothed bride and her mother. The
poor inhabitants could give him little information. Some of the females
who had taken refuge in the convent, the Norman knights and nobles had
seized upon as their slaves, and the rest, with the monks who had
harboured them, were turned adrift, and their place of retreat was
completely sacked and burnt to the ground.

Half-dead himself at hearing these tidings, Hereward sallied out, and
at every risk of death, for the Saxon Foresters were treated as
outlaws, commenced enquiries after those so dear to him. He asked
concerning the particular fate of Bertha and her mother, among the
miserable creatures who yet hovered about the neighbourhood of the
convent, like a few half-scorched bees about their smothered hive. But,
in the magnitude of their own terrors, none had retained eyes for their
neighbours, and all that they could say was, that the wife and daughter
of Engelred were certainly lost; and their imaginations suggested so
many heart-rending details to this conclusion, that Hereward gave up
all thoughts of further researches, likely to terminate so uselessly
and so horribly.

The young Saxon had been all his life bred up in a patriotic hatred to
the Normans, who did not, it was likely, become dearer to his thoughts
in consequence of this victory. He dreamed at first of crossing the
strait, to make war against the hated enemy in their own country; but
an idea so extravagant did not long retain possession of his mind. His
fate was decided by his encountering an aged palmer, who knew or
pretended to have known, his father, and to be a native of England.
This man was a disguised Varangian, selected for the purpose, possessed
of art and dexterity, and well provided with money. He had little
difficulty in persuading Hereward, in the hopeless desolation of his
condition, to join the Varangian Guard, at this moment at war with the
Normans, under which name it suited Hereward's prepossessions to
represent the Emperor's wars with Robert Guiscard, his son Bohemond,
and other adventurers, in Italy, Greece, or Sicily. A journey to the
East also inferred a pilgrimage, and gave the unfortunate Hereward the
chance of purchasing pardon for his sins by visiting the Holy Land. In
gaining Hereward, the recruiter also secured the services of his elder
brother, who had vowed not to separate from him.

The high character of both brothers for courage, induced this wily
agent to consider them as a great prize, and it was from the memoranda
respecting the history and character of those whom he recruited, in
which the elder had been unreservedly communicative, that Agelastes
picked up the information respecting Hereward's family and
circumstances, which, at their first secret interview, he made use of
to impress upon the Varangian the idea of his supernatural knowledge.
Several of his companions in arms were thus gained over; for it will
easily be guessed, that these memorials were intrusted to the keeping
of Achilles Tatius, and he, to further their joint purposes, imparted
them to Agelastes, who thus obtained a general credit for supernatural
knowledge among these ignorant men. But Hereward's blunt faith and
honesty enabled him to shun the snare.

Such being the fortunes of Hereward, those of Bertha formed the subject
of a broken and passionate communication between the lovers, broken
like an April day, and mingled with many a tender caress, such as
modesty permits to lovers when they meet again unexpectedly after a
separation, which threatened to be eternal. But the story may be
comprehended in few words. Amid the general sack of the monastery, an
old Norman knight seized upon Bertha as his prize. Struck with her
beauty, he designed her as an attendant upon his daughter, just then
come out of the years of childhood, and the very apple of her father's
eye, being the only child of his beloved Countess, and sent late in
life to bless their marriage-bed. It was in the order of things that
the lady of Aspramonte, who was considerably younger than the knight,
should govern her husband, and that Brenhilda, their daughter, should
govern both her parents.

The Knight of Aspramonte, however, it may be observed, entertained some
desire to direct his young offspring to more feminine amusements than
those which began already to put her life frequently in danger.
Contradiction was not to be thought of, as the good old knight knew by
experience. The influence and example of a companion a little older
than herself might be of some avail, and it was with this view that, in
the confusion of the sack, Aspramonte seized upon the youthful Bertha.
Terrified to the utmost degree, she clung to her mother, and the Knight
of Aspramonte, who had a softer heart than was then usually found under
a steel cuirass, moved by the affliction of the mother and daughter,
and recollecting that the former might also be a useful attendant upon
his lady, extended his protection to both, and conveying them out of
the press, paid the soldiers who ventured to dispute the spoil with
him, partly in some small pieces of money, and partly in dry blows with
the reverse of his lance.

The well-natured knight soon after returned to his own castle, and
being a man of an orderly life and virtuous habits, the charming
beauties of the Saxon virgin, and the more ripened charms of her
mother, did not prevent their travelling in all honour as well as
safety to his family fortress, the castle of Aspramonte. Here such
masters as could be procured were got together to teach the young
Bertha every sort of female accomplishment, In the hope that her
mistress, Brenhilda, might be inspired with a desire to partake in her
education; but although this so far succeeded, that the Saxon captive
became highly skilled in such music, needle-work, and other female
accomplishments as were known to the time, yet her young mistress,
Brenhilda, retained the taste for those martial amusements which had so
sensibly grieved her father, but to which her mother, who herself had
nourished such fancies in her youth, readily gave sanction.

The captives, however, were kindly treated. Brenhilda became infinitely
attached to the young Anglo-Saxon, whom she loved less for her
ingenuity in arts, than for her activity in field sports, to which her
early state of independence had trained her.

The Lady of Aspramonte was also kind to both the captives; but, in one
particular, she exercised a piece of petty tyranny over them. She had
imbibed an idea, strengthened by an old doting father-confessor, that
the Saxons were heathens at that time, or at least heretics, and made a
positive point with her husband that the bondswoman and girl who were
to attend on her person and that of her daughter, should be qualified
for the office by being anew admitted into the Christian Church by
baptism.

Though feeling the falsehood and injustice of the accusation, the
mother had sense enough to submit to necessity, and received the name
of Martha in all form at the altar, to which she answered during the
rest of her life.

But Bertha showed a character upon this occasion inconsistent with the
general docility and gentleness of her temper. She boldly refused to be
admitted anew into the pale of the Church, of which her conscience told
her she was already a member, or to exchange for another the name
originally given her at the font. It was in vain that the old knight
commanded, that the lady threatened, and that her mother advised and
entreated. More closely pressed in private by her mother, she let her
motive be known, which had not before been suspected. "I know," she
said, with a flood of tears, "that my father would have died ere I was
subjected to this insult; and then--who shall assure me that vows which
were made to the Saxon Bertha, will be binding if a French Agatha be
substituted in her stead? They may banish me," she said, "or kill me if
they will, but if the son of Waltheoff should again meet with the
daughter of Engelred, he shall meet that Bertha whom he knew in the
forests of Hampton."

All argument was in vain; the Saxon maiden remained obstinate, and to
try to break her resolution, the Lady of Aspramonte at length spoke of
dismissing her from the service of her young mistress, and banishing
her from the castle. To this also she had made up her mind, and she
answered firmly though respectfully, that she would sorrow bitterly at
parting with her young lady; but as to the rest, she would rather beg
under her own name, than be recreant to the faith of her fathers and
condemn it as heresy, by assigning one of Frank origin. The Lady
Brenhilda, in the meantime, entered the chamber, where her mother was
just about to pass the threatened doom of banishment.--"Do not stop for
my entrance, madam," said the dauntless young lady; "I am as much
concerned in the doom which you are about to pass as is Bertha; If she
crosses the drawbridge of Aspramonte as an exile, so will I, when she
has dried her tears, of which even my petulance could never wring one
from her eyes. She shall be my squire and body attendant, and
Launcelot, the bard, shall follow with my spear and shield."

"And you will return, mistress," said her mother, "from so foolish an
expedition, before the sun sets?"

"So heaven further me in my purpose, lady," answered the young heiress,
"the sun shall neither rise nor set that sees us return, till this name
of Bertha, and of her mistress, Brenhilda, are wafted as far as the
trumpet of fame can sound them.--Cheer up, my sweetest Bertha!" she
said, taking her attendant by the hand, "If heaven hath torn thee from
thy country and thy plighted troth, it hath given thee a sister and a
friend, with whom thy fame shall be forever blended."

The Lady of Aspramonte was confounded: She knew that her daughter was
perfectly capable of the wild course which she had announced, and that
she herself, even with her husband's assistance, would be unable to
prevent her following it. She passively listened, therefore, while the
Saxon matron, formerly Urica, but now Martha, addressed her daughter.
"My child," she said, "as you value honour, virtue, safety, and
gratitude, soften your heart towards your master and mistress, and
follow the advice of a parent, who has more years and more judgment
than you. And you, my dearest young lady, let not your lady-mother
think that an attachment to the exercises you excel in, has destroyed
in your bosom filial affection, and a regard to the delicacy of your
sex!--As they seem both obstinate, madam," continued the matron, after
watching the influence of this advice upon the young woman, "perhaps,
if it may be permitted me. I could state an alternative, which might,
in the meanwhile, satisfy your ladyship's wishes, accommodate itself to
the wilfulness of my obstinate daughter, and answer the kind purpose of
her generous mistress." The Lady of Aspramonte signed to the Saxon
matron to proceed. She went on accordingly: "The Saxons, dearest lady,
of the present day, are neither pagans nor heretics; they are, in the
time of keeping Easter, as well as in all other disputable doctrine,
humbly obedient to the Pope of Rome; and this our good Bishop well
knows, since he upbraided some of the domestics for calling me an old
heathen. Yet our names are uncouth in the ears of the Franks, and bear,
perhaps, a heathenish sound. If it be not exacted that my daughter
submit to a new rite of baptism, she will lay aside her Saxon name of
Bertha upon all occasions while in your honourable household. This will
cut short a debate which, with forgiveness, I think is scarce of
importance enough to break the peace of this castle. I will engage
that, in gratitude for this indulgence of a trifling scruple, my
daughter, if possible, shall double the zeal and assiduity of her
service to her young lady."

The Lady of Aspramonte was glad to embrace the means which this offer
presented, of extricating herself from the dispute with as little
compromise of dignity as could well be. "If the good Lord Bishop
approved of such a compromise," she said, "she would for herself
withdraw her opposition." The prelate approved accordingly, the more
readily that he was informed that the young heiress desired earnestly
such an agreement. The peace of the castle was restored, and Bertha
recognized her new name of Agatha as a name of service, but not a name
of baptism.

One effect the dispute certainly produced, and that was, increasing in
an enthusiastic degree the love of Bertha for her young mistress. With
that amiable failing of attached domestics and humble friends, she
endeavoured to serve her as she knew she loved to be served; and
therefore indulged, her mistress in those chivalrous fancies which
distinguished her even in her own age, and in ours would have rendered
her a female Quixote. Bertha, indeed, never caught the frenzy of her
mistress; but, strong, willing, and able-bodied, she readily qualified
herself to act upon occasion as a squire of the body to a Lady
Adventuress; and, accustomed from her childhood to see blows dealt,
blood flowing, and men dying, she could look with an undazzled eye upon
the dangers which her mistress encountered, and seldom teased her with
remonstrances, unless when those were unusually great. This compliance
on most occasions, gave Bertha a right of advice upon some, which,
always given with the best intentions and at fitting times,
strengthened her influence with her mistress, which a course of conduct
savouring of diametrical opposition would certainly have destroyed.

A few more words serve to announce the death of the Knight of
Aspramonte--the romantic marriage of the young lady with the Count of
Paris--their engagement in the crusade--and the detail of events with
which the reader is acquainted.

Hereward did not exactly comprehend some of the later incidents of the
story, owing to a slight strife which arose between Bertha and him
during the course of her narrative. When she avowed the girlish
simplicity with which she obstinately refused to change her name,
because, in her apprehension, the troth-plight betwixt her and her
lover might be thereby prejudiced, it was impossible for Hereward not
to acknowledge her tenderness, by snatching her to his bosom, and
impressing his grateful thanks upon her lips. She extricated herself
immediately from his grasp, however, with cheeks more crimsoned in
modesty than in anger, and gravely addressed her lover thus: "Enough,
enough, Hereward! this may be pardoned to so unexpected a meeting; but
we must in future remember, that we are probably the last of our race;
and let it not be said, that the manners of their ancestors were
forgotten by Hereward and by Bertha; think, that though we are alone,
the shades of our fathers are not far off, and watch to see what use we
make of the meeting, which, perhaps, their intercession has procured
us."

"You wrong me, Bertha," said Hereward, "if you think me capable of
forgetting my own duty and yours, at a moment when our thanks are due
to Heaven, to be testified very differently than by infringing on its
behests, or the commands of our parents. The question is now, How we
shall rejoin each other when we separate? since separate, I fear, we
must."

"O! do not say so!" exclaimed the unfortunate Bertha.

"It must be so," said Hereward, "for a time; but I swear to thee by the
hilt of my sword, and the handle of my battle-axe, that blade was never
so true to shaft as I will be to thee!"

"But wherefore, then, leave me, Hereward?" said the maiden; "and oh!
wherefore not assist me in the release of my mistress?"

"Of thy mistress!" said Hereward. "Shame! that thou canst give that
name to mortal woman!"

"But she _is_ my mistress," answered Bertha, "and by a thousand kind
ties which cannot be separated so long as gratitude is the reward of
kindness."

"And what is her danger," said Hereward; "what is it she wants, this
accomplished lady whom thou callest mistress?"

"Her honour, her life, are alike in danger," said Bertha. "She has
agreed to meet the Caesar in the field, and he will not hesitate, like
a baseborn miscreant, to take every advantage in the encounter, which,
I grieve to say, may in all likelihood be fatal to my mistress."

"Why dost thou think so?" answered Hereward. "This lady has won many
single combats, unless she is belied, against adversaries more
formidable than the Caesar."

"True," said the Saxon maiden; "but you speak of things that passed in
a far different land, where faith and honour are not empty sounds; as,
alas! they seem but too surely to be here. Trust me, it is no girlish
terror which sends me out in this disguise of my country dress, which,
they say, finds respect at Constantinople: I go to let the chiefs of
the Crusade know the peril in which the noble lady stands, and trust to
their humanity, to their religion, to their love of honour, and fear of
disgrace, for assistance in this hour of need; and now that I have had
the blessing of meeting with thee, all besides will go well--all will
go well--and I will back to my mistress and report whom I have seen."

"Tarry yet another moment, my recovered treasure!" said Hereward, "and
let me balance this matter carefully. This Frankish lady holds the
Saxons like the very dust that thou brushest from the hem of her
garment. She treats--she regards--the Saxons as pagans and heretics.
She has dared to impose slavish tasks upon thee, born in freedom. Her
father's sword has been embrued to the hilt with Anglo-Saxon
blood--perhaps that of Waltheoff and Engelred has added death to the
stain! She has been, besides, a presumptuous fool, usurping for herself
the trophies and warlike character which belong to the other sex.
Lastly, it will be hard to find a champion to fight in her stead, since
all the crusaders have passed over to Asia, which is the land, they
say, in which they have come to war; and by orders of the Emperor, no
means of return to the hither shore will be permitted to any of them."

"Alas! alas!" said Bertha, "how does this world change us! The son of
Waltheoff I once knew brave, ready to assist distress, bold and
generous. Such was what I pictured him to myself during his absence. I
have met him again, and he is calculating, cold, and selfish!"

"Hush, damsel," said the Varangian, "and know him of whom thou
speakest, ere thou judgest him. The Countess of Paris is such as I have
said; yet let her appear boldly in the lists, and when the trumpet
shall sound thrice, another shall reply, which shall announce the
arrival of her own noble lord to do battle in her stead; or should he
fail to appear--I will requite her kindness to thee, Bertha, and be
ready in his place."

"Wilt thou? wilt thou indeed?" said the damsel; "that was spoken like
the son of Waltheoff--like the genuine stock! I will home, and comfort
my mistress; for surely if the judgment of God ever directed the issue
of a judicial combat, its influence will descend upon this. But you
hint that the Count is here--that he is at liberty--she will enquire
about that."

"She must be satisfied," replied Hereward, "to know that her husband is
under the guidance of a friend, who will endeavour to protect him from
his own extravagances and follies; or, at all events, of one who, if he
cannot properly be called a friend, has certainly not acted, and will
not act, towards him the part of an enemy.--And now, farewell, long
lost--long loved!"--Before he could say more, the Saxon maiden, after
two or three vain attempts to express her gratitude, threw herself into
her lover's arms, and despite the coyness which she had recently shown,
impressed upon his lips the thanks which she could not speak.

They parted, Bertha returning to her mistress at the lodge, which she
had left both with trouble and danger, and Hereward by the portal kept
by the <DW64>-portress, who, complimenting the handsome Varangian on his
success among the fair, intimated, that she had been in some sort a
witness of his meeting with the Saxon damsel. A piece of gold, part of
a late largesse, amply served to bribe her tongue; and the soldier,
clear of the gardens of the philosopher, sped back as he might to the
barrack--judging that it was full time to carry some supply to Count
Robert, who had been left without food the whole day.

It is a common popular saying, that as the sensation of hunger is not
connected with any pleasing or gentle emotion, so it is particularly
remarkable for irritating those of anger and spleen. It is not,
therefore, very surprising that Count Robert, who had been so unusually
long without sustenance, should receive Hereward with a degree of
impatience beyond what the occasion merited, and injurious certainly to
the honest Varangian, who had repeatedly exposed his life that day for
the interest of the Countess and the Count himself.

"Soh, sir!" he said, in that accent of affected restraint by which a
superior modifies his displeasure against his inferior into a cold and
scornful expression--"You have played a liberal host to us!--Not that
it is of consequence; but methinks a Count of the most Christian
kingdom dines not every day with a mercenary soldier, and might expect,
if not the ostentatious, at least the needful part of hospitality."

"And methinks," replied the Varangian, "O most Christian Count, that
such of your high rank as, by choice or fate, become the guests of such
as I, may think themselves pleased, and blame not their host's
niggardliness, but the difficulty of his circumstances, if dinner
should not present itself oftener than once in four-and-twenty hours."
So saying, he clapt his hands together, and his domestic Edric entered.
His guest looked astonished at the entrance of this third party into
their retirement. "I will answer for this man," said Hereward, and
addressed him in the following words:--"What food hast thou, Edric, to
place before the honourable Count?"

"Nothing but the cold pasty," replied the attendant, "marvellously
damaged by your honour's encounter at breakfast."

The military domestic, as intimated, brought forward a large pasty, but
which had already that morning sustained a furious attack, insomuch,
that Count Robert of Paris, who, like all noble Normans, was somewhat
nice and delicate in his eating, was in some doubt whether his
scrupulousness should not prevail over his hunger; but on looking more
closely, sight, smell, and a fast of twenty hours, joined to convince
him that the pasty was an excellent one, and that the charger on which
it was presented possessed corners yet untouched. At length, having
suppressed his scruples, and made bold inroad upon the remains of the
dish, he paused to partake of a flask of strong red wine which stood
invitingly beside him, and a lusty draught increased the good-humour
which had begun to take place towards Hereward, in exchange for the
displeasure with which he had received him.

"Now, by heaven!" he said, "I myself ought to be ashamed to lack the
courtesy which I recommend to others! Here have I, with the manners of
a Flemish boor, been devouring the provisions of my gallant host,
without even asking him to sit down at his own table, and to partake of
his own good cheer!"

"I will not strain courtesies with you for that," said Hereward; and
thrusting his hand into the pasty, he proceeded with great speed and
dexterity to devour the miscellaneous contents, a handful of which was
enclosed in his grasp. The Count now withdrew from the table, partly in
disgust at the rustic proceedings of Hereward, who, however, by now
calling Edric to join him in his attack upon the pasty, showed that he
had, in fact, according to his manners, subjected himself previously to
some observance of respect towards his guest; while the assistance of
his attendant enabled him to make a clear cacaabulum of what was left.
Count Robert at length summoned up courage sufficient to put a
question, which had been trembling upon his lips ever since Hereward
had returned.

"Have thine enquiries, my gallant friend, learned more concerning my
unfortunate wife, my faithful Brenhilda?"

"Tidings I have," said the Anglo-Saxon, "but whether pleasing or not,
yourself must be the judge. This much I have learned;--she hath, as you
know, come under an engagement to meet the Caesar in arms in the lists,
but under conditions which you may perhaps think strange; these,
however, she hath entertained without scruple."

"Let me know these terms,", said the Count of Paris; "they will, I
think, appear less strange in my eyes than in thine."

But while he affected to speak with the utmost coolness, the husband's
sparkling eye and crimsoned cheek betrayed the alteration which had
taken place in his feelings. "The lady and the Caesar," said Hereward,
"as you partly heard yourself, are to meet in fight; if the Countess
wins, of course she remains the wife of the noble Count of Paris; if
she loses, she becomes the paramour of the Caesar Nicephorus Briennius."

"Saints and angels forbid!" said Count Robert; "were they to permit
such treason to triumph, we might be pardoned for doubting their
divinity!"

"Yet methinks," said the Anglo-Saxon, "it were no disgraceful
precaution that both you and I, with other friends, if we can obtain
such, should be seen under shield in the lists on the morning of the
conflict. To triumph, or to be defeated, is in the hand of fate; but
what we cannot fail to witness is, whether or not the lady receives
that fair play which is the due of an honourable combatant, and which,
as you have yourself seen, can be sometimes basely transgressed in this
Grecian empire."

"On that condition," said the Count, "and protesting, that not even the
extreme danger of my lady shall make me break through the rule of a
fair fight, I will surely attend the lists, if thou, brave Saxon, canst
find me any means of doing so.--Yet stay," he continued, after
reflecting for a moment, "thou shalt promise not to let her know that
her Count is on the field, far less to point him out to her eye among
the press of warriors. O, thou dost not know that the sight of the
beloved will sometimes steal from us our courage, even when it has most
to achieve!"

"We will endeavour," said the Varangian, "to arrange matters according
to thy pleasure, so that thou findest out no more fantastical
difficulties; for, by my word, an affair so complicated in itself,
requires not to be confused by the fine-spun whims of thy national
gallantry. Meantime, much must be done this night; and while I go about
it, thou, Sir Knight, hadst best remain here, with such disguise of
garments, and such food, as Edric may be able to procure for thee. Fear
nothing from intrusion on the part of thy neighbours. We Varangians
respect each other's secrets, of whatever nature they may chance to be."




CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST.

     But for our trusty brother-in-law-and the Abbot,
     With all the rest of that consorted crew,--
     Destruction straight shall dog them at the heels:--
     Good uncle, help to order several powers
     To Oxford, or where'er these traitors are:
     They shall not live within this world, I swear.
                                             RICHARD II.


As Hereward spoke the last words narrated in the foregoing chapter, he
left the count in his apartment, and proceeded to the Blacquernal
Palace. We traced his first entrance into the court, but since then he
had frequently been summoned, not only by order of the Princess Anna
Comnena, who delighted in asking him questions concerning the customs
of his native country, and marking down the replies in her own inflated
language; but also by the direct command of the Emperor himself, who
had the humour of many princes, that of desiring to obtain direct
information from persons in a very inferior station in their Court. The
ring which the Princess had given to the Varangian, served as a
pass-token more than once, and was now so generally known by the slaves
of the palace, that Hereward had only to slip it into the hand of a
principal person among them, and was introduced into a small chamber,
not distant from the saloon already mentioned, dedicated to the Muses.
In this small apartment, the Emperor, his spouse Irene, and their
accomplished daughter Anna Comnena, were seated together, clad in very
ordinary apparel, as indeed the furniture of the room itself was of the
kind used by respectable citizens, saving that mattrasses, composed of
eiderdown, hung before each door to prevent the risk of eavesdropping.

"Our trusty Varangian," said the Empress.

"My guide and tutor respecting the manners of those steel-clad men,"
said the Princess Anna Comnena, "of whom it is so necessary that I
should form an accurate idea."

"Your Imperial Majesty," said the Empress, "will not, I trust, think
your consort and your muse-inspired daughter, are too many to share
with you the intelligence brought by this brave and loyal man?"

"Dearest wife and daughter," returned the Emperor, "I have hitherto
spared you the burden of a painful secret, which I have locked in my
own bosom, at whatever expense of solitary sorrow and unimparted
anxiety. Noble daughter, you in particular will feel this calamity,
learning, as you must learn, to think odiously of one, of whom it has
hitherto been your duty to hold a very different opinion."

"Holy Mary!" exclaimed the Princess.

"Rally yourself," said the Emperor; "remember you are a child of the
purple chamber, born, not to weep for your father's wrongs, but to
avenge them,--not to regard even him who has lain by your side as half
so important as the sacred Imperial grandeur, of which you are yourself
a partaker."

"What can such words preface?" said Anna Comnena, in great agitation.

"They say," answered the Emperor, "that the Caesar is an ungrateful man
to all my bounties, and even to that which annexed him to my own.
house, and made him by adoption my own son. He hath consorted himself
with a knot of traitors, whose very names are enough to raise the foul
fiend, as if to snatch his assured prey!"

"Could Nicephorus do this?" said the astonished and forlorn Princess;
"Nicephorus, who has so often called my eyes the lights by which he
steered his path? Could he do this to my father, to whose exploits he
has listened hour after hour, protesting that he knew not whether it
was the beauty of the language, or the heroism of the action, which
most enchanted him? Thinking with the same thought, seeing with the
same eye, loving with the same heart,--O, my father! it is impossible
that he could be so false. Think of the neighbouring Temple of the
Muses!"

"And if I did," murmured Alexius in his heart, "I should think of the
only apology which could be proposed for the traitor. A little is well
enough, but the full soul loatheth the honey-comb." Then speaking
aloud, "My daughter," he said, "be comforted; we ourselves were
unwilling to believe the shameful truth; but our guards have been
debauched; their commander, that ungrateful Achilles Tatius, with the
equal traitor, Agelastes, have been seduced to favour our imprisonment
or murder; and, alas for Greece in the very moment when she required
the fostering care of a parent, she was to be deprived of him by a
sudden and merciless blow!"

Here the Emperor wept, whether for the loss to be sustained by his
subjects, or of his own life, it is hard to say.

"Methinks," said Irene, "your Imperial Highness is slow in taking
measures against the danger."

"Under your gracious permission, mother," answered the Princess, "I
would rather say he was hasty in giving belief to it. Methinks the
evidence of a Varangian, granting him to be ever so stout a
man-at-arms, is but a frail guarantee against the honour of your
son-in-law--the approved bravery and fidelity of the captain of your
guards--the deep sense, virtue, and profound wisdom, of the greatest of
your philosophers"--

"And the conceit of an over-educated daughter," said the Emperor, "who
will not allow her parent to judge in what most concerns him. I will
tell thee, Anna, I know every one of them, and the trust which may be
reposed in them; the honour of your Nicephorus--the bravery and
fidelity of the Acolyte--and the virtue and wisdom of Agelastes--have I
not had them all in my purse? And had my purse continued well filled,
and my arm strong as it was of late, there they would have still
remained. But the butterflies went off as the weather became cold, and
I must meet the tempest without their assistance. You talk of want of
proof? I have proof sufficient when I see danger; this honest soldier
brought me indications which corresponded with my own private remarks,
made on purpose. Varangian he shall be of Varangians; Acolyte he shall
be named, in place of the present traitor; and who knows what may come
thereafter?"

"May it please your Highness," said the Varangian, who had been
hitherto silent, "many men in this empire rise to dignity by the fall
of their original patrons, but it is a road to greatness to which I
cannot reconcile my conscience; moreover, having recovered a friend,
from whom I was long ago separated, I shall require, in short space,
your Imperial license for going hence, where I shall leave thousands of
enemies behind me, and spending my life, like many of my countrymen,
under the banner of King William of Scotland"--

"Part with _thee_, most inimitable man!" cried the Emperor, with
emphasis; "where shall I get a soldier--a champion--a friend--so
faithful?"

"Noble sir," replied the Anglo-Saxon, "I am every way sensible to your
goodness and munificence; but let me entreat you to call me by my own
name, and to promise me nothing but your forgiveness, for my having
been the agent of such confusion among your Imperial servants. Not only
is the threatened fate of Achilles Tatius, my benefactor; of the
Caesar, whom I think my well-wisher; and even of Agelastes himself,
painful, so far as it is of my bringing round; but also I have known it
somehow happen, that those on whom your Imperial Majesty has lavished
the most valuable expressions of your favour one day, were the next day
food to fatten the chough and crow. And this, I acknowledge, is a
purpose, for which I would not willingly have it said I had brought my
English limbs to these Grecian shores."

"Call thee by thine own name, my Edward," said the Emperor, (while he
muttered aside--"by Heaven, I have again forgot the name of the
barbarian!")--"by thine own name certainly for the present, but only
until we shall devise one more fitted for the trust we repose in thee.
Meantime, look at this scroll, which contains, I think, all the
particulars which we have been able to learn of this plot, and give it
to these unbelieving women, who will not credit that an Emperor is in
danger, till the blades of the conspirators' poniards are clashing
within his ribs."

Hereward did as he was commanded, and having looked at the scroll, and
signified, by bending his head, his acquiescence in its contents, he
presented it to Irene, who had not read long, ere, with a countenance
so embittered that she had difficulty in pointing out the cause of her
displeasure to her daughter, she bade her, with animation, "Read
that--read that, and judge of the gratitude and affection of thy
Caesar!"

The Princess Anna Comnena awoke from a state of profound and
overpowering melancholy, and looked at the passage pointed out to her,
at first with an air of languid curiosity, which presently deepened
into the most intense interest. She clutched the scroll as a falcon
does his prey, her eye lightened with indignation; and it was with the
cry of the bird when in fury that she exclaimed, "Bloody-minded,
double-hearted traitor! what wouldst thou have? Yes, father," she said,
rising in fury, "it is no longer the voice of a deceived princess that
shall intercede to avert from the traitor Nicephorus the doom he has
deserved! Did he think that one born in the purple chamber could be
divorced--murdered, perhaps--with the petty formula of the Romans,
'Restore the keys---be no longer my domestic drudge?'[Footnote: The
laconic form of the Roman divorce.] Was a daughter of the blood of
Comnenus liable to such insults as the meanest of Quirites might bestow
on a family housekeeper!"

So saying, she dashed the tears from her eyes, and her countenance,
naturally that of beauty and gentleness, became animated with the
expression of a fury. Hereward looked at her with a mixture of fear,
dislike and compassion. She again burst forth, for nature having given
her considerable abilities, had lent her at the same time an energy of
passion, far superior in power to the cold ambition of Irene, or the
wily, ambidexter, shuffling policy of the Emperor.

"He shall abye it," said the Princess; "he shall dearly abye it! False,
smiling, cozening traitor!--and for that unfeminine barbarian!
Something of this I guessed, even at that old fool's banqueting-house;
and yet if this unworthy Caesar submits his body to the chance of arms,
he is less prudent than I have some reason to believe. Think you he
will have the madness to brand us with such open neglect, my father?
and will you not invent some mode of ensuring our revenge?"

"Soh!" thought the Emperor, "this difficulty is over; she will run down
hill to her revenge, and will need the snaffle and curb more than the
lash. If every jealous dame in Constantinople were to pursue her fury
as unrelentingly, our laws should be written, like Draco's, not in ink,
but in blood.--Attend to me now," he said aloud, "my wife, my daughter,
and thou, dear Edward, and you shall learn, and you three only, my mode
of navigating the vessel of the state through these shoals."

"Let us see distinctly," continued Alexius, "the means by which they
propose to act, and these shall instruct us how to meet them. A certain
number of the Varangians are unhappily seduced, under pretence of
wrongs, artfully stirred up by their villanous general. A part of them
are studiously to be arranged nigh our person--the traitor Ursel, some
of them suppose, is dead, but if it were so, his name is sufficient to
draw together his old factionaries--I have a means of satisfying them
on that point, on which I shall remain silent for the present.--A
considerable body of the Immortal Guards have also given way to
seduction; they are to be placed to support the handful of treacherous
Varangians, who are in the plot to attack our person.--Now. a slight
change in the stations of the soldiery, which thou, my faithful Edward
--or--a--a--whatever thou art named,--for which thou, I say, shalt have
full authority, will derange the plans of the traitors, and place the
true men in such position around them as to cut them to pieces with
little trouble."

"And the combat, my lord?" said the Saxon.

"Thou hadst been no true Varangian hadst thou not enquired after that,"
said the Emperor, nodding good-humouredly towards him. "As to the
combat, the Caesar has devised it, and it shall be my care that he
shall not retreat from the dangerous part of it. He cannot in honour
avoid fighting with this woman, strange as the combat is; and however
it ends, the conspiracy will break forth, and as assuredly as it comes
against persons prepared, and in arms, shall it be stifled in the blood
of the conspirators!"

"My revenge does not require this," said the Princess; "and your
Imperial honour is also interested that this Countess shall be
protected."

"It is little business of mine," said the Emperor. "She comes here with
her husband altogether uninvited. He behaves with insolence in my
presence, and deserves whatever may be the issue to himself or his lady
of their mad adventure. In sooth, I desired little more than to give
him a fright with those animals whom their ignorance judged enchanted,
and to give his wife a slight alarm about the impetuosity of a Grecian
lover, and there my vengeance should have ended. But it may be that his
wife may be taken under my protection, now that little revenge is over."

"And a paltry revenge it was," said the Empress, "that you, a man past
middle life, and with a wife who might command some attention, should
constitute yourself the object of alarm to such a handsome man as Count
Robert, and the Amazon his wife."

"By your favour, dame Irene, no," said the Emperor. "I left that part
of the proposed comedy to my son-in-law the Caesar."

But when the poor Emperor had in some measure stopt one floodgate, he
effectually opened another, and one which was more formidable. "The
more shame to your Imperial wisdom, my father!" exclaimed the Princess
Anna Comnena; "it is a shame, that with wisdom and a beard like yours,
you should be meddling in such indecent follies as admit disturbance
into private families, and that family your own daughter's! Who can say
that the Caesar Nicephorus Briennius ever looked astray towards another
woman than his wife, till the Emperor taught him to do so, and involved
him in a web of intrigue and treachery, in which he has endangered the
life of his father-in-law?"

"Daughter! daughter! daughter!"--said the Empress; "daughter of a
she-wolf, I think, to goad her parent at such an unhappy time, when all
the leisure he has is too little to defend his life!"

"Peace, I pray you, women both, with your senseless clamours," answered
Alexius, "and let me at least swim for my life undisturbed with your
folly. God knows if I am a man to encourage, I will not say the reality
of wrong, but even its mere appearance!"

These words he uttered, crossing himself, with a devout groan. His wife
Irene, in the meantime, stept before him, and said, with a bitterness
in her looks and accent, which only long-concealed nuptial hatred
breaking forth at once could convey,--"Alexius, terminate this affair
how it will, you have lived a hypocrite, and thou wilt not fail to die
one." So saying, with an air of noble indignation, and carrying her
daughter along with her, she swept out of the apartment.

The Emperor looked after her in some confusion. He soon, however,
recovered his self-possession, and turning to Hereward, with a look of
injured majesty, said, "Ah! my dear Edward,"---for the word had become
rooted in his mind, instead of the less euphonic name of
Hereward,--"thou seest how it is even with the greatest, and that the
Emperor, in moments of difficulty, is a subject of misconstruction, as
well as the meanest burgess of Constantinople; nevertheless, my trust
is so great in thee, Edward, that I would have thee believe, that my
daughter, Anna Comnena, is not of the temper of her mother, but rather
of my own; honouring, thou mayst see, with religious fidelity, the
unworthy ties which I hope soon to break, and assort her with other
fetters of Cupid, which shall be borne more lightly. Edward, my main
trust is in thee. Accident presents us with an opportunity, happy of
the happiest, so it be rightly improved, of having all the traitors
before us assembled on one fair field. Think, _then_, on that day, as
the Franks say at their tournaments, that fair eyes behold thee. Thou
canst not devise a gift within my power, but I will gladly load thee
with it."

"It needs not," said the Varangian, somewhat coldly; "my highest
ambition is to merit the epitaph upon my tomb, 'Hereward was faithful.'
I am about, however, to demand a proof of your imperial confidence,
which, perhaps, you may think a startling one."

"Indeed!" said the Emperor. "What, in one word, is thy demand?"

"Permission," replied Hereward, "to go to the Duke of Bouillon's
encampment, and entreat his presence in the lists, to witness this
extraordinary combat."

"That he may return with his crusading madmen," said the Emperor, "and
sack Constantinople, under pretence of doing justice to his
Confederates? This, Varangian, is at least speaking thy mind openly."

"No, by Heavens!" said Hereward suddenly; "the Duke of Bouillon shall
come with no more knights than may be a reasonable guard, should
treachery be offered to the Countess of Paris."

"Well, even in this," said the Emperor, "will I be conformable; and if
thou, Edward, betrayest my trust, think that thou forfeitest all that
my friendship has promised, and dost incur, besides, the damnation that
is due to the traitor who betrays with a kiss."

"For thy reward, noble sir," answered the Varangian, "I hereby renounce
all claim to it. When the diadem is once more firmly fixed upon thy
brow, and the sceptre in thy hand, if I am then alive, if my poor
services should deserve so much, I will petition thee for the means of
leaving this court, and returning to the distant island in which I was
born. Meanwhile, think me not unfaithful, because I have for a time the
means of being so with effect. Your Imperial Highness shall learn that
Hereward is as true as is your right hand to your left."--So saying, he
took his leave with a profound obeisance.

The Emperor gazed after him with a countenance in which doubt was
mingled with admiration.

"I have trusted him," he said, "with all he asked, and with the power
of ruining me entirely, if such be his purpose. He has but to breathe a
whisper, and the whole mad crew of crusaders, kept in humour at the
expense of so much current falsehood, and so much more gold, will
return with fire and sword to burn down Constantinople, and sow with
salt the place where it stood. I have done what I had resolved never to
do,--I have ventured kingdom and life on the faith of a man born of
woman. How often have I said, nay, sworn, that I would not hazard
myself on such peril, and yet, step by step, I have done so! I cannot
tell--there is in that man's looks and words a good faith which
overwhelms me; and, what is almost incredible, my belief in him has
increased in proportion to his showing me how slight my power was over
him. I threw, like the wily angler, every bait I could devise, and some
of them such as a king would scarcely have disdained; to none of these
would he rise; but yet he gorges, I may say, the bare hook, and enters
upon my service without a shadow of self-interest.--Can this be
double-distilled treachery?--or can it be what men call
disinterestedness?--If I thought him false, the moment is not yet
past--he has not yet crossed the bridge--he has not passed the guards
of the palace, who have no hesitation, and know no disobedience--But
no--I were then alone in the land, and without a friend or
confidant.--I hear the sound of the outer gate unclose, the sense of
danger certainly renders my ears more acute than usual.--It shuts
again--the die is cast. He is at liberty--and Alexius Comnenus must
stand or fall, according to the uncertain faith of a mercenary
Varangian." He clapt his hands; a slave appeared, of whom he demanded
wine. He drank, and his heart was cheered within him. "I am decided,"
he said, "and will abide with resolution the cast of the throw, for
good or for evil."

So saying, he retired to his apartment, and was not again seen during
that night.




CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND.

     And aye, as if for death, some lonely trumpet peal'd.
                                                    CAMPBELL.


The Varangian, his head agitated with the weighty matters which imposed
on him, stopt from time to time as he journeyed through the moonlight
streets, to arrest passing ideas as they shot through his mind, and
consider them with accuracy in all their bearings. His thoughts were
such as animated or alarmed him alternately, each followed by a
confused throng of accompaniments which it suggested, and banished
again in its turn by reflections of another description. It was one of
those conjunctures when the minds of ordinary men feel themselves
unable to support a burden which is suddenly flung upon them, and when,
on the contrary, those of uncommon fortitude, and that best of Heaven's
gifts, good sense, founded on presence of mind, feel their talents
awakened and regulated for the occasion, like a good steed under the
management of a rider of courage and experience.

As he stood in one of those fits of reverie, which repeatedly during
that night arrested his stern military march, Hereward thought that his
ear caught the note of a distant trumpet. This surprised him; a trumpet
blown at that late hour, and in the streets of Constantinople, argued
something extraordinary; for as all military movements were the subject
of special ordinance, the etiquette of the night could hardly have been
transgressed without some great cause. The question was, what that
cause could be?

Had the insurrection broken out unexpectedly, and in a different manner
from what the conspirators proposed to themselves?--If so, his meeting
with his plighted bride, after so many years' absence, was but a
delusive preface to their separating for ever. Or had the crusaders, a
race of men upon whose motions it was difficult to calculate, suddenly
taken arms and returned from the opposite shore to surprise the city?
This might very possibly be the case; so numerous had been the
different causes of complaint afforded to the crusaders, that, when
they were now for the first time assembled into one body, and had heard
the stories which they could reciprocally tell concerning the perfidy
of the Greeks, nothing was so likely, so natural, even perhaps so
justifiable, as that they should study revenge.

But the sound rather resembled a point of war regularly blown, than the
tumultuous blare of bugle-horns and trumpets, the accompaniments at
once, and the annunciation, of a taken town, in which the horrid
circumstances of storm had not yet given place to such stern peace as
the victors' weariness of slaughter and rapine allows at length to the
wretched inhabitants. Whatever it was, it was necessary that Hereward
should learn its purport, and therefore he made his way into a broad
street near the barracks, from, which the sound seemed to come, to
which point, indeed, his way was directed for other reasons.

The inhabitants of that quarter of the town did not appear violently
startled by this military signal. The moonlight slept on the street,
crossed by the gigantic shadowy towers of Sancta Sophia. No human being
appeared in the streets, and such as for an instant looked from their
doors or from their lattices, seemed to have their curiosity quickly
satisfied, for they withdrew their heads, and secured the opening
through which they had peeped.

Hereward could not help remembering the traditions which were recounted
by the fathers of his tribe, in the deep woods, of Hampshire, and which
spoke of invisible huntsmen, who were heard to follow with viewless
horses and hounds the unseen chase through the depths of the forests of
Germany. Such it seemed were the sounds with which these haunted woods
were wont to ring while the wild chase was up; and with such apparent
terror did the hearers listen to their clamour.

"Fie!" he said, as he suppressed within him a tendency to the same
superstitious fears; "do such childish fancies belong to a man trusted
with so much, and from whom so much is expected?" He paced down the
street, therefore, with his battle-axe over his shoulder, and the first
person whom he saw venturing to look out of his door, he questioned
concerning the cause of this military music at such an unaccustomed
hour.

"I cannot tell, so please you, my lord," said the citizen, unwilling,
it appeared, to remain in the open air, or to enter into conversation,
and greatly disposed to decline further questioning. This was the
political citizen of Constantinople whom we met with at the beginning
of this history, and who, hastily stepping into his habitation,
eschewed all further conversation.

The wrestler Stephanos showed himself at the next door, which was
garlanded with oak and ivy leaves, in honour of some recent victory. He
stood unshrinking, partly encouraged by the consciousness of personal
strength, and partly by a rugged surliness of temper, which is often
mistaken among persons of this kind for real courage. His admirer and
flatterer, Lysimachus, kept himself ensconced behind his ample
shoulders.

As Hereward passed, he put the same question as he did to the former
citizen,--"Know you the meaning of these trumpets sounding so late?"

"You should know best yourself," answered Stephanos, doggedly; "for, to
judge by your axe and helmet, they are your trumpets, and not ours,
which disturb honest men in their first sleep."

"Varlet!" answered the Varangian, with an emphasis which made the
prizer start,--"but--when that trumpet sounds, it is no time for a
soldier to punish insolence as it deserves."

The Greek started back and bolted into his house, nearly overthrowing
in the speed of his retreat the artist Lysimachus, who was listening to
what passed.

Hereward passed on to the barracks, where the military music had seemed
to halt; but on the Varangian crossing the threshold of the ample
courtyard, it broke forth again with a tremendous burst, whose clangour
almost stunned him, though well accustomed to the sounds. "What is the
meaning of this, Engelbrecht?" he said to the Varangian sentinel, who
paced axe in hand before the entrance.

"The proclamation of a challenge and combat," answered Engelbrecht.
"Strange things towards, comrade; the frantic crusaders have bit the
Grecians, and infected them with their humour of tilting, as they say
dogs do each other with madness."

Hereward made no reply to the sentinel's speech, but pressed forward
into a knot of his fellow-soldiers who were assembled in the court,
half-armed, or, more properly, in total disarray, as just arisen from
their beds, and huddled around the trumpets of their corps, which were
drawn out in full pomp. He of the gigantic instrument, whose duty it
was to intimate the express commands of the Emperor, was not wanting in
his place, and the musicians were supported by a band of the Varangians
in arms, headed by Achilles Tatius himself. Hereward could also notice,
on approaching nearer, as his comrades made way for him, that six of
the Imperial heralds were on duty on this occasion; four of these (two
acting at the same time) had already made proclamation, which was to be
repeated for the third time by the two last, as was the usual fashion
in Constantinople with Imperial mandates of great consequence. Achilles
Tatius, the moment he saw his confidant, made him a sign, which
Hereward understood as conveying a desire to speak with him after the
proclamation was over. The herald, after the flourish of trumpets was
finished, commenced in. these words:

"By the authority of the resplendent and divine Prince Alexius
Comnenus, Emperor of the most holy Roman Empire, his Imperial Majesty
desires it to be made known to all and sundry the subjects of his
empire, whatever their race of blood may be, or at whatever shrine of
divinity they happen, to bend--Know ye, therefore, that upon the second
day after this is dated, our beloved son-in-law, the much esteemed
Caesar, hath taken upon, him to do battle with our sworn enemy, Robert,
Count of Paris, on account of his insolent conduct, by presuming
publicly to occupy our royal seat, and no less by breaking, in our
Imperial presence, those curious specimens of art, ornamenting our
throne, called by tradition the Lions of Solomon. And that there may
not remain a man in Europe who shall dare to say that the Grecians are
behind other parts of the world in any of the manly exercises which
Christian nations use, the said noble enemies, renouncing all
assistance from falsehood, from spells, or from magic, shall debate
this quarrel in three courses with grinded spears, and three passages
of arms with sharpened swords; the field to be at the judgment of the
honourable Emperor, and to be decided at his most gracious and unerring
pleasure. And so God show the right!"

Another formidable flourish of the trumpets concluded the ceremony.
Achilles then dismissed the attendant troops, as well as the heralds
and musicians, to their respective quarters; and having got Hereward
close to his side, enquired of him whether he had learned any thing of
the prisoner, Robert, Count of Paris.

"Nothing," said the Varangian, "save the tidings your proclamation
contains."

"You think, then," said Achilles, "that the Count has been a party to
it."

"He ought to have been so," answered the Varangian. "I know no one but
himself entitled to take burden for his appearance in the lists."

"Why, look you," said the Acolyte, "my most excellent, though
blunt-witted Hereward, this Caesar of ours hath had the extravagance to
venture his tender wit in comparison to that of Achilles Tatius. He
stands upon his honour, too, this ineffable fool, and is displeased
with the idea of being supposed either to challenge a woman, or to
receive a challenge at her hand. He has substituted, therefore, the
name of the lord instead of the lady. If the Count fail to appear, the
Caesar walks forward challenger and successful combatant at a cheap
rate, since no one has encountered him, and claims that the lady should
be delivered up to him as a captive of his dreaded bow and spear. This
will be the signal for a general tumult, in which, if the Emperor be
not slain on the spot, he will be conveyed to the dungeon of his own
Blacquernal, there to endure the doom which his cruelty has inflicted
upon so many others."

"But"---said the Varangian.

"But---but--but," said his officer; "but thou art a fool. Canst thou
not see that this gallant Caesar is willing to avoid the risk of
encountering with this lady, while he earnestly desires to be supposed
willing to meet her husband? It is our business to fix the combat in
such a shape as to bring all who are prepared for insurrection together
in arms to play their parts. Do thou only see that our trusty friends
are placed near to the Emperor's person, and in such a manner as to
keep from him the officious and meddling portion of guards, who may be
disposed to assist him; and whether the Caesar fights a combat with
lord or lady, or whether there be any combat at all or not, the
revolution shall be accomplished, and the Tatii shall replace the
Comneni upon the Imperial throne of Constantinople. Go, my trusty
Hereward. Thou wilt not forget that the signal word of the insurrection
is Ursel, who lives in the affections of the people, although his body,
it is said, has long lain a corpse in the dungeons of the Blacquernal."

"What was this Ursel," said Hereward, "of whom I hear men talk so
variously?"

"A competitor for the crown with Alexius Comnenus--good, brave, and
honest; but overpowered by the cunning, rather than the skill or
bravery of his foe. He died, as I believe, in the Blacquernal; though
when, or how, there are few that can say. But, up and be doing, my
Hereward! Speak encouragement to the Varangians--Interest whomsoever
thou canst to join us. Of the Immortals, as they are called, and of the
discontented citizens, enough are prepared to fill up the cry, and
follow in the wake of those on whom we must rely as the beginners of
the enterprise. No longer shall Alexius's cunning, in avoiding popular
assemblies, avail to protect him; he cannot, with regard to his honour,
avoid being present at a combat to be fought beneath his own eye; and
Mercury be praised for the eloquence which inspired him, after some
hesitation, to determine for the proclamation!"

"You have seen him, then, this evening?" said the Varangian.

"Seen him! Unquestionably," answered the Acolyte. "Had I ordered these
trumpets to be sounded without his knowledge, the blast had blown the
head from my shoulders."

"I had wellnigh met you at the palace," said Hereward; while his heart
throbbed almost as high as if he had actually had such a dangerous
encounter.

"I heard something of it," said Achilles; "that you came to take the
parting orders of him who now acts the sovereign. Surely, had I seen
you there, with that steadfast, open, seemingly honest countenance,
cheating the wily Greek by very dint of bluntness, I had not forborne
laughing at the contrast between that and the thoughts of thy heart."

"God alone," said Hereward, "knows the thoughts of our hearts; but I
take him to witness, that I am faithful to my promise, and will
discharge the task intrusted to me."

"Bravo! mine honest Anglo-Saxon," said Achilles. "I pray thee to call
my slaves to unarm me; and when thou thyself doffest those weapons of
an ordinary life-guardsman, tell them they never shall above twice more
enclose the limbs of one for whom fate has much more fitting garments
in store."

Hereward dared not intrust his voice with an answer to so critical a
speech; he bowed profoundly, and retired to his own quarters in the
building.

Upon entering the apartment, he was immediately saluted by the voice of
Count Robert, in joyful accents, not suppressed by the fear of making
himself heard, though prudence should have made that uppermost in his
mind.

"Hast thou heard it, my dear Hereward," he said--"hast thou heard the
proclamation, by which this Greek antelope hath defied me to tilting
with grinded spears, and fighting three passages of arms with sharpened
swords? Yet there is something strange, too, that he should not think
it safer to hold my lady to the encounter! He may think, perhaps, that
the crusaders would not permit such a battle to be fought. But, by our
Lady of the Broken Lances! he little knows that the men of the West
hold their ladies' character for courage as jealously as they do their
own. This whole night have I been considering in what armour I shall
clothe me; what shift I shall make for a steed; and whether I shall not
honour him sufficiently by using Tranchefer, as my only weapon, against
his whole armour, offensive and defensive."

"I shall take care, however," said Hereward, "that, thou art better
provided in case of need.--Thou knowest not the Greeks."




CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD.


The Varangian did not leave the Count of Paris until the latter had in
his hands his signet-ring, _semee_, (as the heralds express it,) _with
lances splintered_, and bearing the proud motto, "Mine yet unscathed."
Provided with this symbol of confidence, it was now his business to
take order for communicating the approaching solemnity to the leader of
the crusading army, and demanding from him, in the name of Robert of
Paris, and the Lady Brenhilda, such a detachment of western cavaliers
as might ensure strict observance of honour and honesty in the
arrangement of the lists, and during the progress of the combat. The
duties imposed on Hereward were such as to render it impossible for him
to proceed personally to the camp of Godfrey: and though there were
many of the Varangians in whose fidelity he could have trusted, he knew
of none among those under his immediate command whose intelligence, on
so novel an occasion, might be entirely depended on. In this
perplexity, he strolled, perhaps without well knowing why, to the
gardens of Agelastes, where fortune once more produced him an interview
with Bertha.

No sooner had Hereward made her aware of his difficulty, than the
faithful bower-maiden's resolution was taken.

"I see," said she, "that the peril of this part of the adventure must
rest with me; and wherefore should it not? My mistress, in the bosom of
prosperity, offered herself to go forth into the wide world for my
sake; I will for hers go to the camp of this Frankish lord. He is an
honourable man, and a pious Christian, and his followers are faithful
pilgrims. A woman can have nothing to fear who goes to such men upon
such an errand."

The Varangian, however, was too well acquainted with the manners of
camps to permit the fair Bertha to go alone. He provided, therefore,
for her safe-guard a trusty old soldier, bound to his person by long
kindness and confidence, and having thoroughly possessed her of the
particulars of the message she was to deliver, and desired her to be in
readiness without the enclosure at peep of dawn, returned once more to
his barracks.

With the earliest light, Hereward was again at the spot where he had
parted overnight with Bertha, accompanied by the honest soldier to
whose care he meant to confide her. In a short time, he had seen them
safely on board of a ferry-boat lying in the harbour; the master of
which readily admitted them, after some examination of their license,
to pass to Scutari, which was forged in the name of the Acolyte, as
authorised by that foul conspirator, and which agreed with the
appearance of old Osmund and his young charge.

The morning was lovely; and erelong the town of Scutari opened on the
view of the travellers, glittering, as now, with a variety of
architecture, which, though it might be termed fantastical, could not
be denied the praise of beauty. These buildings rose boldly out of a
thick grove of cypresses, and other huge trees, the larger, probably,
as they were respected for filling the cemeteries, and being the
guardians of the dead.

At the period we mention, another circumstance, no less striking than
beautiful, rendered doubly interesting a scene which must have been at
all times greatly so. A large portion of that miscellaneous army which
came to regain the holy places of Palestine, and the blessed Sepulchre
itself, from the infidels, had established themselves in a camp within
a mile, or thereabouts, of Scutari. Although, therefore, the crusaders
were destitute in a great measure of the use of tents, the army
(excepting the pavilions of some leaders of high rank) had constructed
for themselves temporary huts, not unpleasing to the eye, being
decorated with leaves and flowers, while the tall pennons and banners
that floated over them with various devices, showed that the flower of
Europe were assembled at that place. A loud and varied murmur,
resembling that of a thronged hive, floated from the camp of the
crusaders to the neighbouring town of Scutari, and every now and then
the deep tone was broken by some shriller sound, the note of some
musical instrument, or the treble scream of some child or female, in
fear or in gaiety.

The party at length landed in safety; and as they approached one of the
gates of the camp, there sallied forth a brisk array of gallant
cavaliers, pages, and squires, exercising their masters' horses or
their own. From the noise they made, conversing at the very top of
their voices, galloping, curvetting, and prancing their palfreys, it
seemed as if their early discipline had called them to exercise ere the
fumes of last night's revel were thoroughly dissipated by repose. So
soon as they saw Bertha and her party, they approached them with cries
which marked their country was Italy--"Al'erta! al'erta!--Roba de
guadagno, cameradi!" [Footnote: That is--"Take heed! take heed! there
is booty, comrades!"]

They gathered round the Anglo-Saxon maiden and her companions,
repeating their cries in a manner which made Bertha tremble. Their
general demand was, "What was her business in their camp?"

"I would to the general-in-chief, cavaliers," answered Bertha, "having
a secret message to his ear."

"For whose ear?" said a leader of the party, a handsome youth of about
eighteen years of age, who seemed either to have a sounder brain than
his fellows, or to have overflowed it with less wine. "Which of our
leaders do you come hither to see?" he demanded.

"Godfrey of Bouillon."

"Indeed!" said the page who had spoken first; "can nothing of less
consequence serve thy turn? Take a look amongst us; young are we all,
and reasonably wealthy. My Lord of Bouillon is old, and if he has any
sequins, he is not like to lavish them in this way."

"Still I have a token to Godfrey of Bouillon," answered Bertha, "an
assured one; and he will little thank any who obstructs my free passage
to him;" and therewithal showing a little case, in which the signet of
the Count of Paris was enclosed, "I will trust it in your hands," she
said, "if you promise not to open it, but to give me free access to the
noble leader of the crusaders."

"I will," said the youth, "and if such be the Duke's pleasure, thou
shalt be admitted to him."

"Ernest the Apulian, thy dainty Italian wit is caught in a trap," said
one of his companions.

"Thou art an ultramontane fool, Polydore," returned Ernest; "there may
be more in this than either thy wit or mine is able to fathom. This
maiden and one of her attendants wear a dress belonging to the
Varangian Imperial guard. They have perhaps been intrusted with a
message from the Emperor, and it is not irreconcilable with Alexius's
politics to send it through such messengers as these. Let us,
therefore, convey them in all honour to the General's tent."

"With all my heart," said Polydore. "A blue-eyed wench is a pretty
thing, but I like not the sauce of the camp-marshal, nor his taste in
attiring men who gave way to temptation. [Footnote: Persons among the
Crusaders found guilty of certain offences, did penance in a dress of
tar and feathers though it is supposed a punishment of modern
invention.] Yet, ere I prove a fool like my companion, I would ask who
or what this pretty maiden is, who comes to put noble princes and holy
pilgrims in mind that they have in their time had the follies of men?"

Bertha advanced and whispered in the ear of Ernest. Meantime joke
followed jest, among Polydore and the rest of the gay youths, in
riotous and ribald succession, which, however characteristic of the
rude speakers, may as well be omitted here. Their effect was to shake
in some degree the fortitude of the Saxon maiden, who had some
difficulty in mustering courage to address them. "As you have mothers,
gentlemen," she said, "as you have fair sisters, whom you would protect
from dishonour with your best blood--as you love and honour those holy
places which you are sworn to free from the infidel enemy, have
compassion on me, that you may merit success in your undertaking!"

"Fear nothing, maiden," said Ernest, "I will be your protector; and
you, my comrades, be ruled by me. I have, during your brawling, taken a
view, though somewhat against my promise, of the pledge which she
bears, and if she who presents it is affronted or maltreated, be
assured Godfrey of Bouillon will severely avenge the wrong done her."

"Nay, comrade, if thou canst warrant us so much," said Polydore, "I
will myself be most anxious to conduct the young woman in honour and
safety to Sir Godfrey's tent."

"The Princes," said Ernest, "must be nigh meeting there in council.
What I have said I will warrant and uphold with hand and life. More I
might guess, but I conclude this sensible young maiden can speak for
herself."

"Now, Heaven bless thee, gallant squire," said Bertha, "and make thee
alike brave and fortunate! Embarrass yourself no farther about me, than
to deliver me safe to your leader, Godfrey."

"We spend time," said Ernest, springing from his horse. "You are no
soft Eastern, fair maid, and I presume you will find yourself under no
difficulty in managing a quiet horse?"

"Not the least," said Bertha, as, wrapping herself in her cassock, she
sprung from the ground, and alighted upon the spirited palfrey, as a
linnet stoops upon a rose-bush. "And now, sir, as my business really
brooks no delay, I will be indebted to you to show me instantly to the
tent of Duke Godfrey of Bouillon."

By availing herself of this courtesy of the young Apulian, Bertha
imprudently separated herself from the old Varangian; but the
intentions of the youth were honourable, and he conducted her through
the tents and huts to the pavilion of the celebrated General-in-chief
of the Crusade.

"Here," he said, "you must tarry for a space, under the guardianship of
my companions," (for two or three of the pages had accompanied them,
out of curiosity to see the issue,) "and I will take the commands of
the Duke of Bouillon upon the subject."

To this nothing could be objected, and Bertha had nothing better to do,
than to admire the outside of the tent, which, in one of Alexius's fits
of generosity and munificence, had been presented by the Greek Emperor
to the Chief of the Franks. It was raised upon tall spear-shaped poles,
which had the semblance of gold; its curtains were of thick stuff,
manufactured of silk, cotton, and gold thread. The warders who stood
round, were (at least during the time that the council was held) old
grave men, the personal squires of the body, most of them, of the
sovereigns who had taken the Cross, and who could, therefore, be
trusted as a guard over the assembly, without danger of their blabbing
what they might overhear. Their appearance was serious and considerate,
and they looked like men who had taken upon them the Cross, not as an
idle adventure of arms, but as a purpose of the most solemn and serious
nature. One of these stopt the Italian, and demanded what business
authorized him to press forward into the council of the crusaders, who
were already taking their seats. The page answered by giving his name,
"Ernest of Otranto, page of Prince Tancred;" and stated that he
announced a young woman, who bore a token to the Duke of Bouillon,
adding that it was accompanied by a message for his own ear.

Bertha, meantime, laid aside her mantle, or upper garment, and disposed
the rest of her dress according to the Anglo-Saxon costume. She had
hardly completed this task, before the page of Prince Tancred returned,
to conduct her into the presence of the council of the Crusade. She
followed his signal; while the other young men who had accompanied her,
wondering at the apparent ease with which she gained admittance, drew
back to a respectful distance from the tent, and there canvassed the
singularity of their morning's adventure.

In the meanwhile, the ambassadress herself entered the council chamber,
exhibiting an agreeable mixture of shamefacedness and reserve, together
with a bold determination to do her duty at all events. There were
about fifteen of the principal crusaders assembled in council, with
their chieftain Godfrey. He himself was a tall strong man, arrived at
that period of life in--which men are supposed to have lost none of
their resolution, while they have acquired a wisdom and circumspection
unknown to their earlier years. The countenance of Godfrey bespoke both
prudence and boldness, and resembled his hair, where a few threads of
silver were already mingled with his raven locks.

Tancred, the noblest knight of the Christian chivalry, sat at no great
distance from him, with Hugh, Earl of Vermandois, generally called the
Great Count, the selfish and wily Bohemond, the powerful Raymond of
Provence, and others of the principal crusaders, all more or less
completely sheathed in armour.

Bertha did not allow her courage to be broken down, but advancing with
a timid grace towards Godfrey, she placed in his hands the signet which
had been restored to her by the young page, and after a deep obeisance,
spoke these words: "Godfrey, Count of Bouillon, Duke of Lorraine the
Lower, Chief of the Holy Enterprise called the Crusade, and you, his
gallant comrades, peers, and companions, by whatever titles you may be
honoured, I, an humble maiden of England, daughter of Engelred,
originally a franklin of Hampshire, and since Chieftain of the
Foresters, or free Anglo-Saxons, under the command of the celebrated
Edric, do claim what credence is due to the bearer of the true pledge
which I put into your hand, on the part of one not the least
considerable of your own body, Count Robert of Paris"---

"Our most honourable confederate," said Godfrey, looking at the ring.
"Most of you, my lords, must, I think, know this signet--a field sown
with the fragments of many splintered lances." The signet was handed
from one of the Assembly to another, and generally recognised.

When Godfrey had signified so much, the maiden resumed her message. "To
all true crusaders, therefore, comrades of Godfrey of Bouillon, and
especially to the Duke himself,--to all, I say, excepting Bohemond of
Tarentum, whom he counts unworthy of his notice"--

"Hah! me unworthy of his notice," said Bohemond. "What mean you by
that, damsel?--But the Count of Paris shall answer it to me."

"Under your favour, Sir Bohemond," said Godfrey, "no. Our articles
renounce the sending of challenges among ourselves, and the matter, if
not dropt betwixt the parties, must be referred to the voice of this
honourable council."

"I think I guess the business now, my lord," said Bohemond. "The Count
of Paris is disposed to turn and tear me, because I offered him good
counsel on the evening before we left Constantinople, when he neglected
to accept or be guided by it"--

"It will be the more easily explained when we have heard his message,"
said Godfrey.--"Speak forth Lord Robert of Paris's charge, damsel, that
we may take some order with that which now seems a perplexed business."

Bertha resumed her message; and, having briefly narrated the recent
events, thus concluded:--"The battle is to be done to-morrow, about two
hours after daybreak, and the Count entreats of the noble Duke of
Lorraine that he will permit some fifty of the lances of France to
attend the deed of arms, and secure that fair and honourable conduct
which he has otherwise some doubts of receiving at the hands of his
adversary. Or if any young and gallant knight should, of his own free
will, wish to view the said combat, the Count will feel his presence as
an honour; always he desires that the name of such knight be numbered
carefully with the armed crusaders who shall attend in the lists, and
that the whole shall be limited, by Duke Godfrey's own inspection, to
fifty lances only, which are enough to obtain the protection required,
while more would be considered as a preparation for aggression upon the
Grecians, and occasion the revival of disputes which are now happily at
rest."

Bertha had no sooner finished delivering her manifesto, and made with
great grace her obeisance to the council, than a sort of whisper took
place in the assembly, which soon assumed a more lively tone.

Their solemn vow not to turn their back upon Palestine, now that they
had set their hands to the plough, was strongly urged by some of the
elder knights of the council, and two or three high prelates, who had
by this time entered to take share in the deliberations. The young
knights, on the other hand, were fired with indignation on hearing the
manner in which their comrade had been trepanned; and few of them could
think of missing a combat in the lists in a country in which such
sights were so rare, and where one was to be fought so near them.

Godfrey rested his brow on his hand, and seemed in great perplexity. To
break with the Greeks, after having suffered so many injuries in order
to maintain the advantage of keeping the peace with them, seemed very
impolitic, and a sacrifice of all he had obtained by a long course of
painful forbearance towards Alexius Comnenus. On the other hand, he was
bound as a man of honour to resent the injury offered to Count Robert
of Paris, whose reckless spirit of chivalry made him the darling of the
army. It was the cause, too, of a beautiful lady, and a brave one:
every knight in the host would think himself bound, by his vow, to
hasten to her defence. When Godfrey spoke, it was to complain of the
difficulty of the determination, and the short time there was to
consider the case.

"With submission to my Lord Duke of Lorraine," said Tancred, "I was a
knight ere I was a crusader, and took on me the vows of chivalry, ere I
placed this blessed, sign upon my shoulder: the vow first made must be
first discharged. I will therefore do penance for neglecting, for a
space, the obligations of the second vow, while I observe that which
recalls me to the first duty of knighthood,--the relief of a distressed
lady in the hands of men whose conduct towards her, and towards this
host, in every respect entitles me to call them treacherous faitours."

"If my kinsman Tancred," said Bohemond, "will check his impetuosity,
and you, my lords, will listen, as you have sometimes deigned to do, to
my advice, I think I can direct you how to keep clear of any breach of
your oath, and yet fully to relieve our distressed fellow-pilgrims.--I
see some suspicious looks are cast towards me, which are caused perhaps
by the churlish manner in which this violent, and, in this case, almost
insane young warrior, has protested against receiving my assistance. My
great offence is the having given him warning, by precept and example,
of the treachery which was about to be practised against him, and
instructed him to use forbearance and temperance. My warning he
altogether contemned--my example he neglected to follow, and fell into
the snare which was spread, as it were, before his very eyes. Yet the
Count of Paris, in rashly contemning me, has acted only from a temper
which misfortune and disappointment have rendered irrational and
frantic. I am so far from bearing him ill-will, that, with your
lordship's permission, and that of the present council, I will haste to
the place of rendezvous with fifty lances, making up the retinue which
attends upon each to at least ten men, which will make the stipulated
auxiliary force equal to five hundred; and with these I can have little
doubt of rescuing the Count and his lady."

"Nobly proposed," said the Duke of Bouillon; "and with a charitable
forgiveness of injuries which becomes our Christian expedition. But
thou hast forgot the main difficulty, brother Bohemond, that we are
sworn never to turn back upon the sacred journey."

"If we can elude that oath upon the present occasion," said Bohemond,
"it becomes our duty to do so. Are we such bad horsemen, or are our
steeds so awkward, that we cannot rein them back from this to the
landing-place at Scutari? We can get them on shipboard in the same
retrograde manner, and when we arrive in Europe, where our vow binds us
no longer, the Count and Countess of Paris are rescued, and our vow
remains entire in the Chancery of Heaven."

A general shout arose--"Long life to the gallant Bohemond!--Shame to us
if we do not fly to the assistance of so valiant a knight, and a lady
so lovely, since we can do so without breach of our vow."

"The question," said Godfrey, "appears to me to be eluded rather than
solved; yet such evasions have been admitted by the most learned and
scrupulous clerks; nor do I hesitate to admit of Bohemond's expedient,
any more than if the enemy had attacked our rear, which might have
occasioned our countermarching to be a case of absolute necessity."

Some there were in the assembly, particularly the churchmen, inclined
to think that the oath by which the crusaders had solemnly bound
themselves, ought to be as literally obeyed. But Peter the Hermit, who
had a place in the council, and possessed great weight, declared it as
his opinion, "That since the precise observance of their vow would tend
to diminish the forces of the crusade, it was in fact unlawful, and
should not be kept according to the literal meaning, if, by a fair
construction, it could be eluded."

He offered himself to back the animal which he bestrode--that is, his
ass; and though he was diverted from showing this example by the
remonstrances of Godfrey of Bouillon, who was afraid of his becoming a
scandal in the eyes of the heathen, yet he so prevailed by his
arguments, that the knights, far from scrupling to countermarch,
eagerly contended which should have the honour of making one of the
party which should retrograde to Constantinople, see the combat, and
bring back to the host in safety the valorous Count of Paris, of whose
victory no one doubted, and his Amazonian Countess.

This emulation was also put an end to by the authority of Godfrey, who
himself selected the fifty knights who were to compose the party. They
were chosen from different nations, and the command of the whole was
given to young Tancred of Otranto. Notwithstanding the claim of
Bohemond, Godfrey detained the latter, under the pretext that his
knowledge of the country and people was absolutely necessary to enable
the council to form the plan of the campaign in Syria; but in reality
he dreaded the selfishness of a man of great ingenuity as well as
military skill, who, finding himself in a separate command, might be
tempted, should opportunities arise, to enlarge his own power and
dominion, at the expense of the pious purposes of the crusade in
general. The younger men of the expedition were chiefly anxious to
procure such horses as had been thoroughly trained, and could go
through with ease and temper the manoeuvre of equitation, by which it
was designed to render legitimate the movement which they had recourse
to. The selection was at length made, and the detachment ordered to
draw up in the rear, or upon the eastward line of the Christian
encampment. In the meanwhile, Godfrey charged Bertha with a message for
the Count of Paris, in which, slightly censuring him for not observing
more caution in his intercourse with the Greeks, he informed him that
he had sent a detachment of fifty lances, with the corresponding
squires, pages, men-at-arms, and cross-bows, five hundred in number,
commanded by the valiant Tancred, to his assistance. The Duke also
informed him, that he had added a suit of armour of the best temper
Milan could afford, together with a trusty war-horse, which he
entreated him to use upon the field of battle; for Bertha had not
omitted to intimate Count Robert's want of the means of knightly
equipment. The horse was brought before the pavilion accordingly,
completely barbed or armed in steel, and laden with armour for the
knight's body. Godfrey himself put the bridle into Bertha's hand.

"Thou need'st not fear to trust thyself with this steed, he is as
gentle and docile as he is fleet and brave. Place thyself on his back,
and take heed thou stir not from the side of the noble Prince Tancred
of Otranto, who will be the faithful defender of a maiden that has this
day shown dexterity, courage, and fidelity."

Bertha bowed low, as her cheeks glowed at praise from one whose talents
and worth were in such general esteem, as to have raised him to the
distinguished situation of leader of a host which numbered in it the
bravest and most distinguished captains of Christendom.

"Who are yon two persons?" continued Godfrey, speaking of the
companions of Bertha, whom he saw in the distance before the tent.

"The one," answered the damsel, "is the master of the ferry-boat which
brought me over; and the other an old Varangian who came hither as my
protector."

"As they may come to employ their eyes here, and their tongues on the
opposite side," returned the general of the crusaders, "I do not think
it prudent to let them accompany you. They shall remain here for some
short time. The citizens of Scutari will not comprehend for some space
what our intention is, and I could wish Prince Tancred and his
attendants to be the first to announce their own arrival."

Bertha accordingly intimated the pleasure of the French general to the
parties, without naming his motives; when the ferryman began to exclaim
on the hardship of intercepting him in his trade; and Osmund to
complain of being detained from his duties. But Bertha, by the orders
of Godfrey, left them, with the assurance that they would be soon at
liberty. Finding themselves thus abandoned, each applied himself to his
favourite amusement. The ferryman occupied himself in staring about at
all that was new; and Osmund, having in the meantime accepted an offer
of breakfast from some of the domestics, was presently engaged with a
flask of such red wine as would have reconciled him to a worse lot than
that which he at present experienced.

The detachment of Tancred, fifty spears and their armed retinue, which
amounted fully to five hundred men, after having taken a short and
hasty refreshment, were in arms and mounted before the sultry hour of
noon. After some manoeuvres, of which the Greeks of Scutari, whose
curiosity was awakened by the preparations of the detachment, were at a
loss to comprehend the purpose, they formed into a single column,
having four men in front. When the horses were in this position, the
whole riders at once began to rein back. The action was one to which
both the cavaliers and their horses were well accustomed, nor did it at
first afford much surprise to the spectators; but when the same
retrograde evolution was continued, and the body of crusaders seemed
about to enter the town of Scutari in so extraordinary a fashion, some
idea of the truth began to occupy the citizens. The cry at length was
general, when Tancred and a few others, whose horses were unusually
well-trained, arrived at the port, and possessed themselves of a
galley, into which they led their horses, and, disregarding all
opposition from the Imperial officers of the haven, pushed the vessel
off from the shore.

Other cavaliers did not accomplish their purpose so easily; the riders,
or the horses, were less accustomed to continue in the constrained pace
for such a considerable length of time, so that many of the knights,
having retrograded for one or two hundred yards, thought their vow was
sufficiently observed by having so far deferred to it, and riding in
the ordinary manner into the town, seized without farther ceremony on
some vessels, which, notwithstanding the orders of the Greek Emperor,
had been allowed to remain on the Asiatic side of the strait. Some less
able horsemen met with various accidents; for though it was a proverb
of the time, that nothing was so bold as a blind horse, yet from this
mode of equitation, where neither horse nor rider saw the way he was
going, some steeds were overthrown, others backed upon dangerous
obstacles; and the bones of the cavaliers themselves suffered much more
than would have been the case in an ordinary march.

Those horsemen, also, who met with falls, incurred the danger of being
slain by the Greeks, had not Godfrey, surmounting his religious
scruples, despatched a squadron to extricate them--a task which they
performed with great ease. The greater part of Tancred's followers
succeeded in embarking, as was intended, nor was there more than a
score or two finally amissing. To accomplish their voyage, however,
even the Prince of Otranto himself, and most of his followers, were
obliged to betake themselves to the unknightly labours of the oar. This
they found extremely difficult, as well from the state both of the tide
and the wind, as from the want of practice at the exercise. Godfrey in
person viewed their progress anxiously, from a neighbouring height, and
perceived with regret the difficulty which they found in making their
way, which was still more increased by the necessity for their keeping
in a body, and waiting for the slowest and worst manned vessels, which
considerably detained those that were more expeditious. They made some
progress, however; nor had the commander-in-chief the least doubt, that
before sunset they would safely reach the opposite side of the strait.

He retired at length from his post of observation, having placed a
careful sentinel in his stead, with directions to bring him word the
instant that the detachment reached the opposite shore. This the
soldier could easily discern by the eye, if it was daylight at the
time; if, on the contrary, it was night before they could arrive, the
Prince of Otranto had orders to show certain lights, which, in case of
their meeting resistance from the Greeks, should be arranged in a
peculiar manner, so as to indicate danger.

Godfrey then explained to the Greek authorities of Scutari, whom he
summoned before him, the necessity there was that he should keep in
readiness such vessels as could be procured, with which, in case of
need, he was determined to transport a strong division from his army to
support those who had gone before. He then rode back to his camp, the
confused murmurs of which, rendered more noisy by the various
discussions concerning the events of the day, rolled off from the
numerous host of the crusaders, and mingled with the hoarse sound of
the many-billowed Hellespont.




CHAPTER THE TWENTH-FOURTH.

     All is prepared--the chambers of the mine
     Are cramm'd with the combustible, which, harmless
     While yet unkindled, as the sable sand,
     Needs but a spark to change its nature so,
     That he who wakes it from its slumbrous mood,
     Dreads scarce the explosion less than he who knows
     That 'tis his towers which meet its fury.
                                     ANONYMOUS.


When the sky is darkened suddenly, and the atmosphere grows thick and
stifling, the lower ranks of creation entertain the ominous sense of a
coming tempest. The birds fly to the thickets, the wild creatures
retreat to the closest covers which their instinct gives them the habit
of frequenting, and domestic animals show their apprehension of the
approaching thunderstorm by singular actions and movements inferring
fear and disturbance.

It seems that human nature, when its original habits are cultivated and
attended to, possesses, on similar occasions, something of that
prescient foreboding, which announces the approaching tempest to the
inferior ranks of creation. The cultivation of our intellectual powers
goes perhaps too far, when it teaches us entirely to suppress and
disregard those natural feelings, which were originally designed as
sentinels by which nature warned us of impending danger.

Something of the kind, however, still remains, and that species of
feeling which announces to us sorrowful or alarming tidings, may be
said, like the prophecies of the weird sisters, to come over us like a
sudden cloud.

During the fatal day which was to precede the combat of the Caesar with
the Count of Paris, there were current through the city of
Constantinople the most contradictory, and at the same time the most
terrific reports. Privy conspiracy, it was alleged, was on the very eve
of breaking out; open war, it was reported by others, was about to
shake her banners over the devoted city; the precise cause was not
agreed upon, any more than the nature of the enemy. Some said that the
barbarians from the borders of Thracia, the Hungarians, as they were
termed, and the Comani, were on their march from the frontiers to
surprise the city; another report stated that the Turks, who, during
this period, were established in Asia, had resolved to prevent the
threatened attack of the crusaders upon Palestine, by surprising not
only the Western Pilgrims, but the Christians of the East, by one of
their innumerable invasions, executed with their characteristic
rapidity.

Another report, approaching more near to the truth, declared that the
crusaders themselves, having discovered their various causes of
complaint against Alexius Comnenus, had resolved to march back their
united forces to the capital, with a view of dethroning or chastising
him; and the citizens were dreadfully alarmed for the consequences of
the resentment of men so fierce in their habits and so strange in their
manners. In short, although they did not all agree on the precise cause
of danger, it was yet generally allowed that something of a dreadful
kind was impending, which appeared to be in a certain degree confirmed
by the motions that were taking place among the troops. The Varangians,
as well as the Immortals, were gradually assembled, and placed in
occupation of the strongest parts of the city, until at length the
fleet of galleys, row-boats, and transports, occupied by Tancred and
his party, were observed to put themselves in motion from Scutari, and
attempt to gain such a height in the narrow sea, as upon the turn of
the tide should transport them to the port of the capital.

Alexius Comnenus was himself struck at this unexpected movement on the
part of the crusaders. Yet, after some conversation with Hereward, on
whom he had determined to repose his confidence, and had now gone too
far to retreat, he became reassured, the more especially by the limited
size of the detachment which seemed to meditate so bold a measure as an
attack upon his capital. To those around him he said with carelessness,
that it was hardly to be supposed that a trumpet could blow to the
charge, within hearing of the crusaders' camp, without some out of so
many knights coming forth to see the cause and the issue of the
conflict.

The conspirators also had their secret fears when the little armament
of Tancred had been seen on the straits. Agelastes mounted a mule, and
went to the shore of the sea, at the place now called Galata. He met
Bertha's old ferryman, whom Godfrey had set at liberty, partly in
contempt, and partly that the report he was likely to make, might serve
to amuse the conspirators in the city. Closely examined by Agelastes,
he confessed that the present detachment, so far as he understood, was
despatched at the instance of Bohemond, and was under the command of
his kinsman Tancred, whose well-known banner was floating from the
headmost vessel. This gave courage to Agelastes, who, in the course of
his intrigues, had opened a private communication with the wily and
ever mercenary Prince of Antioch. The object of the philosopher had
been to obtain from Bohemond a body of his followers to co-operate in
the intended conspiracy, and fortify the party of insurgents. It is
true, that Bohemond had returned no answer, but the account now given
by the ferryman, and the sight of Tancred the kinsman of Bohemond's
banner displayed on the straits, satisfied the philosopher that his
offers, his presents, and his promises, had gained to his side the
avaricious Italian, and that this band had been selected by Bohemond,
and were coming to act in his favour.

As Agelastes turned to go off, he almost jostled a person, as much
muffled up, and apparently as unwilling to be known, as the philosopher
himself. Alexius Comnenus, however--for it was the Emperor
himself--knew Agelastes, though rather from his stature and gestures,
than his countenance; and could not forbear whispering in his ear, as
he passed, the well-known lines, to which the pretended sage's various
acquisitions gave some degree of point:--

    "Grammaticus, rhetor, geometres, pictor, aliptes,
     Augur, schoenobates, medicus, magus; omnia novit.
     Graeculus esuriens in caelum, jusseris, ibit." [Footnote: The
lines of Juvenal imitated by Johnson in his _London_--
    "All sciences a fasting Monsieur knows,
     And bid him go to hell--to hell he goes."]

Agelastes first started at the unexpected sound of the Emperor's voice,
yet immediately recovered presence of mind, the want of which had made
him suspect himself betrayed; and without taking notice of the rank of
the person to whom he spoke, he answered by a quotation which should
return the alarm he had received. The speech that suggested itself was
said to be that which the Phantom of Cleonice dinned into the ears of
the tyrant who murdered her:--

    "Tu cole justitiam; toque atque alios manet ultor." [Footnote: "Do
thou cultivate justice: for thee and for others there remains an
avenger."--_Ovid. Met._]

The sentence, and the recollections which accompanied it, thrilled
through the heart of the Emperor, who walked on, however, without any
notice or reply.

"The vile conspirator," he said, "had his associates around him,
otherwise he had not hazarded that threat. Or it may have been
worse--Agelastes himself, on the very brink of this world, may have
obtained that singular glance into futurity proper to that situation,
and perhaps speaks less from his own reflection than from a strange
spirit of prescience, which dictates his words. Have I then in earnest
sinned so far in my imperial duty, as to make it just to apply to me
the warning used by the injured Cleonice to her ravisher and murderer?
Methinks I have not. Methinks that at less expense than that of a just
severity, I could ill have kept my seat in the high place where Heaven
has been pleased to seat me, and where, as a ruler, I am bound to
maintain my station. Methinks the sum of those who have experienced my
clemency may be well numbered with that of such as have sustained the
deserved punishments of their guilt--But has that vengeance, however
deserved in itself, been always taken in a legal or justifiable manner?
My conscience, I doubt, will hardly answer so home a question; and
where is the man, had he the virtues of Antoninus himself, that can
hold so high and responsible a place, yet sustain such an interrogation
as is implied in that sort of warning which I have received from this
traitor? _Tu cole justitiam_--we all need to use justice to
others--_Teque atque alios manet ultor_--we are all amenable to an
avenging being--I will see the Patriarch--instantly will I see him; and
by confessing my transgressions to the Church, I will, by her plenary
indulgence, acquire the right of spending the last day of my reign in a
consciousness of innocence, or at least of pardon--a state of mind
rarely the lot of those whose lines have fallen in lofty places."

So saying, he passed to the palace of Zosimus the Patriarch, to whom he
could unbosom himself with more safety, because he had long considered
Agelastes as a private enemy to the Church, and a man attached to the
ancient doctrines of heathenism. In the councils of the state they were
also opposed to each other, nor did the Emperor doubt, that in
communicating the secret of the conspiracy to the Patriarch, he was
sure to attain a loyal and firm supporter in the defence which he
proposed to himself. He therefore gave a signal by a low whistle, and a
confidential officer, well mounted, approached him, who attended him in
his ride, though unostentatiously, and at some distance.

In this manner, therefore, Alexius Comnenus proceeded to the palace of
the Patriarch, with as much speed as was consistent with his purpose of
avoiding to attract any particular notice as he passed through the
street. During the whole ride, the warning of Agelastes repeatedly
occurred to him, and his conscience reminded him of too many actions of
his reign which could only be justified by necessity, emphatically said
to be the tyrant's plea, and which were of themselves deserving the
dire vengeance so long delayed.

When he came in sight of the splendid towers which adorned the front of
the patriarchal palace, he turned aside from the lofty gates, repaired
to a narrow court, and again giving his mule to his attendant, he stopt
before a postern, whose low arch and humble architrave seemed to
exclude the possibility of its leading to any place of importance. On
knocking, however, a priest of an inferior order opened the door, who,
with a deep reverence, received the Emperor so soon as he had made
himself known, and conducted him into the interior of the palace.
Demanding a secret interview with the Patriarch, Alexius was then
ushered into his private library, where he was received by the aged
priest with the deepest respect, which the nature of his communication
soon changed into horror and astonishment.

Although Alexius was supposed by many of his own court, and
particularly by some members of his own family, to be little better
than a hypocrite in his religious professions, yet such severe
observers were unjust in branding him with a name so odious. He was
indeed aware of the great support which he received from the good
opinion of the clergy, and to them he was willing to make sacrifices
for the advantage of the Church, or of individual prelates who
manifested fidelity to the crown; but though, on the one hand, such
sacrifices were rarely made by Alexius, without a view to temporal
policy, yet, on the other, he regarded them as recommended by his
devotional feelings, and took credit to himself for various grants and
actions, as dictated by sincere piety, which, in another aspect, were
the fruits of temporal policy. His mode of looking on these measures
was that of a person with oblique vision, who sees an object in a
different manner, according to the point from which he chances to
contemplate it.

The Emperor placed his own errors of government before the Patriarch in
his confession, giving due weight to every branch of morality as it
occurred, and stripping from them the lineaments and palliative
circumstances which had in his own imagination lessened their guilt.
The Patriarch heard, to his astonishment, the real thread of many a
court intrigue, which had borne a very different appearance, till the
Emperor's narrative either justified his conduct upon the occasion, or
left it totally unjustifiable. Upon the whole, the balance was
certainly more in favour of Alexius than the Patriarch had supposed
likely in that more distant view he had taken of the intrigues of the
court, when, as usual, the ministers and the courtiers endeavoured to
make up for the applause which they had given in council in the most
blameable actions of the absolute monarch, by elsewhere imputing to his
motives greater guilt than really belonged to them. Many men who had
fallen sacrifices, it was supposed to the personal spleen or jealousy
of the Emperor, appeared to have been in fact removed from life, or
from liberty, because their enjoying either was inconsistent with the
quiet of the state and the safety of the monarch.

Zosimus also learned, what he perhaps already suspected, that amidst
the profound silence of despotism which seemed to pervade the Grecian
empire, it heaved frequently with convulsive throes, which ever and
anon made obvious the existence of a volcano under the surface. Thus,
while smaller delinquencies, or avowed discontent with the Imperial
government, seldom occurred, and were severely punished when they did,
the deepest and most mortal conspiracies against the life and the
authority of the Emperor were cherished by those nearest to his person;
and he was often himself aware of them, though it was not until they
approached an explosion that he dared act upon his knowledge, and
punish the conspirators.

The whole treason of the Caesar, with his associates, Agelastes and
Achilles Tatius, was heard by the Patriarch with wonder and
astonishment, and he was particularly surprised at the dexterity with
which the Emperor, knowing the existence of so dangerous a conspiracy
at home, had been able to parry the danger from the crusaders occurring
at the same moment.

"In that respect," said the Emperor, to whom indeed the churchman
hinted his surprise, "I have been singularly unfortunate. Had I been
secure of the forces of my own empire, I might have taken one out of
two manly and open courses with these frantic warriors of the west--I
might, my reverend father, have devoted the sums paid to Bohemond and
other of the more selfish among the crusaders, to the honest and open
support of the army of western Christians, and safely transported them
to Palestine, without exposing them to the great loss which they are
likely to sustain by the opposition of the Infidels; their success
would have been in fact my own, and a Latin kingdom in Palestine,
defended by its steel-clad warriors, would have been a safe and
unexpugnable barrier of the empire against the Saracens, Or, if it was
thought more expedient for the protection of the empire and the holy
Church, over which you are ruler, we might at once, and by open force,
have defended the frontiers of our states, against a host commanded by
so many different and discording chiefs, and advancing upon us with
such equivocal intentions. If the first swarm of these locusts, under
him whom they called Walter the Penniless, was thinned by the
Hungarians, and totally destroyed by the Turks, as the pyramids of
bones on the frontiers of the country still keep in memory, surely the
united forces of the Grecian empire would have had little difficulty in
scattering this second flight, though commanded by these Godfreys,
Bohemonds, and Tancreds."

The Patriarch was silent, for though he disliked, or rather detested
the crusaders, as members of the Latin Church, he yet thought it highly
doubtful that in feats of battle they could have been met and overcome
by the Grecian forces.

"At any rate," said Alexius, rightly interpreting his silence, "if
vanquished, I had fallen under my shield as a Greek emperor should, nor
had I been forced into these mean measures of attacking men by stealth,
and with forces disguised as infidels; while the lives of the faithful
soldiers of the empire, who have fallen in obscure skirmishes, had
better, both for them and me, been lost bravely in their ranks,
avowedly fighting for their native emperor and their native country.
Now, and as the matter stands, I shall be handed down to posterity as a
wily tyrant, who engaged his subjects in fatal feuds for the safety of
his own obscure life. Patriarch! these crimes rest not with me, but
with the rebels whose intrigues compelled me into such courses--What,
reverend father, will be my fate hereafter?--and in what light shall I
descend to posterity, the author of so many disasters?"

"For futurity," said the Patriarch, "your grace hath referred yourself
to the holy Church, which hath power to bind and loose; your means of
propitiating her are ample, and I have already indicated such as she
may reasonably expect, in consequence of your repentance and
forgiveness."

"They shall be granted," replied the Emperor, "in their fullest extent;
nor will I injure you in doubting their effect in the next world. In
this present state of existence, however, the favourable opinion of the
Church may do much for me during this important crisis. If we
understand each other, good Zosimus, her doctors and bishops are to
thunder in my behalf, nor is my benefit from her pardon, to be deferred
till the funeral monument closes upon me?"

"Certainly not," said Zosimus; "the conditions which I have already
stipulated being strictly attended to."

"And my memory in history," said Alexius, "in what manner is that to be
preserved?"

"For that," answered the Patriarch, "your Imperial Majesty must trust
to the filial piety and literary talents of your accomplished daughter,
Anna Comnena."

The Emperor shook his head. "This unhappy Caesar," he said, "is like to
make a quarrel between us; for I shall scarce pardon so ungrateful a
rebel as he is, because my daughter clings to him with a woman's
fondness. Besides, good Zosimus, it is not, I believe, the page of a
historian such as my daughter that is most likely to be received
without challenge by posterity. Some Procopius, some philosophical
slave, starving in a garret, aspires to write the life of an Emperor
whom he durst not approach; and although the principal merit of his
production be, that it contains particulars upon the subject which no
man durst have promulgated while the prince was living, yet no man
hesitates to admit such as true when he has passed from the scene."

"On that subject," said Zosimus, "I can neither afford your Imperial
Majesty relief or protection. If, however, your memory is unjustly
slandered upon earth, it will be a matter of indifference to your
Highness, who will be then, I trust, enjoying a state of beatitude
which idle slander cannot assail. The only way, indeed, to avoid it
while on this side of time, would be to write your Majesty's own
memoirs while you are yet in the body; so convinced am I that it is in
your power to assign legitimate excuses for those actions of your life,
which, without your doing so, would seem most worthy of censure."

"Change we the subject," said the Emperor; "and since the danger is
imminent, let us take care for the present, and leave future ages to
judge for themselves.--What circumstance is it, reverend father, in
your opinion, which encourages these conspirators to make so audacious
an appeal to the populace and the Grecian soldiers?"

"Certainly," answered the Patriarch, "the most irritating incident of
your highness's reign was the fate of Ursel, who, submitting, it is
said, upon capitulation, for life, limb, and liberty, was starved to
death by your orders, in the dungeons of the Blacquernal, and whose
courage, liberality, and other popular virtues, are still fondly
remembered by the citizens of this metropolis, and by the soldiers of
the guard, called Immortal."

"And this," said the Emperor, fixing his eye upon his confessor, "your
reverence esteems actually the most dangerous point of the popular
tumult?"

"I cannot doubt," said the Patriarch, "that his very name, boldly
pronounced, and artfully repeated, will be the watchword, as has been
plotted, of a horrible tumult."

"I thank Heaven!" said the Emperor; "on that particular I will be on my
guard. Good-night to your reverence! and, believe me, that all in this
scroll, to which I have set my hand, shall be with the utmost fidelity
accomplished. Be not, however, over-impatient in this business;--such a
shower of benefits falling at once upon the Church, would make men
suspicious that the prelates and ministers proceeded rather as acting
upon a bargain between the Emperor and Patriarch, than as paying or
receiving an atonement offered by a sinner in excuse of his crimes.
This would be injurious, father, both to yourself and me."

"All regular delay," said the Patriarch, "shall be interposed at your
highness's pleasure; and we shall trust to you for recollection that
the bargain, if it could be termed one, was of your own seeking, and
that the benefit to the Church was contingent upon the pardon and the
support which she has afforded to your majesty."

"True," said the Emperor--"most true--nor shall I forget it. Once more
adieu, and forget not what I have told thee. This is a night, Zosimus,
in which the Emperor must toil like a slave, if he means not to return
to the humble Alexius Comnenus, and even then there were no
resting-place."

So saying, he took leave of the Patriarch, who was highly gratified
with the advantages he had obtained for the Church, which many of his
predecessors had struggled for in vain. He resolved, therefore, to
support the staggering Alexius.




CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIFTH.

     Heaven knows its time; the bullet has its billet,
     Arrow and javelin each its destined purpose;
     The fated beasts of Nature's lower strain
     Have each their separate task.
                                            OLD PLAY.


Agelastes, after crossing the Emperor in the manner we have already
described, and after having taken such measures as occurred to him to
ensure the success of the conspiracy, returned to the lodge of his
garden, where the lady of the Count of Paris still remained, her only
companion being an old woman named Vexhelia, the wife of the soldier
who accompanied Bertha to the camp of the Crusaders; the kind-hearted
maiden having stipulated that, during her absence, her mistress was not
to be left without an attendant, and that attendant connected with the
Varangian guard. He had been all day playing the part of the ambitious
politician, the selfish time-server, the dark and subtle conspirator;
and now it seemed, as if to exhaust the catalogue of his various parts
in the human drama, he chose to exhibit himself in the character of the
wily sophist, and justify, or seem to justify, the arts by which he had
risen to wealth and eminence, and hoped even now to arise to royalty
itself.

"Fair Countess," he said, "what occasion is there for your wearing this
veil of sadness over a countenance so lovely?"

"Do you suppose me," said Brenhilda, "a stock, or stone, or a creature
without the feelings of a sensitive being, that I should endure
mortification, imprisonment, danger and distress, without expressing
the natural feelings of humanity? Do you imagine that to a lady like
me, as free as the unreclaimed falcon, you can offer the insult of
captivity, without my being sensible to the disgrace, or incensed
against the authors of it? And dost thou think that I will receive
consolation at thy hands--at thine--one of the most active artificers
in this web of treachery in which I am so basely entangled?"

"Not entangled certainly by my means"--answered Agelastes; "clap your
hands, call for what you wish, and the slave who refuses instant
obedience had better been unborn. Had I not, with reference to your
safety and your honour, agreed for a short time to be your keeper, that
office would have been usurped by the Caesar, whose object you know,
and may partly guess the modes by which it would be pursued. Why then
dost thou childishly weep at being held for a short space in an
honourable restraint, which the renowned arms of your husband will
probably put an end to long ere to-morrow at noon?"

"Canst thou not comprehend," said the Countess, "thou man of many
words, but of few honourable thoughts, that a heart like mine, which
has been trained in the feelings of reliance upon my own worth and
valour, must be necessarily affected with shame at being obliged to
accept, even from the sword of a husband, that safety which I would
gladly have owed only to my own?"

"Thou art misled, Countess," answered the philosopher, "by thy pride, a
failing predominant in woman. Thinkest thou there has been no offensive
assumption in laving aside the character of a mother and a wife, and
adopting that of one of those brain-sick female fools, who, like the
bravoes of the other sex, sacrifice every thing that is honourable or
useful to a frantic and insane affectation of courage? Believe me, fair
lady, that the true system of virtue consists in filling thine own
place gracefully in society, breeding up thy children, and delighting
those of the other sex, and any thing beyond this, may well render thee
hateful or terrible, but can add nothing to thy amiable qualities."

"Thou pretendest," said the Countess, "to be a philosopher; methinks
thou shouldst know, that the fame which hangs its chaplet on the tomb
of a brave hero or heroine, is worth all the petty engagements in which
ordinary persons spend the current of their time. One hour of life,
crowded to the full with glorious action, and filled with noble risks,
is worth whole years of those mean observances of paltry decorum, in
which men steal through existence, like sluggish waters through a
marsh, without either honour or observation."

"Daughter," said Agelastes, approaching near to the lady, "it is with
pain I see you bewildered in errors which a little calm reflection
might remove. We may flatter ourselves, and human vanity usually does
so, that beings infinitely more powerful than those belonging to mere
humanity, are employed daily in measuring out the good and evil of this
world, the termination of combats, or the fate of empires, according to
their own ideas of what is right or wrong, or, more properly, according
to what we ourselves conceive to be such. The Greek heathens, renowned
for their wisdom, and glorious for their actions, explained to men of
ordinary minds the supposed existence of Jupiter and his Pantheon,
where various deities presided over various virtues and vices, and
regulated the temporal fortune and future happiness of such as
practised them. The more learned and wise of the ancients rejected such
the vulgar interpretation, and wisely, although affecting a deference
to the public faith, denied before their disciples in private, the
gross fallacies of Tartarus and Olympus, the vain doctrines concerning
the gods themselves, and the extravagant expectations which the vulgar
entertained of an immortality, supposed to be possessed by creatures
who were in every respect mortal, both in the conformation of their
bodies, and in the internal belief of their souls. Of these wrise and
good men some granted the existence of the supposed deities, but denied
that they cared about the actions of mankind any more than those of the
inferior animals. A merry, jovial, careless life, such as the followers
of Epicurus would choose for themselves, was what they assigned for
those gods whose being they admitted. Others, more bold or more
consistent, entirely denied the existence of deities who apparently had
no proper object or purpose, and believed that such of them, whose
being and attributes were proved to us by no supernatural appearances,
had in reality no existence whatever."

"Stop, wretch!" said the Countess, "and know that thou speakest not to
one of those blinded heathens, of whose abominable doctrines you are
detailing the result. Know, that if an erring, I am nevertheless a
sincere daughter of the Church, and this cross displayed on my
shoulder, is a sufficient emblem of the vows I have undertaken in its
cause. Bo therefore wary, as thou art wily; for, believe me, if thou
scoffest or utterest reproach against my holy religion, what I am
unable to answer in language, I will reply to, without hesitation, with
the point of my dagger."

"To that argument" said Agelastes, drawing back from the neighbourhood
of Brenhilda, "believe me, fair lady, I am very willing to urge your
gentleness. But although I shall not venture to say any thing of those
superior and benevolent powers to whom you ascribe the management of
the world, you will surely not take offence at my noticing those base
superstitions which have been adopted in explanation of what is called
by the Magi, the Evil Principle. Was there ever received into a human
creed, a being so mean--almost so ridiculous--as the Christian Satan? A
goatish figure and limbs, with grotesque features, formed to express
the most execrable passions; a degree of power scarce inferior to that
of the Deity; and a talent at the same time scarce equal to that of the
stupidest of the lowest order! What is he, this being, who is at least
the second arbiter of the human race, save an immortal spirit, with the
petty spleen and spite of a vindictive old man or old woman?"

Agelastes made a singular pause in this part of his discourse. A mirror
of considerable size hung in the apartment, so that the philosopher
could see in its reflection the figure of Brenhilda, and remark the
change of her countenance, though she had averted her face from him in
hatred of the doctrines which he promulgated. On this glass the
philosopher had his eyes naturally fixed, and he was confounded at
perceiving a figure glide from behind the shadow of a curtain, and
glare at him with the supposed mien and expression of the Satan of
monkish mythology, or a satyr of the heathen age.

"Man!" said Brenhilda, whose attention was attracted by this
extraordinary apparition, as it seemed, of the fiend, "have thy wicked
words, and still more wicked thoughts, brought the devil amongst us? If
so, dismiss him instantly, else, by Our Lady of the Broken Lances! thou
shalt know better than at present, what is the temper of a Frankish
maiden, when in presence of the fiend himself, and those who pretend
skill to raise him! I wish not to enter into a contest unless
compelled; but if I am obliged to join battle with an enemy so
horrible, believe me, no one shall say that Brenildha feared him."

Agelastes, after looking with surprise and horror at the figure as
reflected in the glass, turned back his head to examine the substance,
of which the reflection was so strange. The object, however, had
disappeared behind the curtain, under which it probably lay hid, and it
was after a minute or two that the half-gibing, half-scowling
countenance showed itself again in the same position in the mirror.

"By the gods!" said Agelastes--

"In whom but now," said the Countess, "you professed unbelief."

"By the gods!" repeated Agelastes, in part recovering himself, "it is
Sylvan! that singular mockery of humanity, who was said to have been
brought from Taprobana. I warrant he also believes in his jolly god
Pan, or the veteran Sylvanus. He is to the uninitiated a creature whose
appearance is full of terrors, but he shrinks before the philosopher
like ignorance before knowledge." So saying, he with one hand pulled
down the curtain, under which the animal had nestled itself when it
entered from the garden-window of the pavilion, and with the other, in
which he had a staff uplifted, threatened to chastise the creature,
with the words,--"How now, Sylvanus! what insolence is this?--To your
place!"

As, in uttering these words, he struck the animal, the blow unluckily
lighted upon his wounded hand, and recalled its bitter smart. The wild
temper of the creature returned, unsubdued for the moment by any awe of
man; uttering a fierce, and, at the same time, stifled cry, it flew on
the philosopher, and clasped its strong and sinewy arms about his
throat with the utmost fury. The old man twisted and struggled to
deliver himself from the creature's grasp, but in vain. Sylvan kept
hold of his prize, compressed his sinewy arms, and abode by his purpose
of not quitting his hold of the philosopher's throat till he had
breathed his last. Two more bitter yells, accompanied each with a
desperate contortion of the countenance, and squeeze of the hands,
concluded, in less than five minutes, the dreadful strife. Agelastes
lay dead upon the ground, and his assassin Sylvan, springing from the
body as if terrified and alarmed at what he had done, made his escape
by the window. The Countess stood in astonishment, not knowing exactly
whether she had witnessed a supernatural display of the judgment of
Heaven, or an instance of its vengeance by mere mortal means. Her new
attendant Vexhelia was no less astonished, though her acquaintance with
the animal was considerably more intimate.

"Lady," she said, "that gigantic creature is an animal of great
strength, resembling mankind in form, but huge in its size, and,
encouraged by its immense power, sometimes malevolent in its
intercourse with mortals. I have heard the Varangians often talk of it
as belonging to the Imperial museum. It is fitting we remove the body
of this unhappy man, and hide it in a plot of shrubbery in the garden.
It is not likely that he will be missed to-night, and to-morrow there
will be other matter astir, which will probably prevent much enquiry
about him." The Countess Brenhilda assented, for she was not one of
those timorous females to whom the countenances of the dead are objects
of terror.

Trusting to the parole which she had given, Agelastes had permitted the
Countess and her attendant the freedom of his gardens, of that part at
least adjacent to the pavilion. They therefore were in little risk of
interruption as they bore forth the dead body between them, and without
much trouble disposed of it in the thickest part of one of the bosquets
with which the garden was studded.

As they returned to their place of abode or confinement, the Countess,
half speaking to herself, half addressing Vexhelia, said, "I am sorry
for this; not that the infamous wretch did not deserve the full
punishment of Heaven coming upon him in the very moment of blasphemy
and infidelity, but because the courage and truth of the unfortunate
Brenhilda may be brought into suspicion, as his slaughter took place
when he was alone with her and her attendant, and as no one was witness
of the singular manner in which the old blasphemer met his end.--Thou
knowest," she added, addressing herself to Heaven--"thou! blessed Lady
of the Broken Lances, the protectress both of Brenhilda and her
husband, well knowest, that whatever faults may be mine, I am free from
the slightest suspicion of treachery; and into thy hands I put my
cause, with a perfect reliance upon thy wisdom and bounty to bear
evidence in my favour." So saying, they returned to the lodge unseen,
and with pious and submissive prayers, the Countess closed that
eventful evening.




CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SIXTH.

     Will you hear of a Spanish lady,
     How she wooed an Englishman?
     Garments gay, as rich as may be,
     Deck'd with jewels she had on.
     Of a comely countenance and grace was she,
     And by birth and parentage of high degree.
                                     OLD BALLAD.


We left Alexius Comnenus after he had unloaded his conscience in the
ears of the Patriarch, and received from him a faithful assurance of
the pardon and patronage of the national Church. He took leave of the
dignitary with some exulting exclamations, so unexplicitly expressed,
however, that it was by no means easy to conceive the meaning of what
he said. His first enquiry, when he reached the Blacquernal, being for
his daughter, he was directed to the room encrusted with beautifully
carved marble, from which she herself, and many of her race, derived
the proud appellation of _Porphyrogenita_, or born in the purple. Her
countenance was clouded with anxiety, which, at the sight of her
father, broke out into open and uncontrollable grief.

"Daughter," said the Emperor, with a harshness little common to his
manner, and a seriousness which he sternly maintained, instead of
sympathizing with his daughter's affliction, "as you would prevent the
silly fool with whom you are connected, from displaying himself to the
public both as an ungrateful monster and a traitor, you will not fail
to exhort him, by due submission, to make his petition for pardon,
accompanied with a full confession of his crimes, or, by my sceptre and
my crown, he shall die the death! Nor will I pardon any who rushes upon
his doom in an open tone of defiance, under such a standard of
rebellion as my ungrateful son-in-law has hoisted.

"What can you require of me, father?" said the Princess. "Can you
expect that I am to dip my own hands in the blood of this unfortunate
man; or wilt thou seek a revenge yet more bloody than that which was
exacted by the deities of antiquity, upon those criminals who offended
against their divine power?"

"Think not so, my daughter!" said the Emperor; "but rather believe that
thou hast the last opportunity afforded by my filial affection, of
rescuing, perhaps from death, that silly fool thy husband, who has so
richly deserved it."

"My father," said the Princess, "God knows it is not at your risk that
I would wish to purchase the life of Nicephorus; but he has been the
father of my children, though they are now no more, and women cannot
forget that such a tie has existed, even though it has been broken by
fate. Permit me only to hope that the unfortunate culprit shall have an
opportunity of retrieving his errors; nor shall it, believe me, be my
fault, if he resumes those practices, treasonable at once, and
unnatural, by which his life is at present endangered."

"Follow me, then, daughter," said the Emperor, "and know, that to thee
alone I am about to intrust a secret, upon which the safety of my life
and crown, as well as the pardon of my son-in-law's life, will be found
eventually to depend."

He then assumed in haste the garment of a slave of the Seraglio, and
commanded his daughter to arrange her dress in a more succinct form,
and to take in her hand a lighted lamp.

"Whither are we going, my father?" said Anna Comnena.

"It matters not," replied her father, "since my destiny calls me, and
since thine ordains thee to be my torch-bearer. Believe it, and record
it, if thou darest, in thy book, that Alexius Comnenus does not,
without alarm, descend into those awful dungeons--which his
predecessors built for men, even when his intentions are innocent, and
free from harm.--Be silent, and should we meet any inhabitant of those
inferior regions, speak not a word nor make any observation upon his
appearance."

Passing through the intricate apartments of the palace, they now came
to that large hall through which Hereward had passed on the first night
of his introduction to the place of Anna's recitation called the Temple
of the Muses. It was constructed, as we have said, of black marble,
dimly illuminated. At the upper end of the apartment was a small altar,
on which was laid some incense, while over the smoke was suspended, as
if projecting from the wall, two imitations of human hands and arms,
which were but imperfectly seen.

At the bottom of this hall, a small iron door led to a narrow and
winding staircase, resembling a draw-well in shape and size, the steps
of which were excessively steep, and which the Emperor, after a solemn
gesture to his daughter commanding her attendance, began to descend
with the imperfect light, and by the narrow and difficult steps by
which those who visited the under regions of the Blacquernal seemed to
bid adieu to the light of day. Door after door they passed in their
descent, leading, it was probable, to different ranges of dungeons,
from which was obscurely heard the stifled voice of groans and sighs,
such as attracted Hereward's attention on a former occasion. The
Emperor took no notice of these signs of human misery, and three
stories or ranges of dungeons had been already passed, ere the father
and daughter arrived at the lowest story of the building, the base of
which was the solid rock, roughly carved, upon which were erected the
side-walls and arches of solid but unpolished marble.

"Here," said Alexius Comnenus, "all hope, all expectation takes
farewell, at the turn of a hinge or the grating of a lock. Yet shall
not this be always the case--the dead shall revive and resume their
right, and the disinherited of these regions shall again prefer their
claim to inhabit the upper world. If I cannot entreat Heaven to my
assistance, be assured, my daughter, that rather than be the poor
animal which I have stooped to be thought, and even to be painted in
thy history, I would sooner brave every danger of the multitude which
now erect themselves betwixt me and safety. Nothing is resolved save
that I will live and die an Emperor; and thou, Anna, be assured, that
if there is power in the beauty or in the talents, of which so much has
been boasted, that power shall be this evening exercised to the
advantage of thy parent, from whom it is derived."

"What is it that you mean, Imperial father?--Holy Virgin! is this the
promise you made me to save the life of the unfortunate Nicephorus?"

"And so I will," said the Emperor; "and I am now about that action of
benevolence. But think not I will once more warm in my bosom the
household snake which had so nearly stung me to death. No, daughter, I
have provided for thee a fitting husband, in one who is able to
maintain and defend the rights of the Emperor thy father;--and beware
how thou opposest an obstacle to what is my pleasure! for behold these
walls of marble, though unpolished, and recollect it is as possible to
die within the marble as to be born there."

The Princess Anna Comnena was frightened at seeing her father in a
state of mind entirely different from any which she had before
witnessed. "O, heaven! that my mother were here!" she ejaculated, in
the terror of something she hardly knew what.

"Anna," said the Emperor, "your fears and your screams are alike in
vain. I am one of those, who, on ordinary occasions, hardly nourish a
wish of my own, and account myself obliged to those who, like my wife
and daughter, take care to save me all the trouble of free judgment.
But when the vessel is among the breakers, and the master is called to
the helm, believe that no meaner hand shall be permitted to interfere
with him, nor will the wife and daughter, whom he indulged in
prosperity, be allowed to thwart his will while he can yet call it his
own. Thou couldst scarcely fail to understand that I was almost
prepared to have given thee, as a mark of my sincerity, to yonder
obscure Varangian, without asking question of either birth or blood.
Thou mayst hear when I next promise thee to a three years' inhabitant
of these vaults, who shall be Caesar in Briennius's stead, if I can
move him to accept a princess for his bride, and an imperial crown for
his inheritance, in place of a starving dungeon."

"I tremble at your words, father," said Anna Comnena; "how canst thou
trust a man who has felt thy cruelty?--How canst thou dream that aught
can ever in sincerity reconcile thee to one whom thou hast deprived of
his eyesight?"

"Care not for that," said Alexius; "he becomes mine, or he shall never
know what it is to be again his own.--And thou, girl, mayst rest
assured that, if I will it, thou art next day the bride of my present
captive, or thou retirest to the most severe nunnery, never again to
mix with society. Be silent, therefore, and await thy doom, as it shall
come, and hope not that thy utmost endeavours can avert the current of
thy destiny."

As he concluded this singular dialogue, in which he had assumed a tone
to which his daughter was a stranger, and before which she trembled, he
passed on through more than one strictly fastened door, while his
daughter, with a faltering step, illuminated him on the obscure road.
At length he found admittance by another passage into the cell in which
Ursel was confined, and found him reclining in hopeless misery,--all
those expectations having faded from his heart which the Count of Paris
had by his indomitable gallantry for a time excited. He turned his
sightless eyes towards the place where he heard the moving of bolts and
the approach of steps.

"A new feature," he said, "in my imprisonment--a man comes with a heavy
and determined step, and a woman or a child with one that scarcely
presses the floor!--is it my death that you bring?--Believe me, that I
have lived long enough in these dungeons to bid my doom welcome."

"It is not thy death, noble Ursel," said the Emperor, in a voice
somewhat disguised. Life, liberty, whatever the world has to give, is
placed by the Emperor Alexius at the feet of his noble enemy, and he
trusts that many years of happiness and power, together with the
command of a large share of the empire, will soon obliterate the
recollection of the dungeons of the Blacquernal."

"It cannot be," said Ursel, with a sigh. "He upon whose eyes the sun
has set even at middle day, can have nothing left to hope from the most
advantageous change of circumstances."

"You are not entirely assured of that," said the Emperor; "allow us to
convince you that what is intended towards you is truly favourable and
liberal, and I hope you will be rewarded by finding that there is more
possibility of amendment in your case, than your first apprehensions
are willing to receive. Make an effort, and try whether your eyes are
not sensible of the light of the lamp."

"Do with, me," said Ursel, "according to your pleasure; I have neither
strength to remonstrate, nor the force of mind equal to make me set
your cruelty at defiance. Of something like light I am sensible; but
whether it is reality or illusion, I cannot determine. If you are come
to deliver me from this living sepulchre, I pray God to requite you;
and if, under such deceitful pretence, you mean to take my life, I can
only commend my soul to Heaven, and the vengeance due to my death to
Him who can behold the darkest places in which injustice can shroud
itself."

So saying, and the revulsion of his spirits rendering him unable to
give almost any other signs of existence, Ursel sunk back upon his seat
of captivity, and spoke not another word during the time that Alexius
disembarrassed him of those chains which had so long hung about him,
that they almost seemed to make a part of his person.

"This is an affair in which thy aid can scarce be sufficient, Anna,"
said the Emperor; "it would have been well if you and I could have
borne him into the open air by our joint strength, for there is little
wisdom in showing the secrets of this prison-house to those to whom
they are not yet known; nevertheless, go, my child, and at a short
distance from the head of the staircase which we descended, thou wilt
find Edward, the bold and trusty Varangian, who on your communicating
to him my orders, will come hither and render his assistance; and see
that you send also the experienced leech, Douban." Terrified,
half-stifled, and half struck with horror, the lady yet felt a degree
of relief from the somewhat milder tone in which her father addressed
her. With tottering steps, yet in some measure encouraged by the tenor
of her instructions, she ascended the staircase which yawned upon these
infernal dungeons. As she approached the top, a large and strong figure
threw its broad shadow between the lamp and the opening of the hall.
Frightened nearly to death at the thoughts of becoming the wife of a
squalid wretch like Ursel, a moment of weakness seized upon the
Princess's mind, and, when she considered the melancholy option which
her father had placed before her, she could not but think that the
handsome and gallant Varangian, who had already rescued the royal
family from such imminent danger, was a fitter person with whom to
unite herself, if she must needs make a second choice, than the
singular and disgusting being whom her father's policy had raked from
the bottom of the Blacquernal dungeons.

I will not say of poor Anna Comnena, who was a timid but not an
unfeeling woman, that she would have embraced such a proposal, had not
the life of her present husband Nicephorus Briennius been in extreme
danger; and it was obviously the determination of the Emperor, that if
he spared him, it should be on the sole condition of unloosing his
daughter's hand, and binding her to some one of better faith, and
possessed of a greater desire to prove an affectionate son-in-law.
Neither did the plan of adopting the Varangian as a second husband,
enter decidedly into the mind of the Princess. The present was a moment
of danger, in which her rescue to be successful must be sudden, and
perhaps, if once achieved, the lady might have had an opportunity of
freeing herself both from Ursel and the Varangian, without disjoining
either of them from her father's assistance, or of herself losing it.
At any rate, the surest means of safety were to secure, if possible,
the young soldier, whose features and appearance were of a kind which
rendered the task no way disagreeable to a beautiful woman. The schemes
of conquest are so natural to the fair sex, and the whole idea passed
so quickly through Anna Comnena's mind, that having first entered while
the soldier's shadow was interposed between her and the lamp, it had
fully occupied her quick imagination, when, with deep reverence and
great surprise at her sudden appearance on the ladder of Acheron, the
Varangian advancing, knelt down, and lent his arm to the assistance of
the fair lady, in order to help her out of the dreary staircase.

"Dearest Hereward," said the lady, with a degree of intimacy which
seemed unusual, "how much do I rejoice, in this dreadful night, to have
fallen under your protection! I have been in places which the spirit of
hell appears to have contrived for the human race." The alarm of the
Princess, the familiarity of a beautiful woman, who, while in mortal
fear, seeks refuge, like a frightened dove, in the bosom of the strong
and the brave, must be the excuse of Anna Comnena for the tender
epithet with which she greeted Hereward; nor, if he had chosen to
answer in the same tone, which, faithful as he was, might have proved
the case if the meeting had chanced before he saw Bertha, would the
daughter of Alexius have been, to say the truth, irreconcilably
offended. Exhausted as she was, she suffered herself to repose upon,
the broad breast and shoulder of the Anglo-Saxon; nor did she make an
attempt to recover herself, although the decorum of her sex and station
seemed to recommend such an exertion. Hereward was obliged himself to
ask her, with the unimpassioned and reverential demeanour of a private
soldier to a princess, whether he ought to summon her female
attendants? to which she faintly uttered a negative. "No, no," said
she, "I have a duty to execute for my father, and I must not summon
eye-witnesses;--he knows me to be in safety, Hereward, since he knows I
am with thee; and if I am a burden to you in my present state of
weakness, I shall soon recover, if you will set me down upon the marble
steps."

"Heaven forbid, lady," said Hereward, "that I were thus neglectful of
your Highness's gracious health! I see your two young ladies, Astarte
and Violante, are in quest of you--Permit me to summon them hither, and
I will keep watch upon you, if you are unable to retire to your
chamber, where, methinks, the present disorder of your nerves will be
most properly treated."

"Do as thou wilt, barbarian," said the Princess, rallying herself, with
a certain degree of pique, arising perhaps from her not thinking more
_dramatis personae_ were appropriate to the scene, than the two who
were already upon the stage. Then, as if for the first time, appearing
to recollect the message with which she had been commissioned, she
exhorted the Varangian to repair instantly to her father.

On such occasions, the slightest circumstances have their effect on the
actors. The Anglo-Saxon was sensible that the Princess was somewhat
offended, though whether she was so, on account of her being actually
in Hereward's arms, or whether the cause of her anger was the being
nearly discovered there by the two young maidens, the sentinel did not
presume to guess, but departed for the gloomy vaults to join Alexius,
with the never-failing double-edged axe, the bane of many a Turk,
glittering upon his shoulder.

Astarte and her companion had been despatched by the Empress Irene in
search of Anna Comnena, through those apartments of the palace which
she was wont to inhabit. The daughter of Alexius could nowhere be
found, although the business on which they were seeking her was
described by the Empress as of the most pressing nature. Nothing,
however, in a palace, passes altogether unespied, so that the Empress's
messengers at length received information that their mistress and the
Emperor had been seen to descend that gloomy access to the dungeons,
which, by allusion to the classical infernal regions, was termed the
Pit of Acheron. They came thither, accordingly, and we have related the
consequences. Hereward thought it necessary to say that her Imperial
Highness had swooned upon being suddenly brought into the upper air.
The Princess, on the other part, briskly shook off her juvenile
attendants, and declared herself ready to proceed to the chamber of her
mother. The obeisance which she made Hereward at parting, had something
in it of haughtiness, yet evidently qualified by a look of friendship
and regard. As she passed an apartment in which some of the royal
slaves were in waiting, she addressed to one of them, an old
respectable man, of medical skill, a private and hurried order,
desiring him to go to the assistance of her father, whom he would find
at the bottom of the staircase called the Pit of Acheron, and to take
his scimitar along with him. To hear, as usual, was to obey, and
Douban, for that was his name, only replied by that significant sign
which indicates immediate acquiescence. In the meantime, Anna Comnena
herself hastened onward to her mother's apartments, in which she found
the Empress alone.

"Go hence, maidens," said Irene, "and do not let any one have access to
these apartments, even if the Emperor himself should command it. Shut
the door," she said, "Anna Comnena; and if the jealousy of the stronger
sex do not allow us the masculine privileges of bolts and bars, to
secure the insides of our apartments, let us avail ourselves, as
quickly as may be, of such opportunities as are permitted us; and
remember, Princess, that however implicit your duty to your father, it
is yet more so to me, who am of the same sex with thyself, and may
truly call thee, even according to the letter, blood of my blood, and
bone of my bone. Be assured thy father knows not, at this moment, the
feelings of a woman. Neither he nor any man alive can justly conceive
the pangs of the heart which beats under a woman's robe. These men,
Anna, would tear asunder without scruple the tenderest ties of
affection, the whole structure of domestic felicity, in which lie a
woman's cares, her joy, her pain, her love, and her despair. Trust,
therefore, to me, my daughter, and believe me, I will at once save thy
father's crown and thy happiness. The conduct of thy husband has been
wrong, most cruelly wrong; but, Anna, he is a man--and in calling him
such, I lay to his charge, as natural frailties, thoughtless treachery,
wanton infidelity, every species of folly and inconsistency, to which
his race is subject. You ought not, therefore, to think of his faults,
unless it be to forgive them."

"Madam," said Anna Comnena, "forgive me if I remind you that you
recommend to a princess, born in the purple itself, a line of conduct
which would hardly become the female who carries the pitcher for the
needful supply of water to the village well. All who are around me have
been taught to pay me the obeisance due to my birth, and while this
Nicephorus Briennius crept on his knees to your daughter's hand, which
you extended towards him, he was rather receiving the yoke of a
mistress than accepting a household alliance with a wife. He has
incurred his doom, without a touch even of that temptation which may be
pled by lesser culprits in his condition; and if it is the will of my
father that he should die, or suffer banishment, or imprisonment, for
the crime he has committed, it is not the business of Anna Comnena to
interfere, she being the most injured among the imperial family, who
have in so many, and such gross respects, the right to complain of his
falsehood."

"Daughter," replied the Empress, "so far I agree with you, that the
treason of Nicephorus towards your father and myself has been in a
great degree unpardonable; nor do I easily see on what footing, save
that of generosity, his life could be saved. But still you are yourself
in different circumstances from me, and may, as an affectionate and
fond wife, compare the intimacies of your former habits with the bloody
change which is so soon to be the consequence and the conclusion of his
crimes. He is possessed of that person and of those features which
women most readily recall to their memory, whether alive or dead. Think
what it will cost you to recollect that the rugged executioner received
his last salute,--that the shapely neck had no better repose than the
rough block--that the tongue, the sound of which you used to prefer to
the choicest instruments of music, is silent in the dust!"

Anna, who was not insensible to the personal graces of her husband, was
much affected by this forcible appeal. "Why distress me thus, mother?"
she replied in a weeping accent. "Did I not feel as acutely as you
would have me to do, this moment, however awful, would be easily borne.
I had but to think of him as he is, to contrast his personal qualities
with those of the mind, by which they are more than overbalanced, and
resign myself to his deserved fate with unresisting submission to my
father's will."

"And that," said the Empress, "would be to bind thee, by his sole fiat,
to some obscure wretch, whose habits of plotting and intriguing had, by
some miserable chance, given him the opportunity of becoming of
importance to the Emperor, and who is, therefore, to be rewarded by the
hand of Anna Comnena."

"Do not think so meanly of me, madam," said the Princess--"I know, as
well as ever Grecian maiden did, how I should free myself from
dishonour; and, you may trust me, you shall never blush for your
daughter."

"Tell me not that," said the Empress, "since I shall blush alike for
the relentless cruelty which gives up a once beloved husband to an
ignominious death, and for the passion, for which I want a name, which
would replace him by an obscure barbarian from the extremity of Thule,
or some wretch escaped from the Blacquernal dungeons."

The Princess was astonished to perceive that her mother was acquainted
with the purposes, even the most private, which her father had formed
for his governance during this emergency. She was ignorant that Alexius
and his royal consort, in other respects living together with a decency
ever exemplary in people of their rank, had, sometimes, on interesting
occasions, family debates, in which the husband, provoked by the
seeming unbelief of his partner, was tempted to let her guess more of
his real purposes than he would have coolly imparted of his own calm
choice.

The Princess was affected at the anticipation of the death of her
husband, nor could this have been reasonably supposed to be otherwise;
but she was still more hurt and affronted by her mother taking it for
granted that she designed upon the instant to replace the Caesar by an
uncertain, and at all events an unworthy successor. Whatever
considerations had operated to make Hereward her choice, their effect
was lost when the match was placed in this odious and degrading point
of view; besides which is to be remembered, that women almost
instinctively deny their first thoughts in favour of a suitor, and
seldom willingly reveal them, unless time and circumstance concur to
favour them. She called Heaven therefore passionately to witness, while
she repelled the charge.

"Bear witness," she said, "Our Lady, Queen of Heaven! Bear witness,
saints and martyrs all, ye blessed ones, who are, more than ourselves,
the guardians of our mental purity! that I know no passion which I dare
not avow, and that if Nicephorus's life depended on my entreaty to God
and men, all his injurious acts towards me disregarded and despised, it
should be as long as Heaven gave to those servants whom it snatched
from the earth without suffering the pangs of mortality!"

"You have sworn boldly," said the Empress. "See, Anna Comnena, that you
keep your word, for believe me it will be tried."

"What will be tried, mother?" said the Princess; "or what have I to do
to pronounce the doom of the Caesar, who is not subject to my power?"

"I will show you," said the Empress, gravely; and, leading her towards
a sort of wardrobe, which formed a closet in the wall, she withdrew a
curtain which hung before it, and placed before her her unfortunate
husband, Nicephorus Briennius, half-attired, with his sword drawn in
his hand. Looking upon him as an enemy, and conscious of some schemes
with respect to him which had passed through her mind in the course of
these troubles, the Princess screamed faintly, upon perceiving him so
near her with a weapon in his hand.

"Be more composed," said the Empress, "or this wretched man, if
discovered, falls no less a victim to thy idle fears than to thy
baneful revenge."

Nicephorus at this speech seemed to have adopted his cue, for, dropping
the point of his sword, and falling on his knees before the Princess,
he clasped his hands to entreat for mercy.

"What hast thou to ask from me?" said his wife, naturally assured, by
her husband's prostration, that the stronger force was upon her own
side--"what hast thou to ask from me, that outraged gratitude, betrayed
affection, the most solemn vows violated, and the fondest ties of
nature torn asunder like the spider's broken web, will permit thee to
put in words for very shame?"

"Do not suppose, Anna," replied the suppliant, "that I am at this
eventful period of my life to play the hypocrite, for the purpose of
saving the wretched remnant of a dishonoured existence. I am but
desirous to part in charity with thee, to make my peace with Heaven,
and to nourish the last hope of making my way, though burdened with
many crimes, to those regions in which alone I can find thy beauty, thy
talents, equalled at least, if not excelled."

"You hear him, daughter?" said Irene; "his boon is for forgiveness
alone; thy condition is the more godlike, since thou mayst unite the
safety of his life with the pardon of his offences."

"Thou art deceived, mother," answered Anna. "It is not mine to pardon
his guilt, far less to remit his punishment. You have taught me to
think of myself as future ages shall know me; what will they say of me,
those future ages, when I am described as the unfeeling daughter, who
pardoned the intended assassin of her father, because she saw in him
her own unfaithful husband?"

"See there," said the Caesar, "is not that, most serene Empress, the
very point of despair? and have I not in vain offered my life-blood to
wipe out the stain of parricide and ingratitude? Have I not also
vindicated myself from the most unpardonable part of the accusation,
which charged me with attempting the murder of the godlike Emperor?
Have I not sworn by all that is sacred to man, that my purpose went no
farther than to sequestrate Alexius for a little time from the fatigues
of empire, and place him where he should quietly enjoy ease and
tranquillity? while, at the same time, his empire should be as
implicitly regulated by himself, his sacred pleasure being transmitted
through me, as in any respect, or at any period, it had ever been?"

"Erring man!" said the Princess, "hast thou approached so near to the
footstool of Alexius Comnenus, and durst thou form so false an estimate
of him, as to conceive it possible that he would consent to be a mere
puppet by whose intervention you might have brought his empire into
submission? Know that the blood of Comnenus is not so poor; my father
would have resisted the treason in arms; and by the death of thy
benefactor only couldst thou have gratified the suggestions of thy
criminal ambition."

"Be such your belief," said the Caesar; "I have said enough for a life
which is not and ought not to be dear to me. Call your guards, and let
them take the life of the unfortunate Briennius, since it has become
hateful to his once beloved Anna Comnena. Be not afraid that any
resistance of mine shall render the scene of my apprehension dubious or
fatal. Nicephorus Briennius is Caesar no longer, and he thus throws at
the feet of his Princess and spouse, the only poor means which he has
of resisting the just doom which is therefore at her pleasure to pass."

He cast his sword before the feet of the Princess, while Irene
exclaimed, weeping, or seeming to weep bitterly, "I have indeed read of
such scenes! but could I ever have thought that my own daughter would
have been the principal actress in one of them--could I ever have
thought that her mind, admired by every one as a palace for the
occupation of Apollo and the Muses, should not have had room enough for
the humbler, but more amiable virtue of feminine charity and
compassion, which builds itself a nest in the bosom of the lowest
village girl? Do thy gifts, accomplishments, and talents, spread
hardness as well as polish over thy heart? If so, a hundred times
better renounce them all, and retain in their stead those gentle and
domestic virtues which are the first honours of the female heart. A
woman who is pitiless, is a worse monster than one who is unsexed by
any other passion."

"What would you have me do?" said Anna. "You, mother, ought to know
better than I, that the life of my father is hardly consistent with the
existence of this bold and cruel man. O, I am sure he still meditates
his purpose of conspiracy! He that could deceive a woman in the manner
he has done me, will not relinquish a plan which is founded upon the
death of his benefactor."

"You do me injustice, Anna," said Briennius, starting up, and
imprinting a kiss upon her lips ere she was aware. "By this caress, the
last that will pass between us, I swear, that if in my life I have
yielded to folly, I have, notwithstanding, never been guilty of a
treason of the heart towards a woman as superior to the rest of the
female world in talents and accomplishments, as in personal beauty."

The Princess, much softened, shook her head, as she replied--"Ah,
Nicephorus!--such were once your words! such, perhaps, were then your
thoughts! But who, or what, shall now warrant to me the veracity of
either?"

"Those very accomplishments, and that very beauty itself," replied
Nicephorus.

"And if more is wanting," said Irene, "thy mother will enter her
security for him. Deem her not an insufficient pledge in this affair;
she is thy mother, and the wife of Alexius Comnenus, interested beyond
all human beings in the growth and increase of the power and dignity of
her husband and her child; and one who sees on this occasion an
opportunity for exercising generosity, for soldering up the breaches of
the Imperial house, and reconstructing the frame of government upon a
basis, which, if there be faith and gratitude in man, shall never be
again exposed to hazard."

"To the reality of that faith and gratitude, then," said the Princess,
"we must trust implicitly, as it is your will, mother; although even my
own knowledge of the subject, both through study and experience of the
world, has called me to observe the rashness of such confidence. But
although we two may forgive Nicephorus's errors, the Emperor is still
the person to whom the final reference must be had, both as to pardon
and favour."

"Fear not Alexius," answered her mother; "he will speak determinedly
and decidedly; but, if he acts not in the very moment of forming the
resolution, it is no more to be relied on than an icicle in time of
thaw. Do thou apprize me, if thou canst, what the Emperor is at present
doing, and take my word I will find means to bring him round to our
opinion."

"Must I then betray secrets which my father has intrusted to me?" said
the Princess; "and to one who has so lately held the character of his
avowed enemy?"

"Call it not betray," said Irene, "since it is written thou shalt
betray no one, least of all thy father, and the father of the empire.
Yet again it is written, by the holy Luke, that men shall be betrayed,
both by parents and brethren, and kinsfolk and friends, and therefore
surely also by daughters; by which I only mean thou shalt discover to
us thy father's secrets, so far as may enable us to save the life of
thy husband. The necessity of the case excuses whatever may be
otherwise considered as irregular."

"Be it so then, mother. Having yielded my consent perhaps too easily,
to snatch this malefactor from my father's justice, I am sensible I
must secure his safety by such means as are in my power. I left my
father at the bottom of those stairs, called the Pit of Acheron, in the
cell of a blind man, to whom he gave the name of Ursel."

"Holy Mary!" exclaimed the Empress, "thou hast named a name which has
been long unspoken in the open air."

"Has the Emperor's sense of his danger from the living," said the
Caesar, "induced him to invoke the dead?--for Ursel has been no living
man for the space of three years."

"It matters not," said Anna Comnena; "I tell you true. My father even
now held conference with a miserable-looking prisoner, whom he so
named."

"It is a danger the more," said the Caesar; "he cannot have forgotten
the zeal with which I embraced the cause of the present Emperor against
his own; and so soon as he is at liberty, he will study to avenge it.
For this we must endeavour to make some provision, though it increases
our difficulties.--Sit down then, my gentle, my beneficent mother; and
thou, my wife, who hast preferred thy love for an unworthy husband to
the suggestions of jealous passion and of headlong revenge, sit down,
and let us see in what manner it may be in our power, consistently with
your duty to the Emperor, to bring our broken vessel securely into
port."

He employed much natural grace of manner in handing the mother and
daughter to their seats; and, taking his place confidentially between
them, all were soon engaged in concerting what measures should be taken
for the morrow, not forgetting such as should at once have the effect
of preserving the Caesar's life, and at the same time of securing the
Grecian empire against the conspiracy of which he had been the chief
instigator. Briennius ventured to hint, that perhaps the best way would
be to suffer the conspiracy to proceed as originally intended, pledging
his own faith that the rights of Alexius should be held inviolate
during the struggle; but his influence over the Empress and her
daughter did not extend to obtaining so great a trust. They plainly
protested against permitting him to leave the palace, or taking the
least share in the confusion which to-morrow was certain to witness.

"You forget, noble ladies," said the Caesar, "that my honour is
concerned in meeting the Count of Paris."

"Pshaw! tell me not of your honour, Briennius," said Anna Comnena; "do
I not well know, that although the honour of the western knights be a
species of Moloch, a flesh-devouring, blood-quaffing demon, yet that
which is the god of idolatry to the eastern warriors, though equally
loud and noisy in the hall, is far less implacable in the field?
Believe not that I have forgiven great injuries and insults, in order
to take such false coin as _honour_ in payment; your ingenuity is but
poor, if you cannot devise some excuse which will satisfy the Greeks;
and in good sooth, Briennius, to this battle you go not, whether for
your good or for your ill. Believe not that I will consent to your
meeting either Count or Countess, whether in warlike combat or amorous
parley. So you may at a word count upon remaining prisoner here until
the hour appointed for such gross folly be past and over."

The Caesar, perhaps, was not in his heart angry that his wife's
pleasure was so bluntly and resolutely expressed against the intended
combat. "If," said he, "you are determined to take my honour into your
own keeping, I am here for the present your prisoner, nor have I the
means of interfering with your pleasure. When once at liberty, the free
exercise of my valour and my lance is once more my own."

"Be it so, Sir Paladin," said the Princess, very composedly. "I have
good hope that neither of them will involve you with any of yon
dare-devils of Paris, whether male or female, and that we will regulate
the pitch to which your courage soars, by the estimation of Greek
philosophy, and the judgment of our blessed Lady of Mercy, not her of
the Broken Lances."

At this moment an authoritative knock at the door alarmed the
consultation of the Caesar and the ladies.




CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SEVENTH.

     Physician. Be comforted, good madam; the great rage,
     You see is cured in him: and yet it is danger
     To make him even o'er the time he has lost.
     Desire him to go in: trouble him no more,
     Till further settling.
                           KING LEAR.


We left the Emperor Alexius Comnenus at the bottom of a subterranean
vault, with a lamp expiring, and having charge of a prisoner, who
seemed himself nearly reduced to the same extremity. For the first two
or three moments, he listened after his daughter's retiring footsteps.
He grew impatient, and began to long for her return before it was
possible she could have traversed the path betwixt him and the summit
of these gloomy stairs. A minute or two he endured with patience the
absence of the assistance which he had sent her to summon; but strange
suspicions began to cross his imagination. Could it be possible? Had
she changed her purpose on account of the hard words which he had used
towards her? Had she resolved to leave her father to his fate in his
hour of utmost need? and was he to rely no longer upon the assistance
which he had implored her to send?

The short time which the Princess trifled away in a sort of gallantry
with the Varangian Hereward, was magnified tenfold by the impatience of
the Emperor, who began to think that she was gone to fetch the
accomplices of the Caesar to assault their prince in his defenceless
condition, and carry into effect their half-disconcerted conspiracy.

After a considerable time, filled up with this feeling of agonizing
uncertainty, he began at length, more composedly, to recollect the
little chance there was that the Princess would, even for her own sake,
resentful as she was in the highest degree of her husband's ill
behaviour, join her resources to his, to the destruction of one who had
so generally showed himself an indulgent and affectionate father. When
he had adopted this better mood, a step was heard upon the staircase,
and after a long and unequal descent, Hereward, in his heavy armour, at
length coolly arrived at the bottom of the steps. Behind him, panting
and trembling, partly with cold and partly with terror, came Douban,
the slave well skilled in medicine.

"Welcome, good Edward! Welcome, Douban!" he said, "whose medical skill
is sufficiently able to counterbalance the weight of years which hang
upon him."

"Your Highness is gracious," said Douban--but what he would have
farther said was cut off by a violent fit of coughing, the consequence
of his age, of his feeble habit, of the damps of the dungeon, and the
rugged exercise of descending the long and difficult staircase.

"Thou art unaccustomed to visit thy patients in so rough an abode,"
said Alexius; "and, nevertheless, to the damps of these dreary regions
state necessity obliges us to confine many, who are no less our beloved
subjects in reality than they are in title."

The medical man continued his cough, perhaps as an apology for not
giving that answer of assent, with which his conscience did not easily
permit him to reply to an observation, which, though stated by one who
should know the fact, seemed not to be in itself altogether likely.

"Yes, my Douban," said the Emperor, "in this strong case of steel and
adamant have we found it necessary to enclose the redoubted Ursel,
whose fame is spread through the whole world, both for military skill,
political wisdom, personal bravery, and other noble gifts, which we
have been obliged to obscure for a time, in order that we might, at the
fittest conjuncture, which is now arrived, restore them to the world in
their full lustre. Feel his pulse, therefore, Douban--consider him as
one who hath suffered severe confinement, with all its privations, and
is about to be suddenly restored to the full enjoyment of life, and
whatever renders life valuable."

"I will do my best," said Douban; "but your Majesty must consider, that
we work upon a frail and exhausted subject, whose health seems already
wellnigh gone, and may perhaps vanish in an instant--like this pale and
trembling light, whose precarious condition the life-breath of this
unfortunate patient seems closely to resemble."

"Desire, therefore, good Douban, one or two of the mutes who serve in
the interior, and who have repeatedly been thy assistants in such
cases--or stay--Edward, thy motions will be more speedy; do thou go for
the mutes--make them bring some kind of litter to transport the
patient; and, Douban, do thou superintend the whole. Transport him
instantly to a suitable apartment, only taking care that it be secret,
and let him enjoy the comforts of the bath, and whatever else may tend
to restore his feeble animation--keeping in mind, that he must, if
possible, appear to-morrow in the field."

"That will be hard," said Douban, "after having been, it would appear.
subjected to such fare and such usage as his fluctuating pulse
intimates but too plainly."

"'Twas a mistake of the dungeon-keeper, the inhuman villain, who should
not go without his reward," continued the Emperor, "had not Heaven
already bestowed it by the strange means of a sylvan man, or native of
the woods, who yesterday put to death the jailor who meditated the
death of his prisoner--Yes, my dear Douban, a private sentinel of our
guards called the Immortal, had wellnigh annihilated this flower of our
trust, whom for a time we were compelled to immure in secret. Then,
indeed, a rude hammer had dashed to pieces an unparalleled brilliant,
but the fates have arrested such a misfortune."

The assistance having arrived, the physician, who seemed more
accustomed to act than to speak, directed a bath to be prepared with
medicated herbs, and gave it as his opinion, that the patient should
not be disturbed till to-morrow's sun was high in the heavens. Ursel
accordingly was assisted to the bath, which was employed according to
the directions of the physician; but without affording any material
symptoms of recovery. From thence he was transferred to a cheerful
bedchamber, opening by an ample window to one of the terraces of the
palace, which commanded an extensive prospect. These operations were
performed upon a frame so extremely stupified by previous suffering, so
dead to the usual sensations of existence, that it was not till the
sensibility should be gradually restored by friction of the stiffened
limbs, and other means, that the leech hoped the mists of the intellect
should at length begin to clear away.

Douban readily undertook to obey the commands of the Emperor, and
remained by the bed of the patient until the dawn of morning, ready to
support nature as far as the skill of leechcraft admitted.

From the mutes, much more accustomed to be the executioners of the
Emperor's displeasure than of his humanity, Douban selected one man of
milder mood, and by Alexius's order, made him understand, that the ask
in which he was engaged was to be kept most strictly secret, while the
hardened slave was astonished to find that the attentions paid to the
sick were to be rendered with yet more mystery than the bloody offices
of death and torture.

The passive patient received the various acts of attention which were
rendered to him in silence; and if not totally without consciousness,
at least without a distinct comprehension of their object. After the
soothing operation of the bath, and the voluptuous exchange of the rude
and musty pile of straw, on which he had stretched himself for years,
for a couch of the softest down, Ursel was presented with a sedative
draught, slightly tinctured with an opiate. The balmy restorer of
nature came thus invoked, and the captive sunk into a delicious slumber
long unknown to him, and which seemed to occupy equally his mental
faculties and his bodily frame, while the features were released from
their rigid tenor, and the posture of the limbs, no longer disturbed by
fits of cramp, and sudden and agonizing twists and throes, seemed
changed for a placid state of the most perfect ease and tranquillity.

The morn was already colouring the horizon, and the freshness of the
breeze of dawn had insinuated itself into the lofty halls of the palace
of the Blacquernal, when a gentle tap at the door of the chamber
awakened Douban, who, undisturbed from the calm state of his patient,
had indulged himself in a brief repose. The door opened, and a figure
appeared, disguised in the robes worn by an officer of the palace, and
concealed, beneath an artificial beard of great size, and of a white
colour, the features of the Emperor himself. "Douban," said Alexius,
"how fares it with thy patient, whose safety is this day of such
consequence to the Grecian state?"

"Well, my lord," replied the physician, "excellently well; and if he is
not now disturbed, I will wager whatever skill I possess, that nature,
assisted by the art of the physician, will triumph over the damps and
the unwholesome air of the impure dungeon. Only be prudent, my lord,
and let not an untimely haste bring this Ursel forward into the contest
ere he has arranged the disturbed current of his ideas, and recovered,
in some degree, the spring of his mind, and the powers of his body."

"I will rule my impatience," said the Emperor, "or rather, Douban, I
will be ruled by thee. Thinkest thou he is awake?"

"I am inclined to think so," said the leech, "but he opens not his
eyes, and seems to me as if he absolutely resisted the natural impulse
to rouse himself and look around him."

"Speak to him," said the Emperor, "and let us know what is passing in
his mind."

"It is at some risk," replied the physician, "but you shall be obeyed.
--Ursel," he said, approaching the bed of his blind patient, and then,
in a louder tone, he repeated again, "Ursel! Ursel!"

"Peace--Hush!" muttered the patient; "disturb not the blest in their
ecstacy--nor again recall the most miserable of mortals to finish the
draught of bitterness which his fate had compelled him to commence."

"Again, again," said the Emperor, aside to Douban, "try him yet again;
it is of importance for me to know in what degree he possesses his
senses, or in what measure they have disappeared from him."

"I would not, however," said the physician, "be the rash and guilty
person, who, by an ill-timed urgency, should produce a total alienation
of mind and plunge him back either into absolute lunacy, or produce a
stupor in which he might remain for a long period."

"Surely not," replied the Emperor: "my commands are those of one
Christian to another, nor do I wish them farther obeyed than as they
are consistent with the laws of God and man."

He paused for a moment after this declaration, and yet but few minutes
had elapsed ere he again urged the leech to pursue the interrogation of
his patient. "If you hold me not competent," said Douban, somewhat vain
of the trust necessarily reposed in him, "to judge of the treatment of
my patient, your Imperial Highness must take the risk and the trouble
upon yourself."

"Marry, I shall," said the Emperor, "for the scruples of leeches are
not to be indulged, when the fate of kingdoms and the lives of monarchs
are placed against them in the scales.--Rouse thee, my noble Ursel!
hear a voice, with which thy ears were once well acquainted, welcome
thee back to glory and command! Look around thee, and see how the world
smiles to welcome thee back from imprisonment to empire!"

"Cunning fiend!" said Ursel, "who usest the most wily baits in order to
augment the misery of the wretched! Know, tempter, that I am conscious
of the whole trick of the soothing images of last night--thy baths--thy
beds--and thy bowers of bliss.--But sooner shalt thou be able to bring
a smile upon the cheek of St. Anthony the Eremite, than induce me to
curl mine after the fashion of earthly voluptuaries."

"Try it, foolish man," insisted the Emperor, "and trust to the evidence
of thy senses for the reality of the pleasures by which thou art now
surrounded; or, if thou art obstinate in thy lack of faith, tarry as
thou art for a single moment, and I will bring with me a being so
unparalleled in her loveliness, that a single glance of her were worth
the restoration of thine eyes, were it only to look upon her for a
moment." So saying he left the apartment.

"Traitor," said Ursel, "and deceiver of old, bring no one hither! and
strive not, by shadowy and ideal forms of beauty, to increase the
delusion that gilds my prison-house for a moment, in order, doubtless,
to destroy totally the spark of reason, and then exchange this earthly
hell for a dungeon in the infernal regions themselves."

"His mind is somewhat shattered," mused the physician, "which is often
the consequence of a long solitary confinement. I marvel much," was his
farther thought, "if the Emperor can shape out any rational service
which this man can render him, after being so long immured in so
horrible a dungeon.--Thou thinkest, then," continued he, addressing the
patient, "that the seeming release of last night, with its baths and
refreshments, was only a delusive dream, without any reality?"

"Ay--what else?" answered Ursel.

"And that the arousing thyself, as we desire thee to do, would be but a
resigning to a vain temptation, in order to wake to more unhappiness
than formerly?"

"Even so," returned the patient.

"What, then, are thy thoughts of the Emperor by whose command thou
sufferest so severe a restraint?"

Perhaps Douban wished he had forborne this question, for, in the very
moment when he put it, the door of the chamber opened, and the Emperor
entered, with his daughter hanging upon his arm, dressed with
simplicity, yet with becoming splendour. She had found time, it seems,
to change her dress for a white robe, which resembled a kind of
mourning, the chief ornament of which was a diamond chaplet, of
inestimable value, which surrounded and bound the long sable tresses,
that reached from her head to her waist. Terrified almost to death, she
had been surprised by her father in the company of her husband the
Caesar, and her mother; and the same thundering mandate had at once
ordered Briennius, in the character of a more than suspected traitor,
under the custody of a strong guard of Varangians, and commanded her to
attend her father to the bedchamber of Ursel, in which she now stood;
resolved, however, that she would stick by the sinking fortunes of her
husband, even in the last extremity, yet no less determined that she
would not rely upon her own entreaties or remonstrances, until she
should see whether her father's interference was likely to reassume a
resolved and positive character. Hastily as the plans of Alexius had
been formed, and hastily as they had been disconcerted by accident,
there remained no slight chance that he might be forced to come round
to the purpose on which his wife and daughter had fixed their heart,
the forgiveness, namely, of the guilty Nicephorus Briennius. To his
astonishment, and not perhaps greatly to his satisfaction, he heard the
patient deeply engaged with the physician in canvassing his own
character.

"Think not," said Ursel in reply to him, "that though I am immured in
this dungeon, and treated as something worse than an outcast of
humanity--and although I am, moreover, deprived of my eyesight, the
dearest gift of Heaven--think not, I say, though I suffer all this by
the cruel will of Alexius Comnenus, that therefore I hold him to be
mine enemy; on the contrary, it is by his means that the blinded and
miserable prisoner has been taught to seek a liberty far more
unconstrained than this poor earth can afford, and a vision far more
clear than any Mount Pisgah on this wretched side of the grave can give
us: Shall I therefore account the Emperor among mine enemies? He who
has taught me the vanity of earthly things--the nothingness of earthly
enjoyments--and the pure hope of a better world, as a certain exchange
for the misery of the present? No!"

The Emperor had stood somewhat disconcerted at the beginning of this
speech, but hearing it so very unexpectedly terminate, as he was
willing to suppose, much in his own favour, he threw himself into an
attitude which was partly that of a modest person listening to his own
praises, and partly that of a man highly struck with the commendations
heaped upon him by a generous adversary.

"My friend," he said aloud, "how truly do you read my purpose, when you
suppose that the knowledge which men of your disposition can extract
from evil, was all the experience which I wished you to derive from a
captivity protracted by adverse circumstances, far, very far, beyond my
wishes! Let me embrace the generous man who knows so well how to
construe the purpose of a perplexed, but still faithful friend."

The patient raised himself in his bed.

"Hold there!" he said, "methinks my faculties begin to collect
themselves. Yes," he muttered, "that is the treacherous voice which
first bid me welcome as a friend, and then commanded fiercely that I
should be deprived of the sight of my eyes!--Increase thy rigour if
thou wilt, Comnenus--add, if thou canst, to the torture of my
confinement--but since I cannot see thy hypocritical and inhuman
features, spare me, in mercy, the sound of a voice, more distressing to
mine ear than toads, than serpents,--than whatever nature has most
offensive and disgusting!"

This speech was delivered with so much energy, that it was in vain that
the Emperor strove to interrupt its tenor; although he himself, as well
as Douban and his daughter, heard a great deal more of the language of
unadorned and natural passion than he had counted upon.

"Raise thy head, rash man," he said, "and charm thy tongue, ere it
proceed in a strain which may cost thee dear. Look at me, and see if I
have not reserved a reward capable of atoning for all the evil which
thy folly may charge to my account."

Hitherto the prisoner had remained with his eyes obstinately shut,
regarding the imperfect recollection he had of sights which had been
before his eyes the foregoing evening, as the mere suggestion of a
deluded imagination, if not actually presented by some seducing spirit.
But now when his eyes fairly encountered the stately figure of the
Emperor, and the graceful form of his lovely daughter, painted in the
tender rays of the morning dawn, he ejaculated faintly, "I see!--I
see!"--And with that ejaculation fell back on the pillow in a swoon,
which instantly found employment for Douban and his restoratives.

"A most wonderful cure indeed!" exclaimed the physician; "and the
height of my wishes would be to possess such another miraculous
restorative."

"Fool!" said the Emperor; "canst thou not conceive that what has never
been taken away is restored with little difficulty? He was made," he
said, lowering his voice, "to undergo a painful operation, which led
him to believe that the organs of sight were destroyed; and as light
scarcely ever visited him, and when it did, only in doubtful and
invisible glimmerings, the prevailing darkness, both physical and
mental, that surrounded him, prevented him from being sensible of the
existence of that precious faculty, of which he imagined himself
bereft. Perhaps thou wilt ask my reason for inflicting upon him so
strange a deception?--Simply it was, that being by it conceived
incapable of reigning, his memory might pass out of the minds of the
public, while, at the same time, I reserved his eyesight, that in case
occasion should call, it might be in my power once more to liberate him
from his dungeon, and employ, as I now propose to do, his courage and
talents in the service of the empire, to counterbalance those of other
conspirators."

"And can your imperial Highness," said Douban, "hope that you have
acquired this man's duty and affection by the conduct you have observed
to him?"

"I cannot tell," answered the Emperor; "that must be as futurity shall
determine. All I know is, that it is no fault of mine, if Ursel does
not reckon freedom and a long course of Empire--perhaps sanctioned by
an alliance with our own blood--and the continued enjoyment of the
precious organs of eyesight, of which a less scrupulous man would have
deprived him, against a maimed and darkened existence."

"Since such is your Highness's opinion and resolution," said Douban,
"it is for me to aid, and not to counteract it. Permit me, therefore,
to pray your Highness and the Princess to withdraw, that I may use such
remedies as may confirm a mind which has been so strangely shaken, and
restore to him fully the use of those eyes, of which he has been so
long deprived."

"I am content, Douban," said the Emperor; "but take notice, Ursel is
not totally at liberty until he has expressed the resolution to become
actually mine. It may behove both him and thee to know, that although
there is no purpose of remitting him to the dungeons of the Blacquernal
palace, yet if he, or any on his part, should aspire to head a party in
these feverish times,--by the honour of a gentleman, to swear a
Frankish oath, he shall find that he is not out of the reach of the
battle-axes of my Varangians. I trust to thee to communicate this fact,
which concerns alike him and all who have interest in his
fortunes.--Come, daughter, we will withdraw, and leave the leech with
his patient --Take notice, Douban, it is of importance that you
acquaint me the very first moment when the patient can hold rational
communication with me."

Alexius and his accomplished daughter departed accordingly.




CHAPTER THE TWENTY-EIGHTH.

     Sweet are the uses of adversity,
     Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
     Bears yet a precious jewel in its head.
                             AS YOU LIKE IT.


From a terraced roof of the Blacquernal palace, accessible by a
sash-door, which opened from the bed-chamber of Ursel, there was
commanded one of the most lovely and striking views which the romantic
neighbourhood of Constantinople afforded.

After suffering him to repose and rest his agitated faculties, it was
to this place that the physician led his patient; for when somewhat
composed, he had of himself requested to be permitted to verify the
truth of his restored eyesight, by looking out once more upon the
majestic face of nature.

On the one hand, the scene which he beheld was a masterpiece of human
art. The proud city, ornamented with stately buildings, as became the
capital of the world, showed a succession of glittering spires and
orders of architecture, some of them chaste and simple, like those the
capitals of which were borrowed from baskets-full of acanthus; some
deriving the fluting of their shafts from the props made originally to
support the lances of the earlier Greeks--forms simple, yet more
graceful in their simplicity, than any which human ingenuity has been
able since to invent. With the most splendid specimens which ancient
art could afford of those strictly classical models were associated
those of a later age, where more modern taste had endeavoured at
improvement, and, by mixing the various orders, had produced such as
were either composite, or totally out of rule. The size of the
buildings in which they were displayed, however, procured them respect;
nor could even the most perfect judge of architecture avoid being
struck by the grandeur of their extent and effect, although hurt by the
incorrectness of the taste in which they were executed. Arches of
triumph, towers, obelisks, and spires, designed for various purposes,
rose up into the air in confused magnificence; while the lower view was
filled by the streets of the city, the domestic habitations forming
long narrow alleys, on either side of which the houses arose to various
and unequal heights, but, being generally finished with terraced
coverings, thick set with plants and flowers, and fountains, had, when
seen from an eminence, a more noble and interesting aspect than is ever
afforded by the sloping and uniform roofs of streets in the capitals of
the north of Europe.

It has taken us some time to give, in words, the idea which was at a
single glance conveyed to Ursel, and affected him at first with great
pain. His eyeballs had been long strangers to that daily exercise,
which teaches us the habit of correcting the scenes as they appear to
our sight, by the knowledge which we derive from the use of our other
senses. His idea of distance was so confused, that it seemed as if all
the spires, turrets, and minarets which he beheld, were crowded forward
upon his eyeballs, and almost touching them. With a shriek of horror,
Ursel turned himself to the further side, and cast his eyes upon a
different scene. Here also he saw towers, steeples, and turrets, but
they were those of the churches and public buildings beneath his feet,
reflected from the dazzling piece of water which formed the harbour of
Constantinople, and which, from the abundance of wealth which it
transported to the city, was well termed the Golden Horn. In one place,
this superb basin was lined with quays, where stately dromonds and
argosies unloaded their wealth, while, by the shore of the haven,
galleys, feluccas, and other small craft, idly flapped the singularly
shaped and snow-white pinions which served them for sails. In other
places the Golden Horn lay shrouded in a verdant mantle of trees, where
the private gardens of wealthy or distinguished individuals, or places
of public recreation, shot down upon and were bounded by the glassy
waters.

On the Bosphorus, which might be seen in the distance, the little fleet
of Tancred was lying in the same station they had gained during the
night, which was fitted to command the opposite landing; this their
general had preferred to a midnight descent upon Constantinople, not
knowing whether, so coming, they might be received as friends or
enemies. This delay, however, had given the Greeks an opportunity,
either by the orders of Alexius, or the equally powerful mandates of
some of the conspirators, to tow six ships of war, full of armed men,
and provided with the maritime offensive weapons peculiar to the Greeks
at that period, which they had moored so as exactly to cover the place
where the troops of Tancred must necessarily land.

This preparation gave some surprise to the valiant Tancred, who did not
know that such vessels had arrived in the harbour from Lemnos on the
preceding night. The undaunted courage of that prince was, however, in
no respect to be shaken by the degree of unexpected danger with which
his adventure now appeared to be attended.

This splendid view, from the description of which we have in some
degree digressed, was seen by the physician and Ursel from a terrace,
the loftiest almost on the palace of the Blacquernal. To the city-ward,
it was bounded by a solid wall, of considerable height, giving a
resting-place for the roof of a lower building, which, sloping outward,
broke to the view the vast height unobscured otherwise save by a high
and massy balustrade, composed of bronze, which, to the havenward, sunk
sheer down upon an uninterrupted precipice.

No sooner, therefore, had Ursel turned his eyes that way, than, though
placed far from the brink of the terrace, he exclaimed, with a shriek,
"Save me--save me! if you are not indeed the destined executors of the
Emperor's will."

"We are indeed such," said Douban, "to save, and if possible to bring
you to complete recovery; but by no means to do you injury, or to
suffer it to be offered by others."

"Guard me then from myself," said Ursel, "and save me from the reeling
and insane desire which I feel to plunge myself into the abyss, to the
edge of which you have guided me."

"Such a giddy and dangerous temptation is," said the physician, "common
to those who have not for a long time looked down from precipitous
heights, and are suddenly brought to them. Nature, however bounteous,
hath not provided for the cessation of our faculties for years, and for
their sudden resumption in full strength and vigour. An interval,
longer or shorter, must needs intervene. Can you not believe this
terrace a safe station while you have my support and that of this
faithful slave?"

"Certainly," said Ursel; "but permit me to turn my face towards this
stone wall, for I cannot bear to look at the flimsy piece of wire,
which is the only battlement of defence that interposes betwixt me and
the precipice." He spoke of the bronze balustrade, six feet high, and
massive in proportion. Thus saying, and holding fast by the physician's
arm, Ursel, though himself a younger and more able man, trembled, and
moved his feet as slowly as if made of lead, until he reached the
sashed-door, where stood a kind of balcony-seat, in which he placed
himself.--"Here," he said, "will I remain."

"And here," said Douban, "will I make the communication of the Emperor,
which it is necessary you should be prepared to reply to. It places
you, you will observe, at your own disposal for liberty or captivity,
but it conditions for your resigning that sweet but sinful morsel
termed revenge, which, I must not conceal from you, chance appears
willing to put into your hand. You know the degree of rivalry in which
you have been held by the Emperor, and you know the measure of evil you
have sustained at his hand. The question is, Can you forgive what has
taken place?"

"Let me wrap my head round with my mantle," said Ursel, "to dispel this
dizziness which still oppresses my poor brain, and as soon as the power
of recollection is granted me, you shall know my sentiments."

He sunk upon the seat, muffled in the way which he described, and after
a few minutes' reflection, with a trepidation which argued the patient
still to be under the nervous feeling of extreme horror mixed with
terror, he addressed Douban thus: "The operation of wrong and cruelty,
in the moment when they are first inflicted, excites, of course, the
utmost resentment of the sufferer; nor is there, perhaps, a passion
which lives so long in his bosom as the natural desire of revenge. If,
then, during the first month, when I lay stretched upon my bed of want
and misery, you had offered me an opportunity of revenge upon my cruel
oppressor, the remnant of miserable life which remained to me should
have been willingly bestowed to purchase it. But a suffering of weeks,
or even months, must not be compared in effect with that of years. For
a short space of endurance, the body, as well as the mind, retains that
vigorous habit which holds the prisoner still connected with life, and
teaches him to thrill at the long-forgotten chain of hopes, of wishes,
of disappointments, and mortifications, which affected his former
existence. But the wounds become callous as they harden, and other and
better feelings occupy their place, while they gradually die away in
forgetfulness. The enjoyments, the amusements of this world, occupy no
part of his time upon whom the gates of despair have once closed. I
tell thee, my kind physician, that for a season, in an insane attempt
to effect my liberty, I cut through a large portion of the living rock.
But Heaven cured me of so foolish an idea; and if I did not actually
come to love Alexius Comnenus--for how could that have been a possible
effect in any rational state of my intellects?--yet as I became
convinced of my own crimes, sins, and follies, the more and more I was
also persuaded that Alexius was but the agent through whom Heaven
exercised a dearly-purchased right of punishing me for my manifold
offences and transgressions; and that it was not therefore upon the
Emperor that my resentment ought to visit itself. And I can now say to
thee, that so far as a man who has undergone so dreadful a change can
be supposed to know his own mind, I feel no desire either to rival
Alexius in a race for empire, or to avail myself of any of the various
proffers which he proposes to me as the price of withdrawing my claim.
Let him keep unpurchased the crown, for which he has paid, in my
opinion, a price which it is not worth."

"This is extraordinary stoicism, noble Ursel," answered the physician
Douban. "Am I then to understand that you reject the fair offers of
Alexius, and desire, instead of all which he is willing--nay, anxious
to bestow--to be committed safely back to thy old blinded dungeon in
the Blacquernal, that you may continue at ease those pietistic
meditations which have already conducted thee to so extravagant a
conclusion?"

"Physician," said Ursel, while a shuddering fit that affected his whole
body testified his alarm at the alternative proposed--"one would
imagine thine own profession might have taught thee, that no mere
mortal man, unless predestined to be a glorified saint, could ever
prefer darkness to the light of day; blindness itself to the enjoyment
of the power of sight; the pangs of starving to competent sustenance,
or the damps of a dungeon to the free air of God's creation. No!--it
may be virtue to do so, but to such a pitch mine does not soar. All I
require of the Emperor for standing by him with all the power my name
can give him at this crisis is, that he will provide for my reception
as a monk in some of those pleasant and well endowed seminaries of
piety, to which his devotion, or his fears, have given rise. Let me not
be again the object of his suspicion, the operation of which is more
dreadful than that of being the object of his hate. Forgotten by power,
as I have myself lost the remembrance of those that wielded it, let me
find my way to the grave, unnoticed, unconstrained, at liberty, in
possession of my dim and disused organs of sight, and, above all, at
peace."

"If such be thy serious and earnest wish, noble Ursel," said the
physician, "I myself have no hesitation to warrant to thee the full
accomplishment of thy religious and moderate desires. But, bethink
thee, thou art once more an inhabitant of the court, in which thou
mayst obtain what thou wilt to-day; while to-morrow, shouldst thou
regret thy indifference, it may be thy utmost entreaty will not suffice
to gain for thee the slightest extension of thy present conditions."

"Be it so," said Ursel; "I will then stipulate for another condition,
which indeed has only reference to this day. I will solicit his
Imperial Majesty, with all humility, to spare me the pain of a personal
treaty between himself and me, and that he will be satisfied with the
solemn assurance that I am most willing to do in his favour all that he
is desirous of dictating; while, on the other hand, I desire only the
execution of those moderate conditions of my future aliment which I
have already told thee at length."

"But wherefore," said Douban, "shouldst thou be afraid of announcing to
the Emperor thy disposition to an agreement, which cannot be esteemed
otherwise than extremely moderate on thy part? Indeed, I fear the
Emperor will insist on a brief personal conference."

"I am not ashamed," said Ursel, "to confess the truth. It is true, that
I have, or think I have, renounced what the Scripture calls the pride
of life; but the old Adam still lives within us, and maintains against
the better part of our nature an inextinguishable quarrel, easy to be
aroused from its slumber, but as difficult to be again couched in
peace. While last night I but half understood that mine enemy was in my
presence, and while my faculties performed but half their duty in
recalling his deceitful and hated accents, did not my heart throb in my
bosom with all the agitation of a taken bird, and shall I again have to
enter into a personal treaty with the man who, be his general conduct
what it may, has been, the constant and unprovoked cause of my
unequalled misery? Douban, no!--to listen to his voice again, were to
hear an alarm sounded to every violent and vindictive passion, of my
heart; and though, may Heaven so help me as my intentions towards him
are upright, yet it is impossible for me to listen to his professions
with a chance of safety either to him or to myself."

"If you be so minded," replied Douban, "I shall only repeat to him your
stipulation, and you must swear to him that you will strictly observe
it. Without this being done, it must be difficult, or perhaps
impossible, to settle the league of which both are desirous."

"Amen!" said Ursel; "and as I am pure in my purpose, and resolved to
keep it to the uttermost, so may Heaven guard me from the influence of
precipitate revenge, ancient grudge, or new quarrel!"

An authoritative knock at the door of the sleeping chamber was now
heard, and Ursel, relieved by more powerful feelings, from the
giddiness of which he had complained, walked firmly into the bedroom,
and seating himself, waited with averted eyes the entrance of the
person who demanded admittance, and who proved to be no other than
Alexius Comnenus.

The Emperor appeared at the door in a warlike dress, suited for the
decoration of a prince who was to witness a combat in the lists fought
out before him.

"Sage Douban," he said, "has our esteemed prisoner, Ursel, made his
choice between our peace and enmity?"

"He hath, my lord," replied the physician, "embraced the lot of that
happy portion of mankind, whose hearts and lives are devoted to the
service of your Majesty's government."

"He will then this day," continued the Emperor, "render me the office
of putting down all those who may pretend to abet insurrection in his
name, and under pretext of his wrongs?"

"He will, my lord," replied the physician, "act to the fullest the part
which you require."

"And in what way," said the Emperor, adopting his most gracious tone of
voice, "would our faithful Ursel desire that services like these,
rendered in the hour of extreme need; should be acknowledged by the
Emperor?"

"Simply," answered Douban, "by saying nothing upon the subject. He
desires only that all jealousies between you and him may be henceforth
forgotten, and that he may be admitted into one of your Highness's
monastic institutions, with leave to dedicate the rest of his life to
the worship of Heaven and its saints."

"Hath he persuaded thee of this, Douban?"--said the Emperor, in a low
and altered voice. "By Heaven! when I consider from what prison he was
brought, and in what guise he inhabited it, I cannot believe in this
gall-less disposition. He must at least speak to me himself, ere I can
believe, in some degree, the transformation of the fiery Ursel into a
being so little capable of feeling the ordinary impulses of mankind."

"Hear me, Alexius Comnenus," said the prisoner; "and so may thine own
prayers to Heaven find access and acceptation, as thou believest the
words which I speak to thee in simplicity of heart. If thine empire of
Greece were made of coined gold, it would hold out no bait for my
acceptance; nor, I thank Heaven, have even the injuries I have
experienced at thy hand, cruel and extensive as they have been,
impressed upon me the slightest desire of requiting treachery with
treachery. Think of me as thou wilt, so thou seek'st not again to
exchange words with me; and believe me, that when thou hast put me
under the most rigid of thy ecclesiastical foundations, the discipline,
the fare, and the vigils, will be far superior to the existence falling
to the share of those whom the King delights to honour, and who
therefore must afford the King their society whenever they are summoned
to do so."

"It is hardly for me," said the physician, "to interpose in so high a
matter; yet, as trusted both by the noble Ursel, and by his Highness
the Emperor, I have made a brief abstract of these short conditions to
be kept by the high parties towards each other, _sub crimine falsi_."

The Emperor protracted the intercourse with Ursel, until he more fully
explained to him the occasion which he should have that very day for
his services. When they parted, Alexius, with a great show of
affection, embraced his late prisoner, while it required all the
self-command and stoicism of Ursel to avoid expressing in plain terms
the extent to which he abhorred the person who thus caressed him.




CHAPTER THE TWENTY-NINTH.

     * * * * O, Conspiracy!
     Sham'st thou to show thy dangerous brow by night,
     When evils are most free? O, then, by day,
     Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough
     To mask thy monstrous visage? Seek none, Conspiracy;
     Hide it in smiles and affability;
     For if thou path thy native semblance on,
     Not Erebus itself were dim enough
     To hide thee from prevention.
                                  JULIUS CAESAR


The important morning at last arrived, on which, by the Imperial
proclamation, the combat between the Caesar and Count Robert of Paris
was appointed to take place. This was a circumstance in a great measure
foreign to the Grecian manners, and to which, therefore, the people
annexed different ideas from those which were associated with the same
solemn decision of God, as the Latins called it, by the Western
nations. The consequence was a vague, but excessive agitation among the
people, who connected the extraordinary strife which they were to
witness, with the various causes which had been whispered abroad as
likely to give occasion to some general insurrection of a great and
terrible nature.

By the Imperial order, regular lists had been prepared for the combat,
with opposite gates, or entrances, as was usual, for the admittance of
the two champions; and it was understood that the appeal was to be made
to the Divinity by each, according to the forms prescribed by the
Church of which the combatants were respectively members. The situation
of these lists was on the side of the shore adjoining on the west to
the continent. At no great distance, the walls of the city were seen,
of various architecture, composed of lime and of stone, and furnished
with no less than four-and-twenty gates, or posterns, five of which
regarded the land, and nineteen the water. All this formed a beautiful
prospect, much of which is still visible. The town itself is about
nineteen miles in circumference; and as it is on all sides surrounded
with lofty cypresses, its general appearance is that of a city arising
out of a stately wood of these magnificent trees, partly shrouding the
pinnacles, obelisks, and minarets, which then marked the site of many
noble Christian temples; but now, generally speaking, intimate the
position of as many Mahomedan mosques.

These lists, for the convenience of spectators, were surrounded on all
sides by long rows of seats, sloping downwards. In the middle of these
seats, and exactly opposite the centre of the lists, was a high throne,
erected for the Emperor himself; and which was separated from the more
vulgar galleries by a circuit of wooden barricades, which an
experienced eye could perceive, might, in case of need, be made
serviceable for purposes of defence.

The lists were sixty yards in length, by perhaps about forty in
breadth, and these afforded ample space for the exercise of the combat,
both on horseback and on foot. Numerous bands of the Greek citizens
began, with the very break of day, to issue from the gates and posterns
of the city, to examine and wonder at the construction of the lists,
pass their criticisms upon the purposes of the peculiar parts of the
fabric, and occupy places, to secure them for the spectacle. Shortly
after arrived a large band of those soldiers who were called the Roman
Immortals. These entered without ceremony, and placed themselves on
either hand of the wooden barricade which fenced the Emperor's seat.
Some of them took even a greater liberty; for, affecting to be pressed
against the boundary, there were individuals who approached the
partition itself, and seemed to meditate climbing over it, and placing
themselves on the same side with the Emperor. Some old domestic slaves
of the household now showed themselves, as if for the purpose of
preserving this sacred circle for Alexius and his court; and, in
proportion as the Immortals began to show themselves encroaching and
turbulent, the strength of the defenders of the prohibited precincts
seemed gradually to increase.

There was, though scarcely to be observed, besides the grand access to
the Imperial seat from without, another opening also from the outside,
secured by a very strong door, by which different persons received
admission beneath the seats destined for the Imperial party. These
persons, by their length of limb, breadth of shoulders, by the fur of
their cloaks, and especially by the redoubted battle-axes which all of
them bore, appeared to be Varangians; but, although neither dressed in
their usual habit of pomp, nor in their more effectual garb of war,
still, when narrowly examined, they might be seen to possess their
usual offensive weapons. These men, entering in separate and straggling
parties, might be observed to join the slaves of the interior of the
palace in opposing the intrusion of the Immortals upon the seat of the
Emperor, and the benches around. Two or three Immortals, who had
actually made good their frolic, and climbed over the division, were
flung back again, very unceremoniously, by the barbaric strength and
sinewy arms of the Varangians.

The people around, and in the adjacent galleries, most of whom had the
air of citizens in their holyday dresses, commented a good deal on
these proceedings, and were inclined strongly to make part with the
Immortals. "It was a shame to the Emperor," they said, "to encourage
these British barbarians to interpose themselves by violence between
his person and the Immortal cohorts of the city, who were in some sort
his own children."

Stephanos, the gymnastic, whose bulky strength and stature rendered him
conspicuous amid this party, said, without hesitation, "If there are
two people here who will join in saying that the Immortals are unjustly
deprived of their right of guarding the Emperor's person, here is the
hand that shall place them beside the Imperial chair."

"Not so," quoth a centurion of the Immortals, whom we have already
introduced to our readers by the name of Harpax; "Not so, Stephanos;
that happy time may arrive, but it is not yet come, my gem of the
circus. Thou knowest that on this occasion it is one of these Counts,
or western Franks, who undertakes the combat; and the Varangians, who
call these people their enemies, have some reason to claim a precedency
in guarding the lists, which it might not at this moment be convenient
to dispute with them. Why, man, if thou wert half so witty as thou art
long, thou wouldst be sensible that it were bad woodmanship to raise
the hollo upon the game, ere it had been driven within compass of the
nets."

While the athlete rolled his huge grey eyes as if to conjure out the
sense of this intimation, his little friend Lysimachus, the artist,
putting himself to pain to stand upon his tiptoe, and look intelligent,
said, approaching as near as he could to Harpax's ear, "Thou mayst
trust me, gallant centurion, that this man. of mould and muscle shall
neither start like a babbling hound on a false scent, nor become mute
and inert, when the general signal is given. But tell me," said he,
speaking very low, and for that purpose mounting a bench, which brought
him on a level with the centurion's ear, "would it not have been better
that a strong guard of the valiant Immortals had been placed in this
wooden citadel, to ensure the object of the day?"

"Without question," said the centurion, "it was so meant; but these
strolling Varangians have altered their station of their own authority."

"Were it not--well," said Lysimachus, "that you, who are greatly more
numerous than the barbarians, should begin a fray before more of these
strangers arrive?"

"Content ye, friend," said the centurion, coldly, "we know our time. An
attack commenced too early would be worse than thrown away, nor would
an opportunity occur of executing our project in the fitting time, if
an alarm were prematurely given at this moment."

So saying, he shuffled off among his fellow-soldiers, so as to avoid
suspicious intercourse with such persons as were only concerned with
the civic portion of the conspirators.

As the morning advanced, and the sun took a higher station in the
horizon, the various persons whom curiosity, or some more decided
motive, brought to see the proposed combat, were seen streaming from
different parts of the town, and rushing to occupy such accommodation
as the circuit round the lists afforded them. In their road to the
place where preparation for combat was made, they had to ascend a sort
of cape, which, in the form of a small hill, projected into the
Hellespont, and the butt of which, connecting it with the shore,
afforded a considerable ascent, and of course a more commanding view of
the strait between Europe and Asia, than either the immediate vicinity
of the city, or the still lower ground upon which the lists were
erected. In passing this height, the earlier visitants of the lists
made little or no halt; but after a time, when it became obvious that
those who had hurried forward to the place of combat were lingering
there without any object or occupation, they that followed them in the
same route, with natural curiosity, paid a tribute to the landscape,
bestowing some attention on its beauty, and paused to see what auguries
could be collected from the water, which were likely to have any
concern in indicating the fate of the events that were to take place.
Some straggling seamen were the first who remarked that a squadron of
the Greek small craft (being that of Tancred) were in the act of making
their way from Asia, and threatening a descent upon Constantinople.

"It is strange," said a person, by rank the captain of a galley, "that
these small vessels, which were ordered to return to Constantinople as
soon as they disembarked the Latins, should have remained so long at
Scutari, and should not be rowing back to the imperial city until this
time, on the second day after their departure from thence."

"I pray to Heaven," said another of the same profession, "that these
seamen may come alone. It seems to me as if their ensign-staffs,
bowsprits, and topmasts were decorated with the same ensigns, or nearly
the same, with those which the Latins displayed upon them, when, by the
Emperor's order, they were transported towards Palestine; so methinks
the voyage back again resembles that of a fleet of merchant vessels,
who have been prevented from discharging their cargo at the place of
their destination."

"There is little good," said one of the politicians whom we formerly
noticed, "in dealing with such commodities, whether they are imported
or exported. Yon ample banner which streams over the foremost galley,
intimates the presence of a chieftain of no small rank among the
Counts, whether it be for valour or for nobility."

The seafaring leader added, with the voice of one who hints alarming
tidings, "They seem to have got to a point in the straits as high as
will enable them to run down--with the tide, and clear the cape which
we stand on, although with what purpose they aim to land so close
beneath the walls of the city, he is a wiser man than I who pretends to
determine."

"Assuredly," returned his comrade, "the intention is not a kind one.
The wealth of the city has temptations to a poor people, who only value
the iron which they possess as affording them the means of procuring
the gold which they covet."

"Ay, brother," answered Demetrius the politician, "but see you not,
lying at anchor within this bay which is formed by the cape, and at the
very point where these heretics are likely to be carried by the tide,
six strong vessels, having the power of sending forth, not merely
showers of darts and arrows, but of Grecian fire, as it is called, from
their hollow decks? If these Frank gentry continue directing their
course upon the Imperial city, being, as they are,

                                    ------'propago
     Contemptrix Superum sane, saevaeque avidissima caedis
     Et violenta;' [Footnote: Ovid, Met.]

we shall speedily see a combat better worth witnessing than that
announced by the great trumpet of the Varangians. If you love me, let
us sit down here for a moment, and see how this matter is to end."

"An excellent motion, my ingenious friend," said Lascaris, which was
the name of the other citizen; "but bethink you, shall we not be in
danger from the missiles with which the audacious Latins will not fail
to return the Greek fire, if, according to your conjecture, it shall be
poured upon them by the Imperial squadron?"

"That is not ill argued, my friend," said Demetrius; "but know that you
have to do with a man who has been in such extremities before now; and
if such a discharge should open from the sea, I would propose to you to
step back some fifty yards inland, and thus to interpose the very crest
of the cape between us and the discharge of missiles; a mere child
might thus learn to face them without any alarm."

"You are a wise man, neighbour," said Lascaris, "and possess such a
mixture of valour and knowledge as becomes a man whom a friend might be
supposed safely to risk his life with. There be those, for instance,
who cannot show you the slightest glimpse of what is going on, without
bringing you within peril of your life; whereas you, my worthy friend
Demetrius, between your accurate knowledge of military affairs, and
your regard for your friend, are sure to show him all that is to be
seen without the least risk to a person, who is naturally unwilling to
think of exposing himself to injury. But, Holy Virgin! what is the
meaning of that red flag which the Greek Admiral has this instant
hoisted?"

"Why, you see, neighbour," answered Demetrius, "yonder western heretic
continues to advance without minding the various signs which our
Admiral has made to him to desist, and now he hoists the bloody
colours, as if a man should clench his fist and say, If you persevere
in your uncivil intention, I will do so and so."

"By St. Sophia," said Lascaris, "and that is giving him fair warning.
But what is it the Imperial Admiral is about to do?"

"Run! run! friend Lascaris," said Demetrius, "or you will see more of
that than perchance you have any curiosity for."

Accordingly, to add the strength of example to precept, Demetrius
himself girt up his loins, and retreated with the most edifying speed
to the opposite side of the ridge, accompanied by the greater part of
the crowd, who had tarried there to witness the contest which the
newsmonger promised, and were determined to take his word for their own
safety. The sound and sight which had alarmed Demetrius, was the
discharge of a large portion of Greek fire, which perhaps may be best
compared to one of those immense Congreve rockets of the present day,
which takes on its shoulders a small grapnel or anchor, and proceeds
groaning through the air, like a fiend overburdened by the mandate of
some inexorable magician, and of which the operation was so terrifying,
that the crews of the vessels attacked by this strange weapon
frequently forsook every means of defence, and ran themselves ashore.
One of the principal ingredients of this dreadful fire was supposed to
be naphtha, or the bitumen which is collected on the banks of the Dead
Sea, and which, when in a state of ignition, could only be extinguished
by a very singular mixture, and which it was not likely to come in
contact with. It produced a thick smoke and loud explosion, and was
capable, says Gibbon, of communicating its flames with equal vehemence
in descent or lateral progress, [Footnote: For a full account of the
Greek five, see Gibbon, chapter 53] In sieges, it was poured from the
ramparts, or launched like our bombs, in red-hot balls of stone or
iron, or it was darted in flax twisted round arrows and in javelins. It
was considered as a state secret of the greatest importance; and for
wellnigh four centuries it was unknown to the Mahomedans. But at length
the composition was discovered by the Saracens, and used by them for
repelling the crusaders, and overpowering the Greeks, upon whose side
it had at one time been the most formidable implement of defence. Some
exaggeration--we must allow for a barbarous period; but there seems no
doubt that the general description of the crusader Joinville should be
admitted as correct:--"It came flying through the air," says that good
knight, "like a winged dragon, about the thickness of a hogshead, with
the report of thunder and the speed of lightning, and the darkness of
the night was dispelled by this horrible illumination."

Not only the bold Demetrius and his pupil Lascaris, but all the crowd
whom they influenced, fled manfully when the commodore of the Greeks
fired the first discharge; and as the other vessels in the squadron
followed his example, the heavens were filled with the unusual and
outrageous noise, while the smoke was so thick as to darken the very
air. As the fugitives passed the crest of the hill, they saw the
seaman, whom we formerly mentioned as a spectator, snugly reclining
under cover of a dry ditch, where he managed so as to secure himself as
far as possible from any accident. He could not, however, omit breaking
his jest on the politicians.

"What, ho!" he cried, "my good friends," without raising himself above
the counterscarp of his ditch, "will you not remain upon your station
long enough to finish that hopeful lecture upon battle by sea and land,
which you had so happy an opportunity of commencing? Believe me, the
noise is more alarming than hurtful; the fire is all pointed in a
direction opposite to yours, and if one of those dragons which you see
does happen to fly landward instead of seaward, it is but the mistake
of some cabin-boy, who has used his linstock with more willingness than
ability."

Demetrius and Lascaris just heard enough of the naval hero's harangue,
to acquaint them with the new danger with which they might be assailed
by the possible misdirection of the weapons, and, rushing clown towards
the lists at the head of a crowd half-desperate with fear, they hastily
propagated the appalling news, that the Latins were coming back from
Asia with the purpose of landing in arms, pillaging, and burning the
city. The uproar, in the meantime, of this unexpected occurrence, was
such as altogether to vindicate, in public opinion, the reported cause,
however exaggerated. The thunder of the Greek fire came successively,
one hard upon the other, and each, in its turn, spread a blot of black
smoke upon the face of the landscape, which, thickened by so many
successive clouds, seemed at last, like that raised by a sustained fire
of modern artillery to overshadow the whole horizon.

The small squadron of Tancred were completely hid from view in the
surging volumes of darkness, which the breath of the weapons of the
enemy had spread around him; and it seemed by a red light, which began
to show itself among the thickest of the veil of darkness, that one of
the flotilla at least had caught fire. Yet the Latins resisted, with an
obstinacy worthy of their own courage, and the fame of their celebrated
leader. Some advantage they had, on account of their small size, and
their lowness in the water, as well as the clouded state of the
atmosphere, which rendered them difficult marks for the fire of the
Greeks.

To increase these advantages, Tancred, as well by boats as by the kind
of rude signals made use of at the period, dispersed orders to his
fleet, that each bark, disregarding the fate of the others, should
press forward individually, and that the men from each should be put on
shore wheresoever and howsoever they could effect that manoeuvre.
Tancred himself set a noble example; he was on board a stout vessel,
fenced in some degree against the effect of the Greek fire by being in
a great measure covered with raw hides, which hides had also been
recently steeped in water. This vessel contained upwards of a hundred
valiant warriors, several of them of knightly order, who had all night
toiled at the humble labours of the oar, and now in the morning applied
their chivalrous hands to the arblast and to the bow, which were in
general accounted the weapons of persons of a lower rank. Thus armed,
and thus manned. Prince Tancred bestowed upon his bark the full
velocity which wind, and tide, and oar, could enable her to obtain, and
placing her in the situation to profit by them as much as his maritime
skill could direct, he drove with the speed of lightning among the
vessels of Lemnos, plying on either side, bows, crossbows, javelins,
and military missiles of every kind, with the greater advantage that
the Greeks, trusting to their artificial fire, had omitted arming
themselves with other weapons; so that when the valiant Crusader bore
down on them with so much fury, repaying the terrors of their fire with
a storm of bolts and arrows no less formidable, they began to feel that
their own advantage was much less than they had supposed, and that,
like most other dangers, the maritime fire of the Greeks, when
undauntedly confronted, lost at least one-half of its terrors. The
Grecian sailors, too, when they observed the vessels approach so near,
filled with the steel-clad Latins, began to shrink from a contest to be
maintained hand to hand with so terrible an enemy.

By degrees, smoke began to issue from the sides of the great Grecian
argosy, and the voice of Tancred announced to his soldiers that the
Grecian Admiral's vessel had taken fire, owing to negligence in the
management of the means of destruction she possessed, and that all they
had now to do was to maintain such a distance as to avoid sharing her
fate. Sparkles and flashes of flame were next seen leaping from place
to place on board of the great hulk, as if the element had had the
sense and purpose of spreading wider the consternation, and disabling
the few who still paid attention to the commands of their Admiral, and
endeavoured to extinguish the fire. The consciousness of the
combustible nature of the freight, began to add despair to terror; from
the boltsprit, the rigging, the yards, the sides, and every part of the
vessel, the unfortunate crew were seen dropping themselves, to exchange
for the most part a watery death for one by the more dreadful agency of
fire. The crew of Tancred's bark, ceasing, by that generous prince's
commands, to offer any additional annoyance to an enemy who was at once
threatened by the perils of the ocean and of conflagration, ran their
vessel ashore in a smooth part of the bay, and jumping into the shallow
sea, made the land without difficulty; many of their steeds being, by
the exertions of the owners, and the docility of the animals, brought
ashore at the same time with their masters. Their commander lost no
time in forming their serried ranks into a phalanx of lancers, few
indeed at first, but perpetually increasing as ship after ship of the
little flotilla ran ashore, or, having more deliberately moored their
barks, landed their men, and joined their companions.

The cloud which had been raised by the conflict was now driven to
leeward before the wind, and the strait exhibited only the relics of
the combat. Here tossed upon the billows the scattered and broken
remains of one or two of the Latin vessels which had been burnt at the
commencement of the combat, though their crews, by the exertions of
their comrades, had in general been saved. Lower down were seen the
remaining five vessels of the Lemnos squadron, holding a disorderly and
difficult retreat, with the purpose of gaining the harbour of
Constantinople. In the place so late the scene of combat, lay moored
the hulk of the Grecian Admiral, burnt to the water's edge, and still
sending forth a black smoke from its scathed beams and planks. The
flotilla of Tancred, busied in discharging its troops, lay irregularly
scattered along the bay, the men making ashore as they could, and
taking their course to join the standard of their leader. Various black
substances floated on the surface of the water, nearer, or more distant
to the shore; some proved to be the wreck of the vessels which had been
destroyed, and others, more ominous still, the lifeless bodies of
mariners who had fallen in the conflict.

The standard had been borne ashore by the Prince's favourite page,
Ernest of Apulia, so soon as the keel of Tancred's galley had grazed
upon the sand. It was then pitched on the top of that elevated cape
between Constantinople and the lists, where Lascaris, Demetrius, and
other gossips, had held their station at the commencement of the
engagement, but from which all had fled, between the mingled dread of
the Greek fire and the missiles of the Latin crusaders.




CHAPTER THE THIRTIETH.


Sheathed in complete armour, and supporting with his right hand the
standard of his fathers, Tancred remained with his handful of warriors
like so many statues of steel, expecting some sort of attack from the
Grecian party which had occupied the lists, or from the numbers whom
the city gates began now to pour forth--soldiers some of them, and
others citizens, many of whom were arrayed as if for conflict. These
persons, alarmed by the various accounts which were given of the
combatants, and the progress of the fight, rushed towards the standard
of Prince Tancred, with the intention of beating it to the earth, and
dispersing the guards who owed it homage and defence. But if the reader
shall have happened to have ridden at any time through a pastoral
country, with a clog of a noble race following him, he must have
remarked, in the deference ultimately paid to the high-bred animal by
the shepherd's cur as he crosses the lonely glen, of which the latter
conceives himself the lord and guardian, something very similar to the
demeanour of the incensed Greeks, when they approached near to the
little band of Franks. At the first symptom of the intrusion of a
stranger, the dog of the shepherd starts from his slumbers, and rushes
towards the noble intruder with a clamorous declaration of war; but
when the diminution of distance between them shows to the aggressor the
size and strength of his opponent, he becomes like a cruiser, who, in a
chase, has, to his surprise and alarm, found two tier of guns opposed
to him instead of one. He halts--suspends his clamorous yelping, and,
in fine, ingloriously retreats to his master, with, all the
dishonourable marks of positively declining the combat.

It was in this manner that the troops of the noisy Greeks, with much
hallooing and many a boastful shout, hastened both from the town and
from the lists, with the apparent intention of sweeping from the field
the few companions of Tancred. As they advanced, however, within the
power of remarking the calm and regular order of those men who had
landed, and arranged themselves under this noble chieftain's banner,
their minds were altogether changed as to the resolution of instant
combat; their advance became an uncertain and staggering gait, their
heads were more frequently turned back to the point from which they
came, than towards the enemy; and their desire to provoke an instant
scuffle vanished totally, when there did not appear the least symptom
that their opponents cared about the matter.

It added to the extreme confidence with which the Latins kept their
ground, that they were receiving frequent, though small reinforcements
from their comrades, who were landing by detachments all along the
beach; and that, in the course of a short hour, their amount had been
raised, on horseback and foot, to a number, allowing for a few
casualties, not much less than that which set sail from Scutari.

Another reason why the Latins remained unassailed, was certainly the
indisposition of the two principal armed parties on shore to enter into
a quarrel with them. The guards of every kind, who were faithful to the
Emperor, more especially the Varangians, had their orders to remain
firm at their posts, some in the lists, and others at various places of
rendezvous in Constantinople, where their presence was necessary to
prevent the effects of the sudden insurrection which Alexius knew to be
meditated against him. These, therefore, made no hostile demonstration
towards the band of Latins, nor was it the purpose of the Emperor they
should do so.

On the other hand, the greater part of the Immortal Guards, and those
citizens who were prepared to play a part in the conspiracy, had been
impressed by the agents of the deceased Agelastes with the opinion,
that this band of Latins, commanded by Tancred, the relative of
Bohemond, had been despatched by the latter to their assistance. These
men, therefore, stood still, and made no attempt to guide or direct the
popular efforts of such as inclined to attack these unexpected
visitors; in which purpose, therefore, no very great party were united,
while the majority were willing enough to find an apology for remaining
quiet.

In the meantime, the Emperor, from his palace of Blacquernal, observed
what passed upon the straits, and beheld his navy from Lemnos totally
foiled in their attempt, by means of the Greek fire, to check, the
intended passage of Tancred and his men. He had no sooner seen the
leading ship of the squadron, begin to beacon the darkness with its own
fire, than the Emperor formed a secret resolution to disown the
unfortunate Admiral, and make peace with the Latins, if that should be
absolutely necessary, by sending them his head. He had hardly,
therefore, seen the flames burst forth, and the rest of the vessels
retreat from their moorings, than in his own mind, the doom of the
unfortunate Phraortes, for such was the name of the Admiral, was signed
and sealed.

Achilles Tatius, at the same instant, determining to keep a close eye
upon the Emperor at this important crisis, came precipitately into the
palace, with an appearance of great alarm.

"My Lord!---my Imperial Lord! I am unhappy to be the messenger of such
unlucky news; but the Latins have in great numbers succeeded in
crossing the strait from Scutari. The Lemnos squadron endeavoured to
stop them, as was last night determined upon in the Imperial Council of
War. By a heavy discharge of the Greek fire, one or two of the
crusaders' vessels were consumed, but by far the greater number of them
pushed on their course, burnt the leading ship of the unfortunate
Phraortes, and It is strongly reported he has himself perished, with
almost all his men. The rest have cut their cables, and abandoned the
defence of the passage of the Hellespont."

"And you, Achilles Tatius," said the Emperor, "with what purpose is it
that you now bring me this melancholy news, at a period so late, when I
cannot amend the consequences!"

"Under favour, most gracious Emperor," replied the conspirator, not
without colouring and stammering, "such was not my intention--I had
hoped to submit a plan, by which I might easily have prepared the way
for correcting this little error."

"Well, your plan, sir?" said the Emperor, dryly.

"With your sacred Majesty's leave," said the Acolyte, "I would myself
have undertaken instantly to lead against this Tancred and his Italians
the battle-axes of the faithful Varangian guard, who will make no more
account of the small number of Franks who have come ashore, than the
farmer holds of the hordes of rats and mice, and such like mischievous
vermin, who have harboured in his granaries."

"And what mean you," said the Emperor, "that I am to do, while my
Anglo-Saxons fight for my sake?"

"Your Majesty," replied Achilles, not exactly satisfied with the dry
and caustic manner in which the Emperor addressed him, "may put
yourself at the head of the Immortal cohorts of Constantinople; and I
am your security, that you may either perfect the victory over the
Latins, or at least redeem the most distant chance of a defeat, by
advancing at the head of this choice body of domestic troops, should
the day appear doubtful."

"You, yourself, Achilles Tatius," returned the Emperor, "have
repeatedly assured us, that these Immortals retain a perverse
attachment to our rebel Ursel. How is it, then, you would have us
intrust our defence to these bands, when we have engaged our valiant
Varangians in the proposed conflict with the flower of the western
army?--Did you think of this risk, Sir Follower?"

Achilles Tatius, much alarmed at an intimation indicative of his
purpose being known, answered, "That in his haste he had been more
anxious to recommend the plan which should expose his own person to the
greater danger, than that perhaps which was most attended with personal
safety to his Imperial Master."

"I thank you for so doing," said the Emperor; "you have anticipated my
wishes, though it is not in my power at present to follow the advice
you have given me. I would have been well contented, undoubtedly, had
these Latins measured their way over the strait again, as suggested by
last night's council; but since they have arrived, and stand embattled
on our shores, it is better that we pay them with money and with spoil,
than with the lives of our gallant subjects. We cannot, after all,
believe that they come with any serious intention of doing us injury;
it is but the insane desire of witnessing feats of battle and single
combat, which is to them the breath of their nostrils, that can have
impelled them to this partial countermarch. I impose upon you, Achilles
Tatius, combining the Protospathaire in the same commission with you,
the duty of riding up to yonder standard, and learning of their chief,
called the Prince Tancred, if he is there in person, the purpose of his
return, and the cause of his entering into debate with Phraortes and
the Lemnos squadron. If they send us any reasonable excuse, we shall
not be averse to receive it at their hands; for we have not made so
many sacrifices for the preservation of peace, to break forth into war,
if, after all, so great an evil can be avoided. Thou wilt receive,
therefore, with a candid and complacent mind, such apologies as they
may incline to bring forward; and, be assured, that the sight of this
puppet-show of a single combat, will be enough of itself to banish
every other consideration from the reflection of these giddy crusaders."

A knock was at this moment heard at the door of the Emperor's
apartment; and upon the word being given to enter, the Protospathaire
made his appearance. He was arrayed in a splendid suit of ancient Roman
fashioned armour. The want of a visor left his countenance entirely
visible; which, pale and anxious as it was, did not well become the
martial crest and dancing plume with which it was decorated. He
received the commission already mentioned with the less alacrity,
because the Acolyte was added to him as his colleague; for, as the
reader may have observed, these two officers were of separate factions
in the army, and on indifferent terms with each other. Neither did the
Acolyte consider his being united in commission with the
Protospathaire, as a mark either of the Emperor's confidence, or of his
own safety. He was, however, in the meantime, in the Blacquernal, where
the slaves of the interior made not the least hesitation, when ordered,
to execute any officer of the court. The two generals had, therefore,
no other alternative, than that which is allowed to two greyhounds who
are reluctantly coupled together. The hope of Achilles Tatius was, that
he might get safely through his mission to Tancred, after which he
thought the successful explosion of the conspiracy might take place and
have its course, either as a matter desired and countenanced by those
Latins, or passed over as a thing in which they took no interest on
either side.

By the parting order of the Emperor, they were to mount on horseback at
the sounding of the great Varangian trumpet, put themselves at the head
of those Anglo-Saxon guards in the court-yard of their barrack, and
await the Emperor's further orders.

There was something in this arrangement which pressed hard on the
conscience of Achilles Tatius, yet he was at a loss to justify his
apprehensions to himself, unless from a conscious feeling of his own
guilt, he felt, however, that in being detained, under pretence of an
honourable mission, at the head of the Varangians, he was deprived of
the liberty of disposing of himself, by which he had hoped to
communicate with the Caesar and Hereward, whom he reckoned upon as his
active accomplices, not knowing that the first was at this moment a
prisoner in the Blacquernal, where Alexius had arrested him in the
apartments of the Empress, and that the second was the most important
support of Comnenus during the whole of that eventful day.

When the gigantic trumpet of the Varangian guards sent forth its deep
signal through the city, the Protospathaire hurried Achilles along with
him to the rendezvous of the Varangians, and on the way said to him, in
an easy and indifferent tone, "As the Emperor is in the field in
person, you, his representative, or Follower, will of course transmit
no orders to the body guard, except such as shall receive their origin
from himself, so that you will consider your authority as this day
suspended."

"I regret," said Achilles, "that there should have seemed any cause for
such precautions; I had hoped my own truth and fidelity--but--I am
obsequious to his imperial pleasure in all things."

"Such are his orders," said the other officer, "and you know under what
penalty obedience is enforced."

"If I did not," said Achilles, "the composition of this body of guards
would remind me, since it comprehends not only great part of those
Varangians, who are the immediate defenders of the Emperor's throne,
but those slaves of the interior, who are the executioners of his
pleasure." To this the Protospathaire returned no answer, while the
more closely the Acolyte looked upon the guard which attended, to the
unusual number of nearly three thousand men, the more had he reason to
believe that he might esteem himself fortunate, if, by the intervention
of either the Caesar, Agelastes, or Hereward, he could pass to the
conspirators a signal to suspend the intended explosion, which seemed
to be provided against by the Emperor with unusual caution. He would
have given the full dream of empire, with which he had been for a short
time lulled to sleep, to have seen but a glimpse of the azure plume of
Nicephorus, the white mantle of the philosopher, or even a glimmer of
Hereward's battle-axe. No such objects could be seen anywhere, and not
a little was the faithless Follower displeased to see that whichever
way he turned his eyes, those of the Protospathaire, but especially of
the trusty domestic officers of the empire, seemed to follow and watch
their occupation.

Amidst the numerous soldiers whom he saw on all sides, his eye did not
recognise a single man with whom he could exchange a friendly or
confidential glance, and he stood in all that agony of terror, which is
rendered the more discomfiting, because the traitor is conscious that,
beset by various foes, his own fears are the most likely of all to
betray him. Internally, as the danger seemed to increase, and as his
alarmed imagination attempted to discern new reasons for it, he could
only conclude that either one of the three principal conspirators, or
at least some of the inferiors, had turned informers; and his doubt
was, whether he should not screen his own share of what had been
premeditated, by flinging himself at the feet of the Emperor, and
making a full confession. But still the fear of being premature in
having recourse to such base means of saving himself, joined to the
absence of the Emperor, united to keep within his lips a secret, which
concerned not only all his future fortunes, but life itself. He was in
the meantime, therefore, plunged as it were in a sea of trouble and
uncertainty, while the specks of land, which seemed to promise him
refuge, were distant, dimly seen, and extremely difficult of attainment.




CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FIRST.

     To-morrow--oh, that's sudden! Spare him, spare him!
     He's not prepared to die.
                                              SHAKSPEARE.


At the moment when Achilles Tatius, with a feeling of much insecurity,
awaited the unwinding of the perilous skein of state politics, a
private council of the Imperial family was held in the hall termed the
Temple of the Muses, repeatedly distinguished as the apartment in which
the Princess Anna Comnena was wont to make her evening recitations to
those who were permitted the honour of hearing prelections of her
history. The council consisted of the Empress Irene, the Princess
herself, and the Emperor, with the Patriarch of the Greek Church, as a
sort of mediator between a course of severity and a dangerous degree of
lenity.

"Tell not me, Irene," said the Emperor, "of the fine things attached to
the praise of mercy. Here have I sacrificed my just revenge over my
rival Ursel, and what good do I obtain by it? Why, the old obstinate
man, instead of being tractable, and sensible of the generosity which
has spared his life and eyes, can be with difficulty brought to exert
himself in favour of the Prince to whom he owes them. I used to think
that eyesight and the breath of life were things which one would
preserve at any sacrifice; but, on the contrary, I now believe men
value them like mere toys. Talk not to me, therefore, of the gratitude
to be excited by saving this ungrateful cub; and believe me, girl,"
turning to Anna, "that not only will all my subjects, should I follow
your advice, laugh at me for sparing a man so predetermined to work my
ruin, but even thou thyself wilt be the first to upbraid me with the
foolish kindness thou art now so anxious to extort from me."

"Your Imperial pleasure, then," said the Patriarch, "is fixed that your
unfortunate son-in-law shall suffer death for his accession to this
conspiracy, deluded by that heathen villain Agelastes, and the
traitorous Achilles Tatius?"

"Such is my purpose," said the Emperor; "and in evidence that I mean
not again to pass over a sentence of this kind with a seeming execution
only, as in the case of Ursel, this ungrateful traitor of ours shall be
led from the top of the staircase, or ladder of Acheron, as it is
called, through the large chamber named the Hall of Judgment, at the
upper end of which are arranged the apparatus for execution, by which I
swear"----

"Swear not at all!" said the Patriarch; "I forbid thee, in the name of
that Heaven whose voice (though unworthy) speaks in my person, to
quench the smoking flax, or destroy the slight hope which there may
remain, that you may finally be persuaded to alter your purpose
respecting your misguided son-in-law, within the space allotted to him
to sue for your mercy. Remember, I pray you, the remorse of
Constantine."

"What means your reverence?" said Irene.

"A trifle," replied the Emperor, "not worthy being quoted from such a
mouth as the Patriarch's, being, as it probably is, a relic of
paganism."

"What is it?" exclaimed the females anxiously, in the hope of hearing
something which might strengthen their side of the argument, and
something moved, perhaps, by curiosity, a motive which seldom slumbers
in a female bosom, even when the stronger passions are in arms.

"The Patriarch will tell you," answered Alexius, "since you must needs
know; though I promise you, you will not receive any assistance in your
argument from a silly legendary tale."

"Hear it, however," said the Patriarch; "for though it is a tale of the
olden time, and sometimes supposed to refer to the period when
heathenism predominated, it is no less true, that it was a vow made and
registered in the chancery of the rightful Deity, by an Emperor of
Greece."

"What I am now to relate to you," continued he, "is, in truth, a tale
not only of a Christian Emperor, but of him who made the whole empire
Christian; and of that very Constantine, who was also the first who
declared Constantinople to be the metropolis of the empire. This hero,
remarkable alike for his zeal for religion and for his warlike
achievements, was crowned by Heaven with repeated victory, and with all
manner of blessings, save that unity in his family which wise men are
most ambitious to possess. Not only was the blessing of concord among
brethren denied to the family of this triumphant Emperor, but a
deserving son of mature age, who had been supposed to aspire to share
the throne with his father, was suddenly, and at midnight, called upon
to enter his defence against a capital charge of treason. You will
readily excuse my referring to the arts by which the son was rendered
guilty in the eyes of the father. Be it enough to say, that the
unfortunate young man fell a victim to the guilt of his step-mother,
Fausta, and that he disdained to exculpate himself from a charge so
gross and so erroneous. It is said, that the anger of the Emperor was
kept up against his son by the sycophants who called upon Constantine
to observe that the culprit disdained even to supplicate for mercy, or
vindicate his innocence from so foul a charge.

"But the death-blow had no sooner struck the innocent youth, than his
father obtained proof of the rashness with which he had acted. He had
at this period been engaged in constructing the subterranean parts of
the Blacquernal palace, which his remorse appointed to contain a record
of his paternal grief and contrition. At the upper part of the
staircase, called the Pit of Acheron, he caused to be constructed a
large chamber, still called the Hall of Judgment, for the purpose of
execution. A passage through an archway in the upper wall leads from
the hall to the place of misery, where the axe, or other engine, is
disposed for the execution of state prisoners of consequence. Over this
archway was placed a species of marble altar, surmounted by an image of
the unfortunate Crispus--the materials were gold, and it bore the
memorable inscription, TO MY SON, WHOM I RASHLY CONDEMNED, AND TOO
HASTILY EXECUTED. When constructing this passage, Constantine made a
vow, that he himself and his posterity, being reigning Emperors, would
stand beside the statue of Crispus, at the time when any individual of
their family should be led to execution, and before they suffered him
to pass from the Hall of Judgment to the Chamber of Death, that they
should themselves be personally convinced of the truth of the charge
under which he suffered.

"Time rolled on--the memory of Constantine was remembered almost like
that of a saint, and the respect paid to it threw into shadow the
anecdote of his son's death. The exigencies of the state rendered it
difficult to keep so large a sum in specie invested in a statue, which
called to mind the unpleasant failings of so great a man. Your Imperial
Highness's predecessors applied the metal which formed the statue to
support the Turkish wars; and the remorse and penance of Constantine
died away in an obscure tradition of the Church or of the palace.
Still, however, unless your Imperial Majesty has strong reasons to the
contrary, I shall give it as my opinion, that you will hardly achieve
what is due to the memory of the greatest of your predecessors, unless
you give this unfortunate criminal, being so near a relation of your
own, an opportunity of pleading his cause before passing by the altar
of refuge; being the name which is commonly given to the monument of
the unfortunate Crispus, son of Constantine, although now deprived both
of the golden letters which composed the inscription, and the golden
image which represented the royal sufferer."

A mournful strain of music was now heard to ascend the stair so often
mentioned.

"If I must hear the Caesar Nicephorus Briennius, ere he pass the altar
of refuge, there must be no loss of time," said the Emperor; "for these
melancholy sounds announce that he has already approached the Hall of
Judgment."

Both the Imperial ladies began instantly, with the utmost earnestness,
to deprecate the execution of the Caesar's doom, and to conjure
Alexius, as he hoped for quiet in his household, and the everlasting
gratitude of his wife and daughter, that he would listen to their
entreaties in behalf of an unfortunate man, who had been seduced into
guilt, but not from his heart.

"I will at least see him," said the Emperor, "and the holy vow of
Constantine shall be in the present instance strictly observed. But
remember, you foolish women, that the state of Crispus and the present
Caesar, is as different as guilt from innocence, and that their fates,
therefore, may be justly decided upon opposite principles, and with
opposite results. But I will confront this criminal; and you,
Patriarch, may be present to render what help is in your power to a
dying man; for you, the wife and mother of the traitor, you will,
methinks, do well to retire to the church, and pray God for the soul of
the deceased, rather than disturb his last moments with unavailing
lamentations."

"Alexius," said the Empress Irene, "I beseech you to be contented; be
assured that we will not leave you in this dogged humour of
blood-shedding, lest you make such materials for history as are fitter
for the time of Nero than of Constantine."

The Emperor, without reply, led the way into the Hall of Judgment,
where a much stronger light than usual was already shining up the stair
of Acheron, from which were heard to sound, by sullen and intermitted
fits, the penitential psalms which the Greek Church has appointed to be
sung at executions. Twenty mute slaves, the pale colour of whose
turbans gave a ghastly look to the withered cast of their features, and
the glaring whiteness of their eyeballs, ascended two by two, as it
were from the bowels of the earth, each of them bearing in one hand a
naked sabre, and in the other a lighted torch. After these came the
unfortunate Nicephorus; his looks were those of a man half-dead from
the terror of immediate dissolution, and what he possessed of remaining
attention, was turned successively to two black-stoled monks, who were
anxiously repeating religious passages to him alternately from the
Greek scripture, and the form of devotion adopted by the court of
Constantinople. The Caesar's dress also corresponded to his mournful
fortunes: His legs and arms were bare, and a simple white tunic, the
neck of which was already open, showed that ho had assumed the garments
which were to serve his last turn. A tall muscular Nubian slave, who
considered himself obviously as the principal person in the procession,
bore on his shoulder a large heavy headsman's axe, and, like a demon
waiting on a sorcerer, stalked step for step after his victim. The rear
of the procession was closed by a band of four priests, each of whom
chanted from time to time the devotional psalm which was thundered
forth on the occasion; and another of slaves, armed with bows and
quivers, and with lances, to resist any attempt at rescue, if such
should be offered.

It would have required a harder heart than that of the unlucky princess
to have resisted this gloomy apparatus of fear and sorrow, surrounding,
at the same time directed against, a beloved object, the lover of her
youth, and the husband of her bosom, within a few minutes of the
termination of his mortal career.

As the mournful train approached towards the altar of refuge,
half-encircled as it now was by the two great and expanded arms which
projected from the wall, the Emperor, who stood directly in the
passage, threw upon the flame of the altar some chips of aromatic wood,
steeped in spirit of wine, which, leaping at once into a blaze,
illuminated the doleful procession, the figure of the principal
culprit, and the slaves, who had most of them extinguished their
flambeaux so soon as they had served the purpose of lighting them up
the staircase.

The sudden light spread from the altar failed not to make the Emperor
and the Princess visible to the mournful group which approached through
the hall. All halted--all were silent. It was a meeting, as the
Princess has expressed herself in her historical work, such as took
place betwixt Ulysses and the inhabitants of the other world, who, when
they tasted of the blood of his sacrifices, recognised him indeed, but
with empty lamentations, and gestures feeble and shadowy. The hymn of
contrition sunk also into silence; and, of the whole group, the only
figure rendered more distinct, was the gigantic executioner, whose high
and furrowed forehead, as well as the broad steel of his axe, caught
and reflected back the bright gleam from the altar. Alexius saw the
necessity of breaking the silence which ensued, lest it should, give
the intercessors for the prisoner an opportunity of renewing their
entreaties.

"Nicephorus Briennius," he said, with a voice which, although generally
interrupted by a slight hesitation, which procured him, among his
enemies, the nickname of the Stutterer, yet, upon important occasions
like the present, was so judiciously tuned and balanced in its
sentences, that no such defect was at all visible--"Nicephorus
Briennius," he said, "late Caesar, the lawful doom hath been spoken,
that, having conspired against the life of thy rightful sovereign and
affectionate father, Alexius Comnenus, thou shalt suffer the
appropriate sentence, by having thy head struck from thy body. Here,
therefore, at the last altar of refuge, I meet thee, according to the
vow of the immortal Constantine, for the purpose of demanding whether
thou hast any thing to allege why this doom should not be executed?
Even at this eleventh hour, thy tongue is unloosed to speak with
freedom what may concern thy life. All is prepared in this world and in
the next. Look forward beyond yon archway--the block is fixed. Look
behind thee, thou seest the axe already sharpened--thy place for good
or evil in the next world is already determined--time flies--eternity
approaches. If thou hast aught to say, speak it freely--if nought,
confess the justice of thy sentence, and pass on to death."

The Emperor commenced this oration, with those looks described by his
daughter as so piercing, that they dazzled like lightning, and his
periods, if not precisely flowing like burning lava, were yet the
accents of a man having the power of absolute command, and as such
produced an effect not only on the criminal, but also upon the Prince
himself, whose watery eyes and faltering voice acknowledged his sense
and feeling of the fatal import of the present moment.

Rousing himself to the conclusion of what he had commenced, the Emperor
again demanded whether the prisoner had any thing to say in his own
defence.

Nicephorus was not one of those hardened criminals who may be termed
the very prodigies of history, from the coolness with which they
contemplated the consummation of their crimes, whether in their own
punishment, or the misfortunes of others. "I have been tempted," he
said, dropping on his knees, "and I have fallen. I have nothing to
allege in excuse of my folly and ingratitude; but I stand prepared to
die to expiate my guilt," A deep sigh, almost amounting to a scream,
was here heard, close behind the Emperor, and its cause assigned by the
sudden exclamation of Irene,--"My lord! my lord! your daughter is
gone!" And in fact Anna Comnena had sunk into her mother's arms without
either sense or motion. The father's attention was instantly called to
support his swooning child, while the unhappy husband strove with the
guards to be permitted to go to the assistance of his wife. "Give me
but five minutes of that time which the law has abridged--let my
efforts but assist in recalling her to a life which should be as long
as her virtues and her talents deserve; and then let me die at her
feet, for I care not to go an inch beyond."

The Emperor, who in fact had been more astonished at the boldness and
rashness of Nicephorus, than alarmed by his power, considered him as a
man rather misled than misleading others, and felt, therefore, the full
effect of this last interview. He was, besides, not naturally cruel,
where severities were to be enforced under his own eye.

"The divine and immortal Constantine," he said, "did not, I am
persuaded, subject his descendants to this severe trial, in order
further to search out the innocence of the criminals, but rather to
give to those who came after him an opportunity of generously forgiving
a crime which could not, without pardon--the express pardon of the
Prince--escape unpunished. I rejoice that I am born of the willow
rather than of the oak, and I acknowledge my weakness, that not even
the safety of my own life, or resentment of this unhappy man's
treasonable machinations, have the same effect with me as the tears of
my wife, and the swooning of my daughter. Rise up, Nicephorus
Briennius, freely pardoned, and restored even to the rank of Caesar. We
will direct thy pardon to be made out by the great Logothete, and
sealed with the golden bull. For four-and-twenty hours thou art a
prisoner, until an arrangement is made for preserving the public peace.
Meanwhile, thou wilt remain under the charge of the Patriarch, who will
be answerable for thy forthcoming.--Daughter and wife, you must now go
hence to your own apartment; a future time will come, during which you
may have enough of weeping and embracing, mourning and rejoicing. Pray
Heaven that I, who, having been trained on till I have sacrificed
justice and true policy to uxorious compassion and paternal tenderness
of heart, may not have cause at last for grieving in good earnest for
all the events of this miscellaneous drama."

The pardoned Caesar, who endeavoured to regulate his ideas according to
this unexpected change, found it as difficult to reconcile himself to
the reality of his situation as Ursel to the face of nature, after
having been long deprived of enjoying it; so much do the dizziness and
confusion of ideas, occasioned by moral and physical causes of surprise
and terror, resemble each other in their effects on the understanding.

At length he stammered forth a request that he might be permitted to go
to the field with the Emperor, and divert, by the interposition of his
own body, the traitorous blows which some desperate man might aim
against that of his Prince, in a day which was too likely to be one of
danger and bloodshed.

"Hold there!" said Alexius Comnenus;--"we will not begin thy
newly-redeemed life by renewed doubts of thine allegiance; yet it is
but fitting to remind thee, that thou art still the nominal and
ostensible head of those who expect to take a part in this day's
insurrection, and it will be the safest course to trust its
pacification to others than to thee. Go, sir, compare notes with the
Patriarch, and merit your pardon by confessing to him any traitorous
intentions concerning this foul conspiracy with which we may be as yet
unacquainted.--Daughter and wife, farewell! I must now depart for the
lists, where I have to speak with the traitor Achilles Tatius and the
heathenish infidel Agelastes, if he still lives, but of whose
providential death I hear a confirmed rumour."

"Yet do not go, my dearest father!" said the Princess; "but let me
rather go to encourage the loyal subjects in your behalf. The extreme
kindness which you have extended towards my guilty husband, convinces
me of the extent of your affection towards your unworthy daughter, and
the greatness of the sacrifice which you have made to her almost
childish affection for an ungrateful man who put your life in danger."

"That is to say, daughter," said the Emperor, smiling, "that the pardon
of your husband is a boon which has lost its merit when it is granted.
Take my advice, Anna, and think otherwise; wives and their husbands
ought in prudence to forget their offences towards each other as soon
as human nature will permit them. Life is too short, and conjugal
tranquillity too uncertain, to admit of dwelling long upon such
irritating subjects. To your apartments, Princesses, and prepare the
scarlet-buskins, and the embroidery which is displayed on the cuffs and
collars of the Caesar's robe, indicative of his high rank. He must not
be seen without them on the morrow.--Reverend father, I remind you once
more that the Caesar is in your personal custody from this moment until
to-morrow at the same hour."

They parted; the Emperor repairing to put himself at the head of his
Varangian guards--the Caesar, under the superintendence of the
Patriarch, withdrawing into the interior of the Blacquernal Palace,
where Nicephorus Briennius was under the necessity of "unthreading the
rude eye of rebellion," and throwing such lights as were in his power
upon the progress of the conspiracy.

"Agelastes," he said, "Achilles Tatius, and Hereward the Varangian,
were the persons principally entrusted in its progress. But whether
they had been all true to their engagements, he did not pretend to be
assured."

In the female apartments, there was a violent discussion betwixt Anna
Comnena and her mother. The Princess had undergone during the day many
changes of sentiment and feeling; and though they had finally united
themselves into one strong interest in her husband's favour, yet no
sooner was the fear of his punishment removed, than the sense of his
ungrateful behaviour began to revive. She became sensible also that a
woman of her extraordinary attainments, who had been by a universal
course of flattery disposed to entertain a very high opinion of her own
consequence, made rather a poor figure when she had been the passive
subject of a long series of intrigues, by which she was destined to be
disposed of in one way or the other, according to the humour of a set
of subordinate conspirators, who never so much as dreamed of regarding
her as a being capable of forming a wish in her own behalf, or even
yielding or refusing a consent. Her father's authority over her, and
right to dispose of her, was less questionable; but even then it was
something derogatory to the dignity of a Princess born in the
purple--an authoress besides, and giver of immortality--to be, without
her own consent, thrown, as it were, at the head now of one suitor, now
of another, however mean or disgusting, whose alliance could for the
time benefit the Emperor. The consequence of these moody reflections,
was that Anna Comnena deeply toiled in spirit for the discovery of some
means by which she might assert her sullied dignity, and various were
the expedients which she revolved.




CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SECOND.

     But now the hand of fate is on the curtain,
     And brings the scene to light.
                                   DON SEBASTIAN.


The gigantic trumpet of the Varangians sounded its loudest note of
march, and the squadrons of the faithful guards, sheathed in complete
mail, and enclosing in their centre the person of their Imperial
master, set forth upon their procession through the streets of
Constantinople. The form of Alexius, glittering in his splendid armour,
seemed no unmeet central point for the force of an empire; and while
the citizens crowded in the train of him and his escort, there might be
seen a visible difference between those who came with the premeditated
intention of tumult, and the greater part, who, like the multitude of
every great city, thrust each other and shout for rapture on account of
any cause for which a crowd may be collected together. The hope of the
conspirators was lodged chiefly in the Immortal Guards, who were levied
principally for the defence of Constantinople, partook of the general
prejudices of the citizens, and had been particularly influenced by
those in favour of Ursel, by whom, previous to his imprisonment, they
had themselves been commanded. The conspirators had determined that
those of this body who were considered as most discontented, should
early in the morning take possession of the posts in the lists most
favourable for their purpose of assaulting the Emperor's person. But,
in spite of all efforts short of actual violence, for which the time
did not seem to be come, they found themselves disappointed in this
purpose, by parties of the Varangian guards, planted with apparent
carelessness, but in fact, with perfect skill, for the prevention of
their enterprise. Somewhat confounded at perceiving that a design,
which they could not suppose to be suspected, was, nevertheless, on
every part controlled and counter-checked, the conspirators began to
look for the principal persons of their own party, on whom they
depended for orders in this emergency; but neither the Caesar nor
Agelastes was to be seen, whether in the lists or on the military march
from Constantinople: and though Achilles Tatius rode in the latter
assembly, yet it might be clearly observed that he was rather attending
upon the Protospathaire, than, assuming that independence as an officer
which he loved to affect.

In this manner, as the Emperor with his glittering bands approached the
phalanx of Tancred and his followers, who were drawn up, it will be
remembered, upon a rising cape between the city and the lists, the main
body of the Imperial procession deflected in some degree from the
straight road, in order to march past them without interruption; while
the Protospathaire and the Acolyte passed under the escort of a band of
Varangians, to bear the Emperor's inquiries to Prince Tancred,
concerning the purpose of his being there with his band. The short
march was soon performed--the large trumpet which attended the two
officers sounded a parley, and Tancred himself, remarkable for that
personal beauty which Tasso has preferred to any of the crusaders,
except Rinaldo d'Este, the creatures of his own poetical imagination,
advanced to parley with them.

"The Emperor of Greece," said the Protospathaire to Tancred, "requires
the Prince of Otranto to show, by the two high officers who shall
deliver him this message, with what purpose he has returned, contrary
to his oath, to the right side of these straits; assuring Prince
Tancred at the same time, that nothing will so much please the Emperor,
as to receive an answer not at variance with his treaty with the Duke
of Bouillon, and the oath which was taken by the crusading nobles and
their soldiers; since that would enable the Emperor, in conformity to
his own wishes, by his kind reception of Prince Tancred and his troop,
to show how high is his estimation of the dignity of the one, and the
bravery of both--We wait an answer."

The tone of the message had nothing in it very alarming, and its
substance cost Prince Tancred very little trouble to answer. "The
cause," he said, "of the Prince of Otranto appearing here with fifty
lances, is this cartel, in which a combat is appointed betwixt
Nicephorus Briennius, called the Caesar, a high member of this empire,
and a worthy knight of great fame, the partner of the Pilgrims who have
taken the Cross, in their high vow to rescue Palestine from the
infidels. The name of the said Knight is the redoubted Robert of Paris.
It becomes, therefore, an obligation, indispensable upon the Holy
Pilgrims of the Crusade, to send one chief of their number, with a body
of men-at-arms, sufficient to see, as is usual, fair play between the
combatants. That such is their intention, may be seen from, their
sending no more than fifty lances, with their furniture and following;
whereas it would have cost them no trouble to have detached ten times
the number, had they nourished any purpose of interfering by force, or
disturbing the fair combat which is about to take place. The Prince of
Otranto, therefore, and his followers, will place themselves at the
disposal of the Imperial Court, and witness the proceedings of the
combat, with the most perfect confidence that the rules of fair battle
will be punctually observed."

The two Grecian officers transmitted this reply to the Emperor, who
heard it with pleasure, and immediately proceeding to act upon the
principle which he had laid down, of maintaining peace, if possible,
with the crusaders, named Prince Tancred with the Protospathaire as
Field Marshals of the lists, fully empowered, under the Emperor, to
decide all the terms of the combat, and to have recourse to Alexius
himself where their opinions disagreed. This was made known to the
assistants, who were thus prepared for the entry into the lists of the
Grecian officer and the Italian Prince in full armour, while a
proclamation announced to all the spectators their solemn office. The
same annunciation commanded the assistants of every kind to clear a
convenient part of the seats which surrounded the lists on one side,
that it might serve for the accommodation of Prince Tancred's followers.

Achilles Tatius, who was a heedful observer of all these passages, saw
with alarm, that by the last collocation the armed Latins were
interposed between the Immortal Guards and the discontented citizens,
which made it most probable that the conspiracy was discovered, and
that Alexius found he had a good right to reckon upon the assistance of
Tancred and his forces in the task of suppressing it. This, added to
the cold and caustic manner in which the Emperor communicated his
commands to him, made the Acolyte of opinion, that his best chance of
escape from the danger in which he was now placed, was, that the whole
conspiracy should fall to the ground, and that the day should pass
without the least attempt to shake the throne of Alexius Comnenus. Even
then it continued highly doubtful, whether a despot, so wily and so
suspicious as the Emperor, would think it sufficient to rest satisfied
with the private knowledge of the undertaking, and its failure, with
which he appeared to be possessed, without putting into exercise the
bow-strings and the blinding-irons of the mutes of the interior. There
was, however, little possibility either of flight or of resistance. The
least attempt to withdraw himself from the neighbourhood of those
faithful followers of the Emperor, personal foes of his own, by whom he
was gradually and more closely surrounded, became each moment more
perilous, and more certain to provoke a rupture, which it was the
interest of the weaker party to delay, with whatever difficulty. And
while the soldiers under Achilles's immediate authority seemed still to
treat him as their superior officer, and appeal to him for the word of
command, it became more and more evident that the slightest degree of
suspicion which should be excited, would be the instant signal for his
being placed under arrest. With a trembling heart, therefore, and eyes
dimmed by the powerful idea of soon parting with the light of day, and
all that it made visible, the Acolyte saw himself condemned to watch
the turn of circumstances over which he could have no influence, and to
content himself with waiting the result of a drama, in which his own
life was concerned, although the piece was played by others. Indeed, it
seemed as if through the whole assembly some signal was waited for,
which no one was in readiness to give.

The discontented citizens and soldiers looked in vain for Agelastes and
the Caesar, and when they observed the condition of Achilles Tatius, it
seemed such as rather to express doubt and consternation, than to give
encouragement to the hopes they had entertained. Many of the lower
classes, however, felt too secure in their own insignificance to fear
the personal consequences of a tumult, and were desirous, therefore, to
provoke the disturbance, which seemed hushing itself to sleep.

A hoarse murmur, which attained almost the importance of a shout,
exclaimed,--"Justice, justice!--Ursel, Ursel!--The rights of the
Immortal Guards!" &c. At this the trumpet of the Varangians awoke, and
its tremendous tones were heard to peal loudly over the whole assembly,
as the voice of its presiding deity. A dead silence prevailed in the
multitude, and the voice of a herald announced, in the name of Alexius
Comnenus, his sovereign will and pleasure.

"Citizens of the Roman Empire, your complaints, stirred up by factious
men, have reached the ear of your Emperor; you shall yourselves be
witness to his power of gratifying his people. At your request, and
before your own sight, the visual ray which hath been quenched shall be
re-illumined--the mind whose efforts were restricted to the imperfect
supply of individual wants shall be again extended, if such is the
owner's will, to the charge of an ample Theme or division of the
empire. Political jealousy, more hard to receive conviction than the
blind to receive sight, shall yield itself conquered, by the Emperor's
paternal love of his people, and his desire to give them satisfaction.
Ursel, the darling of your wishes, supposed to be long dead, or at
least believed to exist in blinded seclusion, is restored to you well
in health, clear in eyesight, and possessed of every faculty necessary
to adorn the Emperor's favour, or merit the affection of the people."

As the herald thus spoke, a figure, which had hitherto stood shrouded
behind some officers of the interior, now stepped forth, and flinging
from him a dusky veil, in which he was wrapt, appeared in a dazzling
scarlet garment, of which the sleeves and buskins displayed those
ornaments which expressed a rank nearly adjacent to that of the Emperor
himself. He held in his hand a silver truncheon, the badge of delegated
command over the Immortal Guards, and kneeling before the Emperor,
presented it to his hands, intimating a virtual resignation of the
command which it implied. The whole assembly were electrified at the
appearance of a person long supposed either dead, or by cruel means
rendered incapable of public trust. Some recognised the man, whose
appearance and features were not easily forgot, and gratulated him upon
his most unexpected return to the service of his country. Others stood
suspended in amazement, not knowing whether to trust their eyes, while
a few determined malecontents eagerly pressed upon the assembly an
allegation that the person presented as Ursel was only a counterfeit,
and the whole a trick of the Emperor.

"Speak to them, noble Ursel," said the Emperor. "Tell them, that if I
have sinned against thee, it has been because I was deceived, and that
my disposition to make thee amends is as ample as ever was my purpose
of doing thee wrong."

"Friends and countrymen," said Ursel, turning himself to the assembly,
"his Imperial Majesty permits me to offer my assurance, that if in any
former part of my life I have suffered at his hand, it is more than
wiped out by the feelings of a moment so glorious as this; and that I
am well satisfied, from the present instant, to spend what remains of
my life in the service of the most generous and beneficent of
sovereigns, or, with his permission, to bestow it in preparing, by
devotional exercises, for an infinite immortality to be spent in the
society of saints and angels. Whichever choice I shall make, I reckon
that you, my beloved countrymen, who have remembered me so kindly
during years of darkness and captivity, will not fail to afford me the
advantage of your prayers."

This sudden apparition of the long-lost Ursel had too much of that
which elevates and surprises not to captivate the multitude, and they
sealed their reconciliation with three tremendous shouts, which are
said to have shaken the air, that birds, incapable of sustaining
themselves, sunk down exhausted out of their native element.




CHAPTER THE THIRTY-THIRD.

     "What, leave the combat out!" exclaimed the knight.
     "Yea! or we must renounce the Stagyrite.
     So large a crowd the stage will ne'er contain."
     --"Then build a new, or act it on a plain."
                                                POPE.


The sounds of the gratulating shout had expanded over the distant
shores of the Bosphorus by mountain and forest, and died at length in
the farthest echoes, when the people, in the silence which ensued,
appeared to ask each other what next scene was about to adorn a pause
so solemn and a stage so august. The pause would probably have soon
given place to some new clamour, for a multitude, from whatever cause
assembled, seldom remains long silent, had not a new signal from the
Varangian trumpet given notice of a fresh purpose to solicit their
attention. The blast had something in its tone spirit-stirring and yet
melancholy, partaking both of the character of a point of war, and of
the doleful sounds which might be chosen to announce an execution of
peculiar solemnity. Its notes were high and widely extended, and
prolonged and long dwelt upon, as if the brazen clamour had been waked
by something more tremendous than the lungs of mere mortals.

The multitude appeared to acknowledge these awful sounds, which were
indeed such as habitually solicited their attention to Imperial edicts,
of melancholy import, by which rebellions were announced, dooms of
treason discharged, and other tidings of a great and affecting import
intimated to the people of Constantinople. When the trumpet had in its
turn ceased, with its thrilling and doleful notes, to agitate the
immense assembly, the voice of the herald again addressed them.

It announced in a grave and affecting strain, that it sometimes chanced
how the people failed in their duty to a sovereign, who was unto them
as a father, and how it became the painful duty of the prince to use
the rod of correction rather than the olive sceptre of mercy.

"Fortunate," continued the herald, "it is, when the supreme Deity
having taken on himself the preservation of a throne, in beneficence
and justice resembling his own, has also assumed the most painful task
of his earthly delegate, by punishing those whom his unerring judgment
acknowledges as most guilty, and leaving to his substitute the more
agreeable task of pardoning such of those as art has misled, and
treachery hath involved in its snares.

"Such being the case, Greece and its accompanying Themes are called
upon to listen and learn that a villain, namely Agelastes, who had
insinuated himself into the favour of the Emperor, by affection of deep
knowledge and severe virtue, had formed a treacherous plan for the
murder of the Emperor Alexius Comnenus, and a revolution in the state.
This person, who, under pretended wisdom, hid the doctrines of a
heretic and the vices of a sensualist, had found proselytes to his
doctrines even among the Emperor's household, and those persons who
were most bound to him, and down to the lower order, to excite the last
of whom were dispersed a multitude of forged rumours, similar to those
concerning Ursol's death and blindness, of which your own eyes have
witnessed the falsehood."

The people, who had hitherto listened in silence, upon this appeal
broke forth in a clamorous assent. They had scarcely been again silent,
ere the iron-voiced herald continued his proclamation.

"Not Korah, Dathan, and Abiram," he said, "had more justly, or more
directly fallen under the doom of an offended Deity, than this villain,
Agelastes. The steadfast earth gaped to devour the apostate sons of
Israel, but the termination of this wretched man's existence has been,
as far as can now be known, by the direct means of an evil spirit, whom
his own arts had evoked into the upper air. By the spirit, as would
appear by the testimony of a noble lady, and other females, who
witnessed the termination of his life, Agelastes was strangled, a fate
well-becoming his odious crimes. Such a death, even of a guilty man,
must, indeed, be most painful to the humane feelings of the Emperor,
because it involves suffering beyond this world. But the awful
catastrophe carries with it this comfort, that it absolves the Emperor
from the necessity of carrying any farther a vengeance which Heaven
itself seems to have limited to the exemplary punishment of the
principal conspirator. Some changes of offices and situations shall be
made, for the sake of safety and good order; but the secret who had or
who had not, been concerned in this awful crime, shall sleep in the
bosoms of the persons themselves implicated, since the Emperor is
determined to dismiss their offence from his memory, as the effect of a
transient delusion. Let all, therefore, who now hear me, whatever
consciousness they may possess of a knowledge of what was this day
intended, return to their houses, assured that their own thoughts will
be their only punishment. Let them rejoice that Almighty goodness has
saved them from the meditations of their own hearts, and, according to
the affecting language of Scripture,--'Let them repent and sin no more,
lest a worse thing befall them.'"

The voice of the herald then ceased, and was again answered by the
shouts of the audience. These were unanimous; for circumstances
contributed to convince the malecontent party that they stood at the
Sovereign's mercy, and the edict that they heard having shown his
acquaintance with their guilt, it lay at his pleasure to let loose upon
them the strength of the Varangians, while, from the terms on which it
had pleased him to receive Tancred, it was probable that the Apuleian
forces were also at his disposal.

The voices, therefore, of the bulky Stephanos, of Harpax the centurion,
and other rebels, both of the camp and city, were the first to thunder
forth their gratitude for the clemency of the Emperor, and their thanks
to Heaven for his preservation.

The audience, reconciled to the thoughts of the discovered and
frustrated conspiracy, began meantime, according to their custom, to
turn themselves to the consideration of the matter which had more
avowedly called them together, and private whispers, swelling by
degrees into murmurs, began to express the dissatisfaction of the
citizens at being thus long assembled, without receiving any
communication respecting the announced purpose of their meeting.

Alexius was not slow to perceive the tendency of their thoughts; and,
on a signal from his hand, the trumpets blew a point of war, in sounds
far more lively than those which had prefaced the Imperial edict.
"Robert, Count of Paris," then said a herald, "art thou here in thy
place, or by knightly proxy, to answer the challenge brought against
thee by his Imperial Highness Nicephorus Briennius, Caesar of this
empire?"

The Emperor conceived himself to have equally provided against the
actual appearance at this call of either of the parties named, and had
prepared an exhibition of another kind, namely, certain cages, tenanted
by wild animals, which being now loosened should do their pleasure with
each other in the eyes of the assembly. His astonishment and confusion,
therefore, were great, when, as the last note of the proclamation died
in the echo, Count Robert of Paris stood forth, armed cap-a-pie, his
mailed charger led behind him from within the curtained enclosure, at
one end of the lists, as if ready to mount at the signal of the marshal.

The alarm and the shame that were visible in every countenance near the
Imperial presence when no Caesar came forth in like fashion to confront
the formidable Frank, were not of long duration. Hardly had the style
and title of the Count of Paris been duly announced by the heralds, and
their second summons of his antagonist uttered in due form, when a
person, dressed like one of the Varangian Guards, sprung into the
lists, and announced himself as ready to do battle in the name and
place of the Caesar Nicephorus Briennius, and for the honour of the
empire.

Alexius, with the utmost joy, beheld this unexpected assistance, and
readily gave his consent to the bold soldier who stood thus forward in
the hour of utmost need, to take upon himself the dangerous office of
champion. He the more readily acquiesced, as, from the size and
appearance of the soldier, and the gallant bearing he displayed, he had
no doubt of his individual person, and fully confided in his valour.
But Prince Tancred interposed his opposition.

"The lists," he said, "were only open to knights and nobles; or, at any
rate, men were not permitted to meet therein who were not of some
equality of birth and blood; nor could he remain a silent witness where
the laws of chivalry are in such respects forgotten."

"Let Count Robert of Paris," said the Varangian, "look upon my
countenance, and say whether he has not, by promise, removed all
objection to our contest which might be founded upon an inequality of
condition, and let him be judge himself, whether, by meeting me in this
field, he will do more than comply with a compact which he has long
since become bound by."

Count Robert, upon this appeal, advanced and acknowledged, without
further debate, that, notwithstanding their difference of rank, he held
himself bound by his solemn word to give this valiant soldier a meeting
in the field. That he regretted, on account of this gallant man's
eminent virtues, and the high services he had received at his hands,
that they should now stand upon terms of such bloody arbitration; but
since nothing was more common, than that the fate of war called on
friends to meet each other in mortal combat, he would not shrink from
the engagement he had pledged himself to; nor did he think his quality
in the slightest degree infringed or diminished, by meeting in battle a
warrior so well known and of such good account as Hereward, the brave
Varangian. He added, that "he willingly admitted that the combat should
take place on foot, and with the battle-axe, which was the ordinary
weapon of the Varangian guard."

Hereward had stood still, almost like a statue, while this discourse
passed; but when the Count of Paris had made this speech, he inclined
himself towards him with a grateful obeisance, and expressed himself
honoured and gratified by the manly manner in which the Count acquitted
himself, according to his promise, with complete honour and fidelity.

"What we are to do," said Count Robert, with a sigh of regret, which
even his love of battle could not prevent, "let us do quickly; the
heart may be affected, but the hand must do its duty."

Hereward assented, with the additional remark, "Let us then lose no
more time, which is already flying fast." And, grasping his axe, he
stood prepared for combat.

"I also am ready," said Count Robert of Paris, taking the same weapon
from a Varangian soldier, who stood by the lists. Both were immediately
upon the alert, nor did further forms or circumstances put off the
intended duel.

The first blows were given and parried with great caution, and Prince
Tancred and others thought that on the part of Count Robert the caution
was much greater than usual; but, in combat as in food, the appetite
increases with the exercise. The fiercer passions began, as usual, to
awaken with the clash of arms and the sense of deadly blows, some of
which were made with great fury on either side, and parried with
considerable difficulty, and not so completely but that blood flowed on
both their parts. The Greeks looked with astonishment on a single
combat, such as they had seldom witnessed, and held their breath as
they beheld the furious blows dealt by either warrior, and expected
with each stroke the annihilation of one or other of the combatants. As
yet their strength and agility seemed somewhat equally matched,
although those who judged with more pretension to knowledge, were of
opinion, that Count Robert spared putting forth some part of the
military skill for which he was celebrated; and the remark was
generally made and allowed that he had surrendered a great advantage by
not insisting upon his right to fight upon horseback. On the other
hand, it was the general opinion that the gallant Varangian omitted to
take advantage of one or two opportunities afforded him by the heat of
Count Robert's temper, who obviously was incensed at the duration of
the combat.

Accident at length seemed about to decide what had been hitherto an
equal contest. Count Robert, making a feint on one side of his
antagonist, struck him on the other, which was uncovered, with the edge
of his weapon, so that the Varangian reeled, and seemed in the act of
falling to the earth. The usual sound made by spectators at the sight
of any painful or unpleasant circumstance, by drawing the breath
between the teeth, was suddenly heard to pass through the assembly,
while a female voice loud and eagerly exclaimed,--"Count Robert of
Paris!--forget not this day that thou owest a life to Heaven and me."
The Count was in the act of again seconding his blow, with what effect
could hardly be judged, when this cry reached his ears, and apparently
took away his disposition for farther combat.

"I acknowledge the debt," he said, sinking his battle-axe, and
retreating two steps from his antagonist, who stood in astonishment,
scarcely recovered from the stunning effect of the blow by which he was
so nearly prostrated. He sank the blade of his battle-axe in imitation
of his antagonist, and seemed to wait in suspense what was to be the
next process of the combat. "I acknowledge my debt," said the valiant
Count of Paris, "alike to Bertha of Britain and to the Almighty, who
has preserved me from the crime of ungrateful blood-guiltiness.--You
have seen the fight, gentlemen," turning to Tancred and his chivalry,
"and can testify, on your honour, that it has been maintained fairly on
both sides, and without advantage on either. I presume my honourable
antagonist has by this time satisfied the desire which brought me under
his challenge, and which certainly had no taste in it of personal or
private quarrel. On my part, I retain towards him such a sense of
personal obligation as would render my continuing this combat, unless
compelled to it by self-defence, a shameful and sinful action."

Alexius gladly embraced the terms of truce, which he was far from
expecting, and threw down his warder, in signal that the duel was
ended. Tancred, though somewhat surprised, and perhaps even
scandalized, that a private soldier of the Emperor's guard should have
so long resisted the utmost efforts of so approved a knight, could not
but own that the combat had been fought with perfect fairness and
equality, and decided upon terms dishonourable to neither party. The
Count's character being well known and established amongst the
crusaders, they were compelled to believe that some motive of a most
potent nature formed the principle upon which, very contrary to his
general practice, he had proposed a cessation of the combat before it
was brought to a deadly, or at least to a decisive conclusion. The
edict of the Emperor upon the occasion, therefore, passed into a law,
acknowledged by the assent of the chiefs present, and especially
affirmed and gratulated by the shouts of the assembled spectators.

But perhaps the most interesting figure in the assembly was that of the
bold Varangian, arrived so suddenly at a promotion of military renown,
which the extreme difficulty he had experienced in keeping his ground
against Count Robert had prevented him from anticipating, although his
modesty had not diminished the indomitable courage with which he
maintained the contest. He stood in the middle of the lists, his face
ruddy with the exertion of the combat, and not less so from the modest
consciousness proper to the plainness and simplicity of his character,
which was disconcerted by finding himself the central point of the gaze
of the multitude.

"Speak to me, my soldier," said Alexius, strongly affected by the
gratitude which he felt was due to Hereward upon so singular an
occasion, "speak to thine Emperor as his superior, for such thou art at
this moment, and tell him if there is any manner, even at the expense
of half his kingdom, to atone for his own life saved, and, what is yet
dearer, for the honour of his country, which thou hast so manfully
defended and preserved?"

"My Lord," answered Hereward, "your Imperial Highness values my poor
services over highly, and ought to attribute them to the noble Count of
Paris, first, for his condescending to accept of an antagonist so mean
in quality as myself; and next, in generously relinquishing victory
when he might have achieved it by an additional blow; for I here
confess before your Majesty, my brethren, and the assembled Grecians,
that my power of protracting the combat was ended, when the gallant
Count, by his generosity, put a stop to it."

"Do not thyself that wrong, brave man," said Count Robert; "for I vow
to our Lady of the Broken Lances, that the combat was yet within the
undetermined doom of Providence, when the pressure of my own feelings
rendered me incapable of continuing it, to the necessary harm, perhaps
to the mortal damage, of an antagonist to whom I owe so much kindness.
Choose, therefore, the recompense which the generosity of thy Emperor
offers in a manner so just and grateful, and fear not lest mortal voice
pronounces that reward unmerited which Robert of Paris shall avouch
with his sword to have been gallantly won upon his own crest."

"You are too great, my lord, and too noble," answered the Anglo-Saxon,
"to be gainsaid by such as I am, and I must not awaken new strife
between us by contesting the circumstances under which our combat so
suddenly closed, nor would it be wise or prudent in me further to
contradict you. My noble Emperor generously offers me the right of
naming what he calls my recompense; but let not his generosity be
dispraised, although it is from you, my lord, and not from his Imperial
Highness, that I am to ask a boon, to me the dearest to which my voice
can give utterance."

"And that," said the Count, "has reference to Bertha, the faithful
attendant of my wife?"

"Even so," said Hereward; "it is my proposal to request my discharge
from the Varangian guard, and permission to share in your lordship's
pious and honourable vow for the recovery of Palestine, with liberty to
fight under your honoured banner, and permission from time to time to
recommend my love-suit to Bertha, the attendant of the Countess of
Paris, and the hope that it may find favour in the eyes of her noble
lord and lady. I may thus finally hope to be restored to a country,
which I have never ceased to love over the rest of the world."

"Thy service, noble soldier," said the Count, "shall be as acceptable
to me as that of a born earl; nor is there an opportunity of acquiring
honour which I can shape for thee, to which, as it occurs, I will not
gladly prefer thee. I will not boast of what interest I have with the
King of England, but something I can do with him, and it shall be
strained to the uttermost to settle thee in thine own beloved native
country."

The Emperor then spoke. "Bear witness, heaven and earth, and you my
faithful subjects, and you my gallant allies; above all, you my bold
and true Varangian Guard, that we would rather have lost the brightest
jewel from our Imperial crown, than have relinquished the service of
this true and faithful Anglo-Saxon. But since go he must and will, it
shall be my study to distinguish him by such marks of beneficence as
may make it known through his future life, that he is the person to
whom the Emperor Alexius Comnenus acknowledged a debt larger than his
empire could discharge. You, my Lord Tancred, and your principal
leaders, will sup with us this evening, and to-morrow resume your
honourable and religious purpose of pilgrimage. We trust both the
combatants will also oblige us by their presence.--Trumpets, give the
signal for dismission."

The trumpets sounded accordingly, and the different classes of
spectators, armed and unarmed, broke up into various parties, or formed
into their military ranks, for the purpose of their return to the city.

The screams of women suddenly and strangely raised, was the first thing
that arrested the departure of the multitude, when those who glanced
their eyes back, saw Sylvan, the great ourang-outang, produce himself
in the lists, to their surprise and astonishment. The women, and many
of the men who were present, unaccustomed to the ghastly look and
savage appearance of a creature so extraordinary, raised a yell of
terror so loud, that it discomposed the animal who was the occasion of
its being raised. Sylvan, in the course of the night, having escaped
over the garden-wall of Agelastes, and clambered over the rampart of
the city, found no difficulty in hiding himself in the lists which were
in the act of being raised, having found a lurking-place in some dark
corner under the seats of the spectators. From this he was probably
dislodged by the tumult of the dispersing multitude, and had been
compelled, therefore, to make an appearance in public when he least
desired it, not unlike that of the celebrated Puliccinello, at the
conclusion of his own drama, when he enters in mortal strife with the
foul fiend himself, a scene which scarcely excites more terror among
the juvenile audience, than did the unexpected apparition of Sylvan
among the spectators of the duel. Bows were bent, and javelins pointed
by the braver part of the soldiery, against an animal of an appearance
so ambiguous, and whom his uncommon size and grizzly look caused most
who beheld him to suppose either the devil himself, or the apparition
of some fiendish deity of ancient days, whom the heathens worshipped.
Sylvan had so far improved such opportunities as had been afforded him,
as to become sufficiently aware that the attitudes assumed by so many
military men, inferred immediate danger to his person, from which he
hastened to shelter himself by flying to the protection of Hereward,
with whom he had been in some degree familiarized. He seized him,
accordingly, by the cloak, and, by the absurd and alarmed look of his
fantastic features, and a certain wild and gibbering chatter,
endeavoured to express his fear and to ask protection. Hereward
understood the terrified creature, and turning to the Emperor's throne,
said aloud,--"Poor frightened being, turn thy petition, and gestures,
and tones, to a quarter which, having to-day pardoned so many offences
which were wilfully and maliciously schemed, will not be, I am sure,
obdurate to such as thou, in thy half-reasoning capacity, may have been
capable of committing."

The creature, as is the nature of its tribe, caught from Hereward
himself the mode of applying with most effect his gestures and pitiable
supplication, while the Emperor, notwithstanding the serious scene
which had just past, could not help laughing at the touch of comedy
flung into it by this last incident.

"My trusty Hereward,"--he said aside, ("I will not again call him
Edward if I can help it)--thou art the refuge of the distressed,
whether it be man or beast, and nothing that sues through thy
intercession, while thou remainest in our service, shall find its
supplication in vain. Do thou, good Hereward," for the name was now
pretty well established in his Imperial memory, "and such of thy
companions as know the habits of the creature, lead him back to his old
quarters in the Blacquernal; and that done, my friend, observe that we
request thy company, and that of thy faithful mate Bertha, to partake
supper at our court, with our wife and daughter, and such of our
servants and allies as we shall request to share the same honour. Be
assured, that while thou remainest with us, there is no point of
dignity which shall not be willingly paid to thee.--And do thou
approach, Achilles Tatius, as much favoured by thine Emperor as before
this day dawned. What charges are against thee have been only whispered
in a friendly ear, which remembers them not, unless (which Heaven
forefend!) their remembrance is renewed by fresh offences."

Achilles Tatius bowed till the plume of his helmet mingled with the
mane of his fiery horse, but held it wisest to forbear any answer in
words, leaving his crime and his pardon to stand upon those general
terms in which the Emperor had expressed them.

Once more the multitude of all ranks returned on their way to the city,
nor did any second interruption arrest their march. Sylvan, accompanied
by one or two Varangians, who led him in a sort of captivity, took his
way to the vaults of the Blacquernal, which were in fact his proper
habitation.

Upon the road to the city, Harpax, the notorious corporal of the
Immortal Guards, held a discourse with one or two of his own soldiers,
and of the citizens who had been members of the late conspiracy.

"So," said Stephanos, the prize-fighter, "a fine affair we have made of
it, to suffer ourselves to be all anticipated and betrayed by a
thick-sculled Varangian; every chance turning against us as they would
against Corydon, the shoemaker, if he were to defy me to the circus.
Ursel, whose death made so much work, turns out not to be dead after
all; and what is worse, he lives not to our advantage. This fellow
Hereward, who was yesterday no better than myself--What do I
say?--better!--he was a great deal worse--an insignificant nobody in
every respect!--is now crammed with honours, praises, and gifts, till
he wellnigh returns what they have given him, and the Caesar and the
Acolyte, our associates, have lost the Emperor's love and confidence,
and if they are suffered to survive, it must be like the tame domestic
poultry, whom we pamper with food, one day, that upon the next their
necks may be twisted for spit or spot."

"Stephanos," replied the centurion, "thy form of body fits thee well
for the Palaestra, but thy mind is not so acutely formed as to detect
that which is real from that which is only probable, in the political
world, of which thou art now judging. Considering the risk incurred by
lending a man's ear to a conspiracy, thou oughtest to reckon it a
saving in every particular, where he escapes with his life and
character safe. This has been the case with Achilles Tatius, and with
the Caesar. They have remained also in their high places of trust and
power, and maybe confident that the Emperor will hardly dare to remove
them at a future period, since the possession of the full knowledge of
their guilt has not emboldened him to do so. Their power, thus left
with them, is in fact ours; nor is there a circumstance to be supposed,
which can induce them to betray their confederates to the government.
It is much more likely that they will remember them with the
probability of renewing, at a finer time, the alliance which binds them
together. Cheer up thy noble resolution, therefore, my Prince of the
Circus, and think that thou shalt still retain that predominant
influence which the favourites of the amphitheatre are sure to possess
over the citizens of Constantinople."

"I cannot tell," answered Stephanos; "but it gnaws at my heart like the
worm that dieth not, to see this beggarly foreigner betray the noblest
blood in the land, not to mention the best athlete in the Palaestra,
and move off not only without punishment for his treachery, but with
praise, honour, and preferment."

"True," said Harpax; "but observe, my friend, that he does move off to
purpose. He leaves the land, quits the corps in which he might claim
preferment and a few vain honours, being valued at what such trifles
amount to. Hereward, in the course of one or two days, shall be little
better than a disbanded soldier, subsisting by the poor bread which he
can obtain as a follower of this beggarly Count, or which he is rather
bound to dispute with the infidel, by encountering with his battle-axe
the Turkish sabres. What will it avail him amidst the disasters, the
slaughter, and the famine of Palestine, that he once upon a time was
admitted to supper with the Emperor? We know Alexius Comnenus---he is
willing to discharge, at the highest cost, such obligations as are
incurred to men like this Hereward; and, believe me, I think that I see
the wily despot shrug his shoulders in derision, when one morning he is
saluted with the news of a battle in Palestine lost by the crusaders in
which his old acquaintance has fallen a dead man. I will not insult
thee, by telling thee how easy it might be to acquire the favour of a
gentlewoman in waiting upon a lady of quality; nor do I think it would
be difficult, should that be the object of the prize-fighter, to
acquire the property of a large baboon like Sylvan, which no doubt
would set up as a juggler any Frank who had meanness of spirit to
propose to gain his bread in such a capacity, from the alms of the
starving chivalry of Europe. But he who can stoop to envy the lot of
such a person, ought not to be one whose chief personal distinctions
are sufficient to place him first in rank over all the favourites of
the amphitheatre."

There was something in this sophistical kind of reasoning, which was
but half satisfactory to the obtuse intellect of the prize-fighter, to
whom it was addressed, although the only answer which he attempted was
couched in this observation:--

"Ay, but, noble centurion, you forget that, besides empty honours, this
Varangian Hereward, or Edward, whichever is his name, is promised a
mighty donative of gold."

"Marry, you touch me there," said the centurion; "and when you tell me
that the promise is fulfilled, I will willingly agree that the
Anglo-Saxon hath gained something to be envied for; but while it
remains in the shape of a naked promise, you shall pardon me, my worthy
Stephanos, if I hold it of no more account than the mere pledges which
are distributed among ourselves as well as to the Varangians, promising
upon future occasions mints of money, which we are likely to receive at
the same time with the last year's snow. Keep up your heart, therefore,
noble Stephanos, and believe not that your affairs are worse for the
miscarriage of this day; and let not thy gallant courage sink, but
remembering those principles upon which it was called into action,
believe that thy objects are not the less secure because fate has
removed their acquisition to a more distant day." The veteran and
unbending conspirator, Harpax, thus strengthened for some future
renewal of their enterprise the failing spirits of Stephanos.

After this, such leaders as were included in the invitation given by
the Emperor, repaired to the evening meal, and, from the general
content and complaisance expressed by Alexius and his guests of every
description, it could little have been supposed that the day just
passed over was one which had inferred a purpose so dangerous and
treacherous.

The absence of the Countess Brenhilda, during this eventful day,
created no small surprise to the Emperor and those in his immediate
confidence, who knew her enterprising spirit, and the interest she must
have felt in the issue of the combat. Bertha had made an early
communication to the Count, that his lady, agitated with the many
anxieties of the few preceding days, was unable to leave her apartment.
The valiant knight, therefore, lost no time in acquainting his faithful
Countess of his safety; and afterwards joining those who partook of the
banquet at the palace, he bore himself as if the least recollection did
not remain on his mind of the perfidious conduct of the Emperor at the
conclusion of the last entertainment. He knew, in truth, that the
knights of Prince Tancred not only maintained a strict watch round the
house where Brenhilda remained, but also that they preserved a severe
ward in the neighbourhood of the Blacquernal, as well for the safety of
their heroic leader, as for that of Count Robert, the respected
companion of their military pilgrimage.

It was the general principle of the European chivalry, that distrust
was rarely permitted to survive open quarrels, and that whatever was
forgiven, was dismissed from their recollection, as unlikely to recur;
but on the present occasion there was a more than usual assemblage of
troops, which the occurrences of the day had drawn together, so that
the crusaders were called upon to be particularly watchful.

It may be believed that the evening passed over without any attempt to
renew the ceremonial in the council chamber of the Lions, which had
been upon a former occasion terminated in such misunderstanding. Indeed
it would have been lucky if the explanation between the mighty Emperor
of Greece and the chivalrous Knight of Paris had taken place earlier;
for reflection on what had passed, had convinced the Emperor that the
Franks were not a people to be imposed upon by pieces of clockwork, and
similar trifles, and that what they did not understand, was sure,
instead of procuring their awe or admiration, to excite their anger and
defiance. Nor had it altogether escaped Count Robert, that the manners
of the Eastern people were upon a different scale from those to which
he had been accustomed; that they neither were so deeply affected by
the spirit of chivalry, nor, in his own language, was the worship of
the Lady of the Broken Lances so congenial a subject of adoration. This
notwithstanding, Count Robert observed, that Alexius Comnenus was a
wise and politic prince; his wisdom perhaps too much allied to cunning,
but yet aiding him to maintain with great address that empire over the
minds of his subjects, which was necessary for their good, and for
maintaining his own authority. He therefore resolved to receive with
equanimity whatever should be offered by the Emperor, either in
civility or in the way of jest, and not again to disturb an
understanding which might be of advantage to Christendom, by a quarrel
founded upon misconception of terms or misapprehension of manners. To
this prudent resolution the Count of Paris adhered during the whole
evening; with some difficulty, however, since it was somewhat
inconsistent with his own fiery and inquisitive temper, which was
equally desirous to know the precise amount of whatever was addressed
to him, and to take umbrage at it, should it appear in the least degree
offensive, whether so intended or not.




CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FOURTH.


It was not until after the conquest of Jerusalem that Count Robert of
Paris returned to Constantinople, and with his wife, and such
proportion of his followers as the sword and pestilence had left after
that bloody warfare, resumed his course to his native kingdom. Upon
reaching Italy, the first care of the noble Count and Countess was to
celebrate in princely style the marriage of Hereward and his faithful
Bertha, who had added to their other claims upon their master and
mistress, those acquired by Hereward's faithful services in Palestine,
and no less by Bertha's affectionate ministry to her lady in
Constantinople.

As to the fate of Alexius Comnenus, it may be read at large in the
history of his daughter Anna, who has represented him as the hero of
many a victory, achieved, says the purple-born, in the third chapter
and fifteenth book of her history, sometimes by his arms and sometimes
by his prudence.

"His boldness alone has gained some battles, at other times his success
has been won by stratagem. He has erected the most illustrious of his
trophies by confronting danger, by combating like a simple soldier, and
throwing himself bareheaded into the thickest of the foe. But there are
others," continues the accomplished lady, "which he gained an
opportunity of erecting by assuming the appearance of terror, and even
of retreat. In a word, he knew alike how to triumph either in flight or
in pursuit, and remained upright even before those enemies who appeared
to have struck him down; resembling the military implement termed the
calthrop, which remains always upright in whatever direction it is
thrown on the ground."

It would be unjust to deprive the Princess of the defence she herself
makes against the obvious charge of partiality.

"I must still once more repel the reproach which some bring against me,
as if my history was composed merely according to the dictates of the
natural love for parents which is engraved in the hearts of children.
In truth, it is not the effect of that affection which I bear to mine,
but it is the evidence of matter of fact, which obliges me to speak as
I have done. Is it not possible that one can have at the same time an
affection for the memory of a father and for truth? For myself, I have
never directed my attempt to write history, otherwise than for the
ascertainment of the matter of fact. With this purpose, I have taken
for my subject the history of a worthy man. Is it just, that, by the
single accident of his being the author of my birth, his quality of my
father ought to form a prejudice against me, which would ruin my credit
with my readers? I have given, upon other occasions, proofs
sufficiently strong of the ardour which I had for the defence of my
father's interests, which those that know me can never doubt but, on
the present, I have been limited by the inviolable fidelity with which
I respect the truth, which I should have felt conscience to have
veiled, under pretence of serving the renown of my father."--_Alexiad_,
chap. iii. book xv.

This much we have deemed it our duty to quote, in justice to the fair
historian; we will extract also her description of the Emperor's death,
and are not unwilling to allow, that the character assigned to the
Princess by our own Gibbon, has in it a great deal of fairness and of
truth.

Notwithstanding her repeated protests of sacrificing rather to the
exact and absolute truth than to the memory of her deceased parent,
Gibbon remarks truly, that "instead of the simplicity of style and
narrative which wins a belief, an elaborate affectation of rhetoric and
science betrays in every page the vanity of a female author. The
genuine character of Alexius is lost in a vague constellation of
virtues; and the perpetual strain of panegyric and apology awakens our
jealousy to question the veracity of the historian, and the merit of
the hero. We cannot, however, refuse her judicious and important
remark, that the disorders of the times were the misfortune and the
glory of Alexius; and that every calamity which can afflict a declining
empire was accumulated on his reign by the justice of Heaven and the
vices of his predecessors."--GIBBON'S _Roman Empire_, vol. ix. p. 83,
foot-note.

The Princess accordingly feels the utmost assurance, that a number of
signs which appeared in heaven and on earth, were interpreted by the
soothsayers of the day as foreboding the death of the Emperor. By these
means, Anna Comnena assigned to her father those indications of
consequence, which ancient historians represent as necessary
intimations of the sympathy of nature, with the removal of great
characters from the world; but she fails not to inform the Christian
reader that her father's belief attached to none of these prognostics,
and that even on the following remarkable occasion he maintained his
incredulity:--A splendid statue, supposed generally to be a relic of
paganism, holding in its hand a golden sceptre, and standing upon a
base of porphyry, was overturned by a tempest, and was generally
believed to be an intimation of the death of the Emperor. This,
however, he generously repelled. Phidias, he said, and other great
sculptors of antiquity, had the talent of imitating the human frame
with surprising accuracy; but to suppose that the power of foretelling
future events was reposed in these master-pieces of art, would be to
ascribe to their makers the faculties reserved by the Deity for
himself, when he says, "It is I who kill and make alive." During his
latter days, the Emperor was greatly afflicted with the gout, the
nature of which has exercised the wit of many persons of science as
well as of Anna Comnena. The poor patient was so much exhausted, that
when the Empress was talking of most eloquent persons who should assist
in the composition of his history, he said, with a natural contempt of
such vanities, "The passages of my unhappy life call rather for tears
and lamentation than for the praises you speak of."

A species of asthma having come to the assistance of the gout, the
remedies of the physicians became as vain as the intercession of the
monks and clergy, as well as the alms which were indiscriminately
lavished. Two or three deep successive swoons gave ominous warning of
the approaching blow; and at length was terminated the reign and life
of Alexius Comnenus, a prince who, with all the faults which may be
imputed to him, still possesses a real right, from the purity of his
general intentions, to be accounted one of the best sovereigns of the
Lower Empire.

For some time, the historian forgot her pride of literary rank, and,
like an ordinary person, burst into tears and shrieks, tore her hair,
and defaced her countenance, while the Empress Irene cast from her her
princely habits, cut off her hair, changed her purple buskins for black
mourning shoes, and her daughter Mary, who had herself been a widow,
took a black robe from one of her own wardrobes, and presented it to
her mother. "Even in the moment when she put it on," says Anna Comnena,
"the Emperor gave up the ghost, and in that moment the sun of my life
set."

We shall not pursue her lamentations farther. She upbraids herself
that, after the death of her father, that light of the world, she had
also survived Irene, the delight alike of the east and of the west, and
survived her husband also. "I am indignant," she said, "that my soul,
suffering under such torrents of misfortune, should still deign to
animate my body. Have I not," said she, "been more hard and unfeeling
than the rocks themselves; and is it not just that one, who could
survive such a father and mother, and such a husband, should be
subjected to the influence of so much calamity? But let me finish this
history, rather than any longer fatigue my readers with my unavailing
and tragical lamentation."

Having thus concluded her history, she adds the following two lines:--

    "The learned Comnena lays her pen aside,
     What time her subject and her father died." [Footnote: [Greek:
     Laexen hopou biotoio Alexios d Komnaenos
     Entha kalae thygataer laexen Alexiados.]]

These quotations will probably give the readers as much as they wish to
know of the real character of this Imperial historian. Fewer words will
suffice to dispose of the other parties who have been selected from her
pages, as persons in the foregoing drama.

There is very little doubt that the Count Robert of Paris, whose
audacity in seating himself upon the throne of the Emperor gives a
peculiar interest to his character, was in fact a person of the highest
rank; being no other, as has been conjectured by the learned Du Cange,
than an ancestor of the house of Bourbon, which has so long given Kings
to France. He was a successor, it has been conceived, of the Counts of
Paris, by whom the city was valiantly defended against the Normans, and
an ancestor of Hugh Capet. There are several hypotheses upon this
subject, deriving the well-known Hugh Capet, first, from the family of
Saxony; secondly, from St. Arnoul, afterwards Bishop of Altex; third,
from Nibilong; fourth, from the Duke of Bavaria; and fifth, from a
natural son of the Emperor Charlemagne. Variously placed, but in each
of these contested pedigrees, appears this Robert surnamed the
_Strong_, who was Count of that district, of which Paris was the
capital, most peculiarly styled the County, or Isle of France. Anna
Comnena, who has recorded the bold usurpation of the Emperor's seat by
this haughty chieftain, has also acquainted us with his receiving a
severe, if not a mortal wound, at the battle of Dorylseum, owing to his
neglecting the warlike instructions with which her father had favoured
him on the subject of the Turkish wars. The antiquary who is disposed
to investigate this subject, may consult the late Lord Ashburnham's
elaborate Genealogy of the Royal House of France; also a note of Du
Cange's on the Princess's history, p. 362, arguing for the identity of
her "Robert of Paris, a haughty barbarian," with the "Robert called the
Strong," mentioned as an ancestor of Hugh Capet. Gibbon, vol. xi. p.
52, may also be consulted. The French antiquary and the English
historian seem alike disposed to find the church, called in the tale
that of the Lady of the Broken Lances, in that dedicated to St. Drusas,
or Drosin of Soissons, who was supposed to have peculiar influence on
the issue of combats, and to be in the habit of determining them in
favour of such champions as spent the night preceding at his shrine.

In consideration of the sex of one of the parties concerned, the author
has selected our Lady of the Broken Lances as a more appropriate
patroness than St. Drusas himself, for the Amazons, who were not
uncommon in that age. Gaita, for example, the wife of Robert Guiscard,
a redoubted hero, and the parent of a most heroic race of sons, was
herself an Amazon, fought in the foremost ranks of the Normans, and is
repeatedly commemorated by our Imperial historian, Anna Comnena.

The reader can easily conceive to himself that Robert of Paris
distinguished himself among his brethren-at-arms and fellow-crusaders.
His fame resounded from the walls of Antioch; but at the battle of
Dorylaeum, he was so desperately wounded, as to be disabled from taking
a part in the grandest scene of the expedition. His heroic Countess,
however, enjoyed the great satisfaction of mounting the walls of
Jerusalem, and in so far discharging her own vows and those of her
husband. This was the more fortunate, as the sentence of the physicians
pronounced that the wounds of the Count had been inflicted by a
poisoned weapon, and that complete recovery was only to be hoped for by
having recourse to his native air. After some time spent in the vain
hope of averting by patience this unpleasant alternative, Count Robert
subjected himself to necessity, or what was represented as such, and,
with his wife and the faithful Hereward, and all others of his
followers who had been like himself disabled from combat, took the way
to Europe by sea.

A light galley, procured at a high rate, conducted them safely to
Venice, and from that then glorious city, the moderate portion of spoil
which had fallen to the Count's share among the conquerors of
Palestine, served to convey them to his own dominions, which, more
fortunate than those of most of his fellow-pilgrims, had been left
uninjured by their neighbours during the time of their proprietor's
absence on the Crusade. The report that the Count had lost his health,
and the power of continuing his homage to the Lady of the Broken
Lances, brought upon him the hostilities of one or two ambitious or
envious neighbours, whose covetousness was, however, sufficiently
repressed by the brave resistance of the Countess and the resolute
Hereward. Less than a twelvemonth was required to restore the Count of
Paris to his full health, and to render him, as formerly, the assured
protector of his own vassals, and the subject in whom the possessors of
the French throne reposed the utmost confidence. This latter capacity
enabled Count Robert to discharge his debt towards Hereward in a manner
as ample as he could have hoped or expected. Being now respected alike
for his wisdom and his sagacity, as much as he always was for his
intrepidity and his character as a successful crusader, he was
repeatedly employed by the Court of France in settling the troublesome
and intricate affairs in which the Norman possessions of the English
crown involved the rival nations. William Rufus was not insensible to
his merit, nor blind to the importance of gaining his good will; and
finding out his anxiety that Hereward should be restored to the land of
his fathers, he took, or made an opportunity, by the forfeiture of some
rebellious noble, of conferring upon our Varangian a large district
adjacent to the New Forest, being part of the scenes which his father
chiefly frequented, and where it is said the descendants of the valiant
squire and his Bertha have subsisted for many a long year, surviving
turns of time and chance, which are in general fatal to the continuance
of more distinguished families.

[Illustration]

Tales of my Landlord.

CASTLE DANGEROUS

     As I stood by yon roofless tower,
       Where the wa'flower scents the dewy air,
     Where the howlet mourns in her ivy bower,
       And tells the midnight moon her care:
     The winds were laid, the air was still,
       The stars they shot along the sky;
     The Fox was howling on the hill,
       And the distant echoing glens reply.
                              ROBERT BURNS.


INTRODUCTION.--(1832.)

[The following Introduction to "Castle Dangerous" was forwarded by Sir
Walter Scott from Naples in February 1832, together with some
corrections of the text, and notes on localities mentioned in the Novel.

The materials for the Introduction must have been collected before he
left Scotland in September 1831; but in the hurry of preparing for his
voyage, he had not been able to arrange them so as to accompany the
first edition of this Romance. A few notes, supplied by the Editor, are
placed within brackets.]

The incidents on which the ensuing Novel mainly turns, are derived from
the ancient Metrical Chronicle of "The Brace," by Archdeacon Barbour,
and from the "History of the Houses of Douglas and Angus," by David
Hume of Godscroft; and are sustained by the immemorial tradition of the
western parts of Scotland. They are so much in consonance with the
spirit and manners of the troubled age to which they are referred, that
I can see no reason for doubting their being founded in fact; the
names, indeed, of numberless localities in the vicinity of Douglas
Castle, appear to attest, beyond suspicion, many even of the smallest
circumstances embraced in the story of Godscroft.

Among all the associates of Robert the Brace, in his great enterprise
of rescuing Scotland from the power of Edward, the first place is
universally conceded to James, the eighth Lord Douglas, to this day
venerated by his countrymen as "the Good Sir James:"

    "The Gud Schyr James of Douglas,
     That in his time sa worthy was,
     That off his price and his bounte,
     In far landis renownyt was he."
                                     BARBOUR.

    "The Good Sir James, the dreadful blacke Douglas,
     That in his dayes so wise and worthie was,
     Wha here, and on the infidels of Spain,
     Such honour, praise, and triumphs did obtain."
                                      GORDON.

From the time when the King of England refused to reinstate him, on his
return from France, where he had received the education of chivalry, in
the extensive possessions of his family,--which had been held forfeited
by the exertions of his father, William the Hardy--the young knight of
Douglas appears to have embraced the cause of Bruce with enthusiastic
ardour, and to have adhered to the fortunes of his sovereign with
unwearied fidelity and devotion. "The Douglasse," says Hollinshed, "was
right joyfully received of King Robert, in whose service he faithfully
continued, both in peace and war, to his life's end. Though the surname
and familie of the Douglasses was in some estimation of nobilitie
before those daies, yet the rising thereof to honour chanced through
this James Douglasse; for, by meanes of his advancement, others of that
lineage tooke occasion, by their singular manhood and noble prowess,
shewed at sundrie times in defence of the realme, to grow to such
height in authoritie and estimation, that their mightie puissance in
mainrent, [Footnote: Vassalage.] lands, and great possessions, at
length was (through suspicion conceived by the kings that succeeded)
the cause in part of their ruinous decay."

In every narrative of the Scottish war of independence, a considerable
space is devoted to those years of perilous adventure and suffering
which were spent by the illustrious friend of Bruce, in harassing the
English detachments successively occupying his paternal territory, and
in repeated and successful attempts to wrest the formidable fortress of
Douglas Castle itself from their possession. In the English, as well as
Scotch Chronicles, and in Rymer's Foedera, occur frequent notices of
the different officers intrusted by Edward with the keeping of this
renowned stronghold; especially Sir Robert de Clifford, ancestor of the
heroic race of the Cliffords, Earls of Cumberland; his lieutenant, Sir
Richard de Thurlewalle, (written sometimes Thruswall,) of Thirwall
Castle, on the Tippal, in Northumberland; and Sir John de Walton, the
romantic story of whose love pledge, to hold the Castle of Douglas for
a year and day, or surrender all hope of obtaining his mistress's
favour, with the tragic consequences, softened in the Novel, is given
at length in Godscroft, and has often been pointed out as one of the
affecting passages in the chronicles of chivalry. [Footnote: [The
reader will find both this story, and that of Robert of Paris, in Sir
W. Scott's Essay on Chivalry, published in 1818, in the Supplement to
the Encyclopaedia Britannica.--_E_.]]

The Author, before he had made much progress in this, probably the last
of his Novels, undertook a journey to Douglasdale, for the purpose of
examining the remains of the famous Castle, the Kirk of St. Bride of
Douglas, the patron saint of that great family, and the various
localities alluded to by Godscroft, in his account of the early
adventures of good Sir James; but though he was fortunate enough to
find a zealous and well-informed _cicerone_ in Mr. Thomas Haddow, and
had every assistance from the kindness of Mr. Alexander Finlay, the
resident Chamberlain of his friend Lord Douglas, the state of his
health at the time was so feeble, that he found himself incapable of
pursuing his researches, as in better days he would have delighted to
do, and was obliged to be contented with such a cursory view of scenes,
in themselves most interesting, as could be snatched in a single
morning, when any bodily exertion was painful. Mr. Haddow was attentive
enough to forward subsequently some notes on the points which the
Author had seemed desirous of investigating; but these did not reach
him until, being obliged to prepare matters for a foreign excursion in
quest of health and strength, he had been compelled to bring his work,
such as it is, to a conclusion.

The remains of the old Castle of Douglas are inconsiderable. They
consist indeed of but one ruined tower, standing at a short distance
from the modern mansion, which itself is only a fragment of the design
on which the Duke of Douglas meant to reconstruct the edifice, after
its last accidental destruction by fire. [Footnote: [The following
notice of Douglas Castle, &c., is from the Description of the
Sheriffdom of Lanark, by William Hamilton of Wishaw, written in the
beginning of the last century, and printed by the Maitland Club of
Glasgow in 1831:]--

"Douglass parish, and baronie and lordship, heth very long appertained
to the family of Douglass, and continued with the Earles of Douglass
untill their fatall forfeiture, anno 1455; during which tyme there are
many noble and important actions recorded in histories performed by
them, by the lords and earls of that great family. It was thereafter
given to Douglass, Earle of Anguse, and continued with them untill
William, Earle of Anguse, was created Marquess of Douglass, anno 1633;
and is now the principal seat, of the Marquess of Douglass his family.
It is a large baronie and parish, and ane laick patronage; and the
Marquess is both titular and patron. He heth there, near to the church,
a very considerable great house, called the Castle of Douglas; and near
the church is a fyne village called the town of Douglass, long since
erected in a burgh of baronie. It heth ane handsome church, with many
ancient monuments and inscriptions on the old, interments of the Earles
of this place.

"The water of Douglas runs quyte through the whole length of this
parish, and upon either side of the water it is called Douglasdale. It
toucheth Clyde towards the north, and is bounded by Lesmahagow to the
west, Kyle to the southwest, Crawford John and Carmichaell to the south
and southeast. It is a pleasant strath, plentifull in grass and corn,
and coal; and the minister is well provided.

"The lands of Heysleside belonging to Samuel Douglass, has a good house
and pleasant seat, close by wood," &c.--P. 65.] His Grace had kept in
view the ancient prophecy, that as often as Douglas Castle might be
destroyed, it should rise again in enlarged dimensions and improved
splendour, and projected a pile of building, which, if it had been
completed, would have much exceeded any nobleman's residence then
existing in Scotland--as, indeed, what has been finished, amounting to
about one-eighth part of the plan, is sufficiently extensive for the
accommodation of a large establishment, and contains some apartments
the dimensions of which are magnificent. The situation is commanding;
and though the Duke's successors have allowed the mansion to continue
as he left it, great expense has been lavished on the environs, which
now present a vast sweep of richly undulated woodland, stretching to
the borders of the Cairntable mountains, repeatedly mentioned as the
favourite retreat of the great ancestor of the family in the days of
his hardship and persecution. There remains at the head of the
adjoining _bourg_, the choir of the ancient church of St. Bride, having
beneath it the vault which was used till lately as the burial-place of
this princely race, and only abandoned when their stone and leaden
coffins had accumulated, in the course of five or six hundred years, in
such a way that it could accommodate no more. Here a silver case,
containing the dust of what was once the brave heart of Good Sir James,
is still pointed out; and in the dilapidated choir above appears,
though in a sorely ruinous state, the once magnificent tomb of the
warrior himself. After detailing the well-known circumstances of Sir
James's death in Spain, 20th August, 1330, where he fell, assisting the
King of Arragon in an expedition against the Moors, when on his way
back to Scotland from Jerusalem, to which he had conveyed the heart of
Bruce,--the old poet Barbour tells us that--

    "Quhen his men lang had mad murnyn,
     Thai debowalyt him, and syne
     Gert scher him swa, that mycht be tane
     The flesch all haly frae the bane.
     And the carioune thar in haly place
     Erdyt, with rycht gret worschip, was.

    "The banys haue thai with them tane;
     And syne ar to thair schippis gane;
     Syne towart Scotland held thair way,
     And thar ar cummyn in full gret hy.
     And the banys honbrabilly
     In till the Kyrk of Douglas war
     Erdyt, with dule and mekill car.
     Schyr Archebald his sone gert syn
     Off alabastre, bath fair and fyne,
     Ordane a tumbe sa richly
     As it behowyt to swa worthy."

The monument is supposed to have been wantonly mutilated and defaced by
a detachment of Cromwell's troops, who, as was their custom, converted
the kirk of St. Bride of Douglas into a stable for their horses.
Enough, however, remains to identify the resting-place of the great Sir
James. The effigy, of dark stone, is crossed-legged, marking his
character as one who had died after performing the pilgrimage to the
Holy Sepulchre, and in actual conflict with the infidels of Spain; and
the introduction of the HEART, adopted as an addition to the old arms
of Douglas, in consequence of the knight's fulfilment of Bruce's dying
injunction, appears, when taken in connexion with the posture of the
figure, to set the question at rest. The monument, in its original
state, must have been not inferior in any respect to the best of the
same period in Westminster Abbey; and the curious reader is referred
for farther particulars of it to "The Sepulchral Antiquities of Great
Britain, by Edward Blore, F.S.A." London, 4to, 1826: where may also be
found interesting details of some of the other tombs and effigies in
the cemetery of the first house of Douglas.

As considerable liberties have been taken, with the historical
incidents on which this novel is founded, it is due to the reader to
place before him such extracts from Godscroft and Barbour as may enable
him to correct any mis-impression. The passages introduced in the
Appendix, from the ancient poem of "The Bruce," will moreover gratify
those who have not in their possession a copy of the text of Barbour,
as given in the valuable quarto edition of my learned friend Dr.
Jamieson, as furnishing on the whole a favourable specimen of the style
and manner of a venerable classic, who wrote when Scotland was still
full of the fame and glory of her liberators from the yoke of
Plantagenet, and especially of Sir James Douglas, "of whom," says
Godscroft, "we will not omit here, (to shut up all,) the judgment of
those times concerning him, in a rude verse indeed, yet such as beareth
witness of his true magnanimity and invincible mind in either fortune:--

  "Good Sir James Douglas (who wise, and wight, and worthy was,)
   Was never over glad in no winning, nor yet oversad for no lineing;
   Good fortune and evil chance he weighed both in one balance."
                                                             W. S.




APPENDIX.

No. I.

EXTRACTS FROM "THE HISTORY OF THE HOUSES OF DOUGLAS AND ANGUS. BY
MASTER DAVID HUME OF GODSCROFT." FOL. EDIT.

 * * * And here indeed the course of the King's misfortunes begins to
make some halt and stay by thus much prosperous successe in his own
person; but more in the person of Sir James, by the reconquests of his
owne castles and countries. From hence he went into Douglasdale, where,
by the means of his father's old servant, Thomas Dickson, he took in
the Castle of Douglas, and not being able to keep it, he caused burn
it, contenting himself with this, that his enemies had one strength
fewer in that country than before. The manner of his taking of it is
said to have beene thus:--Sir James taking only with him two of his
servants, went to Thomas Dickson, of whom he was received with tears,
after he had revealed himself to him, for the good old man knew him not
at first, being in mean and homely apparel. There he kept him secretly
in a quiet chamber, and brought unto him such as had been trusty
servants to his father, not all at, once, but apart by one and one, for
fear of discoverie. Their advice was, that on Palm-Sunday, when the
English would come forth to the church, and his partners were
conveened, that then he should give the word, and cry the Douglas
slogan, and presently set upon them that should happen to be there, who
being despatched, the Castle might be taken easily. This being
concluded, and they come, so soon as the English were entered into the
church with palms in their hands, (according to the costume of that
day,) little suspecting or fearing any such thing, Sir James, according
to their appointment, cryed too soon (a Douglas, a Douglas!) which
being heard in the church, (this was Saint Bride's church of Douglas,)
Thomas Dickson, supposing he had beene hard at hand, drew out his
sword, and ran upon them, having none to second him but another man, so
that, oppressed by the number of his enemies, he was beaten downe and
slaine. In the meantime, Sir James being come, the English that were in
the chancel kept off the Scots, and having the advantage of the strait
and narrow entrie, defended themselves manfully. But Sir James
encouraging his men, not so much by words as by deeds and good example,
and having slain the boldest resisters, prevailed at last, and entring
the place, slew some twenty-six of their number, and took the rest,
about ten or twelve persons, intending by them to get the Castle upon
composition, or to enter with them when the gates should be opened to
let them in: but it needed not, for they of the Castle were so secure,
that there was none left to keep it save the porter and the cooke, who
knowing nothing of what had hapned at the church, which stood a large
quarter of a mile from thence, had left the gate wide open, the porter
standing without, and the cooke dressing the dinner within. They
entered without resistance, and meat being ready, and the cloth laid,
they shut the gates, and tooke their refection at good leasure.

Now that he had gotten the Castle into his hands, considering with
himselfe (as he was a man no lesse advised than valiant) that it was
hard for him to keep it, the English being as yet the stronger in that
countrey, who if they should besiege him, he knewe of no reliefe, he
thought better to carry away such things as be most easily transported,
gold, silver, and apparell, with ammunition and armour, whereof he had
greatest use and need, and to destroy the rest of the provision,
together with the Castle itselfe, then to diminish the number of his
followers for a garrison there where it could do no good. And so he
caused carrie the meale and malt, and other cornes and graine, into the
cellar, and laid altogether in one heape: then he took the prisoners
and slew them, to revenge the death of his trustie and valiant servant,
Thomas Dickson, mingling the victuals with their bloud, and burying
their carkasses in the heap of corne: after that he struck out the
heads of the barrells and puncheons, and let the drink runn through
all; and then he cast the carkasses of dead horses and other carrion
amongst it, throwing the salt above all, so as to make altogether
unuseful to the enemie; and this cellar is called yet the Douglas
Lairder. Last of all, he set the house on fire, and burnt all the
timber, and what else the fire could overcome, leaving nothing but the
scorched walls behind him. And this seemes to be the first taking of
the Castle of Douglas, for it is supposed that he took it twice. For
this service, and others done to Lord William his father, Sir James
gave unto Thomas Dickson the lands of Hisleside, which hath beene given
him before the Castle was taken as an encouragement to whet him on, and
not after, for he was slain in the church; which was both liberally and
wisely done of him, thus to hearten and draw men to his service by such
a noble beginning. The Castle being burnt, Sir James retired, and
parting his men into divers companies, so as they might be most secret,
he caused cure such as were wounded in the fight, and he himselfe kept
as close as he could, waiting ever for an occasion to enterprise
something against the enemie. So soone as he was gone, the Lord
Clifford being advertised of what had happened, came himselfe in person
to Douglas, and caused re-edifie and repair the Castle in a very short
time, unto which he also added a Tower, which is yet called Harries
Tower from him, and so returned into England, leaving one Thurswall to
be Captain thereof.--Pp. 26-28.

    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

He (Sir James Douglas) getting him again into Douglasdale, did use this
stratagem against Thurswall, Captain of the Castle, under the said Lord
Clifford. He caused some of his folk drive away the cattle that fed
near unto the Castle, and when the Captain of the garrison followed to
rescue, gave orders to his men to leave them and to flee away. Thus he
did often to make the Captain slight such frays, and to make him
secure, that he might not suspect any further end to be on it; which
when he had wrought sufficiently (as he thought), he laid some men in
ambuscado, and sent others away to drive such beasts as they should
find in the view of the Castle, as if they had been thieves and
robbers, as they had done often before. The Captain hearing of it, and
supposing there was no greater danger now than had been before, issued
forth of the Castle, and followed after them with such haste that his
men (running who should be first) were disordered and out of their
ranks. The drivers also fled as fast as they could till they had drawn
the Captain a little way beyond the place of ambuscado, which when they
perceived, rising quickly out of their covert, they set fiercely upon
him and his company, and so slew himself and chased his men back to the
Castle, some of whom were overtaken and slain, others got into the
Castle and so were saved. Sir James, not being able to force the house,
took what booty he could get without in the fields, and so departed. By
this means, and such other exploits, he so affrighted the enemy, that
it was counted a matter of such great jeopardy to keep this Castle,
that it began to be called the adventurous (or hazardous) Castle of
Douglas: Whereupon Sir John Walton being in suit of an English lady,
she wrote to him that when he had kept the adventurous Castle of
Douglas seven years, then, he might think himself worthy to be a suitor
to her. Upon this occasion Walton took upon him the keeping of it, and
succeeded to Thurswall; but he ran the same fortune with the rest that
were before him.

For, Sir James having first dressed an ambuscado near unto the place,
he made fourteen of his men take so many sacks, and fill them with
grass, as though it had been corn, which they carried in the way toward
Lanark, the chief market town in that county: so hoping to draw forth
the Captain by that bait, and either to take him or the Castle, or both.

Neither was this expectation frustrate, for the Captain did bite, and
came forth to have taken this victual (as he supposed). But ere he
could reach these carriers, Sir James, with his company, had gotten
between the Castle and him; and these disguised carriers, seeing the
Captain following after them, did quickly cast off their upper
garments, wherein they had masked themselves, and throwing off their
sacks, mounted themselves on horseback, and met the Captain with a
sharp encounter, he being so much the more amazed that it was unlooked
for: wherefore, when he saw these carriers metamorphosed into warriors,
and ready to assault him, fearing (that which was) that there was some
train laid for them, he turned about to have retired into the Castle;
but there also he met with his enemies; between which two companies he
and his followers were slain, so that none escaped; the Captain
afterwards being searched, they found (as it is reported) his
mistress's letters about him. Then he went and took in the Castle, but
it is uncertain (say our writers) whether by force or composition; but
it seems that the Constable, and those that were within, have yielded
it up without force; in regard that he used them so gently, which he
would not have done if he had taken it at utterance. For he sent them
all safe home to the Lord Clifford, and gave them also provision and
money for their entertainment by the way. The Castle, which he had
burnt only before, now he razeth, and casts down the walls thereof to
the ground. By these and the like proceedings, within a short while he
freed Douglasdale, Attrict Forest, and Jedward Forest, of the English
garrisons and subjection.--_Ibid_. p. 29.

No. II.

[Extracts from THE BRUCE.--"Liber compositus per Magistrum Johannem
Barber Archidiaeonum Abyrdonensem, de gestis, bellis, et vertutibus,
Domini Roberti Brwyes, Regis Scocie illustrissimi, et de conquestu
regni Scocie per eundem, et de Domino Jacobo de Douglas."--Edited by
John Jamieson, D.D. F.R.S.F. &c. &c. Edinburgh, 1820.]

Now takis James his waige Towart Dowglas, his heretage, With twa yemen,
for his owtyn ma; That wes a symple stuff to ta, A land or a castell to
win. The quhethir he yarnyt to begyn Till bring purposs till ending;
For gud help is in gud begynnyng, For gud begynning, and hardy, Gyff it
be folwit wittily, May ger oftsyss unlikly thing Cum to full conabill
ending. Swa did it here: but he wes wyss And saw he mycht, on nakyn
wyss, Werray his fa with evyn mycht; Tharfur he thocht to wyrk with
slycht. And in Dowglas daile, his countre, Upon an evymiyng entryt he.
And than a man wonnyt tharby. That was off freyndis weill mychty, And
ryche of moble, and off cateill; And had bene till his fadyr leyll; And
till him selff in his yowthed. He haid done mony a thankfull deid. Thom
Dicson wes his name perlay. Till him he send; and gan him pray, That he
wald cum all anerly For to spek with him priuely. And he but daunger
till him gais: Bot fra he tauld him quhat he wais, He gret for joy, and
for pite; And him rycht till his houss had he; Quhar in a chambre
priuely He held him, and his cumpany, That nane had off him persaving.
Off mete, and drynk, and othyr thing, That mycht thuim eyss, thai had
plente. Sa wrocht he thorow sutelte, That all the lele men off that
land, That with his fadyr war duelland, This gud man gert cum, ane and
ane, And mak him manrent cuir ilkane; And he him selff fyrst homage
maid. Dowglas in part gret glaidschip haid, That the gud men off his
cuntre Wald swagate till him bundyn be. He speryt the conwyne off the
land, And quha the castell had in hand. And thai him tauld all halily;
And syne amang them priuely Thai ordanyt, that he still suld be In
hiddillis, and in priwete, Till Palme Sonday, that wes ner hand, The
thrid day eftyr folowand. For than the folk off that countre Assemblyt
at the kyrk wald be; And thai, that in the castell wer, Wald als be
thar, thar palmys to ber, As folk that had na dreid off ill; For thai
thoucht all wes at thair will. Than suld he cum with his twa men. Bot,
for that men suld nocht him ken, He suld ane mantill haiff auld and
bar, And a flaill, as he a thresscher war. Undyr the mantill nocht for
thi He suld be armyt priuely. And quhen the men off his countre, That
suld all boune befor him be, His ensenye mycht her hym cry. Then suld
thai, full enforcely, Rycht ymyddys the kyrk assaill The Ingliss men
with hard bataill Swa that nane mycht eschap them fra; For thar throwch
trowyt thai to ta The castell, that besid wes ner And quhen this, that
I tell you her, Wes diuisyt and undertane, Ilkane till his howss hame
is gane; And held this spek in priuete, Till the day off thar assembly.

The folk upon the Sonounday Held to Saynct Bridis kyrk thair way, And
tha that in the castell war Ischyt owt, bath les and mar, And went
thair palmys for to her; Owtane a cuk and a porter. James off Dowglas
off thair cummyng, And quhat thai war, had witting; And sped him till
the kyrk in hy Bot or he come, too hastily Ane off his criyt, "Dowglas!
Dowglas!" Thomas Dicson, that nerrest was Till thaim that war off the
castell, That war all innouth the chancell, Quhen he "Dowglas!" swa hey
herd cry, Drew owt his swerd; and fellely Ruschyt amang thaim to and
fra. Bot ane or twa, for owtyn ma, Than in hy war left lyand Quhill
Dowglas come rycht at hand. And then enforcyt on thaim the cry. Bot
thai the chansell sturdely Held, and thaim defendyt wele, Till off
thair men war slayne sumdell. Bot the Dowglace sa weill him bar, That
all the men, that with him war, Had comfort off his wele doyng; And he
him sparyt nakyn thing. Bot provyt swa his force in fycht, That throw
his worschip, and his mycht, His men sa keynly helpyt than, That thai
the chansell on thaim wan. Than dang thai on swa hardyly, That in
schort tyme men mycht se ly The twa part dede, or then deand. The lave
war sesyt sone in hand, Swa that off thretty levyt nane, That thai ne
war slayne ilkan, or tane.

James off Dowglas, quhen this wes done, The presoneris has he tane
alsone; And, with thaim off his cumpany, Towart the castell went in hy,
Or noyiss, or cry, suld ryss. And for he wald thaim sone suppriss, That
levyt in the castell war, That war but twa for owtyn mar, Fyve men or
sex befor send he, That fand all opyn the entre; And entryt, and the
porter tuk Rycht at the gate, and syne the cuk. With that Dowglas come
to the gat, And entryt in for owtyn debate; And fand the mete all ready
grathit, With burdys set, and clathis layit. The gaitis then he gert
sper, And sat, and eyt all at layser. Syne all the gudis turssyt thai
That thaim thocht thai mycht haiff away; And namly wapnys, and armyng,
Siluer, and tresour, and clethyng. Vyctallis, that, mycht nocht tursyt
be, On this manner destroyit he. All the vrctalis, owtane salt, Als
quheyt, and flour, and meill, and malt In the wyne sellar gert he
bring; And samyn on the flur all flyng. And the presoneris that he had
tane Rycht thar in gert he heid ilkane; Syne off the townnys he hedis
outstrak: A foule melle thar gane he mak. For meile, and malt, and
bluid, and wyne Ran all to gidder in a mellyne, That was unsemly for to
se. Tharfor the men of that countre, For swa fele thar mellyt wer,
Callit it the "Dowglas Lardner." Syne tuk he salt, as Ic hard tell, And
ded horss, and sordid the well. And brynt all, owtakyn stane; And is
forth, with his menye, gayne Till his resett; for him thoucht weill,
Giff he had haldyn the caslell, It had bene assegyt raith; And that him
thoucht to mekill waith. For he ne had hop of reskewyng. And it is to
peralous thing In castell assegyt to be, Quhar want is off thir thingis
thre; Victaill, or men with their armyng, Or than gud hop off rescuyng.
And for he dred thir thingis suld faile, He chesyt furthwart to
trawaill, Quhar he mycht at his larges be; And swa dryve furth his
destane.

On this wise wes the castell tan, And slayne that war tharin ilkan. The
Dowglas syne all his menye Gert in ser placis depertyt be; For men suld
wyt quhar thai war, That yeid depertyt her and thar. Thim that war
woundyt gert he ly In till hiddillis, all priuely; And gert gud leechis
till thaim bring Quhill that thai war in till heling. And him selff,
with a few menye, Quhile ane, quhile twa and quhile thre, And umqumll
all him allane. In hiddillis throw the land is gane. Sa dred he Inglis
men his mycht, That he durst nocht wele cum in sycht. For thai war that
tyme all weldand As maist lordis, our all the land.

Bot tythandis, that scalis sone, Off this deid that Dowglas has done,
Come to the Cliffurd his ere, in hy, That for his tynsaill wes sary;
And menyt his men that thai had slayne, And syne has to purpos tane, To
big the castell up agayne. Thar for, as man of mekill mayne, He
assemblit grret cumpany, And till Dowglas he went in hy. And biggyt wp
the castell swyth; And maid it rycht stalwart and styth And put tharin
victallis and men Ane off the Thyrwallys then He left behind him
Capitane, And syne till Ingland went agayne.
                      Book IV. v. 255-460.

Bot yeit than Janvss of Dowglas In Dowglas Daile travailland was; Or
ellys weill ner hand tharby, In hyddillys sumdeill priuely. For he wald
se his gouernyng, That had the castell in keping: And gert mak mony
juperty, To se quhethyr he wald ische blythly. And quhen he persavyt
that he Wald blythly ische with his menye, He maid a gadringr priuely
Off thaim that war on his party; That war sa fele, that thai durst fych
With Thyrwall, and all the mycht Off thaim that in the castell war. He
schupe him in the nycht so far To Sandylandis: and thar ner by He him
enbuschyt priuely, And send a few a trane to ma; That sone in the
mornyng gan ga, And tuk catell, that wes the castell by, And syne
withdrew thaim hastely Towart thaim that enbuschit war. Than Thyrwall,
for owtyn mar, Gert arme his men, forowtyn baid; Aud ischyt with all
the men he haid: And foiowyt fast eftir the cry. He wes armyt at poynt
clenly, Owtane [that] his hede wes bar. Than, with the men that with
him war, The catell folowit he gud speid, Rycht as a man that had na
dreid, Till that he gat off thaim a sycht. Than prekyt thai with all
thar mycht, Folowand thaim owt off aray And thai sped thaim fleand,
quhill thai Fer by thair buschement war past: And Thyrwall ay chassyt
fast. And than thai that enbuschyt war Ischyt till him, bath les and
mar And rayssyt sudanly the cry. And thai that saw sa sudanly That folk
come egyrly prikand Rycht betuix thairn and thair warank, Thai war in
to full gret effray. And, for thai war owt off aray, Sum off thaim
fled, and some abad. And Dowglas, that thar with him had A gret mengye,
full egrely Assaylyt, and scalyt thaim hastyly: And in schort tyme
ourraid thaim swa, That weile nane eschapyt thaim fra. Thyrwall, that
wes thair capitane, Wes thar in the bargane slane: And off his men the
mast party. The lave fled full effraytly.
                            Book V. v. 10-60




CASTLE DANGEROUS.

CHAPTER THE FIRST.

     Hosts have been known at that dread sound to yield,
     And, Douglas dead, his name hath won the field.
                                               JOHN HOME.


It was at the close of an early spring day, when nature, in a cold
province of Scotland, was reviving from her winter's sleep, and the air
at least, though not the vegetation, gave promise of an abatement of
the rigour of the season, that two travellers, whose appearance at that
early period sufficiently announced their wandering character, which,
in general, secured a free passage even through a dangerous country,
were seen coming from the south-westward, within a few miles of the
Castle of Douglas, and seemed to be holding their course in the
direction of the river of that name, whose dale afforded a species of
approach to that memorable feudal fortress. The stream, small in
comparison to the extent of its fame, served as a kind of drain to the
country in its neighbourhood, and at the same time afforded the means
of a rough road to the castle and village. The high lords to whom the
castle had for ages belonged, might, had they chosen, have made this
access a great deal smoother and more convenient; but there had been as
yet little or no exercise for those geniuses, who have taught all the
world that it is better to take the more circuitous road round the base
of a hill, than the direct course of ascending it on the one side, and
descending it directly on the other, without yielding a single step to
render the passage more easy to the traveller; still less were those
mysteries dreamed of which M'Adam has of late days expounded. But,
indeed, to what purpose should the ancient Douglasses have employed his
principles, even if they had known them in ever so much perfection?
Wheel-carriages, except of the most clumsy description, and for the
most simple operations of agriculture, were totally unknown. Even the
most delicate female had no resource save a horse, or, in case of sore
infirmity, a litter. The men used their own sturdy limbs, or hardy
horses, to transport themselves from place to place; and travellers,
females in particular, experienced no small inconvenience from the
rugged nature of the country. A swollen torrent sometimes crossed their
path, and compelled them to wait until the waters had abated their
frenzy. The bank of a small river was occasionally torn away by the
effects of a thunder-storm, a recent inundation, or the like
convulsions of nature; and the wayfarer relied upon his knowledge of
the district, or obtained the best local information in his power, how
to direct his path so as to surmount such untoward obstacles.

The Douglas issues from an amphitheatre of mountains which bounds the
valley to the south-west, from whose contributions, and the aid of
sudden storms, it receives its scanty supplies. The general aspect of
the country is that of the pastoral hills of the south of Scotland,
forming, as is usual, bleak and wild farms, many of which had, at no
great length of time from the date of the story, been covered with
trees; as some of them still attest by bearing the name of _shaw_, that
is, wild natural wood. The neighbourhood of the Douglas water itself
was flat land, capable of bearing strong crops of oats and rye,
supplying the inhabitants with what they required of these productions.
At no great distance from the edge of the river, a few special spots
excepted, the soil capable of agriculture was more and more mixed with
the pastoral and woodland country, till both terminated in desolate and
partly inaccessible moorlands.

Above all, it was war-time, and of necessity all circumstances of mere
convenience were obliged to give way to a paramount sense of danger;
the inhabitants, therefore, instead of trying to amend the paths which
connected them with other districts, were thankful that the natural
difficulties which surrounded them rendered it unnecessary to break up
or to fortify the access from more open countries. Their wants, with a
very few exceptions, were completely supplied, as we have already said,
by the rude and scanty produce of their own mountains and _holms_,
[Footnote: Holms, or flat plains, by the sides of the brooks and
rivers, termed in the south, _Ings_.] the last of which served for the
exercise of their limited agriculture, while the better part of the
mountains and forest glens produced pasture for their herds and flocks.
The recesses of the unexplored depths of these sylvan retreats being
seldom disturbed, especially since the lords of the district had laid
aside, during this time of strife, their constant occupation of
hunting, the various kinds of game had increased of late very
considerably; so that not only in crossing the rougher parts of the
hilly and desolate country we are describing, different varieties of
deer were occasionally seen, but even the wild cattle peculiar to
Scotland sometimes showed themselves, and other animals, which
indicated the irregular and disordered state of the period. The
wild-cat was frequently surprised in the dark ravines or the swampy
thickets; and the wolf, already a stranger to the more populous
districts of the Lothians, here maintained his ground against the
encroachments of man, and was still himself a terror to those by whom
he was finally to be extirpated. In winter especially, and winter was
hardly yet past, these savage animals were wont to be driven to
extremity for lack of food, and used to frequent, in dangerous numbers,
the battle-field, the deserted churchyard--nay, sometimes the abodes of
living men, there to watch for children, their defenceless prey, with
as much familiarity as the fox now-a-days will venture to prowl near
the mistress's [Footnote: The good dame, or wife of a respectable
farmer, is almost universally thus designated in Scotland.]
poultry-yard.

From what we have said, our readers, if they have made--as who in these
days has not--the Scottish tour, will be able to form a tolerably just
idea of the wilder and upper part of Douglas Dale, during the earlier
period of the fourteenth century. The setting sun cast his gleams along
a moorland country, which to the westward broke into larger swells,
terminating in the mountains called the Larger and Lesser Cairntable.
The first of these is, as it were, the father of the hills in the
neighbourhood, the source of an hundred streams, and by far the largest
of the ridge, still holding in his dark bosom, and in the ravines with
which his sides are ploughed, considerable remnants of those ancient
forests with which all the high grounds of that quarter were once
covered, and particularly the hills, in which the rivers--both those
which run to the east, and those which seek the west to discharge
themselves into the Solway---hide, like so many hermits, their original
and scanty sources.

The landscape was still illuminated by the reflection of the evening
sun, sometimes thrown back from pool or stream; sometimes resting on
grey rocks, huge cumberers of the soil, which labour and agriculture
have since removed, and sometimes contenting itself with gilding the
banks of the stream, tinged, alternately grey, green, or ruddy, as the
ground itself consisted of rock, or grassy turf, or bare earthen mound,
or looked at a distance like a rampart of dark red porphyry.
Occasionally, too, the eye rested on the steep brown extent of moorland
as the sunbeam glanced back from the little tarn or mountain pool,
whose lustre, like that of the eye in the human countenance, gives a
life and vivacity to every feature around.

The elder and stouter of the two travellers whom we have mentioned, was
a person well, and even showily dressed, according to the finery of the
times, and bore at his back, as wandering minstrels were wont, a case,
containing a small harp, rote or viol, or some such species of musical
instrument for accompanying the voice. The leathern case announced so
much, although it proclaimed not the exact nature of the instrument.
The colour of the traveller's doublet was blue, and that of his hose
violet, with slashes which showed a lining of the same colour with the
jerkin. A mantle ought, according to ordinary custom, to have covered
this dress; but the heat of the sun, though the season was so early,
had induced the wearer to fold up his cloak in small compass, and form
it into a bundle, attached to the shoulders like the military greatcoat
of the infantry soldier of the present day. The neatness with which it
was made up, argued the precision of a practised traveller, who had
been long accustomed to every resource which change of weather
required. A great profusion of narrow ribands or points, constituting
the loops with which our ancestors connected their doublet and hose,
formed a kind of cordon, composed of knots of blue or violet, which
surrounded the traveller's person, and thus assimilated in colour with
the two garments which it was the office of these strings to combine.
The bonnet usually worn with this showy dress, was of that kind with
which Henry the Eighth and his son, Edward the Sixth, are usually
represented. It was more fitted, from the gay stuff of which it was
composed, to appear in a public place, than to encounter a storm of
rain. It was party-, being made of different stripes of blue
and violet; and the wearer arrogated a certain degree of gentility to
himself, by wearing a plume of considerable dimensions of the same
favourite colours. The features over which this feather drooped were in
no degree remarkable for peculiarity of expression. Yet in so desolate
a country as the west of Scotland, it would, not have been easy to pass
the man without more minute attention than he would have met with where
there was more in the character of the scenery to arrest the gaze of
the passengers.

A quick eye, a sociable look, seeming to say, "Ay, look at me, I am a
man worth noticing, and not unworthy your attention," carried with it,
nevertheless, an interpretation which might be thought favourable or
otherwise, according to the character of the person whom the traveller
met. A knight or soldier would merely have thought that he had met a
merry fellow, who could sing a wild song, or tell a wild tale, and help
to empty a flagon, with all the accomplishments necessary for a boon
companion at an hostelry, except perhaps an alacrity at defraying his
share of the reckoning. A churchman, on the other hand, might have
thought he of the blue and violet was of too loose habits, and
accustomed too little to limit himself within the boundaries of
beseeming mirth, to be fit society for one of his sacred calling. Yet
the Man of Song had a certain steadiness of countenance, which seemed
fitted to hold place in scenes of serious business as well as of
gaiety. A wayfaring passenger of wealth (not at that time a numerous
class) might have feared in him a professional robber, or one whom
opportunity was very likely to convert into such; a female might have
been apprehensive of uncivil treatment; and a youth, or timid person,
might have thought of murder, or such direful doings. Unless privately
armed, however, the minstrel was ill-accoutred for any dangerous
occupation. His only visible weapon was a small crooked sword, like
what we now call a hanger; and the state of the times would have
justified any man, however peaceful his intentions, in being so far
armed against the perils of the road.

If a glance at this man had in any respect prejudiced him in the
opinion of those whom he met on his journey, a look at his companion
would, so far as his character could be guessed at--for he was closely
muffled up--have passed for an apology and warrant for his associate.
The younger traveller was apparently in early youth, a soft and gentle
boy, whose Sclavonic gown, the appropriate dress of the pilgrim, he
wore more closely drawn about him than the coldness of the weather
seemed to authorize or recommend. His features, imperfectly seen under
the hood of his pilgrim's dress, were prepossessing in a high degree;
and though he wore a walking sword, it seemed rather to be in
compliance with general fashion than from any violent purpose he did
so. There were traces of sadness upon his brow, and of tears upon his
cheeks; and his weariness was such, as even his rougher companion
seemed to sympathize with, while he privately participated also in the
sorrow which left its marks upon a countenance so lovely. They spoke
together, and the elder of the two, while he assumed the deferential
air proper to a man of inferior rank addressing a superior, showed in
tone and gesture, something that amounted to interest and affection.

"Bertram, my friend," said the younger of the two, "how far are we
still from Douglas Castle? We have already come farther than the twenty
miles, which thou didst say was the distance from Cammock--or how didst
thou call the last hostelry which we left by daybreak?"

"Cummock, my dearest lady--I beg ten thousand excuses--my gracious
young lord."

"Call me Augustine," replied his comrade, "if you mean to speak as is
fittest for the time."

"Nay, as for that," said Bertram, "if your ladyship can condescend to
lay aside your quality, my own good breeding is not so firmly sewed to
me but that I can doff it, and resume it again without its losing a
stitch; and since your ladyship, to whom I am sworn in obedience, is
pleased to command that I should treat you as my own son, shame it were
to me if I were not to show you the affection of a father, more
especially as I may well swear my great oath, that I owe you the duty
of such, though well I wot it has, in our case, been the lot of the
parent to be maintained by the kindness and liberality of the child;
for when was it that I hungered or thirsted, and the _black
stock_[Footnote: The table dormant, which stood in a baron's hall, was
often so designated.] of Berkley did not relieve my wants?"

"I would have it so," answered the young pilgrim; "I would have it so.
What use of the mountains of beef, and the oceans of beer, which they
say our domains produce, if there is a hungry heart among our
vassalage, or especially if thou, Bertram, who hast served as the
minstrel of our house for more than twenty years, shouldst experience
such a feeling?"

"Certes, lady," answered Bertram, "it would be like the catastrophe
which is told of the Baron of Fastenough, when his last mouse was
starved to death in the very pantry; and if I escape this journey
without such a calamity, I shall think myself out of reach of thirst or
famine for the whole of my life."

"Thou hast suffered already once or twice by these attacks, my poor
friend," said the lady.

"It is little," answered Bertram, "any thing that I have suffered; and
I were ungrateful to give the inconvenience of missing a breakfast, or
making an untimely dinner, so serious a name. But then I hardly see how
your ladyship can endure this gear much longer. You must yourself feel,
that the plodding along these high lands, of which the Scots give us
such good measure in their miles, is no jesting matter; and as for
Douglas Castle, why it is still three good miles off."

"The question then is," quoth the lady, heaving a sigh, "what we are to
do when we have so far to travel, and when the castle gates must be
locked long before we arrive there?"

"For that I will pledge my word," answered Bertram. "The gates of
Douglas, under the care of Sir John de Walton, do not open so easily as
those of the buttery hatch at our own castle, when it is well oiled;
and if your ladyship take my advice, you will turn southward ho! and in
two days at farthest, we shall be in a land where men's wants are
provided for, as the inns proclaim it, with the least possible delay,
and the secret of this little journey shall never be known to living
mortal but ourselves, as sure as I am sworn minstrel, and man of faith."

"I thank thee for thy advice, mine honest Bertram," said the lady, "but
I cannot profit by it. Should thy knowledge of these parts possess thee
with an acquaintance with any decent house, whether it belong to rich
or poor, I would willingly take quarters there, if I could obtain them
from this time until to-morrow morning. The gates of Douglas Castle
will then be open to guests of so peaceful an appearance as we carry
with us, and--and--it will out--we might have time to make such
applications to our toilet as might ensure us a good reception, by
drawing a comb through our locks, or such like foppery."

"Ah, madam!" said Bertram, "were not Sir John de Walton in question,
methinks I should venture to reply, that an unwashed brow, an unkempt
head of hair, and a look far more saucy than your ladyship ever wears,
or can wear, were the proper disguise to trick out that minstrel's boy,
whom, you wish to represent in the present pageant."

"Do you suffer your youthful pupils to be indeed so slovenly and so
saucy, Bertram?" answered the lady. "I for one will not imitate them in
that particular; and whether Sir John be now in the Castle of Douglas
or not, I will treat the soldiers who hold so honourable a charge with
a washed brow, and a head of hair somewhat ordered. As for going back
without seeing a castle which has mingled even with my very dreams--at
a word, Bertram, thou mayst go that way, but I will not."

"And if I part with your ladyship on such terms," responded the
minstrel, "now your frolic is so nearly accomplished, it shall be the
foul fiend himself, and nothing more comely or less dangerous, that
shall tear me from your side; and for lodging, there is not far from
hence the house of one Tom Dickson of Hazelside, one of the most honest
fellows of the Dale, and who, although a labouring man, ranked as high
as a warrior, when I was in this country, as any noble gentleman that
rode in the band of the Douglas."

"He is then a soldier?" said the lady.

"When his country or his lord need his sword," replied Bertram--"and,
to say the truth, they are seldom at peace; but otherwise, he is no
enemy, save to the wolf which plunders his herds."

"But forget not, my trusty guide," replied the lady, "that the blood in
our veins is English, and consequently, that we are in danger from all
who call themselves foes to the ruddy Cross."

"Do not fear this man's faith," answered Bertram. "You may trust to him
as to the best knight or gentleman of the land. We may make good our
lodging by a tune or a song; and it may remember you that I undertook
(provided it pleased your ladyship) to temporize a little with the
Scots, who, poor souls, love minstrelsy, and when they have but a
silver penny, will willingly bestow it to encourage the _gay
science_--I promised you, I say, that we should be as welcome to them
as if we had been born amidst their own wild hills; and for the best
that such a house as Dickson's affords, the glee-man's son, fair lady,
shall not breathe a wish in vain. And now, will you speak your mind to
your devoted friend and adopted father, or rather your sworn servant
and guide, Bertram the Minstrel, what it is your pleasure to do in this
matter?"

"O, we will certainly accept of the Scot's hospitality," said the lady,
"your minstrel word being plighted that he is a true man. Tom Dickson,
call you him?"

"Yes," replied Bertram, "such is his name; and by looking on these
sheep, I am assured that we are now upon his land."

"Indeed?" said the lady, with some surprise; "and how is your wisdom
aware of that?"

"I see the first letter of his name marked upon this flock," answered
the guide. "Ah, learning is what carries a man through the world, as
well as if he had the ring by virtue of which old minstrels tell that
Adam understood the language of the beasts in paradise. Ah, madam!
there is more wit taught in the shepherd's shieling than the lady
thinks of, who sews her painted seam in her summer bower."

"Be it so, good Bertram. And although not so deeply skilled in the
knowledge of written language as you are, it is impossible for me to
esteem its value more than I actually do; so hold we on the nearest
road to this Tom Dickson's, whose very sheep tell of his whereabout. I
trust we have not very far to go, although the knowledge that our
journey is shortened by a few miles has so much recovered my fatigue,
that methinks I could dance all the rest of the way."




CHAPTER THE SECOND.

     _Rosalind_. Well, this is the Forest of Arden.
     _Touchstone_. Ay, now am I in Arden; the more fool I. When I
was at
     home I was in a better place; but travellers must be content.
     _Rosalind_. Ay, be so, good Touchstone. Look you, who comes
here; a
     young man and an old, in solemn talk.
                    As You Like It. _Scene IV. Act 2_.


As the travellers spoke together, they reached a turn of the path which
presented a more extensive prospect than the broken face of the country
had yet shown them. A valley, through which flowed a small tributary
stream, exhibited the wild, but not unpleasant, features of "a lone
vale of green braken;" here and there besprinkled with groups of
alder-trees, of hazels, and of copse-oakwood, which had maintained
their stations in the recesses of the valley, although they had
vanished from the loftier and more exposed sides of the hills. The
farm-house or mansion-house, (for, from its size and appearance, it
might have been the one or the other,) was a large but low building,
and the walls of the out-houses were sufficiently strong to resist any
band of casual depredators. There was nothing, however, which could
withstand a more powerful force; for, in a country laid waste by war,
the farmer was then, as now, obliged to take his chance of the great
evils attendant upon that state of things; and his condition, never a
very eligible one, was rendered considerably worse by the insecurity
attending it. About half a mile farther was seen a Gothic building of
very small extent, having a half dismantled chapel, which the minstrel
pronounced to be the Abbey of Saint Bride. "The place," he said, "I
understand, is allowed to subsist, as two or three old monks and as
many nuns, whom it contains, are permitted by the English to serve God
there, and sometimes to give relief to Scottish travellers; and who
have accordingly taken assurance with Sir John de Walton, and accepted
as their superior a churchman on whom he thinks he can depend. But if
these guests happen to reveal any secrets, they are, by some means or
other, believed to fly towards the English governor; and therefore,
unless your ladyship's commands be positive, I think we had best not
trust ourselves to their hospitality."

"Of a surety, no," said the lady, "if thou canst provide me with
lodgings where we shall have more prudent hosts."

At this moment, two human forms were seen to approach the farm-house in
a different direction from the travellers, and speaking so high, in a
tone apparently of dispute, that the minstrel and his companion could
distinguish their voices though the distance was considerable. Having
screened his eyes with his hand for some minutes, Bertram at length
exclaimed, "By our Lady, it is my old friend, Tom Dickson, sure
enough!--What can make him in such bad humour with the lad, who, I
think, may be the little wild boy, his son Charles, who used to run
about and plait rushes some twenty years ago? It is lucky, however, we
have found our friends astir; for I warrant, Tom hath a hearty piece of
beef in the pot ere he goes to bed, and he must have changed his wont
if an old friend hath not his share; and who knows, had we come later,
at what hour they may now find it convenient to drop latch and draw
bolt so near a hostile garrison; for if we call things by their right
names, such is the proper term for an English garrison in the castle of
a Scottish nobleman."

"Foolish man," answered the lady, "thou judgest of Sir John de Walton
as thou wouldst of some rude boor, to whom the opportunity of doing
what he wills is a temptation and license to exercise cruelty and
oppression. Now, I could plight you my word, that, setting apart the
quarrel of the kingdoms, which, of course, will be fought out in fair
battles on both sides, you will find that English and Scottish, within
this domain, and within the reach of Sir John de Walton's influence,
live together as that same flock of sheep and goats do with the
shepherd's dog; a foe from whom they fly upon certain occasions, but
around whom they nevertheless eagerly gather for protection should a
wolf happen to show himself."

"It is not to your ladyship," answered Bertram, "that I should venture
to state my opinion of such matters; but the young knight, when he is
sheathed in armour, is a different being from him who feasts in halls
among press of ladies; and he that feeds by another man's fireside, and
when his landlord, of all men in the world, chances to be the Black
Douglas, has reason to keep his eyes about him as he makes his
meal:--but it were better I looked after our own evening refreshment,
than that I stood here gaping and talking about other folk's matters."
So saying, he called out in a thundering tone of voice, "Dickson!--what
ho, Thomas Dickson!--will you not acknowledge an old friend who is much
disposed to trust his supper and night's lodging to your hospitality?"

The Scotchman, attracted by the call, looked first along the banks of
the river, then upward to the bare side of the hill, and at length cast
his eyes upon the two figures who were descending from it.

As if he felt the night colder while he advanced from the more
sheltered part of the valley to meet them, the Douglas Dale farmer
wrapped closer around him the grey plaid, which, from an early period,
has been used by the shepherds of the south of Scotland, and the
appearance of which gives a romantic air to the peasantry and middle
classes; and which, although less brilliant and gaudy in its colours,
is as picturesque in its arrangement as the more military tartan mantle
of the Highlands. When they approached near to each other, the lady
might observe that this friend of her guide was a stout athletic man,
somewhat past the middle of life, and already showing marks of the
approach, but none of the infirmities, of age, upon a countenance which
had been exposed to many a storm. Sharp eyes, too, and a quick
observation, exhibited signs of vigilance, acquired by one who had
lived long in a country where he had constant occasion for looking
around him with caution. His features were still swollen with
displeasure; and the handsome young man who attended him seemed to be
discontented, like one who had undergone no gentle marks of his
father's indignation, and who, from the sullen expression which mingled
with an appearance of shame on his countenance, seemed at once affected
by anger and remorse.

"Do you not remember me, old friend?" said Bertram, as they approached
within a distance for communing; "or have the twenty years which have
marched over us since we met, carried along with them all remembrance
of Bertram, the English minstrel?"

"In troth," answered the Scot, "it is not for want of plenty of your
countrymen to keep you in my remembrance, and I have hardly heard one
of them so much as whistle

    'Hey, now the day dawns,'

but it has recalled some note of your blythe rebeck; and yet, such
animals are we, that I had forgot the mien of my old friend, and
scarcely knew him at a distance. But we have had trouble lately; there
are a thousand of your countrymen that keep garrison in the Perilous
Castle of Douglas yonder, as well as in other places through the vale,
and that is but a woful sight for a true Scotchman--even my own poor
house has not escaped the dignity of a garrison of a man-at-arms,
besides two or three archer knaves, and one or two slips of mischievous
boys called pages, and so forth, who will not let a man say, 'this is
my own,' by his own fireside. Do not, therefore, think hardly of me,
old comrade, if I show you a welcome something colder than you might
expect from a friend of other days; for, by Saint Bride of Douglas, I
have scarcely anything left to which I can say welcome."

"Small welcome will serve," said Bertram. "My son, make thy reverence
to thy father's old friend. Augustine is learning my joyous trade, but
he will need some practice ere he can endure its fatigues. If you could
give him some little matter of food, and a quiet bed for the night,
there's no fear but that we shall both do well enough; for I dare say,
when you travel with my friend Charles there,--if that tall youth
chance to be my old acquaintance Charles,--you will find yourself
accommodated when his wants are once well provided for."

"Nay, the foul fiend take me if I do," answered the Scottish
husbandman. "I know not what the lads of this day are made of--not of
the same clay as their fathers, to be sure--not sprung from their
heather, which fears neither wind nor rain, but from some delicate
plant of a foreign country, which will not thrive unless it be
nourished under glass, with a murrain to it. The good Lord of
Douglas--I have been his henchman, and can vouch for it--did not in his
pagehood desire such food and lodging as, in the present day, will
hardly satisfy such a lad as your friend Charles."

"Nay," said Bertram, "it is not that my Augustine is over nice; but,
for other reasons, I must request of you a bed to himself; he hath of
late been unwell."

"Ay, I understand," said Dickson, "your son hath had a touch of that
illness which terminates so frequently in the black death you English
folk die of? We hear much of the havoc it has made to the southward.
Comes it hitherward?"

Bertram nodded.

"Well, my father's house," continued the farmer, "hath more rooms than
one, and your son shall have one well-aired and comfortable; and for
supper, ye shall have a part of what is prepared for your countrymen,
though I would rather have their room than their company. Since I am
bound to feed a score of them, they will not dispute the claim of such
a skilful minstrel as thou art to a night's hospitality. I am ashamed
to say that I must do their bidding even in my own house, Well-a-day,
if my good lord were in possession of his own, I have heart and hand
enough to turn the whole of them out of my house, like--like"----

"To speak plainly," said Bertram, "like a southern strolling gang from
Redesdale, whom I have seen you fling out of your house like a litter
of blind puppies, when not one of them looked behind to see who had
done him the courtesy until he was half-way to Cairntable."

"Ay," answered the Scotchman, drawing himself up at least six inches
taller than before; "then I had a house of my own, and a cause and an
arm to keep it. Now I am--what signifies it what I am?--the noblest
lord in Scotland is little better."

"Truly, friend," said Bertram, "now you view this matter in a rational
light. I do not say that the wisest, the richest, or the strongest man
in this world has any right to tyrannize over his neighbour, because he
is the more weak, ignorant, and the poorer; but yet if he does enter
into such a controversy, he must submit to the course of nature, and
that will always give the advantage in the tide of battle to wealth,
strength, and health."

"With permission, however," answered Dickson, "the weaker party, if he
use his facilities to the utmost, may, in the long run, obtain revenge
upon the author of his sufferings, which would be at least compensation
for his temporary submission; and he acts simply as a man, and most
foolishly as a Scotchman, whether he sustain these wrongs with the
insensibility of an idiot, or whether he endeavour to revenge them
before Heaven's appointed time has arrived.--But if I talk thus I shall
scare you, as I have scared some of your countrymen, from accepting a
meal of meat and a night's lodging, in a house where you might be
called with the morning to a bloody settlement of a national quarrel."

"Never mind," said Bertram, "we have been known to each other of old;
and I am no more afraid of meeting unkindness in your house, than you
expect me to come here for the purpose of adding to the injuries of
which you complain."

"So be it," said Dickson; "and you, my old friend, are as welcome to my
abode as when it never held any guest, save of my own inviting.--And
you, my young friend, Master Augustine, shall be looked after as well
as if you came with a gay brow and a light cheek, such as best becomes
the _gay science_."

"But wherefore, may I ask," said Bertram, "so much displeased but now
at my young friend Charles?"

The youth answered before his father had time to speak. "My father,
good sir, may put what show upon it he will, but shrewd and wise men
wax weak in the brain these troublous times. He saw two or three wolves
seize upon three of our choicest wethers; and because I shouted to give
the alarm to the English garrison, he was angry as if he could have
murdered me---just for saving the sheep from the jaws that would have
devoured them."

"This is a strange account of thee, old friend," said Bertram. "Dost
thou connive with the wolves in robbing thine own fold?"

"Why, let it pass, if thou lovest me," answered the countryman;
"Charles could tell thee something nearer the truth if he had a mind;
but for the present let it pass."

The minstrel, perceiving that the Scotchman was fretted and embarrassed
with the subject, pressed it no farther.

At this moment, in crossing the threshold of Thomas Dickson's house,
they were greeted with sounds from two English soldiers within. "Quiet,
Anthony," said one voice,--"quiet, man!--for the sake of common sense,
if not common manners;--Robin Hood himself never sat down to his board
ere the roast was ready."

"Ready!" quoth another rough voice; "It is roasting to rags, and small
had been the knave Dickson's share, even of these rags, had it not been
the express orders of the worshipful Sir John de Walton, that the
soldiers who lie at outposts should afford to the inmates such
provisions as are not necessary for their own subsistence."

"Hush, Anthony,--hush, for shame!" replied his fellow-soldier, "if ever
I heard our host's step, I heard it this instant; so give over thy
grumbling, since our captain, as we all know, hath prohibited, under
strict penalties, all quarrels between his followers and the people of
the country."

"I am sure," replied Anthony, "that I have ministered occasion to none;
but I would I were equally certain of the good meaning of this
sullen-browed Thomas Dickson towards the English soldiers, for I seldom
go to bed in this dungeon of a house, but I expect my throat will gape
as wide as a thirsty oyster before I awaken. Here he comes, however,"
added Anthony, sinking his sharp tones as he spoke; "and I hope to be
excommunicated if he has not brought with him that mad animal, his son
Charles, and two other strangers, hungry enough, I'll be sworn, to eat
up the whole supper, if they do us no other injury."

"Shame of thyself, Anthony," repeated his comrade; "a good archer thou
as ever wore Kendal green, and yet affect to be frightened for two
tired travellers, and alarmed for the inroad their hunger may make on
the night's meal. There are four or five of us here--we have our bows
and our bills within reach, and scorn to be chased from our supper, or
cheated out of our share of it by a dozen Scotchmen, whether stationary
or strollers. How say'st thou?" he added, turning to Dickson--"How say
ye, quartermaster? it is no secret, that by the directions given to our
post, we must enquire into the occupations of such guests as you may
receive besides ourselves, your unwilling inmates; you are as ready for
supper, I warrant, as supper is for you, and I will only delay you and
my friend Anthony,--who becomes dreadfully impatient, until you answer
two or three questions which you wot of."

"Bend-the-Bow," answered Dickson, "thou art a civil fellow; and
although it is something hard to be constrained to give an account of
one's friends, because they chance to quarter in one's own house for a
night or two, yet I must submit to the times, and make no vain
opposition. You may mark down in your breviary there, that upon the
fourteenth day before Palm Sunday, Thomas Dickson brought to his house
of Hazelside, in which you hold garrison, by orders from the English
governor, Sir John de Walton, two strangers, to whom the said Thomas
Dickson had promised refreshment, and a bed for the evening, if it be
lawful at this time and place."

"But what are they, these strangers?" said Anthony, somewhat sharply.

"A fine world the while," murmured Thomas Dickson, "that an honest man
should be forced to answer the questions of every paltry
companion!"--But he mitigated his voice and proceeded. "The eldest of
my guests is Bertram, an ancient English minstrel, who is bound on his
own errand to the Castle of Douglas, and will communicate what he has
to say of news to Sir John de Walton himself. I have known him for
twenty years, and never heard any thing of him save that he was good
man and true. The younger stranger is his son, a lad recovering from
the English disorder, which has been raging far and wide in
Westmoreland and Cumberland."

"Tell me," said Bend-the-Bow, "this same Bertram,--was he not about a
year since in the service of some noble lady in our own country?"

"I have heard so," answered Dickson.

"We shall, in that case, I think, incur little danger," replied
Bend-the-Bow, "by allowing this old man and his son to proceed on their
journey to the castle."

"You are my elder and my better," answered Anthony; "but I may remind
you that it is not so clearly our duty to give free passage, into a
garrison of a thousand men of all ranks, to a youth who has been so
lately attacked by a contagious disorder; and I question if our
commander would not rather hear that the Black Douglas, with a hundred
devils as black as himself, since such is his colour, had taken
possession of the outposts of Hazelside with sword and battle-axe, than
that one person suffering under this fell sickness had entered
peaceably, and by the open wicket of the castle."

"There is something in what thou sayest, Anthony," replied his comrade;
"and considering that our governor, since he has undertaken the
troublesome job of keeping a castle which is esteemed so much more
dangerous than any other within Scotland, has become one of the most
cautious and jealous men in the world, we had better, I think, inform
him of the circumstance, and take his commands how the stripling is to
be dealt with."

"Content am I," said the archer; "and first, methinks, I would just, in
order to show that we know what belongs to such a case, ask the
stripling a few questions, as how long he has been ill, by what
physicians he has been attended, when he was cured, and how his cure is
certified, &e."

"True, brother," said Bend-the-Bow. "Thou hearest, minstrel, we would
ask thy son some questions--What has become of him?--he was in this
apartment but now."

"So please you," answered Bertram, "he did but pass through the
apartment. Mr. Thomas Dickson, at my entreaty, as well as in respectful
reverence to your honour's health, carried him through the room without
tarriance, judging his own bed-chamber the fittest place for a young
man recovering from a severe illness, and after a day of no small
fatigue."

"Well," answered the elder archer, "though it is uncommon for men who,
like us, live by bow-string and quiver, to meddle with interrogations
and examinations; yet, as the case stands, we must make some enquiries
of your son, ere we permit him to set forth to the Castle of Douglas,
where you say his errand leads him."

"Rather my errand, noble sir," said the minstrel, "than that of the
young man himself."

"If such be the case," answered Bend-the-Bow, "we may sufficiently do
our duty by sending yourself, with the first grey light of dawn, to the
castle, and letting your son remain in bed, which I warrant is the
fittest place for him, until we shall receive Sir John de Walton's
commands whether he is to be brought onward or not."

"And we may as well," said Anthony, "since we are to have this man's
company at supper, make him acquainted with the rules of the
out-garrison stationed here for the time." So saying, he pulled a
scroll from his leathern pouch, and said, "Minstrel, canst thou read?"

"It becomes my calling," said the minstrel.

"It has nothing to do with mine, though," answered the archer, "and
therefore do thou read these regulations aloud; for since I do not
comprehend these characters by sight, I lose no chance of having them
read over to me as often as I can, that I may fix their sense in my
memory. So beware that thou readest the words letter for letter as they
are set down; for thou dost so at thy peril, Sir Minstrel, if thou
readest not like a true man."

"On my minstrel word," said Bertram, and began to read excessively
slow; for he wished to gain a little time for consideration, which he
foresaw would be necessary to prevent his being separated from his
mistress, which was likely to occasion her much anxiety and distress.
He therefore began thus:--"'Outpost at Hazelside, the steading of
Goodman Thomas Dickson'--Ay, Thomas, and is thy house so called?"

"It is the ancient name of the steading," said the Scot, "being
surrounded by a hazel-shaw, or thicket."

"Hold your chattering tongue, minstrel," said Anthony, "and proceed, as
you value your ears, which you seem disposed to make less use of."

"'His garrison'" proceeded the minstrel, reading, "'consists of a lance
with its furniture.' What, then, a lance, in other words, a belted
knight, commands this party?"

"'Tis no concern of thine," said the archer.

"But it is," answered the minstrel; "we have a right to be examined by
the highest person in presence."

"I will show thee, thou rascal," said the archer, starting up, "that I
am lance enough for thee to reply to, and I will break thy head if thou
say'st a word more."

"Take care, brother Anthony," said his comrade, "we are to use
travellers courteously--and, with your leave, those travellers best who
come from our native land."

"It is even so stated here," said the minstrel, and he proceeded to
read:--"'The watch at this outpost of Hazelside [Footnote: Hazelside
Place, the fief granted to Thomas Dickson by William the Hardy, seventh
Lord Douglas, is still pointed out about two miles to the southwest of
the Castle Dangerous. Dickson was sixty years of age at the time when
Lord James first appeared in Douglasdale. His heirs kept possession of
the fief for centuries; and some respectable gentlemen's families in
Lanarkshire still trace themselves to this ancestor.--_From Notes by
Mr. Haddow_.] shall stop and examine all travellers passing by the said
station, suffering such to pass onward to the town of Douglas or to
Douglas Castle, always interrogating them with civility, and detaining
and turning them back if there arise matter of suspicion; but
conducting themselves in all matters civilly and courteously to the
people of the country, and to those who travel in it.' You see, most
excellent and valiant archer," added the commentator Bertram, "that
courtesy and civility are, above all, recommended to your worship in
your conduct towards the inhabitants, and those passengers who, like
us, may chance to fall under your rules in such matters."

"I am not to be told at this time of day," said the archer, "how to
conduct myself in the discharge of my duties. Let me advise you, Sir
Minstrel, to be frank and open in your answers to our enquiries, and
you shall have no reason to complain."

"I hope at all events," said the minstrel, "to have your favour for my
son, who is a delicate stripling, and not accustomed to play his part
among the crew which inhabit this wild world."

"Well," continued the elder and more civil of the two archers, "if thy
son be a novice in this terrestrial navigation, I warrant that thou, my
friend, from thy look and manner of speech, hast enough of skill to use
thy compass. To comfort thee, although thou must thyself answer the
questions of our governor or deputy-governor, in order that he may see
there is no offence in thee, I think there may be permission granted
for thy son's residing here in the convent hard by, (where the nuns, by
the way, are as old as the monks, and have nearly as long beards, so
thou mayst be easy about thy son's morals,) until thou hast done thy
business at Douglas Castle, and art ready to resume thy journey."

"If such permission," said the minstrel, "can be obtained, I should be
better pleased to leave him at the abbey, and go myself, in the first
place, to take the directions of your commanding officer."

"Certainly," answered the archer, "that will be the safest and best
way; and with a piece or two of money, thou mayst secure the protection
of the abbot."

"Thou say'st well," answered the minstrel; "I have known life, I have
known every stile, gap, pathway, and pass of this wilderness of ours
for some thirty years; and he that cannot steer his course fairly
through it like an able seaman, after having served such an
apprenticeship, can hardly ever be taught, were a century to be given
him to learn it in."

"Since thou art so expert a mariner," answered the archer Anthony,
"thou hast, I warrant me, met in thy wanderings a potation called a
morning's draught, which they who are conducted by others, where they
themselves lack experience, are used to bestow upon those who undertake
the task of guide upon such an occasion?"

"I understand you, sir," quoth the minstrel; "and although money, or
_drink-geld_, as the Fleming calls it, is rather a scarce commodity in
the purse of one of my calling, yet according to my feeble ability,
thou shalt have no cause to complain that thine eyes or those of thy
comrades have been damaged by a Scottish mist, while we can find an
English coin to pay for the good liquor which would wash them clear."

"Content," said the archer; "we now understand each other; and if
difficulties arise on the road, thou shalt not want the countenance of
Anthony to sail triumphantly through them. But thou hadst better let
thy son know soon of the early visit to the abbot to-morrow, for thou
mayst guess that we cannot and dare not delay our departure for the
convent a minute after the eastern sky is ruddy; and, with other
infirmities, young men often are prone to laziness and a love of ease."

"Thou shalt have no reason to think so," answered the minstrel; "not
the lark himself, when waked by the first ray peeping over the black
cloud, springs more lightly to the sky, than will my Augustine answer
the same brilliant summons. And now we understand each other, I would
only further pray you to forbear light talk while my son is in your
company,--a boy of innocent life, and timid in conversation."

"Nay, jolly minstrel," said the elder archer, "thou givest us here too
gross an example of Satan reproving sin. If thou hast followed thy
craft for twenty years, as thou pretendest, thy son, having kept thee
company since childhood, must by this time be fit to open a school to
teach even devils the practice of the seven deadly sins, of which none
know the theory if those of the _gay science_ are lacking."

"Truly, comrade, thou speakest well," answered Bertram, "and I
acknowledge that we minstrels are too much to blame in this matter.
Nevertheless, in good sooth, the fault is not one of which I myself am
particularly guilty; on the contrary, I think that he who would wish to
have his own hair honoured when time has strewed it with silver, should
so rein his mirth when in the presence of the young, as may show in
what respect he holds innocence. I will, therefore, with your
permission, speak a word to Augustine, that to-morrow we must be on
foot early."

"Do so, my friend," said the English soldier; "and do the same the more
speedily that our poor supper is still awaiting until thou art ready to
partake of it."

"To which, I promise thee," said Bertram, "I am disposed to entertain,
no delay."

"Follow me, then," said Dickson, "and I will show thee where this young
bird of thine has his nest."

Their host accordingly tripped up the wooden stair, and tapped at a
door, which he thus indicated was that of his younger guest.

"Your father," continued he, as the door opened, "would speak with you,
Master Augustine."

"Excuse me, my host," answered Augustine, "the truth is, that this room
being directly above your eating-chamber, and the flooring not in the
best possible repair, I have been compelled to the unhandsome practice
of eavesdropping, and not a word has escaped me that passed concerning
my proposed residence at the abbey, our journey to-morrow, and the
somewhat early hour at which I must shake off sloth, and, according to
thy expression, fly down from the roost."

"And how dost thou relish," said Dickson, "being left with the Abbot of
Saint Bride's little flock here."

"Why, well," said the youth, "if the abbot is a man of respectability
becoming his vocation, and not one of those swaggering churchmen, who
stretch out the sword, and bear themselves like rank soldiers in these
troublous times."

"For that, young master," said Dickson, "if you let him put his hand
deep enough into your purse, he will hardly quarrel with any thing."
"Then I will leave him to my father," replied Augustine, "who will not
grudge him any thing he asks in reason."

"In that case," replied the Scotchman, "you may trust to our abbot for
good accommodation--and so both sides are pleased."

"It is well, my son," said Bertram, who now joined in the conversation;
"and that thou mayst be ready for early travelling, I shall presently
get our host to send thee some food, after partaking of which thou
shouldst go to bed and sleep off the fatigue of to-day, since to-morrow
will bring work for itself."

"And as for thy engagement to these honest archers," answered
Augustine, "I hope you will be able to do what will give pleasure to
our guides, if they are disposed to be civil and true men."

"God bless thee, my child!" answered Bertram; "thou knowest already
what would drag after thy beck all the English archers that were ever
on this side of the Solway. There is no fear of a grey goose shaft, if
you sing a _reveillez_ like to that which chimed even now from that
silken nest of dainty young goldfinches."

"Hold me as in readiness, then," said the seeming youth, "when you
depart to-morrow morning. I am within hearing, I suppose, of the bells
of Saint Bride's chapel, and have no fear, through my sloth, of keeping
you or your company waiting."

"Good night, and God bless thee, my child!" again said the minstrel;
"remember that your father sleeps not far distant, and on the slightest
alarm will not fail to be with you. I need scarce bid thee recommend
thyself, meantime, to the great Being, who is the friend and father of
us all."

The pilgrim thanked his supposed father for his evening blessing, and
the visitors withdrew without farther speech at the time, leaving the
young lady to those engrossing fears, which, the novelty of her
situation, and the native delicacy of her sex being considered,
naturally thronged upon her.

The tramp of a horse's foot was not long after heard at the house of
Hazelside, and the rider was welcomed by its garrison with marks of
respect. Bertram understood so much as to discover from the
conversation of the warders that this late arrival was Aymer de
Valence, the knight who commanded the little party, and to the
furniture of whose lance, as it was technically called, belonged the
archers with whom we have already been acquainted, a man-at-arms or
two, a certain proportion of pages or grooms, and, in short, the
command and guidance of the garrison at Thomas Dickson's, while in rank
he was Deputy-governor of Douglas Castle.

To prevent all suspicion respecting himself and his companion, as well
as the risk of the latter being disturbed, the minstrel thought it
proper to present himself to the inspection of this knight, the great
authority of the little place. He found him with as little scruple as
the archers heretofore, making a supper of the relics of the roast beef.

Before this young knight Bertram underwent an examination, while an old
soldier took down in writing such items of information as the examinate
thought proper to express in his replies, both with regard to the
minutiae of his present journey, his business at Castle Douglas, and
his route when that business should be accomplished; a much more minute
examination, in a word, than he had hitherto undergone by the archers,
or perhaps than was quite agreeable to him, being encumbered with at
least the knowledge of one secret, whatever more. Not that this new
examinator had any thing stern or severe in his looks or his questions.
As to the first, he was mild, gentle, and "meek as a maid," and
possessed exactly of the courteous manners ascribed by our father
Chaucer to the pattern of chivalry whom he describes upon his
pilgrimage to Canterbury. But with all his gentleness, De Valence
showed a great degree of acuteness and accuracy in his queries; and
well pleased was Bertram that the young knight did not insist upon
seeing his supposed son, although even in that case his ready wit had
resolved, like a seaman in a tempest, to sacrifice one part to preserve
the rest. He was not, however, driven to this extremity, being treated
by Sir Aymer with that degree of courtesy which in that age men of song
were in general thought entitled to. The knight kindly and liberally
consented to the lad's remaining in the convent, as a fit and quiet
residence for a stripling and an invalid, until Sir John de Walton
should express his pleasure on the subject; and Sir Aymer consented to
this arrangement the more willingly, as it averted all possible danger
of bringing disease into the English garrison.

By the young knight's order, all in Dickson's house were despatched
earlier to rest than usual; the matin bell of the neighbouring chapel
being the signal for their assembly by daybreak. They rendezvoused
accordingly, and proceeded to Saint Bride's, where they heard mass,
after which an interview took place between the abbot Jerome and the
minstrel, in which the former undertook, with the permission of De
Valence, to receive Augustine into his abbey as a guest for a few days,
less or more, and for which Bertram promised an acknowledgment in name
of alms, which was amply satisfactory.

"So be it," said Bertram, taking leave of his supposed son; "rely on it
I will not tarry a day longer at Douglas Castle than shall suffice for
transacting my business there, which is to look after the old books you
wot of, and I will speedily return for thee to the Abbey of Saint
Bride, to resume in company our journey homeward."

"O father," replied the youth, with a smile, "I fear if you get among
romances and chronicles, you will be so earnest in your researches,
that you will forget poor Augustine and his concerns."

"Never fear me, Augustine," said the old man, making the motion of
throwing a kiss towards the boy; "thou art good and virtuous, and
Heaven will not neglect thee, were thy father unnatural enough to do
so. Believe me, all the old songs since Merlin's day shall not make me
forget thee."

Thus they separated, the minstrel, with the English knight and his
retinue, to move towards the castle, and the youth in dutiful
attendance on the venerable abbot, who was delighted to find that his
guest's thoughts turned rather upon spiritual things than on the
morning repast, of the approach of which he could not help being
himself sensible.




CHAPTER THE THIRD.

     This night, methinks, is but the daylight sick.
     It looks a little paler; 'tis a day
     Such as the day is when the sun is hid.
                          MERCHANT OF VENICE.


To facilitate the progress of the party on its way to Douglas Castle,
the Knight of Valence offered the minstrel the convenience of a horse,
which the fatigues of yesterday made him gladly accept. Any one
acquainted with equestrian exercise, is aware that no means of
refreshment carries away the sense of fatigue from over walking so
easily, as the exchange to riding, which calls into play another set of
muscles, and leaves those which have been over exerted an opportunity
of resting through change of motion, more completely than they could in
absolute repose. Sir Aymer de Valence was sheathed in armour, and
mounted on his charger, two of the archers, a groom of mean rank, and a
squire, who looked in his day for the honour of knighthood, completed
the detachment, which seemed so disposed as to secure the minstrel from
escape, and to protect him against violence. "Not," said the young
knight, addressing himself to Bertram, "that there is usually danger in
travelling in this country any more than in the most quiet districts of
England; but some disturbances, as you may have learnt, have broken out
here within this last year, and have caused the garrison of Castle
Douglas to maintain a stricter watch. But let us move on, for the
complexion of the day is congenial with the original derivation of the
name of the country, and the description of the chiefs to whom it
belonged--_Sholto Dhu Glass_--(see yon dark grey man,) and dark grey
will our route prove this morning, though by good luck it is not long."

The morning was indeed what the original Gaelic words implied, a
drizzly, dark, moist day; the mist had settled upon the hills, and
unrolled itself upon brook, glade, and tarn, and the spring breeze was
not powerful enough to raise the veil, though from the wild sounds
which were heard occasionally on the ridges, and through the glens, it
might be supposed to wail at a sense of its own inability. The route of
the travellers was directed by the course which the river had ploughed
for itself down the valley, the banks of which bore in general that
dark grey livery which Sir Aymer de Valence had intimated to be the
prevalent tint of the country. Some ineffectual struggles of the sun
shot a ray here and there to salute the peaks of the hills; yet these
were unable to surmount the dulness of a March morning, and, at so
early an hour, produced a variety of shades, rather than a gleam of
brightness upon the eastern horizon. The view was monotonous and
depressing, and apparently the good knight Aymer sought some amusement
in occasional talk with Bertram, who, as was usual with his craft,
possessed a fund of knowledge, and a power of conversation, well suited
to pass away a dull morning. The minstrel, well pleased to pick up such
information as he might be able concerning the present state of the
country, embraced every opportunity of sustaining the dialogue.

"I would speak with you, Sir Minstrel," said the young knight. "If thou
dost not find the air of this morning too harsh for thine organs,
heartily do I wish thou wouldst fairly tell me what can have induced
thee, being, as thou seemst, a man of sense, to thrust thyself into a
wild country like this, at such a time.--And you, my masters,"
addressing the archers and the rest of the party, "methinks it would be
as fitting and seeming if you reined back your steeds for a horse's
length or so, since I apprehend you can travel on your way without the
pastime of minstrelsy." The bowmen took the hint, and fell back, but,
as was expressed by their grumbling observations, by no means pleased
that there seemed little chance of their overhearing what conversation
should pass between the young knight and the minstrel, which proceeded
as follows--

"I am, then, to understand, good minstrel," said the knight, "that you,
who have in your time borne arms, and even followed Saint George's
red-cross banner to the Holy Sepulchre, are so little tired of the
danger attending our profession, that you feel yourself attracted
unnecessarily to regions where the sword, for ever loose in its
scabbard, is ready to start on the slightest provocation?"

"It would be hard," replied the minstrel bluntly, "to answer such a
question in the affirmative; and yet, when you consider how nearly
allied is his profession who celebrates deeds of arms with that of the
knight who performs them, your honour, I think, will hold it advisable
that a minstrel desirous of doing his devoir, should, like a young
knight, seek the truth of adventures where it is to be found, and
rather visit countries where the knowledge is preserved of high and
noble deeds, than those lazy and quiet realms, in which men live
indolently, and die ignobly in peace, or by sentence of law. You
yourself, sir, and those like you, who hold life cheap in respect of
glory, guide your course through this world on the very same principle
which brings your poor rhyming servant Bertram from a far province of
merry England, to this dark country of rugged Scotland called Douglas
Dale. You long to see adventures worthy of notice, and I (under favour
for naming us two in the same breath) seek a scanty and precarious, but
not a dishonourable living, by preparing for immortality, as well as I
can, the particulars of such exploits, especially the names of those
who were the heroes of these actions. Each, therefore, labours in his
vocation; nor can the one be justly wondered at more than the other,
seeing that if there be any difference in the degrees of danger to
which both the hero and the poet are exposed, the courage, strength,
arms, and address of the valiant knight, render it safer for him to
venture into scenes of peril, than for the poor man of rhyme."

"You say well," answered the warrior; "and although it is something of
novelty to me to hear your craft represented as upon a level with my
own mode of life, yet shame were it to say that the minstrel who toils
so much to keep in memory the feats of gallant knights should not
himself prefer fame to existence, and a single achievement of valour to
a whole age without a name, or to affirm that he follows a mean and
unworthy profession."

"Your worship will then acknowledge," said the minstrel, "that it is a
legitimate object in such as myself, who, simple as I am, have taken my
regular degrees among the professors of the _gay science_ at the
capital town of Aigues-Mortos, to struggle forward into this northern
district, where I am well assured many things have happened which have
been adapted to the harp by minstrels of great fame in ancient days,
and have become the subject of lays which lie deposited in the library
of Castle Douglas, where, unless copied over by some one who
understands the old British characters and language, they must, with
whatever they may contain, whether of entertainment or edification, be
speedily lost to posterity. If these hidden treasures were preserved
and recorded by the minstrel art of my poor self and others, it might
be held well to compensate for the risk of a chance blow of a
broadsword, or the sweep of a brown bill, while I am engaged in
collecting them; and I were unworthy of the name of a man, much more of
an inventor or finder, [Footnote: The name of Maker stands for _Poet_
(with the original sense of which word it exactly corresponds) in the
old Scottish language. That of _Trouveur_ or Troubadour--Finder, in
short--has a similar meaning, and almost in every country the poetical
tribes have been graced with the same epithets, inferring the property
of those who employ invention or creation.] should I weigh the loss of
life, a commodity always so uncertain, against the chance of that
immortality which will survive in my lay after my broken voice and
shivered harp shall no longer be able either to express tune or
accompany tale."

"Certainly," said Sir Aymer, "having a heart to feel such a motive, you
have an undoubted right to express it; nor should I have been in any
degree disposed to question it had I found many minstrels prepared,
like yourself, to prefer renown even to life itself, which most men
think of greatly more consequence."

"There are, indeed, noble sir," replied Bertram, "minstrels, and, with
your reverence, even belted knights themselves, who do not sufficiently
value that renown which is acquired at the risk of life. To such
ignoble men we must leave their own reward--let us abandon to them
earth, and the things of earth, since they cannot aspire to that glory
which is the _best_ reward of others."

The minstrel uttered these last words with such enthusiasm, that the
knight drew his bridle, and stood fronting Bertram, with his
countenance kindling at the same theme, on which, after a short
silence, he expressed himself with a like vivacity.

"Well fare thy heart, gay companion! I am happy to see there is still
so much enthusiasm surviving in the world. Thou hast fairly won the
minstrel groat; and if I do not pay it in conformity to my sense of thy
merit, it shall be the fault of dame Fortune, who has graced my labours
in these Scottish wars with the niggard pay of Scottish money. A gold
piece or two there must be remaining of the ransom of one French
knight, whom chance threw into my hands, and that, my friend, shall
surely be thine own; and hark thee, I, Aymer de Valence, who now speak
to thee, am born of the noble House of Pembroke; and though now
landless, shall, by the grace of Our Lady, have in time a fitting
establishment, wherein I will find room for a minstrel like thee, if
thy talents have not by that time found thee a better patron."

"Thank thee, noble knight," said the minstrel, "as well for thy present
intentions, as I hope I shall for thy future performance; but I may
say, with truth, that I have not the sordid inclination of many of my
brethren."

"He who partakes the true thirst of noble fame," said the young knight,
"can have little room in his heart for the love of gold. But thou hast
not yet told me, friend minstrel, what are the motives, in particular
which have attracted thy wandering steps to this wild country?"

"Were I to do so," replied Bertram, rather desirous to avoid the
question, as in some respects too nearly bordering on the secret
purpose of his journey, "it might sound like a studied panegyric on
thine own bold deeds, Sir Knight, and those of your companions in arms;
and such adulation, minstrel as I am, I hate like an empty cup at a
companion's lips. But let me say in few words, that Douglas Castle, and
the deeds of valour which it has witnessed, have sounded wide through
England; nor is there a gallant knight or trusty minstrel, whose heart
does not throb at the name of the stronghold, which, in former days,
the foot of an Englishman never entered, except in hospitality. There
is a magic in the very names of Sir John de Walton and Sir Aymer de
Valence, the gallant defenders of a place so often won back by its
ancient lords, and with such circumstances of valour and cruelty, that
it bears, in England, the name of the Dangerous Castle."

"Yet I would fain hear," answered the knight, "your own minstrel
account of those legends which have induced you, for the amusement of
future times, to visit a country which, at this period, is so
distracted and perilous."

"If you can endure the length of a minstrel tale," said Bertram--"I for
one am always amused by the exercise of my vocation, and have no
objection to tell my story, provided you do not prove an impatient
listener."

"Nay, for that matter," said the young knight, "a fair listener thou
shalt have of me; and if my reward be not great, my attention at least
shall be remarkable."

"And he," said the minstrel, "must be a poor gleeman who does not hold
himself better paid with that, than with gold or silver, were the
pieces English rose-nobles. On this condition, then, I begin a long
story, which may, in one or other of its details, find subject for
better minstrels than myself, and be listened to by such warriors as
you hundreds of years hence."




CHAPTER THE FOURTH.

     While many a merry lay and many a song
     Cheer'd the rough road, we wish'd the rough road long;
     The rough road then returning in a round,
     Mark'd their impatient steps, for all was fairy ground.
        DR. JOHNSON.


"It was about the year of redemption one thousand two hundred and
eighty-five years," began, the minstrel, "when King Alexander the Third
of Scotland lost his daughter Margaret, whose only child of the same
name, called the Maiden of Norway, (as her father was king of that
country,) became the heiress of this kingdom of Scotland, as well as of
her father's crown. An unhappy death was this for Alexander, who had no
nearer heirs left of his own body than this grandchild. She indeed
might claim his kingdom by birthright; but the difficulty of
establishing such a claim of inheritance must have been anticipated by
all who bestowed a thought upon the subject. The Scottish king,
therefore, endeavoured to make up for his loss by replacing his late
Queen, who was an English princess, sister of our Edward the First,
with Juletta, daughter of the Count de Dreux. The solemnities at the
nuptial ceremony, which took place in the town of Jedburgh, were very
great and remarkable, and particularly when, amidst the display of a
pageant which was exhibited on the occasion, a ghastly spectre made its
appearance in the form of a skeleton, as the King of Terrors is said to
be represented.--Your worship is free to laugh at this, if you think it
a proper subject for mirth; but men are alive who viewed it with their
own eyes, and the event showed too well of what misfortunes this
apparition was the singular prognostication."

"I have heard the story," said the knight; "but the monk who told it
me, suggested that the figure, though unhappily chosen, was perhaps
purposely introduced as a part of the pageant."

"I know not that," said the minstrel, dryly; "but there is no doubt
that shortly after this apparition King Alexander died, to the great
sorrow of his people. The Maid of Norway, his heiress, speedily
followed her grandfather to the grave, and our English king, Sir
Knight, raked up a claim of dependency and homage due, he said, by
Scotland, which neither the lawyers, nobles, priests, nor the very
minstrels of Scotland, had ever before heard of."

"Now, beshrew me," interrupted Sir Aymer de Valence, "this is beyond
bargain. I agreed to hear your tale with patience, but I did not pledge
myself that it should contain matter to the reproach of Edward the
First, of blessed memory; nor will I permit his name to be mentioned in
my hearing without the respect due his high rank and noble qualities."

"Nay," said the minstrel, "I am no highland bagpiper or genealogist, to
carry respect for my art so far as to quarrel with a man of worship who
stops me at the beginning of a pibroch. I am an Englishman, and wish
dearly well to my country; and, above all, I must speak the truth. But
I will avoid disputable topics. Your age, sir, though none of the
ripest, authorizes me to suppose you may have seen the battle of
Falkirk, and other onslaughts in which the competition of Bruce and
Baliol has been fiercely agitated, and you will permit me to say, that
if the Scottish have not had the right upon their side, they have at
least defended the wrong with the efforts of brave men and true."

"Of brave men I grant you," said the knight, "for I have seen no
cowards amongst them; but as for truth, they can best judge of it who
know how often they have sworn faith to England, and how repeatedly
they have broken their vow."

"I shall not stir the question," said the minstrel, "leaving it to your
worship to determine which has most falsehood--he who compels a weaker
person to take an unjust path, or he who, compelled by necessity, takes
the imposed oath without the intention of keeping his word."

"Nay, nay," said De Valence, "let us keep our opinions, for we are not
likely to force each other from the faith we have adopted on this
subject. But take my advice, and whilst thou travellest under an
English pennon, take heed that thou keepest off this conversation in
the hall and kitchen, where perhaps the soldier may be less tolerant
than the officer; and now, in a word, what is thy legend of this
Dangerous Castle?"

"For that," replied Bertram, "methinks your worship is most likely to
have a better edition than I, who have not been in this country for
many years; but it is not for me to bandy opinions with your
knightship. I will even proceed with the tale as I have heard it. I
need not, I presume, inform your worship that the Lords of Douglas, who
founded this castle, are second to no lineage in Scotland in the
antiquity of their descent. Nay, they have themselves boasted that
their family is not to be seen or distinguished, like other great
houses, until it is found at once in a certain degree of eminence. 'You
may see us in the tree,' they say, 'you cannot discover us in the twig;
you may see us in the stream, you cannot trace us to the fountain.' In
a word, they deny that historians or genealogists can point out the
first mean man named Douglas, who originally elevated the family; and
true it is, that so far back as we have known this race, they have
always been renowned for valour and enterprise, accompanied with the
power which made that enterprise effectual."

"Enough," said the knight, "I have heard of the pride and power of that
great family, nor does it interest me in the least to deny or detract
from their bold claims to consideration in this respect."

"Without doubt you must also have heard, noble sir," replied the
minstrel, "many things of James, the present heir of the house of
Douglas?" "More than enough," answered the English knight; "he is known
to have been a stout supporter of that outlawed traitor, William
Wallace; and again, upon the first raising of the banner by this Robert
Bruce, who pretends to be King of Scotland, this young springald, James
Douglas, must needs start into rebellion anew. He plunders his uncle,
the Archbishop of St. Andrews, of a considerable sum of money, to fill
the Scottish Usurper's not over-burdened treasury, debauches the
servants of his relation, takes arms, and though repeatedly chastised
in the field, still keeps his vaunt, and threatens mischief to those,
who, in the name of his rightful sovereign, defend the Castle of
Douglasdale."

"It is your pleasure to say so, Sir Knight," replied Bertram; "yet I am
sure, were you a Scot, you would with patience hear me tell over what
has been said of this young man by those who have known him, and whose
account of his adventures shows how differently the same tale may be
told. These men talk of the present heir of this ancient family as
fully adequate to maintain and augment its reputation; ready, indeed,
to undergo every peril in the cause of Robert the Bruce, because the
Bruce is esteemed by him his lawful king; and sworn and devoted, with
such small strength as he can muster, to revenge himself on those
Southrons who have, for several years, as he thinks, unjustly,
possessed themselves of his father's abode."

"O," replied Sir Aymer de Valence, "we have heard much of his
achievements in this respect, and of his threats against our governor
and ourselves; yet we think it scarce likely that Sir John de Walton
will move from Douglasdale without the King's order, although this
James Douglas, a mere chicken, take upon himself to crack his voice by
crowing like a cock of the game."

"Sir," answered Bertram, "our acquaintance is but brief, and yet I feel
it has been so beneficial to me, that I trust there is no harm, in
hoping that James Douglas and you may never meet in bodily presence
till the state of the two countries shall admit of peace being between
you."

"Thou art obliging, friend," answered Sir Aymer, "and, I doubt not,
sincere; and truly thou seemest to have a wholesome sense of the
respect due to this young knight, when men talk of him in his native
valley of Douglas. For me, I am only poor Aymer of Valence, without an
acre of land, or much hope of acquiring any, unless I cut something
huge with my broadsword out of the middle of these hills. Only this,
good minstrel, if thou livest to tell my story, may I pray thee to use
thy scrupulous custom of searching out the verity, and whether I live
or die thou shalt not, I think, discover that thy late acquaintance of
a spring morning hath added more to the laurels of James of Douglas,
than any man's death must give to him by whose stronger arm, or more
lucky chance, it is his lot to fall."

"I nothing fear you, Sir Knight," said the minstrel, "for yours is that
happy brain, which, bold in youth as beseems a young knight, is in more
advanced life the happy source of prudent counsel, of which I would
not, by an early death, wish thy country to be deprived."

"Thou art so candid, then, as to wish Old England the benefit of good
advice" said Sir Aymer, "though thou leanest to the side of Scotland in
the controversy?"

"Assuredly, Sir Knight," said the minstrel, "since in wishing that
Scotland and England each knew their own true interest, I am bound to
wish them both alike well; and they should, I think, desire to live in
friendship together. Occupying each their own portion of the same
island, and living under the same laws, and being at peace with each
other, they might without fear, face the enmity of the whole world."

"If thy faith be so liberal," answered the Knight, "as becomes a good
man, thou must certainly pray, Sir Minstrel, for the success of England
in the war, by which alone these murderous hostilities of the northern
nation can end in a solid peace. The rebellions of this obstinate
country are but the struggles of the stag when he is mortally wounded;
the animal grows weaker and weaker with every struggle, till his
resistance is effectually tamed by the hand of death."

"Not so, Sir Knight," said the minstrel; "if my creed is well taught
me, we ought not so to pray. We may, without offence, intimate in our
prayers the end we wish to obtain; but it is not for us, poor mortals,
to point out to an all-seeing Providence the precise manner in which
our petitions are to be accomplished, or to wish the downfall of a
country to end its commotions, as the death-stab terminates the agonies
of the wounded stag. Whether I appeal to my heart or to my
understanding, the dictate would be to petition Heaven for what is just
and equal in the case; and if I should fear for thee, Sir Knight, in an
encounter with James of Douglas, it is only because he upholds, as I
conceive, the better side of the debate; and powers more earthly have
presaged to him success."

"Do you tell me so, Sir Minstrel," said De Valence in a threatening
tone, "knowing me and my office?"

"Your personal dignity and authority" said Bertram, "cannot change the
right into wrong, or avert what Providence has decreed to take place.
You know, I must presume, that the Douglas hath, by various devices,
already contrived to make himself master of this Castle of Douglas
three several times, and that Sir John de Walton, the present governor,
holds it with a garrison trebled in force, and under the assurance that
if, without surprise, he should keep it from the Scottish power for a
year and a day, he shall obtain the barony of Douglas, with its
extensive appendages, in free property for his reward; while, on the
other hand, if he shall suffer the fortress during this space to be
taken, either by guile or by open force, as has happened successively
to the holders of the Dangerous Castle, he will become liable to
dishonour as a knight, and to attainder as a subject; and the chiefs
who take share with him, and serve under him, will participate also in
his guilt and his punishment?"

"All this I know well" said Sir Aymer; "and I only wonder that, having
become public, the conditions have, nevertheless, been told with so
much accuracy; but what has this to do with the issue of the combat, if
the Douglas and I should chance to meet? I will not surely be disposed
to fight with less animation because I wear my fortune upon my sword,
or become coward because I fight for a portion of the Douglas's estate,
as well as for fame and for fatherland? And after all"--

"Hear me," said the minstrel; "an ancient gleeman has said, that in a
false quarrel there is no true valour, and the _los_ or praise won
therein, is, when balanced against honest fame, as valueless as a
wreath formed out of copper, compared to a chaplet of pure gold; but I
bid you not take me for thy warrant in this important question. Thou
well knowest how James of Thirlwall, the last English commander before
Sir John de Walton, was surprised, and the castle sacked with
circumstances of great inhumanity."

"Truly," said Sir Aymer, "I think that Scotland and England both have
heard of that onslaught, and of the disgusting proceedings of the
Scottish chieftain, when he caused transport into the wild forest gold,
silver, ammunition, and armour, and all things that could be easily
removed, and destroyed a large quantity of provisions in a manner
equally savage and unheard-of."

"Perhaps, Sir Knight," said Bertram, "you were yourself an eyewitness
of that transaction, which has been spoken of far and wide, and is
called the Douglas Larder?"

"I saw not the actual accomplishment of the deed," said De Valence;
"that is, I witnessed it not a-doing, but I beheld enough of the sad
relics to make the Douglas Larder never by me to be forgotten as a
record of horror and abomination. I would speak it truly, by the hand
of my father and by my honour as a knight! and I will leave it to thee
to judge whether it was a deed calculated to secure the smiles of
Heaven in favour of the actors. This is my edition of the story:--

"A large quantity of provisions had during two years or thereabouts
been collected from different points, and the Castle of Douglas, newly
repaired, and, as was thought, carefully guarded, was appointed as the
place where the said provisions were to be put in store for the service
of the King of England, or of the Lord Clifford, whichever should first
enter the Western Marches with an English army, and stand in need of
such a supply. This army was also to relieve our wants, I mean those of
my uncle the Earl of Pembroke, who for some time before had lain with a
considerable force in the town called Ayr, near the old Caledonian
Forest, and where we had hot wars with the insurgent Scots. Well, sir,
it happened, as in similar cases, that Thirlwall, though a bold and
active soldier, was surprised in the Castle of Douglas, about
Hallowmass, by this same worthy, young James Douglas. In no very good
humour was he, as you may suppose; for his father, called William the
Hardy, or William Longlegs, having refused, on any terms, to become
Anglicized, was made a lawful prisoner, and died as such, closely
confined in Berwick, or, as some say, in Newcastle. The news of his
father's death had put young Douglas into no small rage, and tended, I
think, to suggest what he did in his resentment. Embarrassed by the
quantity of provisions which he found in the castle, which, the English
being superior in the country, he had neither the means to remove, nor
the leisure to stay and consume, the fiend, as I think, inspired him
with a contrivance to render them unfit for human use. You shall judge
yourself whether it was likely to be suggested by a good or an evil
spirit.

"According to this device, the gold, silver, and other transportable
commodities being carried to secret places of safety, Douglas caused
the meat, the malt, and other corn or grain, to be brought down into
the castle cellar, where he emptied the contents of the sacks into one
loathsome heap, striking out the heads of the barrels and puncheons, so
as to let the mingled drink run through the heap of meal, grain, and so
forth. The bullocks provided for slaughter were in like manner knocked
on the head, and their blood suffered to drain into the mass of edible
substances; and lastly, the flesh of these oxen was buried in the same
mass, in which was also included the dead bodies of those in the
castle, who, receiving no quarter from the Douglas, paid dear enough
for having kept no better watch. This base and unworthy abuse of
provisions intended for the use of man, together with throwing into the
well of the castle carcasses of men and horses, and other filth for
polluting the same, has since that time been called the DOUGLAS LARDER."

"I pretend not, good Sir Aymer," said the minstrel, "to vindicate what
you justly reprove, nor can I conceive any mode of rendering provisions
arranged after the form of the Douglas Larder, proper for the use of
any Christian; yet this young gentleman might perhaps act under the
sting of natural resentment, rendering his singular exploit more
excusable than it may seem at first. Think, if your own noble father
had just died in a lingering captivity, his inheritance seized upon,
and occupied as a garrison by a foreign enemy, would not these things
stir you to a mode of resentment, which in cold blood, and judging of
it as the action of an enemy, your honour might hold in natural and
laudable abhorrence?--Would you pay respect to dead and senseless
objects, which no one could blame your appropriating to your own use,
or even scruple the refusal of quarter to prisoners, which is so often
practised even in wars which are otherwise termed fair and humane?"

"You press me close, minstrel," said Aymer de Valence. "I at least have
no great interest to excuse the Douglas in this matter, since its
consequences were, that I myself, and the rest of my uncle's host,
laboured with Clifford and his army to rebuild this same Dangerous
Castle; and feeling no stomach for the cheer that the Douglas had left
us, we suffered hard commons, though I acknowledge we did not hesitate
to adopt for our own use such sheep and oxen as the miserable Scots had
still left around their farm-houses; and I jest not, Sir Minstrel, when
I acknowledge in sad earnest, that we martial men ought to make our
petitions with peculiar penitence to Heaven for mercy, when we reflect
on the various miseries which the nature of our profession compels us
to inflict on each other."

"It seems to me," answered the minstrel, "that those who feel the
stings of their own conscience should be more lenient when they speak
of the offences of others; nor do I greatly rely on a sort of prophecy
which was delivered, as the men of this hill district say, to the young
Douglas, by a man who in the course of nature should have been long
since dead, promising him a course of success against the English for
having sacrificed his own castle to prevent their making it a garrison."

"We have time enough for the story," said Sir Aymer, "and methinks it
would suit a knight and a minstrel better than the grave converse we
have hitherto held, which would have beseemed--so God save me--the
mouths of two travelling friars."

"So be it," said the minstrel; "the rote or the viol easily changes its
time and varies its note."




CHAPTER THE FIFTH.

      A tale of sorrow, for your eyes may weep;
      A tale of horror, for your flesh may tingle;
      A tale of wonder, for the eyebrows arch,
      And the flesh curdles if you read it rightly
                                        OLD PLAY.


"Your honour must be informed, gentle Sir Aymer de Valence, that I have
heard this story told at a great distance from the land in which it
happened, by a sworn minstrel, the ancient friend and servant of the
house of Douglas, one of the best, it is said, who ever belonged to
that noble family. This minstrel, Hugo Hugonet by name, attended his
young master when on this fierce exploit, as was his wont.

"The castle was in total tumult; in one corner the war-men were busy
breaking up and destroying provisions; in another, they were slaying
men, horses, and cattle, and these actions were accompanied with
appropriate sounds. The cattle, particularly, had become sensible of
their impending fate, and with awkward resistance and piteous cries,
testified that reluctance with which these poor creatures look
instinctively on the shambles. The groans and screams of men,
undergoing, or about to undergo, the stroke of death, and the screeches
of the poor horses which were in mortal agony, formed a fearful chorus.
Hugonet was desirous to remove himself from such unpleasant sights and
sounds; but his master, the Douglas, had been a man of some reading,
and his old servant was anxious to secure a book of poetry, to which he
had been attached of old. This contained the Lays of an ancient
Scottish Bard, who, if an ordinary human creature while he was in this
life, cannot now perhaps be exactly termed such.

"He was, in short, that Thomas, distinguished by the name of the
Rhymer, and whose intimacy, it is said, became so great with the gifted
people, called the Faery folk, that he could, like them, foretell the
future deed before it came to pass, and united in his own person the
quality of bard and of soothsayer. But of late years he had vanished
almost entirely from this mortal scene; and although the time and
manner of his death were never publicly known, yet the general belief
was, that he was not severed from the land of the living, but removed
to the land of Faery, from whence he sometimes made excursions, and
concerned himself only about matters which were to come hereafter.
Hugonet was the more earnest to prevent the loss of the works of this
ancient bard, as many of his poems and predictions were said to be
preserved in the castle, and were supposed to contain much especially
connected with the old house of Douglas, as well as other families of
ancient descent, who had been subjects of this old man's prophecy; and
accordingly he determined to save this volume from destruction in the
general conflagration to which the building was about to be consigned
by the heir of its ancient proprietors. With this view he hurried up
into the little old vaulted room, called 'the Douglas's study,' in
which there might be some dozen old books written by the ancient
chaplains, in what the minstrels call _the letter black_. He
immediately discovered the celebrated lay, called Sir Tristrem, which
has been so often altered and abridged as to bear little resemblance to
the original. Hugonet, who well knew the value in which this poem was
held by the ancient lords of the castle, took the parchment volume from
the shelves of the library, and laid it upon a small desk adjacent to
the Baron's chair. Having made such preparation for putting it in
safety, he fell into a brief reverie, in which the decay of light, and
the preparations for the Douglas Larder, but especially the last sight
of objects which had been familiar to his eyes, now on the eve of
destruction, engaged him at that moment.

"The bard, therefore, was thinking within himself upon the uncommon
mixture of the mystical scholar and warrior in his old master, when, as
he bent his eyes upon the book of the ancient Rhymer, he was astonished
to observe it slowly removed from the desk on which it lay by an
invisible hand. The old man looked with horror at the spontaneous
motion of the book, for the safety of which he was interested, and had
the courage to approach a little nearer the table, in order to discover
by what means it had been withdrawn.

"I have said the room was already becoming dark, so as to render it
difficult to distinguish any person in the chair, though it now
appeared, on closer examination, that a kind of shadowy outline of a
human form was seated in it, but neither precise enough to convey its
exact figure to the mind, nor so detailed as to intimate distinctly its
mode of action. The Bard of Douglas, therefore, gazed upon the object
of his fear, as if he had looked upon something not mortal;
nevertheless, as he gazed more intently, he became more capable of
discovering the object which offered itself to his eyes, and they grew
by degrees more keen to penetrate what they witnessed. A tall thin
form, attired in, or rather shaded with, a long flowing dusky robe,
having a face and physiognomy so wild and overgrown with hair as to be
hardly human, were the only marked outlines of the phantom; and,
looking more attentively, Hugonet was still sensible of two other
forms, the outlines, it seemed, of a hart and a hind, which appeared
half to shelter themselves behind the person and under the robe of this
supernatural figure."

"A probable tale," said the knight, "for you, Sir Minstrel, a man of
sense as you seem to be, to recite so gravely! From what wise authority
have you had this tale, which, though it might pass well enough amid
clanging beakers, must be held quite apocryphal in the sober hours of
the morning?"

"By my minstrel word, Sir Knight," answered Bertram, "I am no
propagator of the fable, if it be one; Hugonet, the violer, when he had
retired into a cloister near the Lake of Pembelmere in Wales,
communicated the story to me as I now tell it. Therefore, as it was
upon the authority of an eyewitness, I apologize not for relating it to
you, since I could hardly discover a more direct source of knowledge."

"Be it so, Sir Minstrel," said the knight; "tell on thy tale, and may
thy legend escape criticism from others as well as from me."

"Hugonet, Sir Knight," answered Bertram, "was a holy man, and
maintained a fair character during his whole life, notwithstanding his
trade may be esteemed a light one. The vision spoke to him in an
antique language, like that formerly used in the kingdom of
Strath-Clyde, being a species of Scots or Gaelic, which few would have
comprehended.

"'You are a learned man,' said the apparition, 'and not unacquainted
with the dialects used in your country formerly, although they are now
out of date, and you are obliged to translate them into the vulgar
Saxon of Deira or Northumberland; but highly must an ancient British
bard prize one in this "remote term of time," who sets upon the poetry
of his native country a value which invites him to think of its
preservation at a moment of such terror as influences the present
evening.'

"'It is, indeed,' said Hugonet, 'a night of terror, that calls even the
dead from the grave, and makes them the ghastly and fearful companions
of the living--Who or what art thou, in God's name, who breakest the
bounds which divide them, and revisitest thus strangely the state thou
hast so long bid adieu to?'

"'I am,' replied the vision, 'that celebrated Thomas the Rhymer, by
some called Thomas of Erceldoun, or Thomas the True Speaker. Like other
sages, I am permitted at times to revisit the scenes of my former life,
nor am I incapable of removing the shadowy clouds and darkness which
overhang futurity; and know, thou afflicted man, that what thou now
seest in this woeful country, is not a general emblem of what shall
therein befall hereafter, but in proportion as the Douglasses are now
suffering the loss and destruction of their home for their loyalty to
the rightful heir of the Scottish kingdom, so hath Heaven appointed for
them a just reward; and as they have not spared to burn and destroy
their own house and that of their fathers in the Bruce's cause, so is
it the doom of Heaven, that as often as the walls of Douglas Castle
shall be burnt to the ground, they shall be again rebuilt still more
stately and more magnificent than before.'

"A cry was now heard like that of a multitude in the courtyard, joining
in a fierce shout of exultation; at the same time a broad and ruddy
glow seemed to burst from the beams and rafters, and sparks flew from
them as from the smith's stithy, while the element caught to its fuel,
and the conflagration broke its way through every aperture.

"'See ye that?' said the vision, casting his eye towards the windows
and disappearing--'Begone! The fated hour of removing this book is not
yet come, nor are thine the destined hands. But it will be safe where I
have placed it, and the time of its removal shall come.' The voice was
heard after the form had vanished, and the brain of Hugonet almost
turned round at the wild scene which he beheld; his utmost exertion was
scarcely sufficient to withdraw him from the terrible spot, and Douglas
Castle that night sunk into ashes and smoke, to arise, in no great
length of time, in a form stronger than ever." The minstrel stopt, and
his hearer, the English knight, remained silent for some minutes ere at
length he replied.

"It is true, minstrel," answered Sir Aymer, "that your tale is so far
undeniable, that this castle--three times burned down by the heir of
the house and of the barony--has hitherto been as often reared again by
Henry Lord Clifford, and other generals of the English, who endeavoured
on every occasion to build it up more artificially and more strongly
than it had formerly existed, since it occupies a position too
important to the safety of our Scottish border to permit our yielding
it up. This I myself have partly witnessed. But I cannot think, that
because the castle has been so destroyed, it is therefore decreed so to
be repaired in future, considering that such cruelties, as surely
cannot meet the approbation of Heaven, have attended the feats of the
Douglasses. But I see thou art determined to keep thine own faith, nor
can I blame thee, since the wonderful turns of fate which have attended
this fortress, are sufficient to warrant any one to watch for what seem
the peculiar indications of the will of Heaven; but thou mayst believe,
good minstrel, that the fault shall not be mine, if the young Douglas
shall have opportunity to exercise his cookery upon a second edition of
his family larder, or to profit by the predictions of Thomas the
Rhymer."

"I do not doubt due circumspection upon your own part and Sir John de
Walton's," said Bertram; "but there is no crime in my saying that
Heaven can accomplish its own purposes. I look upon Douglas Castle as
in some degree a fated place, and I long to see what changes time may
have made in it during the currency of twenty years. Above all, I
desire to secure, if possible, the volume of this Thomas of Erceldoun,
having in it such a fund of forgotten minstrelsy, and of prophecies
respecting the future fates of the British kingdom, both northern and
southern."

The knight made no answer, but rode a little space forward, keeping the
upper part of the ridge of the water, by which the road down the vale
seemed to be rather sharply conducted. It at length attained the summit
of an acclivity of considerable length. From this point, and behind a
conspicuous rock, which appeared to have been pushed aside, as it were,
like the scene of a theatre to admit a view of the under part of the
valley, the travellers beheld the extensive vale, parts of which have
been already shown in detail, but which, as the river became narrower,
was now entirely laid bare in its height and depth as far as it
extended, and displayed in its precincts, at a little distance from the
course of the stream, the towering and lordly castle to which it gave
the name. The mist which continued to encumber the valley with its
fleecy clouds, showed imperfectly the rude fortifications which served
to defend the small town of Douglas, which was strong enough to repel a
desultory attack, but not to withstand what was called in those days a
formal siege. The most striking feature was its church, an ancient
Gothic pile raised on an eminence in the centre of the town, and even
then extremely ruinous. To the left, and lying in the distance, might
be seen other towers and battlements; and divided from the town by a
piece of artificial water, which extended almost around it, arose the
Dangerous Castle of Douglas.

Sternly was it fortified, after the fashion of the middle ages, with
donjon and battlements; displaying, above others, the tall tower, which
bore the name of Lord Henry's, or the Clifford's Tower.

"Yonder is the castle," said Aymer de Valence, extending his arm with a
smile of triumph upon his brow; "thou mayst judge thyself, whether the
defences added to it under the Clifford are likely to render its next
capture a more easy deed than the last."

The minstrel barely shook his head, and quoted from the
Psalmist--"_Nisi Dominus custodiet_." Nor did he prosecute the
discourse, though De Valence answered eagerly, "My own edition of the
text is not very different from thine; but, methinks thou art more
spiritually-minded than can always be predicated of a wandering
minstrel."

"God knows," said Bertram, "that if I, or such as I, are forgetful of
the finger of Providence in accomplishing its purposes in this lower
world, we have heavier blame than that of other people, since we are
perpetually called upon, in the exercise of our fanciful profession, to
admire the turns of fate which bring good out of evil, and which render
those who think only of their own passions and purposes the executors
of the will of Heaven."

"I do submit to what you say, Sir Minstrel," answered the knight, "and
it would be unlawful to express any doubt of the truths which you speak
so solemnly, any more than of your own belief in them. Let me add, sir,
that I think I have power enough in this garrison to bid you welcome,
and Sir John de Walton, I hope, will not refuse access to hall, castle,
or knight's bower, to a person of your profession, and by whose
conversation we shall, perhaps, profit somewhat. I cannot, however,
lead you to expect such indulgence for your son, considering the
present state of his health; but if I procure him the privilege to
remain at the convent of Saint Bride, he will be there unmolested and
in safety, until you have renewed your acquaintance with Douglas Dale
and its history, and are disposed to set forward on your journey."

"I embrace your honour's proposal the more willingly," said the
minstrel, "that I can recompense the Father Abbot."

"A main point with holy men or women," replied De Valence, "who, in
time of warfare, subsist by affording the visitors of their shrine the
means of maintenance in their cloisters for a passing season."

The party now approached the sentinels on guard at the castle, who were
closely and thickly stationed, and who respectfully admitted Sir Aymer
de Valence, as next in command under Sir John de Walton. Fabian--for so
was the young squire named who attended on De Valence--mentioned it as
his master's pleasure that the minstrel should also be admitted. An old
archer, however, looked hard at the minstrel as he followed Sir Aymer.
"It is not for us," said he, "or any of our degree, to oppose the
pleasure of Sir Aymer do Valence, nephew to the Earl of Pembroke, in
such a matter; and for us, Master Fabian, welcomes are you to make the
gleeman your companion both at bed and board, as well as your visitant,
a week or two at the Castle of Douglas; but your worship is well aware
of the strict order of watch laid upon us, and if Solomon, King of
Israel, were to come here as a travelling minstrel, by my faith I durst
not give him entrance, unless I had positive authority from Sir John de
Walton."

"Do you doubt, sirrah," said Aymer de Valence, who returned on hearing
an altercation betwixt Fabian and the archer--"do you doubt that I have
good authority to entertain a guest, or do you presume to contest it?"

"Heaven forbid!" said the old man, "that I should presume to place my
own desire in opposition to your worship, who has so lately and so
honourably acquired your spurs; but in this matter I must think what
will be the wish of Sir John de Walton, who is your governor, Sir
Knight, as well as mine; and so far I hold it worth while to detain
your guest until Sir John return from a ride to the outposts of the
castle; and this, I conceive, being my duty, will be no matter of
offence to your worship."

"Methinks," said the knight, "it is saucy in thee to suppose that my
commands can have any thing in them improper, or contradictory to those
of Sir John de Walton; thou mayst trust to me at least that thou shalt
come to no harm. Keep this man in the guard-room; let him not want good
cheer, and when Sir John de Walton returns, report him as a person
admitted by my invitation, and if any thing more be wanted to make out
your excuse, I shall not be reluctant in stating it to the governor."

The archer made a signal of obedience with the pike which he held in
his hand, and resumed the grave and solemn manner of a sentinel upon
his post. He first, however, ushered in the minstrel, and furnished him
with food and liquor, speaking at the same time to Fabian, who remained
behind. The smart young stripling had become very proud of late, in
consequence of obtaining the name of Sir Aymer's squire, and advancing
a step in chivalry, as Sir Aymer himself had, somewhat earlier than the
usual period, been advanced from squire to knight.

"I tell thee, Fabian," said the old archer, (whose gravity, sagacity,
and skill in his vocation, while they gained him the confidence of all
in the castle, subjected him, as he himself said, occasionally to the
ridicule of the young coxcombs; and at the same time we may add,
rendered him somewhat pragmatic and punctilious towards those who stood
higher than himself in birth and rank;) "I tell thee, Fabian, thou wilt
do thy master, Sir Aymer, good service, if thou wilt give him a hint to
suffer an old archer, man-at-arms, or such like, to give him a fair and
civil answer respecting that which he commands; for undoubtedly it is
not in the first score of a man's years that he learns the various
proper forms of military service; and Sir John de Walton, a most
excellent commander no doubt, is one earnestly bent on pursuing the
strict line of his duty, and will be rigorously severe, as well,
believe me, with thy master as with a lesser person. Nay, he also
possesses that zeal for his duty which induces him to throw blame, if
there be the slightest ground for it, upon Aymer de Valence himself,
although his uncle, the Earl of Pembroke, was John de Walton's steady
patron, and laid the beginning of his good fortune; for all which, by
training up his nephew in the true discipline of the French wars, Sir
John has taken the best way of showing himself grateful to the eld
Earl."

"Be it as you will, old Gilbert Greenleaf," answered Fabian, "thou
knowest I never quarrel with thy sermonizing, and therefore give me
credit for submitting to many a lecture from Sir John de Walton and
thyself; but thou drivest this a little too far, if thou canst not let
a day pass without giving me a flogging. Credit me, Sir John de Walton
will not thank thee, if thou term him one too old to remember that he
himself had once some green sap in his veins. Ay, thus it is, the old
man will not forget that he has once been young, nor the young that he
must some day be old; and so the one changes his manners into the
lingering formality of advanced age, and the other remains like a
midsummer torrent swoln with rain, every drop of water in it noise,
froth, and overflow. There is a maxim for thee, Gilbert!--Heardest thou
ever better? hang it up amidst thy axioms of wisdom, and see if it will
not pass among them like fifteen to the dozen. It will serve to bring
thee off, man, when the wine-pot (thine only fault, good Gilbert) hath
brought thee on occasion into something of a scrape."

"Best keep it for thyself, good Sir Squire," said the old man;
"methinks it is more like to stand thyself one day in good stead. Who
ever heard of a knight, or of the wood of which a knight is made, and
that is a squire, being punished corporally like a poor old archer or
horseboy? Your worst fault will be mended by some of these witty
sayings, and your best service will scarce be rewarded more thankfully
than by giving thee the name of Fabian the Fabler, or some such witty
title."

Having unloosed his repartee to this extent, old Greenleaf resumed a
certain acidity of countenance, which may be said to characterise those
whose preferment hath become frozen under the influence of the slowness
of its progress, and who display a general spleen against such as have
obtained the advancement for which all are struggling, earlier, and, as
they suppose, with less merit than their own. From time to time the eye
of the old sentinel stole from the top of his pike, and with an air of
triumph rested upon the young man Fabian, as if to see how deeply the
wound had galled him, while at the same time he held himself on the
alert to perform whatever mechanical duty his post might require. Both
Fabian and his master were at the happy period of life when such
discontent as that of the grave archer affected them lightly, and, at
the very worst, was considered as the jest of an old man and a good
soldier; the more especially, as he was always willing to do the duty
of his companions, and was much trusted by Sir John de Walton, who,
though very much younger, had been bred up like Greenleaf in the wars
of Edward the First, and was tenacious in upholding strict discipline,
which, since the death of that great monarch, had been considerably
neglected by the young and warm-blooded valour of England.

Meantime it occurred to Sir Aymer de Valence, that though in displaying
the usual degree of hospitality shown, to such a man as Bertram, he had
merely done what was becoming his own rank, as one possessed of the
highest honours of chivalry--the self-styled minstrel might not in
reality be a man of that worth which he assumed. There was certainly
something in his conversation, at least more grave, if not more
austere, than was common to those of his calling; and when he
recollected many points of Sir John de Walton's minuteness, a doubt
arose in his mind, that the governor might not approve of his having
introduced into the castle a person of Bertram's character, who was
capable of making observations from which the garrison might afterwards
feel much danger and inconvenience. Secretly, therefore, he regretted
that he had not fairly intimated to the wandering minstrel, that his
reception, or that of any stranger, within the Dangerous Castle, was
not at present permitted by the circumstances of the times. In this
case, the express line of his duty would have been his vindication, and
instead, perhaps of discountenance and blame, he would have had praise
and honour from his superior.

With these thoughts passing through his mind, some tacit apprehension.
arose of a rebuke on the part of his commanding-officer; for this
officer, notwithstanding his strictness, Sir Aymer loved as well as
feared. He went, therefore, towards the guard-room of the castle, under
the pretence of seeing that the rites of hospitality had been duly
observed towards his late travelling companion. The minstrel arose
respectfully, and from the manner in which he paid his compliments,
seemed, if he had not expected this call of enquiry, at least to be in
no degree surprised at it. Sir Aymer, on the other hand, assumed an air
something more distant than he had yet used towards Bertram, and in
reverting to his former invitation, he now so far qualified it as to
say, that the minstrel knew that he was only second in command, and
that effectual permission to enter the castle ought to be sanctioned by
Sir John de Walton.

There is a civil way of seeming to believe any apology which people are
disposed to receive in payment, without alleging suspicion of its
currency. The minstrel, therefore, tendered his thanks for the civility
which had so far been shown to him. "It was a mere wish of passing
curiosity," he said, "which, if not granted, could be attended with no
consequences either inconvenient or disagreeable to him. Thomas of
Erceldoun was, according to the Welsh triads, _one of the three bards
of Britain_, who never stained a spear with blood, or was guilty either
of taking or retaking castles and fortresses, and thus far not a person
likely, after death, to be suspected of such warlike feats. But I can
easily conceive why Sir John de Walton should have allowed the usual
rites of hospitality to fall into disuse, and why a man of public
character like myself ought not to desire food or lodging where it is
accounted so dangerous; and it can surprise no one why the governor did
not even invest his worthy young lieutenant with the power of
dispensing with so strict and unusual a rule."

These words, very coolly spoken, had something of the effect of
affronting the young knight, as insinuating, that he was not held
sufficiently trustworthy by Sir John de Walton, with whom he had lived
on terms of affection and familiarity, though the governor had attained
his thirtieth year and upwards, and his lieutenant did not yet write
himself one-and-twenty, the full age of chivalry having been in his
case particularly dispensed with, owing to a feat of early manhood. Ere
he had fully composed the angry thoughts which were chafing in his
mind, the sound of a hunting bugle was heard at the gate, and from the
sort of general stir which it spread through the garrison, it was plain
that the governor had returned from his ride. Every sentinel, seemingly
animated by his presence, shouldered his pike more uprightly, gave the
word of the post more sharply, and seemed more fully awake and
conscious of his duty. Sir John de Walton having alighted from his
horse, asked Greenleaf what had passed during his absence; the old
archer thought it his duty to say that a minstrel, who seemed like a
Scotchman, or wandering borderer, had been admitted into the castle,
while his son, a lad sick of the pestilence so much talked of, had been
left for a time at the Abbey of Saint Bride. This he said on Fabian's
information. The archer added, that the father was a man of tale and
song, who could keep the whole garrison amused, without giving them
leave to attend to their own business.

"We want no such devices to pass the time," answered the governor; "and
we would have been better satisfied if our lieutenant had been pleased
to find us other guests, and fitter for a direct and frank
communication, than one who, by his profession, is a detractor of God
and a deceiver of man."

"Yet," said the old soldier, who could hardly listen even to his
commander without indulging the humour of contradiction, "I have heard
your honour intimate that the trade of a minstrel, when it is justly
acted up to, is as worthy as even the degree of knighthood itself."

"Such it may have been in former days," answered the knight; "but in
modern minstrelsy, the duty of rendering the art an incentive to virtue
is forgotten, and it is well if the poetry which fired our fathers to
noble deeds, does not now push on their children to such as are base
and unworthy. But I will speak upon this to my friend Aymer, than whom
I do not know a more excellent, or a more high-spirited young man."

While discoursing with the archer in this manner, Sir John de Walton,
of a tall and handsome figure, advanced and stood within the ample arch
of the guard-room chimney, and was listened to in reverential silence
by trusty Gilbert, who filled up with nods and signs, as an attentive
auditor, the pauses in the conversation. The conduct of another hearer
of what passed was not equally respectful, but, from his position, he
escaped observation.

This third person was no other than the squire Fabian, who was
concealed from observation by his position behind the hob, or
projecting portion of the old-fashioned fireplace, and hid himself yet
more carefully when he heard the conversation between the governor and
the archer turn to the prejudice, as he thought, of his master. The
squire's employment at this time was the servile task of cleaning Sir
Aymer's arms, which was conveniently performed by heating, upon the
projection already specified, the pieces of steel armour for the usual
thin coating of varnish. He could not, therefore, if he should be
discovered, be considered as guilty of any thing insolent or
disrespectful. He was better screened from view, as a thick smoke arose
from a quantity of oak panelling, carved in many cases with the crest
and achievements of the Douglas family, which being the fuel nearest at
hand, lay smouldering in the chimney, and gathering to a blaze.

The governor, unconscious of this addition to his audience, pursued his
conversation, with Gilbert Greenleaf: "I need not tell you," he said,
"that I am interested in the speedy termination of this siege or
blockade, with which Douglas continues to threaten us; my own honour
and affections are engaged in keeping this Dangerous Castle safe in
England's behalf, but I am troubled at the admission of this stranger;
and young De Valence would have acted more strictly in the line of his
duty, if he had refused to this wanderer any communication with this
garrison without my permission."

"Pity it is," replied old Greenleaf, shaking his head, "that this
good-natured and gallant young knight is somewhat drawn aside by the
rash advices of his squire, the boy Fabian, who has bravery, but as
little steadiness in him as a bottle of fermented small beer."

"Now hang thee," thought Fabian to himself, "for an old relic of the
wars, stuffed full of conceit and warlike terms, like the soldier who,
to keep himself from the cold, has lapped himself so close in a
tattered ensign for a shelter, that his very outside may show nothing
but rags and blazonry."

"I would not think twice of the matter, were the party less dear to
me," said Sir John de Walton. "But I would fain be of use to this young
man, even although I should purchase his improvement in military
knowledge at the expense of giving him a little pain. Experience
should, as it were, be burnt in upon the mind of a young man, and not
merely impressed by marking the lines of his chart out for him with
chalk; I will remember the hint you, Greenleaf, have given, and take an
opportunity of severing these two young men; and though I most dearly
love the one, and am far from wishing ill to the other, yet at present,
as you well hint, the blind is leading the blind, and the young knight
has for his assistant and counsellor too young a squire, and that must
be amended."

"Marry! out upon thee, old palmer-worm!" said the page within himself;
"have I found thee in the very fact of maligning myself and my master,
as it is thy nature to do towards all the hopeful young buds of
chivalry? If it were not to dirty the arms of an _eleve_ of chivalry,
by measuring them with one of thy rank, I might honour thee with a
knightly invitation to the field, while the scandal which thou hast
spoken is still foul upon thy tongue; as it is, thou shalt not carry
one kind of language publicly in the castle, and another before the
governor, upon the footing of having served with him under the banner
of Longshanks. I will carry to my master this tale of thine evil
intentions; and when we have concerted together, it shall appear
whether the youthful spirits of the garrison or the grey beards are
most likely to be the hope and protection, of this same Castle of
Douglas."

It is enough to say that Fabian pursued his purpose, in carrying to his
master, and in no very good humour, the report of what had passed
between Sir John de Walton and the old soldier. He succeeded in
representing the whole as a formal offence intended to Sir Aymer de
Valence; while all that the governor did to remove the suspicions
entertained by the young knight, could not in any respect bring him to
take a kindly view of the feelings of his commander towards him. He
retained the impression which he had formed from Fabian's recital of
what he had heard, and did not think he was doing Sir John de Walton
any injustice, in supposing him desirous to engross the greatest share
of the fame acquired in the defence of the castle, and thrusting back
his companions, who might reasonably pretend to a fair portion of it.

The mother of mischief, says a Scottish proverb, is no bigger than a
midge's wing. [Footnote: i.e. Gnat's wing] In this matter of quarrel,
neither the young man nor the older knight had afforded each other any
just cause of offence. De Walton was a strict observer of military
discipline, in which he had been educated from his extreme youth, and
by which he was almost as completely ruled as by his natural
disposition; and his present situation added force to his original
education.

Common report had even exaggerated the military skill, the love of
adventure, and the great variety of enterprise, ascribed to James, the
young Lord of Douglas. He had, in the eyes of this Southern garrison,
the faculties of a fiend, rather than those of a mere mortal; for if
the English soldiers cursed the tedium of the perpetual watch and ward
upon the Dangerous Castle, which admitted of no relaxation from the
severity of extreme duty, they agreed that a tall form was sure to
appear to them with a battle-axe in his hand, and entering into
conversation in the most insinuating manner, never failed, with an
ingenuity and eloquence equal to that of a fallen spirit, to recommend
to the discontented sentinel some mode in which, by giving his
assistance to betray the English, he might set himself at liberty. The
variety of these devices, and the frequency of their recurrence, kept
Sir John de Walton's anxiety so perpetually upon the stretch, that he
at no time thought himself exactly out of the Black Douglas's reach,
any more than the good Christian supposes himself out of reach of the
wiles of the Devil; while every new temptation, instead of confirming
his hope, seems to announce that the immediate retreat of the Evil One
will be followed by some new attack yet more cunningly devised. Under
this general state of anxiety and apprehension, the temper of the
governor changed somewhat for the worse, and they who loved him best,
regretted most that he became addicted to complain of the want of
diligence on the part of those, who, neither invested with
responsibility like his, nor animated by the hope of such splendid
rewards, did not entertain the same degree of watchful and incessant
suspicion as himself. The soldiers muttered that the vigilance of their
governor was marked with severity; the officers and men of rank, of
whom there were several, as the castle was a renowned school of arms,
and there was a certain merit attained even by serving within its
walls, complained, at the same time, that Sir John de Walton no longer
made parties for hunting, for hawking, or for any purpose which might
soften the rigours of warfare, and suffered nothing to go forward but
the precise discipline of the castle. On the other hand, it may be
usually granted that the castle is well kept where the governor is a
disciplinarian; and where feuds and personal quarrels are found in the
garrison, the young men are usually more in fault than those whose
greater experience has convinced them of the necessity of using the
strictest precautions.

A generous mind--and such was Sir John de Walton's--is often in this
way changed and corrupted by the habit of over-vigilance, and pushed
beyond its natural limits of candour. Neither was Sir Aymer de Valence
free from a similar change; suspicion, though from a different cause,
seemed also to threaten to bias his open and noble disposition, in
those qualities which had hitherto been proper to him. It was in vain
that Sir John de Walton studiously sought opportunities to give his
younger friend indulgences, which at times were as far extended as the
duty of the garrison permitted. The blow was struck; the alarm had been
given to a proud and fiery temper on both sides; and while De Valence
entertained an opinion that he was unjustly suspected by a friend, who
was in several respects bound to him, De Walton, on the other hand, was
led to conceive that a young man, of whom he took a charge as
affectionate as if he had been a son of his own, and who owed to his
lessons what he knew of warfare, and what success he had obtained in
life, had taken offence at trifles, and considered himself ill-treated
on very inadequate grounds. The seeds of disagreement, thus sown
between them, failed not, like the tares sown by the Enemy among the
wheat, to pass from one class of the garrison to another; the soldiers,
though without any better reason than merely to pass the time, took
different sides between their governor and his young lieutenant; and so
the ball of contention being once thrown up between them, never lacked
some arm or other to keep it in motion.




CHAPTER THE SIXTH.

     Alas! they had been friends in youth;
     But whispering tongues can poison truth;
     And constancy lives in realms above;
       And life is thorny, and youth is vain;
     And to be wroth with one we love,
       Doth work like madness in' the brain.
      *   *   *   *   *   *
     Each spoke words of high disdain,
     And insult to his heart's dear brother,
     But never either found another
     To free the hollow heart from paining--
     They stood aloof, the scars remaining,
       Like cliffs which had been rent asunder;
     A dreary sea now flows between,
       But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder,
     Shall wholly do away, I ween,
     The marks of that which once hath been.
                      CHRISTABELLE OF COLERIDGE.


In prosecution of the intention which, when his blood was cool, seemed
to him wisest, Sir John de Walton resolved that he would go to the
verge of indulgence with his lieutenant and his young officers, furnish
them with every species of amusement which the place rendered possible,
and make them ashamed of their discontent, by overloading them with
courtesy. The first time, therefore, that he saw Aymer de Valence after
his return to the castle, he addressed him in high spirits, whether
real or assumed.

"What thinkest thou, my young friend," said De Walton, "if we try some
of the woodland sports proper, they say, to this country? There are
still in our neighbourhood some herds of the Caledonian breed of wild
cattle, which are nowhere to be found except among the moorlands--the
black and rugged frontier of what was anciently called the Kingdom of
Strath-Clyde. There are some hunters, too, who have been accustomed to
the sport, and who vouch that these animals are by far the most bold
and fierce subjects of chase in the island of Britain."

"You will do as you please," replied Sir Aymer, coldly; "but it is not
I, Sir John, who would recommend, for the sake of a hunting-match, that
you should involve the whole garrison in danger; you know best the
responsibilities incurred by your office here, and no doubt must have
heedfully attended to them before making a proposal of such a nature."

"I do indeed know my own duty," replied De Walton, offended in turn,
"and might be allowed to think of yours also, without assuming more
than my own share of responsibility; but it seems to me as if the
commander of this Dangerous Castle, among other inabilities, were, as
old people in this country say, subjected to a spell--and one which
renders it impossible for him to guide his conduct so as to afford
pleasure to those whom he is most desirous to oblige. Not a great many
weeks since, whose eyes would have sparkled like those of Sir Aymer de
Valence at the proposal of a general hunting-match after a new object
of game; and now what is his bearing when such sport is proposed,
merely, I think, to disappoint my purpose of obliging him?--a cold
acquiescence drops half frozen from his lips, and he proposes to go to
rouse the wild cattle with an air of gravity, as if he were undertaking
a pilgrimage to the tomb of a martyr."

"Not so, Sir John," answered the young knight. "In our present
situation we stand conjoined in more charges than one, and although the
greater and controlling trust is no doubt laid upon you as the elder
and abler knight, yet still I feel that I myself have my own share of a
serious responsibility. I trust, therefore, you will indulgently hear
my opinion, and bear with it, even though it should appear to have
relation to that part of our common charge which is more especially
intrusted to your keeping. The dignity of knighthood, which I have the
honour to share with you, the _accolade_ laid on my shoulder by the
royal Plantagenet, entitles me, methinks, to so much grace."

"I cry you mercy," said the elder cavalier; "I forgot how important a
person I had before me, dubbed by King Edward himself, who was moved no
doubt by special reasons to confer such an early honour; and I
certainly feel that I overstep my duty when I propose any thing that
savours like idle sport to a person of such grave pretensions."

"Sir John de Walton," retorted De Valence, "we have had something too
much of this--let it stop here. All that I mean to say is, that in this
wardship of Douglas Castle, it will not be by my consent, if any
amusement, which distinctly infers a relaxation of discipline, be
unnecessarily engaged in, and especially such as compels us to summon
to our assistance a number of the Scots, whose evil disposition towards
us we well know; nor will I, though my years have rendered me liable to
such suspicion, suffer any thing of this kind to be imputed to me; and
if unfortunately--though I am sure I know not why--we are in future to
lay aside those bonds of familiar friendship which formerly linked us
to each other, yet I see no reason why we should not bear ourselves in
our necessary communications like knights and gentlemen, and put the
best construction on each other's motives, since there can be no reason
for imputing the worst to any thing that comes from either of us."

"You may be right, Sir Aymer de Valence," said the governor, bending
stiffly: "and since you say we are no longer bound to each other as
friends, you may be certain, nevertheless, that I will never permit a
hostile feeling, of which you are the object, to occupy my bosom. You
have been long, and I hope not uselessly, my pupil in the duties of
chivalry. You are the near relation of the Earl of Pembroke, my kind
and constant patron; and if these circumstances are well weighed, they
form a connexion which it would be difficult, at least for me, to break
through. If you feel yourself, as you seem to intimate, less strictly
tied by former obligations, you must take your own choice in fixing our
relations towards each other."

"I can only say," replied De Valence, "that my conduct will naturally
be regulated by your own; and you, Sir John, cannot hope more devoutly
than I do that our military duties may be fairly discharged, without
interfering with our friendly intercourse."

The knights here parted, after a conference which once or twice had
very nearly terminated in a full and cordial explanation; but still
there was wanting one kind heartfelt word from either to break, as it
were, the ice which was fast freezing upon their intercourse, and
neither chose to be the first in making the necessary advances with
sufficient cordiality, though each would have gladly done so, had the
other appeared desirous of meeting it with the same ardour; but their
pride was too high, and prevented either from saying what might at once
have put them upon an open and manly footing. They parted, therefore,
without again returning to the subject of the proposed diversion; until
it was afterwards resumed in a formal note, praying Sir Aymer de
Valence to accompany the commandant of Douglas Castle upon a solemn
hunting-match, which had for its object the wild cattle of the
neighbouring dale.

The time of meeting was appointed at six in the morning, beyond the
gate of the outer barricade; and the chase was declared to be ended in
the afternoon, when the _recheat_ should be blown beneath the great
oak, known by the name of Sholto's Club, which stood a remarkable
object, where Douglas Dale was bounded by several scattered trees, the
outskirts of the forest and hill country. The usual warning was sent
out to the common people, or vassals of the district, which they,
notwithstanding their feeling of antipathy, received in general with
delight, upon the great Epicurean principle of _carpe diem_, that is to
say, in whatever circumstances it happens to present itself, be sure
you lose no recreation which life affords. A hunting-match has still
its attractions, even though an English knight take his pleasure in the
woods of the Douglas.

It was no doubt afflicting to these faithful vassals, to acknowledge
another lord than the redoubted Douglas, and to wait by wood and river
at the command of English officers, and in the company of their
archers, whom they accounted their natural enemies. Still it was the
only species of amusement which had been permitted them for a long
time, and they were not disposed to omit the rare opportunity of
joining in it. The chase of the wolf, the wild boar, or even the timid
stag, required silvan arms; the wild cattle still more demanded this
equipment of war-bows and shafts, boar-spears and sharp swords, and
other tools of the chase similar to those used in actual war.
Considering this, the Scottish inhabitants were seldom allowed to join
in the chase, except under regulations as to number and arms, and
especially in preserving a balance of force on the side of the English
soldiers, which was very offensive to them. The greater part of the
garrison was upon such occasions kept on foot, and several detachments,
formed according to the governor's direction, were stationed in
different positions in case any quarrel should suddenly break out.




CHAPTER THE SEVENTH.

     The drivers thorough the wood went,
       For to raise the deer;
     Bowmen bickered upon the bent,
       With their broad arrows clear.

     The wylde thorough the woods went,
       On every side shear;
     Grehounds thorough the groves glent,
       For to kill thir deer.
                        BALLAD OF CHEVY CHASE, _Old Edit_.


The appointed morning came in cold and raw, after the manner of the
Scottish March weather. Dogs yelped, yawned, and shivered, and the
huntsmen, though hardy and cheerful in expectation of the day's sport,
twitched their mauds, or Lowland plaids, close to their throats, and
looked with some dismay at the mists which floated about the horizon,
now threatening to sink down on the peaks and ridges of prominent
mountains, and now to shift their position under the influence of some
of the uncertain gales, which rose and fell alternately, as they swept
along the valley.

Nevertheless, the appearance of the whole formed, as is usual in almost
all departments of the chase, a gay and a jovial spectacle. A brief
truce seemed to have taken place between the nations, and the Scottish
people appeared for the time rather as exhibiting the sports of their
mountains in a friendly manner to the accomplished knights and bonny
archers of Old England, than as performing a feudal service, neither
easy nor dignified in itself, at the instigation of usurping
neighbours. The figures of the cavaliers, now half seen, now exhibited
fully, and at the height, of strenuous exertion, according to the
character of the dangerous and broken ground, particularly attracted
the attention of the pedestrians, who, leading the dogs or beating the
thickets, dislodged such objects of chase as they found in the dingles,
and kept their eyes fixed upon their companions, rendered more
remarkable from being mounted, and the speed at which they urged their
horses; the disregard of all accidents being as perfect as
Melton-Mowbray itself, or any other noted field of hunters of the
present day, can exhibit.

The principles on which modern and ancient hunting were conducted, are,
however, as different as possible. A fox, or even a hare is, in our own
day, considered as a sufficient apology for a day's exercise to forty
or fifty dogs, and nearly as many men and horses; but the ancient
chase, even though not terminating, as it often did, in battle, carried
with it objects more important, and an interest immeasurably more
stirring. If indeed one species of exercise can be pointed out as more
universally exhilarating and engrossing than others, it is certainly
that of the chase. The poor over-laboured drudge, who has served out
his day of life, and wearied all his energies in the service of his
fellow-mortals--he who has been for many years the slave of
agriculture, or (still worse) of manufactures, engaged in raising a
single peck of corn from year to year, or in the monotonous labours of
the desk--can hardly remain dead to the general happiness when the
chase sweeps past him with hound and horn, and for a moment feels all
the exultation of the proudest cavalier who partakes the amusement. Let
any one who has witnessed the sight recall to his imagination the
vigour and lively interest which he has seen inspired into a village,
including the oldest and feeblest of its inhabitants. In the words of
Wordsworth, it is, on such occasions,

    "Up, Timothy, up with your staff and away,
     Not a soul will remain in the village to-day;
     The hare has just started from Hamilton's grounds,
     And Skiddaw is glad with the cry of the hounds."

But compare those inspiring sounds to the burst of a whole feudal
population enjoying the sport, whose lives, instead of being spent in
the monotonous toil of modern avocations, have been agitated by the
hazards of war, and of the chase, its near resemblance, and you must
necessarily suppose that the excitation is extended, like a fire which
catches to dry heath. To use the common expression, borrowed from
another amusement, all is fish that comes in the net on such occasions.
An ancient hunting-match (the nature of the carnage excepted) was
almost equal to a modern battle, when the strife took place on the
surface of a varied and unequal country. A whole district poured forth
its inhabitants, who formed a ring of great extent, called technically,
a tinchel, and, advancing and narrowing their circle by degrees, drove
before them the alarmed animals of every kind; all and each of which,
as they burst from the thicket or the moorland, were objects of the
bow, the javelin, or whatever missile weapons the hunters possessed;
while others were run down and worried by large greyhounds, or more
frequently brought to bay, when the more important persons present
claimed for themselves the pleasure of putting them to death with their
chivalrous hands, incurring individually such danger as is inferred
from a mortal contest even with the timid buck, when he is brought to
the death-struggle, and has no choice but yielding his life or putting
himself upon the defensive, by the aid of his splendid antlers, and
with all the courage of despair.

The quantity of game found in Douglas Dale on this occasion was very
considerable, for, as already noticed, it was a long time since a
hunting upon a great scale had been attempted under the Douglasses
themselves, whose misfortunes had commenced several years before, with
those of their country. The English garrison, too, had not sooner
judged themselves strong or numerous enough to exercise these valued
feudal privileges. In the meantime, the game increased considerably.
The deer, the wild cattle, and the wild boars, lay near the foot of the
mountains, and made frequent irruptions into the lower part of the
valley, which in Douglas Dale bears no small resemblance to an oasis,
surrounded by tangled woods, and broken moors, occasionally rocky, and
showing large tracts of that bleak dominion to which wild creatures
gladly escape when pressed by the neighbourhood of man.

As the hunters traversed the spots which separated the field from the
wood, there was always a stimulating uncertainty what sort of game was
to be found, and the marksman, with his bow ready bent, or his javelin
poised, and his good and well-bitted horse thrown upon its haunches,
ready for a sudden start, observed watchfully what should rush from the
covert, so that, were it deer, boar, wolf, wild cattle, or any other
species of game, he might be in readiness.

The wolf, which, on account of its ravages, was the most obnoxious of
the beasts of prey, did not, however, supply the degree of diversion
which his name promised; he usually fled far--in some instances many
miles--before he took courage to turn to bay, and though formidable at
such moments, destroying both dogs and men by his terrible bite, yet at
other times was rather despised for his cowardice. The boar, on the
other hand, was a much more irascible and courageous animal.

The wild cattle, the most formidable of all the tenants of the ancient
Caledonian forest, were, however, to the English cavaliers, by far the
most interesting objects of pursuit. [Footnote: These Bulls are thus
described by Hector Boetius, concerning whom he says--"In this wood
(namely the Caledonian wood) were sometime white bulls, with crisp and
curling manes, like fierce lions; and though they seemed meek and tame
in the remanent figure of their bodies, they were more wild than any
other beasts, and had such hatred against the society and company of
men, that they never came in the woods nor lesuries where they found
any foot or hand thereof, and many days after they eat not of the herbs
that were touched or handled by man. These bulls were so wild, that
they were never taken but by slight and crafty labour, and so
impatient, that after they were taken they died from insupportable
dolour. As soon as any man, invaded these bulls, they rushed with such,
terrible press upon him that they struck him to the earth, taking no
fear of hounds, sharp lances, or other most penetrative
weapons."--_Boetius, Chron. Scot_. Vol. I. page xxxix.

The wild cattle of this breed, which are now only known in one manor in
England, that of Chillingham Castle, in Northumberland, (the seat of
the Earl of Tankerville,) were, in the memory of man, still preserved
in three places in Scotland, namely, Drumlanrig, Cumbernauld, and the
upper park at Hamilton Palace, at all of which places, except the last,
I believe, they have now been destroyed, on account of their ferocity.
But though those of modern days are remarkable for their white colour,
with black muzzles, and exhibiting, in a small degree, the black mane,
about three or four inches long, by which the bulls in particular are
distinguished, they do not by any means come near the terrific
description given us by the ancient authors, which has made some
naturalists think that these animals should probably be referred to a
different species, though possessing the same general habits, and
included in the same genus. The bones, which are often discovered in
Scottish mosses, belong certainly to a race of animals much larger than
those of Chillingham, which seldom grow to above 80 stone (of 14 lbs.),
the general weight varying from 60 to 80 stone. We should be accounted
very negligent by one class of readers, did we not record that the beef
furnished by those cattle is of excellent flavour, and finely marbled.

[The following is an extract from, a letter received by Sir Walter
Scott, some time after the publication of the novel.--

"When it is wished to kill any of the cattle at Chillingham, the keeper
goes into the herd on horseback, in which way they are quite
accessible, and singling out his victim, takes aim with a large
rifle-gun, and seldom fails in bringing him down. If the poor animal
makes much bellowing in his agony, and especially if the ground be
stained with his blood, his companions become very furious, and are
themselves, I believe, accessory to his death. After which, they fly
off to a distant part of the park, and he is drawn away on a sledge.
Lord Tankerville is very tenacious of these singular animals; he will
on no account part with a living one, and hardly allows of a sufficient
number being killed, to leave pasturage for those that remain.

"It happened on one occasion, three or four years ago, that a party
visiting at the castle, among whom were some men of war, who had hunted
buffaloes in foreign parts, obtained permission to do the keeper's
work, and shoot one of the wild cattle. They sallied out on horseback,
and duly equipped for the enterprise, attacked their object. The poor
animal received several wounds, but none of them proving fatal, he
retired before his pursuers, roaring with pain and rage, till, planting
himself against a wall or tree, he stood at bay, offering a front of
defiance. In this position the youthful heir of the castle, Lord
Ossulston, rode up to give him the fatal shot. Though warned of the
danger of approaching near to the enraged animal, and especially of
firing without first having turned his horse's head in a direction to
be ready for flight, he discharged his piece; but ere he could turn his
horse round to make his retreat, the raging beast had plunged his
immense horns into its flank. The horse staggered and was near falling,
but recovering by a violent effort, he extricated himself from his
infuriated pursuer, making off with all the speed his wasting strength
supplied, his entrails meanwhile dragging on the ground, till at length
he fell, and died at the same moment. The animal was now close upon his
rear, and the young Lord would unquestionably have shared the fate of
his unhappy steed, had not the keeper, deeming it full time to conclude
the day's diversion, fired at the instant. His shot brought the beast
to the ground, and running in with his large knife, he put a period to
his existence.

"This scene of gentlemanly pastime was viewed from a turret of the
castle by Lady Tankerville and her female visitors. Such a situation
for the mother of the young hero, was anything but enviable."]]
Altogether, the ringing of bugles, the clattering of horses' hoofs, the
lowing and bellowing of the enraged mountain cattle, the sobs of deer
mingled by throttling dogs, the wild shouts of exultation of the
men,--made a chorus which extended far through the scene in which it
arose, and seemed to threaten the inhabitants of the valley even in its
inmost recesses.

During the course of the hunting, when a stag or a boar was expected,
one of the wild cattle often came rushing forward, bearing down the
young trees, crashing the branches in its progress, and in general
dispersing whatever opposition was presented to it by the hunters. Sir
John de Walton was the only one of the chivalry of the party who
individually succeeded in mastering one of these powerful animals. Like
a Spanish tauridor, he bore down and killed with his lance a ferocious
bull; two well-grown calves and three kine were also slain, being
unable to carry off the quantity of arrows, javelins, and other
missiles, directed against them by the archers and drivers; but many
others, in spite of every endeavour to intercept them, escaped to their
gloomy haunts in the remote skirts of the mountain called Cairntable,
with their hides well feathered with those marks of human enmity.

A large portion of the morning was spent in this way, until a
particular blast from the master of the hunt announced that he had not
forgot the discreet custom of the repast, which, on such occasions, was
provided for upon a scale proportioned to the multitude who had been
convened to attend the sport.

The blast peculiar to the time, assembled the whole party in an open
space in a wood, where their numbers had room and accommodation to sit
down upon the green turf, the slain game affording a plentiful supply
for roasting or broiling, an employment in which the lower class were
all immediately engaged; while puncheons and pipes, placed in
readiness, and scientifically opened, supplied Gascoigne wine, and
mighty ale, at the pleasure of those who chose to appeal to them.

The knights, whose rank did not admit of interference, were seated by
themselves, and ministered to by their squires and pages, to whom such
menial services were not accounted disgraceful, but, on the contrary, a
proper step of their education. The number of those distinguished
persons seated upon the present occasion at the table of dais, as it
was called, (in virtue of a canopy of green boughs with which it was
overshadowed,) comprehended Sir John de Walton, Sir Aymer de Valance,
and some reverend brethren dedicated to the service of Saint Bride,
who, though Scottish ecclesiastics, were treated with becoming respect
by the English soldiers. One or two Scottish retainers, or vavasours,
maintaining, perhaps in prudence, a suitable deference to the English
knights, sat at the bottom of the table, and as many English archers,
peculiarly respected by their superiors, were invited, according to the
modern phrase, to the honours of the sitting.

Sir John de Walton sat at the head of the table; his eye, though it
seemed to have no certain object, yet never for a moment remained
stationary, but glanced from one countenance to another of the ring
formed by his guests, for such they all were, no doubt, though he
himself could hardly have told upon what principle he had issued the
invitations; and even apparently was at a loss to think what, in one or
two cases, had procured him the honour of their presence.

One person in particular caught De Walton's eye, as having the air of a
redoubted man-at-arms, although it seemed as if fortune had not of late
smiled upon his enterprises. He was a tall raw-boned man, of an
extremely rugged countenance, and his skin, which showed itself through
many a loophole in his dress, exhibited a complexion which must have
endured all the varieties of an outlawed life; and akin to one who had,
according to the customary phrase, "ta'en the bent with Robin Bruce,"
in other words occupied the moors with him as an insurgent. Some such
idea certainly crossed De Walton's mind. Yet the apparent coolness, and
absence of alarm, with which the stranger sat at the board of an
English officer, at the same time being wholly in his power, had much
in it which was irreconcilable with any such suggestion. De Walton, and
several of those about him, had in the course of the day observed that
this tattered cavalier, the most remarkable parts of whose garb and
equipments consisted of an old coat-of-mail and a rusted yet massive
partisan about eight feet long, was possessed of superior skill in the
art of hunting to any individual of their numerous party. The governor
having looked at this suspicious figure until he had rendered the
stranger aware of the special interest which he attracted, at length
filled a goblet of choice wine, and requested him, as one of the best
pupils of Sir Tristem who had attended upon the day's chase, to pledge
him in a vintage superior to that supplied to the general company.

"I suppose, however, sir," said De Walton, "you will have no objections
to put off my challenge of a brimmer, until you can answer my pledge in
Gascoigne wine, which grew in the king's own demesne, was pressed for
his own lip, and is therefore fittest to be emptied to his majesty's
health and prosperity."

"One half of the island of Britain," said the woodsman, with great
composure, "will be of your honour's opinion; but as I belong to the
other half, even the choicest liquor in Gascony cannot render that
health acceptable to me."

A murmur of disapprobation ran through the warriors present; the
priests hung their heads, looked deadly grave, and muttered their
pater-nosters.

"You see, stranger," said De Walton sternly, "that your speech
discomposes the company."

"It may be so," replied the man, in the same blunt tone; "and it may
happen that there is no harm in the speech notwithstanding."

"Do you consider that it is made in my presence?" answered De Walton.

"Yes, Sir Governor."

"And have you thought what must be the necessary inference?" continued
De Walton.

"I may form a round guess," answered the stranger, "what I might have
to fear, if your safe conduct and word of honour, when inviting me to
this hunting, were less trustworthy than I know full well it really is.
But I am your guest--your meat is even now passing my throat--your cup,
filled with right good wine, I have just now quaffed off--and I would
not fear the rankest Paynim infidel, if we stood in such relation
together, much less an English knight. I tell you, besides, Sir Knight,
you undervalue the wine we have quaffed. The high flavour and contents
of your cup, grow where it will, give me spirit to tell you one or two
circumstances, which cold cautious sobriety would, in a moment like
this, have left unsaid. You wish, I doubt not, to know who I am? My
Christian name is Michael--my surname is that of Turnbull, a redoubted
clan, to whose honours, even in the field of hunting or of battle, I
have added something. My abode is beneath the mountain of Rubieslaw, by
the fair streams of Teviot. You are surprised that I know how to hunt
the wild cattle,--I, who have made them my sport from infancy in the
lonely forests of Jed and Southdean, and have killed more of them than
you or any Englishman in your host ever saw, even if you include the
doughty deeds of this day."

The bold borderer made this declaration with the same provoking degree
of coolness which predominated in his whole demeanour, and was indeed
his principal attribute. His effrontery did not fail to produce its
effect upon Sir John De Walton, who instantly called out, "To arms! to
arms!--Secure the spy and traitor! Ho! pages and yeomen--William,
Anthony, Bend-the-bow, and Greenleaf--seize the traitor, and bind him
with your bow-strings and dog-leashes--bind him, I say, until the blood
start from beneath his nails!"

"Here is a goodly summons!" said Turnbull, with a sort of horselaugh.
"Were I as sure of being answered by twenty men I could name, there
would be small doubt of the upshot of this day."

The archers thickened around the hunter, yet laid no hold on him, none
of them being willing to be the first who broke the peace proper to the
occasion.

"Tell me," said De Walton, "thou traitor, for what waitest thou here?"

"Simply and solely," said the Jed forester, "that I may deliver up to
the Douglas the castle of his ancestors, and that I may ensure thee,
Sir Englishman, the payment of thy deserts, by cutting that very throat
which thou makest such a brawling use of."

At the same time, perceiving that the yeomen were crowding behind him
to carry their lord's commands into execution so soon as they should be
reiterated, the huntsman turned himself short round upon those who
appeared about to surprise him, and having, by the suddenness of the
action, induced them to step back a pace, he proceeded--"Yes, John de
Walton, my purpose was ere now to have put thee to death, as one whom I
find in possession of that castle and territory which belong to my
master, a knight much more worthy than thyself; but I know not why I
have paused--thou hast given me food when I have hungered for
twenty-four hours, I have not therefore had the heart to pay thee at
advantage as thou hast deserved. Begone from this place and country,
and take the fair warning of a foe; thou hast constituted thyself the
mortal enemy of this people, and there are those among them who have
seldom been injured or defied with impunity. Take no care in searching
after me, it will be in vain,--until I meet thee at a time which will
come at my pleasure, not thine. Push not your inquisition into cruelty,
to discover by what means I have deceived you, for it is impossible for
you to learn; and with this friendly advice, look at me and take your
leave, for although we shall one day meet, it may be long ere I see you
again."

De Walton remained silent, hoping that his prisoner, (for he saw no
chance of his escaping,) might, in his communicative humour, drop some
more information, and was not desirous to precipitate a fray with which
the scene was likely to conclude, unconscious at the same time of the
advantage which he thereby gave the daring hunter.

As Turnbull concluded his sentence, he made a sudden spring backwards,
which carried him out of the circle formed around him, and before they
were aware of his intentions, at once disappeared among the underwood.

"Seize him--seize him!" repeated De Walton: "let us have him at least
at our discretion, unless the earth has actually swallowed him."

This indeed appeared not unlikely, for near the place where Turnbull
had made the spring, there yawned a steep ravine, into which he
plunged, and descended by the assistance of branches, bushes, and
copsewood, until he reached the bottom, where he found some road to the
outskirts of the forest, through which he made his escape, leaving the
most expert woodsmen among the pursuers totally at fault, and unable to
trace his footsteps.




CHAPTER THE EIGHTH.


This interlude carried some confusion into the proceedings of the hunt,
thus suddenly surprised by the apparition of Michael Turnbull, an armed
and avowed follower of the House of Douglas, a sight so little to be
expected in the territory where his master was held a rebel and a
bandit, and where he himself must have been well known to most of the
peasantry present. The circumstance made an obvious impression on the
English chivalry. Sir John de Walton looked grave and thoughtful,
ordered the hunters to be assembled on the spot, and directed his
soldiers to commence a strict search among the persons who had attended
the chase, so as to discover whether Turnbull had any companions among
them; but it was too late to make that enquiry in the strict fashion
which De Walton directed.

The Scottish attendants on the chase, when they beheld that the
hunting, under pretence of which they were called together, was
interrupted for the purpose of laying hands upon their persons, and
subjecting them to examination, took care to suit their answers to the
questions put to them; in a word, they kept their own secret, if they
had any. Many of them, conscious of being the weaker party, became
afraid of foul play, slipt away from the places to which they had been
appointed, and left the hunting-match like men who conceived they had
been invited with no friendly intent. Sir John de Walton became aware
of the decreasing numbers of the Scottish--their gradual disappearance
awakening in the English knight that degree of suspicion which had of
late become his peculiar characteristic.

"Take, I pray thee," said he to Sir Aymer de Valence, "as many
men-at-arms as thou canst get together in five minutes' space, and at
least a hundred of the mounted archers, and ride as fast as thou canst,
without permitting them to straggle from thy standard, to reinforce the
garrison of Douglas; for I have my own thoughts what may have been
attempted on the castle, when we observe with our own eyes such a nest
of traitors here assembled."

"With reverence, Sir John," replied Aymer, "you shoot in this matter
rather beyond the mark. That the Scottish peasants have had bad
thoughts against us, I will be the last to deny; but, long debarred
from any silvan sport, you cannot wonder at their crowding to any
diversion by wood or river, and still less at their being easily
alarmed as to the certainty of the safe footing on which they stand
with us. The least rough usage is likely to strike them with fear, and
with the desire of escape, and so"--

"And so," said Sir John de Walton, who had listened with a degree of
impatience scarce consistent with the grave and formal politeness which
one knight was accustomed to bestow upon another, "and so I would
rather see Sir Aymer de Valence busy his horse's heels to execute my
orders, than give his tongue the trouble of impugning them."

At this sharp reprimand, all present looked at each other with
indications of marked displeasure. Sir Aymer was highly offended, but
saw it was no time to indulge in reprisal. He bowed until the feather
which was in his barret-cap mingled with his horse's mane, and without
reply--for he did not even choose to trust his voice in reply at the
moment--headed a considerable body of cavalry by the straightest road
back to the Castle of Douglas.

When he came to one of those eminences from which he could observe the
massive and complicated towers and walls of the old fortress, with the
glitter of the broad lake which surrounded it on three sides, he felt
much pleasure at the sight of the great banner of England, which
streamed from the highest part of the building. "I knew it," he
internally said; "I was certain that Sir John de Walton had become a
very woman in the indulgence of his fears and suspicions. Alas! that a
situation of responsibility should so much have altered a disposition
which I have known so noble and so knightly! By this good day, I scarce
know in what manner I should demean me when thus publicly rebuked
before the garrison. Certainly he deserves that I should, at some time
or other, let him understand, that however he may triumph in the
exercise of his short-lived command, yet, when man is to meet with man,
it will puzzle Sir John de Walton to show himself the superior of Aymer
de Valence, or perhaps to establish himself as his equal. But if, on
the contrary, his fears, however fantastic, are sincere at the moment
he expresses them, it becomes me to obey punctually commands which,
however absurd, are imposed in consequence of the governor's belief
that they are rendered necessary by the times, and not inventions
designed to vex and domineer over his officers in the indulgence of his
official powers. I would I knew which is the true statement of the
case, and whether the once famed De Walton is become afraid of his
enemies more than fits a knight, or makes imaginary doubts the pretext
of tyrannizing over his friend. I cannot say it would make much
difference to me, but I would rather have it that the man I once loved
had turned a petty tyrant than a weak-spirited coward; and I would be
content that he should study to vex me, rather than be afraid of his
own shadow."

With these ideas passing in his mind, the young knight crossed the
causeway which traversed the piece of water that fed the moat, and,
passing under the strongly fortified gateway, gave strict orders for
letting down the portcullis, and elevating the drawbridge, even at the
appearance of De Walton's own standard before it.

A slow and guarded movement from the hunting-ground to the Castle of
Douglas, gave the governor ample time to recover his temper, and to
forget that his young friend had shown less alacrity than usual in
obeying his commands. He was even disposed to treat as a jest the
length of time and extreme degree of ceremony with which every point of
martial discipline was observed on his own re-admission to the castle,
though the raw air of a wet spring evening whistled around his own
unsheltered person, and those of his followers, as they waited before
the castle gate for the exchange of pass-words, the delivery of keys,
and all the slow minutiae attendant upon the movements of a garrison in
a well-guarded fortress.

"Come," said he to an old knight, who was peevishly blaming the
lieutenant-governor, "it was my own fault; I spoke but now to Aymer de
Valence with more authoritative emphasis than his newly-dubbed dignity
was pleased with, and this precise style of obedience is a piece of not
unnatural and very pardonable revenge. Well, we will owe him a return,
Sir Philip--shall we not? This is not a night to keep a man at the
gate."

This dialogue, overheard by some of the squires and pages, was bandied
about from one to another, until it entirely lost the tone of
good-humour in which it was spoken, and the offence was one for which
Sir John de Walton and old Sir Philip were to meditate revenge, and was
said to have been represented by the governor as a piece of mortal and
intentional offence on the part of his subordinate officer.

Thus an increasing feud went on from day to day between two warriors,
who, with no just cause of quarrel, had at heart every reason to esteem
and love each other. It became visible in the fortress even to those of
the lower rank, who hoped to gain some consequence by intermingling in
the species of emulation produced by the jealousy of the commanding
officers--an emulation which may take place, indeed, in the present
day, but can hardly have the same sense of wounded pride and jealous
dignity attached to it, which existed in times when the personal honour
of knighthood rendered those who possessed it jealous of every
punctilio.

So many little debates took place between the two knights, that Sir
Aymer de Valence thought himself under the necessity of writing to his
uncle and namesake, the Earl of Pembroke, stating that his officer, Sir
John de Walton, had unfortunately of late taken some degree of
prejudice against him, and that after having borne with many provoking
instances of his displeasure, he was now compelled to request that his
place of service should be changed from the Castle of Douglas, to
wherever honour could be acquired, and time might be given to put an
end to his present cause of complaint against his commanding officer.
Through the whole letter, young Sir Aymer was particularly cautious how
he expressed his sense of Sir John de Walton's jealousy or severe
usage: but such sentiments are not easily concealed, and in spite of
him an air of displeasure glanced out from several passages, and
indicated his discontent with his uncle's old friend and companion in
arms, and with the sphere of military duty which his uncle had himself
assigned him. An accidental movement among the English troops brought
Sir Aymer an answer to his letter sooner than he could have hoped for
at that time of day, in the ordinary course of correspondence, which
was then extremely slow and interrupted.

Pembroke, a rigid old warrior, entertained the most partial opinion of
Sir John de Walton, who was a work as it were of his own hands, and was
indignant to find that his nephew, whom he considered as a mere boy,
elated by having had the dignity of knighthood conferred upon him at an
age unusually early, did not absolutely coincide with him in this
opinion. He replied to him, accordingly, in a tone of high displeasure,
and expressed himself as a person of rank would write to a young and
dependent kinsman upon the duties of his profession; and, as he
gathered his nephew's cause of complaint from his own letter, he
conceived that he did him no injustice in making it slighter than it
really was. He reminded the young man that the study of chivalry
consisted in the faithful and patient discharge of military service,
whether of high or low degree, according to the circumstances in which
war placed the champion. That above all, the post of danger, which
Douglas Castle had been termed by common consent, was also the post of
honour; and that a young man should be cautious how he incurred the
supposition of being desirous of quitting his present honourable
command, because he was tired of the discipline of a military director
so renowned as Sir John de Walton. Much also there was, as was natural
in a letter of that time, concerning the duty of young men, whether in
council or in arms, to be guided implicitly by their elders; and it was
observed, with justice, that the commanding officer, who had put
himself into the situation of being responsible with his honour, if not
his life, for the event of the siege or blockade, might, justly, and in
a degree more than common, claim the implicit direction of the whole
defence. Lastly, Pembroke reminded his nephew that he was, in a great
measure, dependent upon the report of Sir John de Walton for the
character which he was to sustain in after life; and reminded him, that
a few actions of headlong and inconsiderate valour would not so firmly
found his military reputation, as months and years spent in regular,
humble, and steady obedience to the commands which the governor of
Douglas Castle might think necessary in so dangerous a conjuncture.

This missive arrived within so short a time after the despatch of the
letter to which it was a reply, that Sir Aymer was almost tempted to
suppose that his uncle had some mode of corresponding with De Walton,
unknown to the young knight himself, and to the rest of the garrison.
And as the earl alluded to some particular displeasure which had been
exhibited by De Valence on a late trivial occasion, his uncle's
knowledge of this, and other minutiae, seemed to confirm his idea that
his own conduct was watched in a manner which he did not feel
honourable to himself, or dignified on the part of his relative; in a
word, he conceived himself exposed to that sort of surveillance of
which, in all ages, the young have accused the old. It hardly needs to
say that the admonition of the Earl of Pembroke greatly chafed the
fiery spirit of his nephew; insomuch, that if the earl had wished to
write a letter purposely to increase the prejudices which he desired to
put an end to, he could not have made use of terms better calculated
for that effect.

The truth was, that the old archer, Gilbert Greenleaf, had, without the
knowledge of the young knight, gone to Pembroke's camp, in Ayrshire,
and was recommended by Sir John de Walton to the earl, as a person who
could give such minute information respecting Aymer de Valence, as he
might desire to receive. The old archer was, as we have seen, a
formalist, and when pressed on some points of Sir Aymer de Valence's
discipline, he did not hesitate to throw out hints, which, connected
with those in the knight's letter to his uncle, made the severe old
earl adopt too implicitly the idea that his nephew was indulging a
spirit of insubordination, and a sense of impatience under authority,
most dangerous to the character of a young soldier. A little
explanation might have produced a complete agreement in the sentiments
of both; but for this, fate allowed neither time nor opportunity; and
the old earl was unfortunately induced to become a party, instead of a
negotiator, in the quarrel,

    "And by decision more embroil'd the fray."

Sir John de Walton soon perceived, that the receipt of Pembroke's
letter did not in any respect alter the cold ceremonious conduct of his
lieutenant towards him, which limited their intercourse to what their
situation rendered indispensable, and exhibited no advances to any more
frank or intimate connexion. Thus, as may sometimes be the case between
officers in their relative situations even at the present day, they
remained in that cold stiff degree of official communication, in which
their intercourse was limited to as few expressions as the respective
duties of their situation absolutely demanded. Such a state of
misunderstanding is, in fact, worse than a downright quarrel;--the
latter may be explained or apologized for, or become the subject of
mediation; but in such a case as the former, an _eclaircissement_ is as
unlikely to take place as a general engagement between two armies which
have taken up strong defensive positions on both sides. Duty, however,
obliged the two principal persons in the garrison of Douglas Castle to
be often together, when they were so far from seeking an opportunity of
making up matters, that they usually revived ancient subjects of debate.

It was upon such an occasion that De Walton, in a very formal manner,
asked De Valence in what capacity, and for how long time, it was his
pleasure that the minstrel, called Bertram, should remain at the castle.

"A week," said the governor, "is certainly long enough, in this time
and place, to express the hospitality due to a minstrel."

"Certainly," replied the young man, "I have not interest enough in the
subject to form a single wish upon it."

"In that case," resumed De Walton, "I shall request of this person to
cut short his visit at the Castle of Douglas."

"I know no particular interest," replied Aymer de Valence, "which I can
possibly have in this man's motions. He is here under pretence of
making some researches after the writings of Thomas of Erceldoun,
called the Rhymer, which he says are infinitely curious, and of which
there is a volume in the old Baron's study, saved somehow from the
flames at the last conflagration. This told, you know as much of his
errand as I do; and if you hold the presence of a wandering old man,
and the neighbourhood of a boy, dangerous to the castle under your
charge, you will no doubt do well to dismiss them--it will cost but a
word of your mouth."

"Pardon me," said De Walton; "the minstrel came here as one of your
retinue, and I could not, in fitting courtesy, send him away without
your leave."

"I am sorry, then," answered Sir Aymer, "in my turn, that you did not
mention your purpose sooner. I never entertained a dependent, vassal or
servant, whose residence in the castle I would wish to have prolonged a
moment beyond your honourable pleasure."

"I am sorry," said Sir John de Walton, "that we two have of late grown
so extremely courteous that it is difficult for us to understand each
other. This minstrel and his son come from we know not where, and are
bound we know not whither. There is a report among some of your escort,
that this fellow Bertram upon the way had the audacity to impugn, even
to your face, the King of England's right to the crown of Scotland, and
that he debated the point with you, while your other attendants were
desired by you to keep behind and out of hearing."

"Hah!" said Sir Aymer, "do you mean to found on that circumstance any
charge against my loyalty? I pray you to observe, that such an averment
would touch mine honour, which I am ready and willing to defend to the
last gasp."

"No doubt of it, Sir Knight," answered the governor; "but it is the
strolling minstrel, and not the high-born English knight, against whom
the charge is brought. Well! the minstrel comes to this castle, and he
intimates a wish that his son should be allowed to take up his quarters
at the little old convent of Saint Bride, where two or three Scottish
nuns and friars are still permitted to reside, most of them rather out
of respect to their order, than for any good will which they are
supposed to bear the English or their sovereign. It may also be noticed
that his leave was purchased by a larger sum of money, if my
information be correct, than is usually to be found in the purses of
travelling minstrels, a class of wanderers alike remarkable for their
poverty and for their genius. What do you think of all this?"

"I?"--replied De Valence; "I am happy that my situation, as a soldier,
under command, altogether dispenses with my thinking of it at all. My
post, as lieutenant of your castle, is such, that if I can manage
matters so as to call my honour and my soul my own, I must think that
quite enough of free-will is left at my command; and I promise you
shall not have again to reprove, or send a bad report of me to my
uncle, on that account."

"This is beyond sufferance!" said Sir John de Walton half aside, and
then proceeded aloud--"Do not, for Heaven's sake, do yourself and me
the injustice of supposing that I am endeavouring to gain an advantage
over you by these questions. Recollect, young knight, that when you
evade giving your commanding officer your advice when required, you
fail as much in point of duty, as if you declined affording him the
assistance of your sword and lance."

"Such being the case," answered De Valence, "let me know plainly on
what matter it is that you require my opinion? I will deliver it
plainly, and stand by the result, even if I should have the misfortune
(a crime unpardonable in so young a man, and so inferior an officer) to
differ from that of Sir John de Walton."

"I would ask you then. Sir Knight of Valence," answered the governor,
"what is your opinion with respect to this minstrel, Bertram, and
whether the suspicions respecting him and his son are not such as to
call upon me, in performance of my duty, to put them to a close
examination, with the question ordinary and extraordinary, as is usual
in such cases, and to expel them not only from the castle, but from the
whole territory of Douglas Dale, under pain of scourging, if they be
again found wandering in these parts?"

"You ask me my opinion," said De Valence, "and you shall have it, Sir
Knight of Walton, and freely and fairly, as if matters stood betwixt us
on a footing as friendly as they ever did. I agree with you, that most
of those who in this day profess the science of minstrelsy, are
altogether unqualified to support the higher pretensions of that noble
order. Minstrels by right, are men who have dedicated themselves to the
noble occupation of celebrating knightly deeds and generous principles;
it is in their verse that the valiant knight is handed down to fame,
and the poet has a right, nay is bound, to emulate the virtues which he
praises. The looseness of the times has diminished the consequence, and
impaired the morality of this class of wanderers; their satire and
their praise are now too often distributed on no other principle than
love of gain; yet let us hope that there are still among them some who
know, and also willingly perform, their duty. My own opinion is that
this Bertram holds himself as one who has not shared in the degradation
of his brethren, nor bent the knee to the mammon of the times; it must
remain with you, sir, to judge whether such a person, honourably and
morally disposed, can cause any danger to the Castle of Douglas. But
believing, from the sentiments he has manifested to me, that he is
incapable of playing the part of a traitor, I must strongly remonstrate
against his being punished as one, or subjected to the torture within
the walls of an English garrison. I should blush for my country, if it
required of us to inflict such wanton misery upon wanderers, whose sole
fault is poverty; and your own knightly sentiments will suggest more
than would become me to state to Sir John de Walton, unless in so far
as is necessary to apologize for retaining my own opinion."

Sir John de Walton's dark brow was stricken with red when he heard an
opinion delivered in opposition to his own, which plainly went to
stigmatize his advice as ungenerous, unfeeling, and unknightly. He made
an effort to preserve his temper while he thus replied with a degree of
calmness. "You have given your opinion, Sir Aymer de Valence; and that
you have given it openly and boldly, without regard to my own, I thank
you. It is not quite so clear that I am obliged to defer my own
sentiments to yours, in case the rules on which I hold my office--the
commands of the king--and the observations which I may personally have
made, shall recommend to me a different line of conduct from that which
you think it right to suggest."

De Walton bowed, in conclusion, with great gravity; and the young
knight returning the reverence with exactly the same degree of stiff
formality, asked whether there were any particular orders respecting
his duty in the castle; and having received an answer in the negative
took his departure.

Sir John de Walton, after an expression of impatience, as if
disappointed at finding that the advance which he had made towards an
explanation with his young friend had proved unexpectedly abortive,
composed his brow as if to deep thought, and walked several times to
and fro in the apartment, considering what course he was to take in
these circumstances. "It is hard to censure him severely," he said,
"when I recollect that, on first entering upon life, my own thoughts
and feelings would have been the same with those of this giddy and
hot-headed, but generous boy. Now prudence teaches me to suspect
mankind in a thousand instances where perhaps there is not sufficient
ground. If I am disposed to venture my own honour and fortune, rather
than an idle travelling minstrel should suffer a little pain, which at
all events I might make up to him by money, still, have I a right to
run the risk of a conspiracy against the king, and thus advance the
treasonable surrender of the Castle of Douglas, for which I know so
many schemes are formed; for which, too, none can be imagined so
desperate but agents will be found bold enough to undertake the
execution? A man who holds my situation, although the slave of
conscience, ought to learn to set aside those false scruples which
assume the appearance of flowing from our own moral feeling, whereas
they are in fact instilled by the suggestion of affected delicacy. I
will not, I swear by Heaven, be infected by the follies of a boy, such
as Aymer; I will not, that I may defer to his caprices, lose all that
love, honour, and ambition can propose, for the reward of twelve
months' service, of a nature the most watchful and unpleasant. I--will
go straight to my point, and use the ordinary precautions in Scotland
which I should employ in Normandy or Gascoigny.--What ho! page! who
waits there?"

One of his attendants replied to his summons--"Seek me out Gilbert
Greenleaf the archer, and tell him I would speak with him touching the
two bows and the sheaf of arrows, concerning which I gave him a
commission to Ayr."

A few minutes intervened after the order was given, when the archer
entered, holding in his hand two bow-staves, not yet fashioned, and a
number of arrows secured together with a thong. He bore the mysterious
looks of one whose apparent business is not of very great consequence,
but is meant as a passport for other affairs which are in themselves of
a secret nature. Accordingly, as the knight was silent, and afforded no
other opening for Greenleaf, that judicious negotiator proceeded to
enter upon such as was open to him.

"Here are the bow-staves, noble sir, which you desired me to obtain
while I was at Ayr with the Earl of Pembroke's army. They are not so
good as I could have wished, yet are perhaps of better quality than
could have been procured by any other than a fair judge of the weapon.
The Earl of Pembroke's whole camp are frantic mad in order to procure
real Spanish staves from the Groyne, and other ports in Spain; but
though two vessels laden with such came into the port of Ayr, said to
be for the King's army, yet I believe never one half of them have come
into English hands. These two grew in Sherwood, which having been
seasoned since the time of Robin Hood, are not likely to fail either in
strength or in aim, in so strong a hand, and with so just an eye, as
those of the men who wait on your worship."

"And who has got the rest, since two ships' cargoes of new bow-staves
are arrived at Ayr, and thou with difficulty hast only procured me two
old ones?" said the governor.

"Faith, I pretend not skill enough to know," answered Greenleaf,
shrugging his shoulders. "Talk there is of plots in that country as
well as here. It is said that their Bruce, and the rest of his kinsmen,
intend a new May-game, and that the outlawed king proposes to land near
Turnberry, early in summer, with a number of stout kernes from Ireland;
and no doubt the men of his mock earldom of Garrick are getting them
ready with bow and spear for so hopeful an undertaking. I reckon that
it will not cost us the expense of more than a few score of sheaves of
arrows to put all that matter to rights."

"Do you talk then of conspiracies in this part of the country,
Greenleaf?" said De Walton. "I know you are a sagacious fellow, well
bred for many a day to the use of the bent stick and string, and will
not allow such a practice to go on under thy nose, without taking
notice of it."

"I am old enough, Heaven knows," said Greenleaf, "and have had good
experience of these Scottish wars, and know well whether these native
Scots are a people to be trusted to by knight or yeoman. Say they are a
false generation, and say a good archer told you so, who, with a fair
aim, seldom missed a handsbreadth of the white. Ah! sir, your honour
knows how to deal with them---ride them strongly, and rein them
hard,--you are not like those simple novices who imagine that all is to
be done by gentleness, and wish to parade themselves as courteous and
generous to those faithless mountaineers, who never, in the course of
their lives, knew any tincture either of courteousness or generosity."

"Thou alludest to some one," said the governor, "and I charge thee,
Gilbert, to be plain and sincere with me. Thou knowest, methinks, that
in trusting me thou wilt come to no harm?"

"It is true, it is true, sir," said the old remnant of the wars,
carrying his hand to his brow, "but it were imprudent to communicate
all the remarks which float through an old man's brain in the idle
moments of such a garrison as this. One stumbles unawares on fantasies,
as well as realities, and thus one gets, not altogether undeservedly,
the character of a tale-bearer and mischief-maker among his comrades,
and methinks I would not willingly fall under that accusation."

"Speak frankly to me," answered De Walton, "and have no fear of being
misconstrued, whosoever the conversation may concern."

"Nay, in plain truth," answered Gilbert, "I fear not the greatness of
this young knight, being, as I am, the oldest soldier in the garrison,
and having drawn a bow-string long and many a day ere he was weaned
from his nurse's breast."

"It is, then." said De Walton, "my lieutenant and friend, Aymer de
Valence, at whom your suspicions point?"

"At nothing," replied the archer, "touching the honour of the young
knight himself, who is as brave as the sword he wears, and, his youth
considered, stands high in the roll of English chivalry; but he is
young, as your worship knows, and I own that in the choice of his
company he disturbs and alarms me."

"Why, you know, Greenleaf," answered the governor, "that in the leisure
of a garrison a knight cannot always confine his sports and pleasures
among those of his own rank, who are not numerous, and may not be so
gamesome or fond of frolic, as he would desire them to be."

"I know that well," answered the archer, "nor would I say a word
concerning your honour's lieutenant for joining any honest fellows,
however inferior their rank, in the wrestling ring, or at a bout of
quarterstaff. But if Sir Aymer de Valence has a fondness for martial
tales of former days, methinks he had better learn them from the
ancient soldiers who have followed Edward the First, whom God
assoilzie, and who have known before his time the Barons' wars and
Other onslaughts, in which the knights and archers of merry England
transmitted so many gallant actions to be recorded by fame; this truly,
I say, were more beseeming the Earl of Pembroke's nephew, than to see
him closet himself day after day with a strolling minstrel, who gains
his livelihood by reciting nonsense and lies to such young men as are
fond enough to believe him, of whom hardly any one knows whether he be
English or Scottish in his opinions, and still less can any one pretend
to say whether he is of English or Scottish birth, or with what purpose
he lies lounging about this castle, and is left free to communicate
every thing which passes within it to those old mutterers of matins at
St. Bride's, who say with their tongues God save King Edward, but pray
in their hearts God save King Robert the Bruce. Such a communication he
can easily carry on by means of his son, who lies at Saint Bride's
cell, as your worship knows, under pretence of illness."

"How do you say?" exclaimed the governor, "under pretence?--is he not
then really indisposed?"

"Nay, he may be sick to the death for aught I know," said the archer;
"but if so, were it not then more natural that the father should attend
his son's sick-bed, than that he should be ranging about this castle,
where one eternally meets him in the old Baron's study, or in some
corner, where you least expect to find him?"

"If he has no lawful object," replied the knight, "it might be as you
say; but he is said to be in quest of ancient poems or prophecies of
Merlin, of the Rhymer, or some other old bard; and in truth it is
natural for him to wish to enlarge his stock of knowledge and power of
giving amusement, and where should he find the means save in a study
filled with ancient books?"

"No doubt," replied the Archer, with a sort of dry civil sneer of
incredulity; "I have seldom known an insurrection in Scotland but that
it was prophesied by some old forgotten rhyme, conjured out of dust and
cobwebs, for the sake of giving courage to these North Country rebels,
who durst not otherwise have abidden the whistling of the grey-goose
shaft; but curled heads are hasty, and, with license, even your own
train, Sir Knight, retains too much of the fire of youth for such
uncertain times as the present."

"Thou hast convinced me, Gilbert Greenleaf, and I will look into this
man's business and occupation more closely than hitherto. This is no
time to peril the safety of a royal castle for the sake of affecting
generosity towards a man of whom we know so little, and to whom, till
we receive a very full explanation, we may, without doing him
injustice, attach grave suspicions. Is he now in the apartment called
the Baron's study?"

"Your worship will be certain to find him there," replied Greenleaf.

"Then follow me, with two or three of thy comrades, and keep out of
sight, but within hearing; it may be necessary to arrest this man."

"My assistance," said the old archer, "shall be at hand when you call,
but"--

"But what?" said the knight; "I hope I am not to find doubts and
disobedience on all hands?"

"Certainly not on mine," replied Greenleaf; "I would only remind your
worship that what I have said was a sincere opinion expressed in answer
to your worship's question; and that, as Sir Aymer de Valence has
avowed himself the patron of this man, I would not willingly be left to
the hazard of his revenge."

"Pshaw" answered De Walton, "is Aymer de Valence governor of this
castle, or am I? or to whom do you imagine you are responsible for
answering such questions as I may put to you?"

"Nay," replied the archer, secretly not displeased at seeing De Walton
show some little jealousy of his own authority, "believe me, Sir
Knight, that I know my own station and your worship's, and that I am
not now to be told to whom I owe obedience."

"To the study, then, and let us find the man," said the governor.

"A fine matter, indeed," subjoined Greenleaf, following him, "that your
worship should have to go in person to look after the arrest of so mean
an individual. But your honour is right; these minstrels are often
jugglers, and possess the power of making their escape by means which
borrel [Footnote: Unlearned.] folk like myself are disposed to
attribute to necromancy."

Without attending to these last words, Sir John de Walton set forth
towards the study, walking at a quick pace, as if this conversation had
augmented his desire to find himself in possession of the person of the
suspected minstrel.

Traversing the ancient passages of the castle, the governor had no
difficulty in reaching the study, which was strongly vaulted with
stone, and furnished with a sort of iron cabinet, intended for the
preservation of articles and papers of value, in case of fire. Here he
found the minstrel seated at a small table, sustaining before him a
manuscript, apparently of great antiquity, from which he seemed engaged
in making extracts. The windows of the room were very small, and still
showed some traces that they had originally been glazed with a painted
history of Saint Bride--another mark of the devotion of the great
family of Douglas to their tutelar saint.

The minstrel, who had seemed deeply wrapped in the contemplation of his
task, on being disturbed by the unlooked-for entrance of Sir John de
Walton, rose with every mark of respect and humility, and, remaining
standing in the governor's presence, appeared to wait for his
interrogations, as if he had anticipated that the visit concerned
himself particularly.

"I am to suppose, Sir Minstrel," said Sir John de Walton, "that you
have been successful in your search, and have found the roll of poetry
or prophecies that you proposed to seek after amongst these broken
shelves and tattered volumes?"

"More successful than I could have expected," replied the minstrel,
"considering the effects of the conflagration. This, Sir Knight, is
apparently the fatal volume for which I sought, and strange it is,
considering the heavy chance of other books contained in this library,
that I have been able to find a few though imperfect fragments of it."

"Since, therefore, you have been permitted to indulge your curiosity,"
said the governor, "I trust, minstrel, you will have no objection to
satisfy mine?"

The minstrel replied with the same humility, "that if there was any
thing within the poor compass of his skill which could gratify Sir John
de Walton in any degree, he would but reach his lute, and presently
obey his commands."

"You mistake, Sir," said Sir John, somewhat harshly. "I am none of
those who have hours to spend in listening to tales or music of former
days; my life has hardly given me time enough for learning the duties
of my profession, far less has it allowed me leisure for such twangling
follies. I care not who knows it, but my ear is so incapable judging of
your art, which you doubtless think a noble one, that I can scarcely
tell the modulation of one tune from another."

"In that case," replied the minstrel composedly, "I can hardly promise
myself the pleasure of affording your worship the amusement which I
might otherwise have done."

"Nor do I look for any from your hand," said the governor, advancing a
step nearer to him, and speaking in a sterner tone. "I want
information, sir, which I am assured you can give me, if you incline;
and it is my duty to tell you, that if you show unwillingness to speak
the truth, I know means by which it will become my painful duty to
extort it in a more disagreeable manner than I would wish."

"If your questions, Sir Knight," answered Bertram, "be such as I can or
ought to answer, there shall be no occasion to put them more than once.
If they are such as I cannot, or ought not to reply to, believe me that
no threats of violence will extort an answer from me."

"You speak boldly," said Sir John de Walton; "but take my word for it,
that your courage will be put to the test. I am as little fond of
proceeding to such extremities as you can be of undergoing them, but
such will be the natural consequence of your own obstinacy. I therefore
ask you, whether Bertram be your real name--whether you have any other
profession than that of a travelling minstrel--and, lastly, whether you
have any acquaintance or connexion with any Englishman or Scottishman
beyond the walls of this Castle of Douglas?"

"To these questions," replied the minstrel, "I have already answered
the worshipful knight, Sir Aymer de Valence, and having fully satisfied
him, it is not, I conceive, necessary that I should undergo a second
examination; nor is it consistent either with your worship's honour, or
that of the lieutenant-governor, that such a re-examination should take
place."

"You are very considerate," replied the governor, "of my honour and of
that of Sir Aymer de Valence. Take my word for it, they are both in
perfect safety in our own keeping, and may dispense with your
attention. I ask you, will you answer the enquiries which it is my duty
to make, or am I to enforce obedience by putting you under the
penalties of the question? I have already, it is my duty to say, seen
the answers you have returned to my lieutenant, and they do not satisfy
me."

He at the same time clapped his hands, and two or three archers showed
themselves stripped of their tunics, and only attired in their shirts
and hose.

"I understand," said the minstrel, "that you intend to inflict upon me
a punishment which is foreign to the genius of the English laws, in
that no proof is adduced of my guilt. I have already told that I am by
birth an Englishman, by profession a minstrel, and that I am totally
unconnected with any person likely to nourish any design against this
Castle of Douglas, Sir John de Walton, or his garrison. What answers
you may extort from me by bodily agony, I cannot, to speak as a
plain-dealing Christian, hold myself responsible for. I think that I
can endure as much pain as any one; I am sure that I never yet felt a
degree of agony, that I would not willingly prefer to breaking my
plighted word, or becoming a false informer against innocent persons:
but I own I do not know the extent to which the art of torture may be
carried; and though I do not fear you, Sir John de Walton, yet I must
acknowledge that I fear myself, since I know not to what extremity your
cruelty may be capable of subjecting me, or how far I may be enabled to
bear it. I, therefore, in the first place, protest, that I shall in no
manner be liable for any words which I may utter in the course of any
examination enforced from me by torture; and you must therefore, under
such circumstances, proceed to the execution of an office, which,
permit me to say, is hardly that which I expected to have found thus
administered by an accomplished knight like yourself."

"Hark you, sir," replied the governor, "you and I are at issue, and in
doing my duty, I ought instantly to proceed to the extremities I have
threatened; but perhaps you yourself feel less reluctance to undergo
the examination as proposed, than I shall do in commanding it; I will
therefore consign you for the present to a place of confinement,
suitable to one who is suspected of being a spy upon this fortress.
Until you are pleased to remove such suspicions, your lodgings and
nourishment are those of a prisoner. In the meantime, before subjecting
you to the question, take notice, I will myself ride to the Abbey of
Saint Bride, and satisfy myself whether the young person whom you would
pass as your son, is possessed of the same determination as that which
you yourself seem to assert. It may so happen that his examination and
yours may throw such light upon each other as will decidedly prove
either your guilt or innocence, without its being confirmed by the use
of the extraordinary question. If it be otherwise, tremble for your
son's sake, if not for your own.--Have I shaken you, sir?--or do you
fear, for your boy's young sinews and joints, the engines which, in
your case, you seem willing to defy?"

"Sir," answered the minstrel, recovering from the momentary emotion he
had shown, "I leave it to yourself, as a man of honour and candour,
whether you ought, in common fairness, to form a worse opinion of any
man, because he is not unwilling to incur, in his own person,
severities which he would not desire to be inflicted upon his child, a
sickly youth, just recovering from a dangerous disease."

"It is my duty," answered De Walton, after a short pause, "to leave no
stone unturned by which this business may be traced to the source; and
if thou desirest mercy for thy son, thou wilt thyself most easily
attain it, by setting him the example of honesty and plain-dealing."

The minstrel threw himself back on the seat, as if fully resolved to
bear every extremity that could be inflicted, rather than make any
farther answer than he had already offered. Sir John de Walton himself
seemed in some degree uncertain what might now be his best course. He
felt an invincible repugnance to proceed, without due consideration, in
what most people would have deemed the direct line of his duty, by
inflicting the torture both upon father and son; but deep as was his
sense of devotion towards the King, and numerous as were the hopes and
expectations he had formed upon the strict discharge of his present
high trust, he could not resolve upon having recourse at once to this
cruel method of cutting the knot. Bertram's appearance was venerable,
and his power of words not unworthy of his aspect and bearing. The
governor remembered that Aymer de Valence, whose judgment in general it
was impossible to deny, had described him as one of those rare
individuals, who vindicated the honour of a corrupted profession by
their personal good behaviour; and he acknowledged to himself, that
there was gross cruelty and injustice in refusing to admit the prisoner
to the credit of being a true and honest man, until, by way of proving
his rectitude, he had strained every sinew, and crushed every joint in
his body, as well as those of his son. "I have no touchstone," he said
internally, "which can distinguish truth from falsehood; the Bruce and
his followers are on the alert,-he has certainly equipped the galleys
which lay at Rachrin during winter. This story, too, of Greenleaf,
about arms being procured for a new insurrection, tallies strangely
with the appearance of that savage-looking forester at the hunt; and
all tends to show, that something is upon the anvil which it is my duty
to provide against. I will, therefore, pass over no circumstance by
which I can affect the mind through hope or fear; but, please God to
give me light from any other source, I will not think it lawful to
torment these unfortunate, and, it may yet be, honest men." He
accordingly took his departure from the library, whispering a word to
Greenleaf respecting the prisoner.

He had reached the outward door of the study, and his satellites had
already taken the minstrel into their grasp, when the voice of the old
man was heard calling upon De Walton to return for a single moment.

"What hast thou to say, sir?" said the governor; "be speedy, for I have
already lost more time in listening to thee than I am answerable for;
and so I advise thee for thine own sake"--

"I advise thee," said the minstrel, "for thine own sake, Sir John de
Walton, to beware how thou dost insist on thy present purpose, by which
thou thyself alone, of all men living,--will most severely suffer. If
thou harmest a hair of that young man's head--nay, if thou permittest
him to undergo any privation which it is in thy power to prevent, thou
wilt, in doing so, prepare for thine own suffering a degree of agony
more acute than anything else in this mortal world could cause thee. I
swear by the most blessed objects of our holy religion; I call to
witness that holy sepulchre, of which I have been an unworthy visitor,
that I speak nothing but the truth, and that thou wilt one day testify
thy gratitude for the part I am now acting. It is my interest, as well
as yours, to secure you in the safe possession of this castle, although
assuredly I know some things respecting it, and respecting your
worship, which I am not at liberty to tell without the consent of that
youth. Bring me but a note under his hand, consenting to my taking you
into our mystery, and believe me, you will soon see those clouds
charmed away; since there was never a doleful uncertainty which more
speedily changed to joy, or a thunder-cloud of adversity which more
instantly gave way to sunshine, than would then the suspicions which
appear now so formidable."

He spoke with so much earnestness as to make some impression upon Sir
John de Walton, who was once more wholly at a loss to know what line
his duty called upon him to pursue.

"I would most gladly," said the governor, "follow out my purpose by the
gentlest means in my power; and I shall bring no further distress upon
this poor lad, than thine own obstinacy and his shall appear to
deserve. In the meantime, think, Sir Minstrel, that my duty has limits,
and if I slack it for a day, it will become thee to exert every effort
in thy power to meet my condescension. I will give thee leave to
address thy son by a line under thy hand, and I will await his answer
before I proceed farther in this matter, which seems to be very
mysterious. Meantime, as thou hast a soul to be saved, I conjure thee
to speak the truth, and tell me whether the secrets of which thou
seemest to be a too faithful treasurer, have regard to the practices of
Douglas, of Bruce, or of any in their names, against this Castle of
Douglas?"

The prisoner thought a moment, and then replied--"I am aware, Sir
Knight, of the severe charge under which this command is intrusted to
your hands, and were it in my power to assist you, as a faithful
minstrel and loyal subject, either with hand or tongue, I should feel
myself called upon so to do; but so far am I from being the character
your suspicions have apprehended, that I should have held it for
certain that the Bruce and Douglas had assembled their followers, for
the purpose of renouncing their rebellious attempts, and taking their
departure for the Holy Land, but for the apparition of the forester,
who, I hear, bearded you at the hunting, which impresses upon me the
belief, that when so resolute a follower and henchman of the Douglas
was sitting fearless among you, his master and comrades could be at no
great distance--how far his intentions could be friendly to you, I must
leave it to yourself to judge; only believe me thus far, that the rack,
pulley, or pincers, would not have compelled me to act the informer, or
adviser, in a quarrel wherein I have little or no share, if I had not
been desirous of fixing the belief upon you, that you are dealing with
a true man, and one who has your welfare at heart.--Meanwhile, permit
me to have writing materials, or let my own be restored, for I possess,
in some degree, the higher arts of my calling; nor do I fear but that I
can procure for you an explanation of these marvels, without much more
loss of time."

"God grant it prove so," said the governor; "though I see not well how
I can hope for so favourable a termination, and I may sustain great
harm by trusting too much on the present occasion. My duty, however,
requires that, in the meantime, you be removed into strict confinement."

He handed to the prisoner, as he spoke, the writing materials, which
had been seized upon by the archers on their first entrance, and then
commanded those satellites to unhand the minstrel.

"I must, then," said Bertram, "remain subjected to all the severities
of a strict captivity; but I deprecate no hardship whatever in my own
person, so I may secure you from acting with a degree of rashness, of
which you will all your life repent, without the means of atoning."

"No more words, minstrel," said the governor; "but since I have made my
choice, perhaps a very dangerous one for myself, let us carry this
spell into execution, which thou sayest is to serve me, as mariners say
that oil spread upon the raging billows will assuage their fury."




CHAPTER THE NINTH.

     Beware! beware! of the black Friar,
     He still retains his sway,
     For he is yet the Church's heir by right,
     Whoever may be the lay.
     Amundeville is lord by day,
     But the monk is lord by night,
     Nor wine nor wassel could raise a vassal
     To question that friar's right.
                         Don Juan, CANTO XVII.


The minstrel made no vain boast of the skill which he possessed in the
use of pen and ink. In fact, no priest of the time could have produced
his little scroll more speedily, more neatly composed, or more fairly
written, than were the lines addressed "To the youth called Augustine,
son of Bertram the Minstrel."

"I have not folded this letter," said he, "nor tied it with silk, for
it is not expressed so as to explain the mystery to you; nor, to speak
frankly, do I think that it can convey to you any intelligence; but it
may be satisfactory to show you what the letter does not contain, and
that it is written from and to a person, who both mean kindly towards
you and your garrison."

"That," said the governor, "is a deception which is easily practised;
it tends, however, to show, though not with certainty, that you are
disposed to act upon good faith; and until the contrary appear, I shall
consider it a point of duty to treat you with as much gentleness as the
matter admits of. Meantime, I will myself ride to the Abbey of Saint
Bride, and in person examine the young prisoner; and as you say he has
the power, so I pray to Heaven he may have the will, to read this
riddle, which seems to throw us all into confusion." So saying, he
ordered his horse, and while it was getting ready, he perused with
great composure the minstrel's letter. Its contents ran thus:--

"DEAR AUGUSTINE,

"Sir John de Walton, the governor of this castle, has conceived those
suspicions which I pointed out as likely to be the consequence of our
coming to this country without an avowed errand. I at least am seized,
and threatened with examination under torture, to force me to tell the
purpose of our journey; but they shall tear the flesh from my bones,
ere they force me to break the oath which I have taken. And the purport
of this letter is to apprize you of the danger in which you stand of
being placed in similar circumstances, unless you are disposed to
authorize me to make the discovery to this knight; but on this subject
you are only to express your own wishes, being assured they shall be in
every respect attended to by your devoted

"BERTRAM."

This letter did not throw the smallest light upon the mystery of the
writer. The governor read it more than once, and turned it repeatedly
in his hand, as if he had hoped by that mechanical process to draw
something from the missive, which at a first view the words did not
express; but as no result of this sort appeared, De Walton retired to
the hall, where he informed Sir Aymer de Valence, that he was going
abroad as far as the Abbey of Saint Bride, and that he would be obliged
by his taking upon him the duties of governor during his absence. Sir
Aymer, of course, intimated his acquiescence in the charge; and the
state of disunion in which they stood to each other, permitted no
further explanation.

Upon the arrival of Sir John de Walton at the dilapidated shrine, the
abbot, with trembling haste, made it his business immediately to attend
the commander of the English garrison, upon whom for the present, their
house depended for every indulgence they experienced, as well as for
the subsistence and protection necessary to them in so perilous a
period. Having interrogated this old man respecting the youth residing
in the Abbey, De Walton was informed that he had been indisposed since
left there by his father, Bertram, a minstrel. It appeared to the
abbot, that his indisposition might be of that contagious kind which,
at that period, ravaged the English Borders, and made some incursions
into Scotland, where it afterwards worked a fearful progress. After
some farther conversation, Sir John de Walton put into the abbot's hand
the letter to the young person under his roof, on delivering which to
Augustine, the reverend father was charged with a message to the
English governor, so bold, that he was afraid to be the bearer of it.
It signified, that the youth could not, and would not, at that moment,
receive the English knight; but that, if he came back on the morrow
after mass, it was probable he might learn something of what was
requested.

"This is not an answer," said Sir John de Walton, "to be sent by a boy
like this to a person in my charge; and me thinks, Father Abbot, you
consult your own safety but slenderly in delivering such an insolent
message."

The abbot trembled under the folds of his large coarse habit; and De
Walton, imagining that his discomposure was the consequence of guilty
fear, called upon him to remember the duties which he owed to England,
the benefits which he had received from himself, and the probable
consequence of taking part in a pert boy's insolent defiance of the
power of the governor of the province.

The abbot vindicated himself from these charges with the utmost
anxiety. He pledged his sacred word, that the inconsiderate character
of the boy's message was owing to the waywardness arising from
indisposition. He reminded the governor that, as a Christian and an
Englishman, he had duties to observe towards the community of Saint
Bride, which had never given the English government the least subject
of complaint. As he spoke, the churchman seemed to gather courage from
the immunities of his order. He said he could not permit a sick boy who
had taken refuge within the sanctuary of the Church, to be seized or
subjected to any species of force, unless he was accused of a specific
crime, capable of being immediately proved. The Douglasses, a
headstrong race, had, in former days, uniformly respected the sanctuary
of Saint Bride, and it was not to be supposed that the king of England,
the dutiful and obedient child of the Church of Rome, would act with
less veneration for her rights, than the followers of a usurper,
homicide, and excommunicated person like Robert Bruce.

Walton was considerably shaken with this remonstrance. He knew that, in
the circumstances of the times, the Pope had great power in every
controversy in which it was his pleasure to interfere. He knew that
even in the dispute respecting the supremacy of Scotland, his Holiness
had set up a claim to the kingdom which, in the temper of the times,
might perhaps have been deemed superior both to that of Robert Bruce,
and that of Edward of England, and he conceived his monarch would give
him little thanks for any fresh embroilment which might take place with
the Church. Moreover, It was easy to place a watch, so as to prevent
Augustine from escaping during the night; and on the following morning
he would be still as effectually in the power of the English governor
as if he were seized on by open force at the present moment. Sir John
de Walton, however, so far exerted his authority over the abbot, that
he engaged, in consideration of the sanctuary being respected for this
space of time, that, when it expired, he would be aiding and assisting
with his spiritual authority to surrender the youth, should he not
allege a sufficient reason to the contrary. This arrangement, which
appeared still to flatter the governor with the prospect of an easy
termination of this troublesome dispute, induced him to grant the delay
which Augustine rather demanded than petitioned for.

"At your request, Father Abbot, whom I have hitherto found a true man,
I will indulge this youth with the grace he asks, before taking him
into custody, understanding that he shall not be permitted to leave
this place; and thou art to be responsible to this effect, giving thee,
as is reasonable, power to command our little, garrison at Hazelside,
to which I will send a reinforcement on my return to the Castle, in
case it should be necessary to use the strong hand, or circumstances
impose upon me other measures."

"Worthy Sir Knight," replied the Abbot, "I have no idea that the
frowardness of this youth will render any course necessary, saving that
of persuasion; and I venture to say, that you yourself will in the
highest degree approve of the method in which I shall acquit myself of
my present trust."

The abbot went through the duties of hospitality, enumerating what
simple cheer the cloister of the convent permitted him to offer to the
English knight. Sir John de Walton declined the offer of refreshment,
however--took a courteous leave of the churchman, and did not spare his
horse until the noble animal had brought him again before the Castle of
Douglas. Sir Aymer De Valence met him on the drawbridge, and reported
the state of the garrison to be the same in winch he had left it,
excepting that intimation had been received that twelve or fifteen men
were expected on their way to the town of Lanark; and being on march
from the neighbourhood of Ayr, would that night take up their quarters
at the outpost of Hazelside.

"I am glad of it," replied the governor; "I was about to strengthen
that detachment. This stripling, the son of Bertram the minstrel, or
whoever he is, has engaged to deliver himself up for examination in the
morning. As this party of soldiers are followers of your uncle, Lord
Pembroke, may I request you will ride to meet them, and command them to
remain at Hazelside until you make farther enquiries about this youth,
who has still to clear up the mystery which hangs about him, and reply
to a letter which I delivered with my own hand to the Abbot of Saint
Bride. I have shown too much forbearance in this matter, and I trust to
your looking to the security of this young man, and conveying him
hither, with all due care and attention, as being a prisoner of some
importance."

"Certainly, Sir John," answered Sir Aymer; "your orders shall be
obeyed, since you have none of greater importance for one who hath the
honour to be second only to yourself in this place."

"I crave your mercy, Sir Aymer," returned the governor, "if the
commission be in any degree beneath your dignity; but it is our
misfortune to misunderstand each other, when we endeavour to be most
intelligible."

"But what am I to do," said Sir Aymer--"no way disputing your command,
but only asking for information--what am I to do, if the Abbot of Saint
Bride offers opposition?"

"How!" answered Sir John de Walton; "with the reinforcement from. my
Lord of Pembroke, you will command at least twenty war-men, with bow
and spear, against five or six timid old monks, with only gown and,
hood."

"True," said Sir Aymer, "but ban and excommunication are sometimes; In
the present day, too hard for the mail coat, and I would not willingly
be thrown out of the pale of the Christian Church."

"Well, then, thou very suspicious and scrupulous young man," replied De
Walton, "know that if this youth does not deliver himself up to thee of
his own accord, the abbot has promised to put him into thy hands."

There was no farther answer to be made, and De Valence, though still
thinking himself unnecessarily harassed with the charge of a petty
commission, took the sort of half arms which were always used when the
knights stirred, beyond the walls of the garrison, and proceeded to
execute the commands of De Walton. A horseman or two, together with his
squire Fabian, accompanied him.

The evening closed in with one of those Scottish mists which are
commonly said to be equal to the showers of happier climates; the path
became more and more dark, the hills more wreathed in vapours, and more
difficult to traverse; and all the little petty inconveniences which
rendered travelling through the district slow and uncertain, were
augmented by the density of the fog which overhung every thing.

Sir Aymer, therefore, occasionally mended his pace, and often incurred
the fate of one who is over-late, delaying himself by his efforts to
make greater expedition. The knight bethought himself that he would get
into a straight road by passing through the almost deserted town of
Douglas--the inhabitants of which had been treated so severely by the
English, in the course of those fierce troubles, that most of them who
were capable of bearing arms had left it, and withdrawn themselves to
different parts of the country. This almost deserted place was defended
by a rude palisade, and a ruder drawbridge, which gave entrance into
streets so narrow, as to admit with difficulty three horses abreast,
and evincing with what strictness the ancient lords of the village
adhered to their prejudice against fortifications, and their opinion in
favour of keeping the field, so quaintly expressed in the well-known
proverb of the family,--"It is better to hear the lark sing than the
mouse cheep." The streets, or rather the lanes, were dark, but for a
shifting gleam of moonlight, which, as that planet began to rise, was
now and then visible upon some steep and narrow gable. No sound of
domestic industry, or domestic festivity, was heard, and no ray of
candle or firelight glanced from the windows of the houses; the ancient
ordinance called the curfew, which the Conqueror had introduced into
England, was at this time in full force in such parts of Scotland as
were thought doubtful, and likely to rebel; under which description it
need not be said the ancient possessions of the Douglas were most
especially regarded. The Church, whose Gothic monuments were of a
magnificent character, had been, as far as possible, destroyed by fire;
but the ruins, held together by the weight of the massive stones of
which they were composed, still sufficiently evinced the greatness of
the family at whose cost it had been raised, and whose bones, from
immemorial time, had been entombed in its crypts.

Paying little attention to these relics of departed splendour, Sir
Aymer de Valence advanced with his small detachment, and had passed the
scattered fragments of the cemetery of the Douglasses, when to his
surprise, the noise of his horse's feet was seemingly replied to by
sounds which rung like those of another knightly steed advancing
heavily up the street, as if it were to meet him. Valence was unable to
conjecture what might be the cause of these warlike sounds; the ring
and the clang of armour was distinct, and the heavy tramp of a
war-horse was not to be mistaken by the ear of a warrior. The
difficulty of keeping soldiers from straying out of quarters by night,
would have sufficiently accounted for the appearance of a straggling
foot-soldier; but it was more difficult to account for a mounted
horseman, in full armour; and such was the apparition which a
peculiarly bright glimpse of moonlight now showed at the bottom of the
causewayed hill. Perhaps the unknown warrior obtained at the same time
a glance of Aymer de Valence and his armed followers--at least each of
them shouted "Who goes there?"--the alarm of the times; and on the
instant the deep answers of "St. George!" on the one side, and "The
Douglas!" on the other, awakened the still echoes of the small and
ruinous street, and the silent arches of the dilapidated church.
Astonished at a war-cry with which so many recollections were
connected, the English knight spurred his horse at full gallop down the
steep and broken descent leading out at the south or south-east gate of
the town; and it was the work of an instant to call out, "Ho! Saint
George! upon the insolent villain all of you!--To the gate, Fabian, and
cut him off from flight! --Saint George! I say, for England! Bows and
bills!--bows and bills!" At the same time Aymer de Valence laid in rest
his own long lance, which he snatched from the squire by whom it was
carried. But the light was seen and gone in an instant, and though De
Valence concluded that the hostile warrior had hardly room to avoid his
career, yet he could take no aim for the encounter, unless by mere
guess, and continued to plunge down the dark declivity, among shattered
stones and other encumbrances, without groping out with his lance the
object of his pursuit. He rode, in short, at a broken gallop, a descent
of about fifty or sixty yards, without having any reason to suppose
that he had met the figure which had appeared to him, although the
narrowness of the street scarcely admitted his having passed him,
unless both horse and horseman could have melted at the moment of
encounter like an air-bubble. The riders of his suite, meanwhile, were
struck with a feeling like supernatural terror, which a number of
singular adventures, had caused most of them to attach to the name of
Douglas; and when he reached the gate by which the broken street was
terminated, there was none close behind him but Fabian, in whose head
no suggestions of a timorous nature could outlive the sound of his dear
master's voice.

Here there were a post of English, archers, who were turning out in
considerable alarm, when De Valence and his page rode in amongst them.
"Villains!" shouted De Valence, "why were you not upon your duty? Who
was it passed through your post even now, with the traitorous cry of
Douglas?"

"We know of no such," said the captain of the watch.

"That is to say, you besotted villains," answered the young knight,
"you have been drinking, and have slept?"

The men protested the contrary, but in a confused manner, which was far
from overcoming De Valence's suspicions. He called loudly to bring
cressets, torches, and candles; and a few remaining inhabitants began
to make their unwilling appearance, with such various means of giving
light as they chanced to possess. They heard the story of the young
English knight with wonder; nor, although it was confirmed by all his
retinue, did they give credit to the recital, more than that the
Englishmen wished somehow or other to pick a quarrel with the people of
the palace, under the pretence of their having admitted a retainer of
their ancient lord by night into the town. They protested, therefore,
their innocence of the cause of tumult, and endeavoured to seem active
in hastening from house to house, and corner to corner, with their
torches, in order to discover the invisible cavalier. The English
suspected them no less of treachery, than the Scottish imagined the
whole matter a pretext for bringing an accusation, on the part of the
young knight, against the citizens. The women, however, who now began
to issue from the houses, had a key for the solution of the apparition,
which at that time was believed of efficacy sufficient to solve any
mystery. "The devil," they said, "must have appeared visibly amongst
them," an explanation which had already occurred to the followers of
the young knight; for that a living man and horse, both as it seemed,
of a gigantic size, could be conjured in the twinkling of an eye, and
appear in a street secured at one end by the best of the archers, and
at the other by the horsemen under Valence himself, was altogether, it
seemed, a thing impossible. The inhabitants did not venture to put
their thoughts on the subject into language, for fear of giving
offence, and only indicated by a passing word to each other the secret
degree of pleasure which they felt in the confusion and embarrassment
of the English garrison. Still, however, they continued to affect a
great deal of interest in the alarm which De Valence had received, and
the anxiety which he expressed to discover the cause.

At length a female voice spoke above the Babel of confused sounds,
saying, "Where is the Southern Knight? I am sure that I can tell him
where he can find the only person who can help him out of his present
difficulty."

"And who is that, good woman?" said Aymer de Valence, who was growing
every moment more impatient at the loss of time, which was flying fast,
in an investigation which had something vexatious in it, and even
ridiculous. At the same time, the sight of an armed partisan of the
Douglasses, in their own native town, seemed to bode too serious
consequences, if it should be suffered to pass without being probed to
the bottom.

"Come hither to me," said the female voice, "and I will name to you the
only person who can explain all matters of this kind that chance in
this country." On this the knight snatched a torch from some of those
who were present, and holding it up, descried the person who spoke, a
tall woman, who evidently endeavoured to render herself remarkable.
When he approached her, she communicated her intelligence in a grave
and sententious tone of voice.

"We had once wise men, that could have answered any parables which
might have been put to them for explanation in this country side.
Whether you yourselves, gentlemen, have not had some hand in weeding
them out, good troth, it is not for the like of me to say; at any rate,
good counsel is not so easy come by as it was in this Douglas country,
nor, may be, is it a safe thing to pretend to the power of giving it."

"Good woman," said De Valence, "if you will give me an explanation of
this mystery, I will owe you a kirtle of the best raploch grey."

"It is not I," said the old woman, "that pretend to possess the
knowledge which may assist you; but I would fain know that the man whom
I shall name to you shall be skaithless and harmless. Upon your
knighthood and your honour, will you promise to me so much?"

"Assuredly," said De Valence, "such a person shall even have thanks and
reward, if he is a faithful informer; ay, and pardon, moreover,
although he may have listened to any dangerous practices, or been
concerned in any plots."

"Oh! not he," replied the female; "it is old Goodman Powheid, who has
the charge of the muniments," (meaning probably monuments,) "that is,
such part of them as you English have left standing; I mean the old
sexton of the kirk of Douglas, who can tell more stories of these old
folk, whom your honour is not very fond of hearing named, than would
last us from this day to Yule."

"Does anybody," said the knight, "know whom it is that this old woman
means?"

"I conjecture," replied Fabian, "that she speaks of an old dotard, who
is, I think, the general referee concerning the history and antiquities
of this old town, and of the savage family that lived here perhaps
before the flood."

"And who, I dare say," said the knight, "knows as much about the matter
as she herself does. But where is this man? a sexton is he? He may be
acquainted with places of concealment, which are often fabricated in
Gothic buildings, and known to those whose business calls them to
frequent them. Come, my good old dame, bring this man to me; or, what
may be better, I will go to him, for we have already spent too much
time."

"Time!" replied the old woman,--"is time an object with your honour? I
am sure I can hardly get so much for mine as will hold soul and body
together. You are not far from the old man's house."

She led the way accordingly, blundering over heaps of rubbish, and
encountering all the embarrassments of a ruinous street, in lighting
the way to Sir Aymer, who, giving his horse to one of his attendants,
and desiring Fabian to be ready at a call, scrambled after as well as
the slowness of his guide would permit.

Both were soon involved in the remains of the old church, much
dilapidated as it had been by wanton damage done to it by the soldiery,
and so much impeded by rubbish, that the knight marvelled how the old
woman could find the way. She kept talking all the while as she
stumbled onward. Sometimes she called out in a screeching tone,
"Powheid! Lazarus Powheid!"--and then muttered---"Ay, ay, the old man
will be busy with some of his duties, as he calls them; I wonder he
fashes wi' them in these times. But never mind, I warrant they will
last for his day and for mine; and the times, Lord help us! for all
that I can see, are well enough for those that are to live in them."

"Are you sure, good woman," replied the knight, "that there is any
inhabitant in these ruins? For my part, I should rather suppose that
you are taking me to the charnel-house of the dead."

"Maybe you are right," said the old woman, with a ghastly laugh;
"carles and carlines agree weel with funeral vaults and charnel-houses,
and when an auld bedral dwells near the dead, he is living, ye ken,
among his customers--Halloo! Powheid! Lazarus Powheid! there is a
gentleman would speak with you;" and she added, with some sort of
emphasis, "an. English noble gentleman---one of the honourable
garrison."

An old man's step was now heard advancing, so slowly that the
glimmering light which he held in his hand was visible on the ruined
walls of the vault some time before it showed the person who bore it.

The shadow of the old man was also projected upon the illuminated wall
ere his person came in view; his dress was in considerable confusion,
owing to his having been roused from his bed; and since artificial
light was forbidden by the regulations of the garrison, the natives of
Douglas Dale spent in sleep the time that they could not very well get
rid of by any other means. The sexton was a tall thin man, emaciated by
years and by privations; his body was bent habitually by his occupation
of grave-digging, and his eye naturally inclined downward to the scene
of his labours. His hand sustained the cruise or little lamp, which he
held so as to throw light upon his visitant; at the same time it
displayed to the young knight the features of the person with whom he
was now confronted, which, though neither handsome nor pleasing, were
strongly marked, sagacious, and venerable, indicating, at the same
time, a certain air of dignity, which age, even mere poverty, may be
found occasionally to bestow, as conferring that last melancholy
species of independence proper to those whose situation can hardly by
any imaginable means, be rendered much worse than years and fortune
have already made it. The habit of a lay brother added somewhat of
religious importance to his appearance.

"What would you with me, young man?" said the sexton. "Your youthful
features, and your gay dress, bespeak one who stands in need of my
ministry neither for himself nor for others."

"I am indeed," replied the knight, "a living man, and therefore need
not either shovel or pick-axe for my own behoof. I am not, as you see,
attired in mourning, and therefore need not your offices in behalf of
any friend; I would only ask you a few questions."

"What you would have done must needs be done, you being at present one
of our rulers, and, as I think, a man of authority," replied the
sexton; "follow me this way into my poor habitation; I have had a
better in my day; and yet, Heaven knows, it is good enough for me, when
many men of much greater consequence must perforce content themselves
with worse."

He opened a lowly door, which was fitted, though irregularly, to serve
as the entrance of a vaulted apartment, where it appeared that the old
man held, apart from the living world, his wretched and solitary
dwelling. [Footnote: [This is a most graphic and accurate description
of the present state of the ruin. Its being occupied by the sexton as a
dwelling-place, and the whole scene of the old man's interview with De
Valence, may be classed with our illustrious author's most felicitous
imaginings._--Note by the Rev. Mr. Stewart of Douglas._]] The floor,
composed of paving stones, laid together with some accuracy, and here
and there inscribed with letters and hieroglyphics, as if they had once
upon a time served to distinguish sepulchres, was indifferently well
swept, and a fire at the upper end directed its smoke into a hole which
served for a chimney. The spade and pick-axe, (with other tools,) which
the chamberlain of mortality makes use of, lay scattered about the
apartment, and, with a rude stool or two, and a table, where some
inexperienced hand had unquestionably supplied the labours of the
joiner, were nearly the only furniture, if we include the old man's bed
of straw, lying in a corner, and discomposed, as if he had been just
raised from it. At the lower end of the apartment, the wall was almost
entirely covered by a large escutcheon, such as is usually hung over
the graves of men of very high rank, having the appropriate quarters,
to the number of sixteen, each properly blazoned and distinct, placed
as ornaments around the principal armorial coat itself.

"Let us sit," said the old man; "the posture will better enable my
failing ears to apprehend your meaning, and the asthma will deal with
me more mercifully in permitting me to make you understand mine."

A peal of short asthmatic coughs attested the violence of the disorder
which he had last named, and the young knight followed his host's
example, in sitting down on one of the rickety stools by the side of
the fire. The old man brought from one corner of the apartment an
apron, which he occasionally wore, full of broken boards in irregular
pieces, some of which were covered with black cloth, or driven full of
nails, black, as it might happen, or gilded.

"You will find this fresh fuel necessary," said the old man, "to keep
some degree of heat within this waste apartment; nor are the vapours of
mortality, with which this vault is apt to be filled, if the fire is
permitted to become extinct, indifferent to the lungs of the dainty and
the healthy, like your worship, though to me they are become habitual.
The wood will catch fire, although it is some time ere the damps of the
grave are overcome by the drier air, and the warmth of the chimney."

Accordingly, the relics of mortality with which the old man had heaped
his fireplace, began by degrees to send forth a thick unctuous vapour,
which at length leaped to light, and blazing up the aperture, gave a
degree of liveliness to the gloomy scene. The blazonry of the huge
escutcheon met and returned the rays with as brilliant a reflection as
that lugubrious object was capable of, and the whole apartment looked
with a fantastic gaiety, strangely mingled with the gloomy ideas which
its ornaments were calculated to impress upon the imagination.

"You are astonished," said the old man, "and perhaps, Sir Knight, you
have never before seen these relics of the dead applied to the purpose
of rendering the living, in some degree, more comfortable than their
condition would otherwise admit of."

"Comfortable!" returned the Knight of Valence, shrugging his shoulders;
"I should be sorry, old man, to know that I had a dog that was as
indifferently quartered as thou art, whose grey hairs have certainly
seen better days."

"It may be," answered the sexton, "and it may be otherwise; but it was
not, I presume, concerning my own history that your worship seemed
disposed to ask me some questions; and I would venture to enquire,
therefore, to whom they have relation?"

"I will speak plainly to you," replied Sir Aymer, "and you will at once
acknowledge the necessity of giving a short and distinct reply. I have
even now met in the streets of this village a person only shown to me
by a single flash of light, who had the audacity to display the
armorial insignia and utter the war-cry of the Douglasses; nay, if I
could trust a transient glance, this daring cavalier had the features
and the dark complexion proper to the Douglas. I am referred to thee as
to one who possesses means of explaining this extraordinary
circumstance, which, as an English knight, and one holding a charge
under King Edward, I am particularly called upon to make enquiry into."

"Let me make a distinction," said the old man. "The Douglasses of
former generations are my near neighbours, and, according to my
superstitious townsmen, my acquaintances and visitors; I can take it
upon my conscience to be answerable for their good behaviour, and to
become bound that none of the old barons, to whom the roots of that
mighty tree may, it is said, be traced, will again disturb with their
war-cry the towns or villages of their native country--not one will
parade in moonshine the black armour which has long rusted upon their
tombs.

    'The knights are dust.
     And their good swords are rust;
     Their souls are with the saints, we trust.' [Footnote: [The author
has somewhat altered part of a beautiful unpublished fragment of
Coleridge:--
    "Where is the grave of Sir Arthur Orellan,--
     Where may the grave of that good knight be?
       By the marge of a brook, on the <DW72> of Helvellyn,
     Under the boughs of a young birch tree.
       The Oak that in summer was pleasant to hear,
       That rustled in Autumn all withered and sear,
       That whistled and groan'd thro' the Winter alone,
       He hath gone, and a birch in his place is grown.
           The knight's bones are dust,
           His good sword is rust;
           His spirit is with, the saints, we trust." _Edit_.]]

Look around, Sir Knight, you have above and around you the men of whom
we speak. Beneath us, in a little aisle, (which hath not been opened
since these thin grey locks were thick and brown,) there lies the first
man whom I can name as memorable among those of this mighty line. It is
he whom the Thane of Athol pointed out to the King of Scotland as
Sholto Dhuglass, or the dark iron-<DW52> man, whose exertions had
gained the battle for his native prince; and who, according to this
legend, bequeathed his name to our dale and town, though others say
that the race assumed the name of Douglass from the stream so called in
unrecorded times, before they had their fastness on its banks. Others,
his descendants, called Eachain, or Hector the first, and Orodh, or
Hugh, William, the first of that name, and Gilmour, the theme of many a
minstrel song, commemorating achievements done under the oriflamme of
Charles the Great, Emperor of France, have all consigned themselves to
their last sleep, nor has their memory been sufficiently preserved from
the waste of time. Something we know concerning their great deeds,
their great power, and, alas! their great crimes. Something we also
know of a Lord of Douglas who sat in a parliament at Forfar, held by
King Malcolm the First, and we are aware that from his attachment to
hunting the wild hart, he built himself a tower called Blackhouse, in
the forest of Ettrick, which perhaps still exists."

"I crave your forgiveness, old man," said the knight, "but I have no
time at present to bestow upon the recitation of the pedigree of the
House of Douglas. A less matter would hold a well-breathed minstrel in
subject for recitation for a calendar month, Sundays and holidays
included."

"What other information can you expect from me," said the sexton, "than
that respecting those heroes, some of whom it has been my lot to
consign to that eternal rest, which will for ever divide the dead from
the duties of this world? I have told you where the race sleep, down to
the reign of the royal Malcolm. I can tell you also of another vault,
in which lie Sir John of Douglas-burn, with his son Lord Archibald, and
a third William, known by an indenture with Lord Abernethy. Lastly, I
can tell you of him to whom that escutcheon, with its appurtenances of
splendour and dignity, justly belong. Do you envy that nobleman, whom,
if death were in the sound, I would not hesitate to term my honourable
patron? and have you any design of dishonouring his remains? It will be
a poor victory! nor does it become a knight and nobleman to come in
person to enjoy such a triumph over the dead, against whom, when he
lived, there were few knights dared spur their horses. He fought in
defence of his country, but he had not the good fortune of most of his
ancestors, to die on the field of battle. Captivity, sickness, and
regret for the misfortunes of his native land, brought his head to the
grave in his prison-house, in the land of the stranger."

The old man's voice here became interrupted by emotion, and the English
knight found it difficult to continue his examination in the stern
fashion which his duty required.

"Old man," he said, "I do not require from thee this detail, which must
be useless to me, as well as painful to thyself. Thou dost but thy duty
in rendering justice to thy ancient lord; but thou hast not yet
explained to me why I have met in this town, this very night, and not
half an hour since, a person in the arms, and bearing the complexion,
of one of the Black Douglasses, who cried his war-cry as if in contempt
of his conquerors."

"Surely," replied the sexton, "it is not my business to explain such a
fancy, otherwise than by supposing that the natural fears of the
Southron will raise the spectre of a Douglas at any time, when he is
within sight of their sepulchre. Methinks, in such a night as this, the
fairest cavalier would wear the complexion of this swarthy race, nor
can I hold it wonderful that the war-cry which was once in the throats
of so many thousands in this country, should issue upon occasion from
the mouth of a single champion."

"You are bold, old man," returned the English knight; "do you consider
that your life is in my power, and that it may, in certain cases, be my
duty to inflict death with that degree of pain at which humanity
shudders?"

The old man rose up slowly in the light of the blazing fire, displaying
his emaciated features, which resembled those ascribed by artists to
Saint Anthony of the desert; and pointing to the feeble lamp, which he
placed upon the coarse table, thus addressed his interrogator, with an
appearance of perfect firmness, and something even resembling dignity:--

"Young knight of England, you see that utensil constructed for the
purpose of dispensing light amid these fatal vaults,--it is as frail as
any thing can well be, whose flame is supplied by living element,
contained in a frame composed of iron. It is doubtless in your power
entirely to end its service, by destroying the frame, or extinguishing
the light. Threaten it with such annihilation, Sir Knight, and see
whether your menace will impress any sense of fear either on the
element or the iron. Know that you have no more power over the frail
mortal whom you threaten with similar annihilation. You may tear from
my body the skin in which it is now swathed, but although my nerves
might glow with agony during the inhuman operation, it would produce no
more impression on me than flaying on the stag which an arrow has
previously pierced through the heart. My age sets me beyond your
cruelty: if you think otherwise, call your agents, and commence your
operations; neither threats nor inflictions will enable you to extort
from me any thing that I am not ready to tell you of my own accord."

"You trifle with me, old man," said De Valence; "you talk as if you
possessed some secret respecting the motions of these Douglasses, who
are to you as gods, yet you communicate no intelligence to me whatever."

"You may soon know," replied the old man, "all that a poor sexton has
to communicate; and it will not increase your knowledge respecting the
living, though it may throw some light upon my proper domains, which
are those of the dead. The spirits of the deceased Douglasses do not
rest in their graves during the dishonour of their monuments, and the
downfall of their house. That, upon death, the greater part of any line
are consigned to the regions of eternal bliss, or of never-ending
misery, religion will not suffer us to believe, and amidst a race who
had so great a share of worldly triumph and prosperity, we must suppose
there have existed many who have been justly subjected to the doom of
an intermediate space of punishment. You have destroyed the
temples--which were built by their posterity to propitiate Heaven for
the welfare of their souls; you have silenced the prayers and stopt the
choirs, by the mediation of which the piety of children had sought to
appease the wrath of Heaven in behalf of their ancestors, subjected to
expiatory fires. Can you wonder that the tormented spirits, thus
deprived of the relief which had been proposed to them, should not,
according to the common phrase, rest in their graves? Can you wonder
they should show themselves like discontented loiterers near to the
places which, but for the manner in which you have prosecuted your
remorseless warfare, might have ere now afforded them rest? Or do you
marvel that these fleshless warriors should interrupt your marches, and
do what else their airy nature may permit to disturb your councils, and
meet as far as they may the hostilities which you make it your boast to
carry on, as well against those who are deceased, as against any who
may yet survive your cruelty?"

"Old man," replied Aymer de Valence, "you cannot expect that I am to
take for answer a story like this, being a fiction too gross to charm
to sleep a schoolboy tormented with the toothache; nevertheless, I
thank God that thy doom does not remain in my hands. My squire and two
archers shall carry thee captive to the worshipful Sir John de Walton,
Governor of the Castle and Valley, that he may deal with thee as seems
meet; nor is he a person to believe in your apparitions and ghosts from
purgatory.--What ho! Fabian! Come hither, and bring with thee two
archers of the guard."

Fabian accordingly, who had waited at the entrance of the ruined
building, now found his way, by the light of the old sexton's lamp, and
the sound of his master's voice, into the singular apartment of the old
man, the strange decorations of which struck the youth with great
surprise, and some horror.

"Take the two archers with thee, Fabian," said the Knight of Valence,
"and, with their assistance, convey this old man, on horseback, or in a
litter, to the presence of the worshipful Sir John de Walton. Tell him
what we have seen, which thou didst witness as well as I; and tell him
that this old sexton, whom I send to be examined by his superior
wisdom, seems to know more than he is willing to disclose respecting
our ghostly cavalier, though he will give us no account of him, except
intimating that he is a spirit of the old Douglasses from purgatory, to
which Sir John de Walton will give what faith he pleases. You may say,
that, for my part, my belief is, either that the sexton is crazed by
age, want, and enthusiasm, or that he is connected with some plot which
the country people are hatching. You may also say that I shall not use
much ceremony with the youth under the care of the Abbot of St. Bride;
there is something suspicious in all the occurrences that are now
passing around us."

Fabian promised obedience; and the knight, pulling him aside, gave him
an additional caution, to behave with attention in this business,
seeing he must recollect that neither the judgment of himself, nor that
of his master, were apparently held in very much esteem by the
governor; and that it would ill become them to make any mistake in a
matter where the safety of the Castle was perhaps concerned.

"Fear me not, worshipful sir," replied the youth; "I am returning to
pure air in the first place, and a good fire in the second, both
acceptable exchanges for this dungeon of suffocating vapours and
execrable smells. You may trust to my making no delay; a very short
time will carry me back to Castle Douglas, even moving with suitable
attention to this old man's bones."

"Use him humanely," answered the knight. "And thou, old man, if thou
art insensible to threats of personal danger in this matter, remember,
that if thou art found paltering with us, thy punishment will perhaps
be more severe than any we can inflict upon thy person."

"Can you administer the torture to the soul?" said the sexton.

"As to thee," answered the knight, "we have that power;--we will
dissolve every monastery or religious establishment held for the souls
of these Douglasses, and will only allow the religious people to hold
their residence there upon condition of their praying for the soul of
King Edward the First of glorious memory, the _malleus Scotorum_; and
if the Douglasses are deprived of the ghostly benefit of the prayers
and services of such shrines, they may term thy obstinacy the cause."

"Such a species of vengeance," answered the old man, in the same bold
unsubdued tone which he had hitherto used, "were more worthy of the
infernal fiends than of Christian men."

The squire raised his hand. The knight interposed: "Forbear him," he
said, "Fabian, he is very old, and perhaps insane.--And you, sexton,
remember that the vengeance threatened is lawfully directed towards a
family which have been the obstinate supporters of the excommunicated
rebel, who murdered the Red Comyn at the High Church in Dumfries."

So saying, Aymer strode out of the ruins, picking his way with much
difficulty--took his horse, which he found at the entrance--repeated a
caution to Fabian, to conduct himself with prudence--and, passing on to
the south-western gate, gave the strongest injunctions concerning the
necessity of keeping a vigilant watch, both by patrols and by
sentinels, intimating, at the same time, that it must have been
neglected during the preceding part of the evening. The men murmured an
apology, the confusion of which seemed to express that there had
existed some occasion for the reprimand.

Sir Aymer then proceeded on his journey to Hazelside, his train
diminished by the absence of Fabian and his assistants. After a hasty,
but not a short journey, the knight alighted at Thomas Dickson's, where
he found the detachment from Ayr had arrived before him, and were
snugly housed for the night. He sent one of the archers to announce his
approach to the Abbot of Saint Bride and his young guest, intimating at
the same time, that the archer must keep sight of the latter until he
himself arrived at the chapel, which would be instantly.




CHAPTER THE TENTH.

     When the nightengale singes, the wodes waxes grene,
     Lef, and gras, and blosme, springeth in April I wene,
     And love is to myne herte gone with one speare so kene.
     Night and day my blood hyt drynkes, mine herte deth me fane.
          _MSS. Hail. Quoted by Warton._


Sir Aymer De Valance had no sooner followed his archer to the convent
of Saint Bride, than he summoned the abbot to his presence, who came
with the air of a man who loves his ease, and who is suddenly called
from the couch where he has consigned himself to a comfortable repose,
at the summons of one whom he does not think it safe to disobey, and to
whom he would not disguise his sense of peevishness, if he durst.

"It is a late ride," he said, "which has brought your worthy honour
hither from the castle. May I be informed of the cause, after the
arrangement so recently gone into with the governor?"

"It is my hope," replied the knight, "that you, Father Abbot, are not
already conscious of it; suspicions are afloat, and I myself have this
night seen something to confirm them, that some of the obstinate rebels
of this country are again setting afoot dangerous practices, to the
peril of the garrison; and I come, father, to see whether, in requital
of many favours received from the English monarch, you will not merit
his bounty and protection, by contributing to the discovery of the
designs of his enemies."

"Assuredly so," answered Father Jerome, in an agitated voice. "Most
unquestionably my information should stand at your command; that is, if
I knew any thing the communication of which could be of advantage to
you."

"Father Abbot," replied the English knight, "although it is rash to
make myself responsible for a North-country man in these times, yet I
own I do consider you as one who has ever been faithfully subject to
the King of England, and I willingly hope that you will still continue
so."

"And a fine encouragement I have!" said the abbot; "to be called out of
my bed at midnight, in this raw weather, to undergo the examination of
a knight, who is the youngest, perhaps, of his own honourable rank, and
who will not tell me the subject of the interrogatories, but detains me
on this cold pavement, till, according to the opinion of Celsus, the
podagra which lurks in my feet may be driven into my stomach, and then
good-night to abbacy and examinations from henceforward."

"Good father," said the young man, "the spirit of the times must teach
thee patience; recollect that I can feel no pleasure in this duty, and
that if an insurrection should take place, the rebels, who are
sufficiently displeased with thee for acknowledging the English
monarch, would hang thee from thine own steeple to feed the crows; or
that, if thou hast secured thy peace by some private compact with the
insurgents, the English governor, who will sooner or later gain the
advantage, will not fail to treat thee as a rebel to his sovereign."

"It may appear to you, my noble son," answered the abbot, obviously
discomposed, "that I am hung up, in this case, on the horns of the
dilemma which you have stated; nevertheless, I protest to you, that if
any one accuses me of conspiring with the rebels against the King of
England, I am ready, provided you give me time to swallow a potion
recommended by Celsus in my perilous case, to answer with the most
perfect sincerity every question which you can put to me upon that
subject." So saying, he called upon a monk who had attended at his
levee, and giving him a large key, whispered something in his ear. The
cup which the monk brought was of such capacity as proved Celsus's
draught required to be administered in considerable quantity, and a
strong smell which it spread through the apartment, accredited the
knight's suspicion that the medicine chiefly consisted of what were
then termed distilled waters, a preparation known in the monasteries
for some time before that comfortable secret had reached the laity in
general. The abbot, neither overawed by the strength nor by the
quantity of the potion, took it off with what he himself would have
called a feeling of solace and pleasance, and his voice became much
more composed; he signified himself as comforted extraordinarily by the
medicine, and willing to proceed to answer any questions which could be
put to him by his gallant young friend.

"At present," said the knight, "you are aware, father, that strangers
travelling through this country, must be the first objects of our
suspicions and enquiries. What is, for example, your own opinion of the
youth termed Augustine, the son, or calling himself so, of a person
called Bertram the minstrel, who has resided for some days in your
convent?"

The abbot heard the question with eyes expressive of surprise at the
quarter from which it came.

"Assuredly," said he, "I think of him as a youth who, from any thing I
have seen, is of that excellent disposition, both with respect to
loyalty and religion, which I should have expected, were I to judge
from the estimable person who committed him to my care."

With this the abbot bowed to the knight, as if he had conceived that
this repartee gave him a silencing advantage in any question which
could follow upon that subject; and he was probably, therefore,
surprised when Sir Aymer replied as follows:

"It is very true, Father Abbot, that I myself did recommend this
stripling to you as a youth of a harmless disposition, and with respect
to whom it would be unnecessary to exercise the strict vigilance
extended to others in similar circumstances; but the evidence which
seemed to me to vouch for this young man's innocence, has not appeared
so satisfactory to my superior and commander; and it is by his orders
that I now make farther enquiries of you. You must think they are of
consequence, since we again trouble you, and at so unwonted an hour."

"I can only protest by my order, and by the veil of Saint Bride,"
replied the abbot, the spirit of Celsus appearing to fail his pupil,
"that whatever evil may be in this matter, is totally unknown to
me--nor could it be extorted from me by racks or implements of torture.
Whatever signs of disloyalty may have been evinced by this young man, I
have witnessed none of them, although I have been strictly attentive to
his behaviour."

"In what respect?" said the knight--"and what is the result of your
observation?"

"My answer," said the abbot of Saint Bride, "shall be sincere and
downright. The youth condescended upon payment of a certain number of
gold crowns, not by any means to repay the hospitality of the church of
Saint Bride, but merely"--

"Nay, father," interrupted the knight, "you may cut that short, since
the governor and I well understand the terms upon which the monks of
Saint Bride exercise their hospitality. In what manner, it is more
necessary to ask, was it received by this boy?"

"With the utmost gentleness and moderation, noble sir," answered the
abbot; "indeed it appeared to me, at first, that he might be a
troublesome guest, since the amount of his benevolence to the convent
was such as to encourage, and, in some degree, to authorise, his
demanding accommodation of a kind superior to what we had to bestow."

"In which case," said Sir Aymer, "you would have had the discomfort of
returning some part of the money you have received?"

"That," replied the abbot, "would have been a mode of settlement
contrary to our vows. What is paid to the treasury of Saint Bridget,
cannot, agreeably to our rule, be on any account restored. But, noble
knight, there was no occasion for this; a crust of white bread and a
draught of milk were diet sufficient to nourish this poor youth for a
day, and it was my own anxiety for his health that dictated the
furnishing of his cell with a softer bed and coverlet than are quite
consistent with the rules of our order."

"Now hearken to what I say, Sir Abbot, and answer me truly," said the
Knight of Valence--"What communication has this youth held with the
inmates of your convent, or with those beyond your house? Search your
memory concerning this, and let me have a distinct answer, for your
guest's safety and your own depend upon it."

"As I am a Christian man," said the abbot, "I have observed nothing
which could give ground for your worship's suspicions. The boy
Augustine, unlike those whom I have observed who have been educated in
the world, showed a marked preference to the company of such sisters as
the house of Saint Bride contains, rather than for that of the monks,
my brethren, although there are among them pleasant and conversible
men."

"Scandal," said the young knight, "might find a reason for that
preference."

"Not in the case of the sisters of Saint Bridget," said the abbot,
"most of whom have been either sorely misused by time, or their
comeliness destroyed by some mishap previously to their being received
into the seclusion of the house."

This observation the good father made with some internal movement of
mirth, which was apparently excited at the idea of the sisterhood of
Saint Bridget becoming attractive to any one by dint of their personal
beauty, in which, as it happened, they were all notably, and almost
ludicrously, deficient. The English knight, to whom the sisterhood were
well known, felt also inclined to smile at this conversation.

"I acquit," he said, "the pious sisterhood of charming, otherwise than
by their kind wishes, and attention to the wants of the suffering
stranger."

"Sister Beatrice," continued the father, resuming his gravity, "is
indeed blessed with a winning gift of making comfits and syllabubs;
but, on minute enquiry, I do not find that the youth has tasted any of
them. Neither is sister Ursula so hard-favoured by nature, as from the
effects of an accident; but your honour knows that when a woman is
ugly, the men do not trouble themselves about the cause of her hard
favour. I will go, with your leave, and see in what state the youth now
is, and summon him, before you."

"I request you to do so, father, for the affair is instant: and I
earnestly advise you to watch, in the closest manner, this Augustine's
behaviour: you cannot be too particular. I will wait your return, and
either carry the boy to the castle, or leave him here, as circumstances
may seem to require."

The abbot bowed, promised his utmost exertions, and hobbled out of the
room to wait on the youth Augustine in his cell, anxious to favour, if
possible, the wishes of De Valence, whom he looked upon as rendered by
circumstances his military patron.

He remained long absent, and Sir Aymer began to be of opinion that the
delay was suspicious, when the abbot returned with perplexity and
discomposure in his countenance.

"I crave your pardon for keeping your worship waiting," said Jerome,
with much anxiety; "but I have myself been detained and vexed by
unnecessary formalities and scruples on the part of this peevish boy.
In the first place, hearing my foot approaching his bedroom, my youth,
instead of undoing the door, which would have been but proper respect
to my place, on the contrary draws a strong bolt on the inside; and
this fastening, forsooth, has been placed on his chamber by Ursula's
command, that his slumbers might be suitably respected. I intimated to
him as I best could, that he must attend you without delay, and prepare
to accompany you to the Castle of Douglas; but he would not answer a
single word, save recommending to me patience, to which I was fain to
have recourse, as well as your archer, whom I found standing sentinel
before the door of the cell, and contenting himself with the assurance
of the sisters that there was no other passage by which Augustine could
make his escape. At length the door opens, and my young master presents
himself fully arrayed for his journey. The truth is, I think some fresh
attack of his malady has affected the youth; he may perhaps be
disturbed with some touch of hypochondria, or black choler, a species
of dotage of the mind, which is sometimes found concomitant with and
symptomatic of this disorder; but he is at present composed, and if
your worship chooses to see him, he is at your command."

"Call him hither," said the knight. And a considerable space of time
again elapsed ere the eloquence of the abbot, half chiding and half
soothing, prevailed on the lady, in her adopted character, to approach,
the parlour, in which at last she made her appearance, with a
countenance on which the marks of tears might still be discovered, and
a pettish sullenness, like that of a boy, or, with reverence, that of a
girl, who is determined upon taking her own way in any matter, and
equally resolved to give no reason for her doing so. Her hurried levee
had not prevented her attending closely to all the mufflings and
disguisings by which her pilgrim's dress was arranged, so as to alter
her appearance, and effectually disguise her sex. But as civility
prevented her wearing her large slouched hat, she necessarily exposed
her countenance more than in the open air; and though the knight beheld
a most lovely set of features, yet they were not such as were
inconsistent with the character she had adopted, and which she had
resolved upon maintaining to the last. She had, accordingly, mustered
up a degree of courage which was not natural to her, and which she
perhaps supported by hopes which her situation hardly admitted. So soon
as she found herself in the same apartment with De Valence, she assumed
a style of manners, bolder and more determined than she had hitherto
displayed.

"Your worship," she said, addressing him even before he spoke, "is a
knight of England, and possessed, doubtless, of the virtues which
become that noble station. I am an unfortunate lad, obliged, by reasons
which I am under the necessity of keeping secret, to travel in a
dangerous country, where I am suspected, without any just cause, of
becoming accessory to plots and conspiracies which are contrary to my
own interest, and which my very soul abhors; and which I might safely
abjure, by imprecating upon myself all the curses of our religion and
renouncing all its promises, if I were accessory to such designs, in
thought, word, or deed. Nevertheless, you, who will not believe my
solemn protestations, are about to proceed against me as a guilty
person, and in so doing I must warn you, Sir Knight, that you will
commit a great and cruel injustice."

"I shall endeavour to avoid that," said the knight, "by referring the
duty to Sir John de Walton, the governor, who will decide what is to be
done; in this case, my only duty will be to place you in his hands at
Douglas Castle."

"Must you do this?" said Augustine.

"Certainly," replied the knight, "or be answerable for neglecting my
duty."

"But if I become bound to answer your loss with a large sum of money, a
large tract of land"--

"No treasure, no land,--supposing such at your disposal," answered the
knight, "can atone for disgrace; and, besides, boy, how should I trust
to your warrant, were my avarice such as would induce me to listen to
such proposals?"

"I must then prepare to attend you instantly to the Castle of Douglas
and the presence of Sir John de Walton?" replied Augustine.

"Young man," answered De Valence, "there is no remedy, since if you
delay me longer, I must carry you thither by force."

"What will be the consequence to my father?" said the youth.

"That," replied the knight, "will depend exactly on the nature of your
confession and his; something you both have to say, as is evident from
the terms of the letter Sir John de Walton conveyed to you; and I
assure you, you were better to speak it out at once than to risk the
consequences of more delay. I can admit of no more trifling; and,
believe me, that your fate will be entirely ruled by your own frankness
and candour."

"I must prepare, then, to travel at your command," said the youth. "But
this cruel disease still hangs around me, and Abbot Jerome, whose
leech-craft is famous, will himself assure you that I cannot travel
without danger of my life; and that while I was residing in this
convent, I declined every opportunity of exercise which was offered me
by the kindness of the garrison at Hazelside, lest I might by mishap
bring the contagion among your men."

"The youth says right," said the abbot; "the archers and men-at-arms
have more than once sent to invite this lad to join in some of their
military games, or to amuse them, perhaps, with some of his minstrelsy;
but he has uniformly declined doing so; and, according to my belief, it
is the effects of this disorder which have prevented his accepting an
indulgence so natural to his age, and in so dull a place as the convent
of Saint Bride must needs seem to a youth bred up in the world."

"Do you then hold, reverend father," said Sir Aymer, "that there is
real danger in carrying this youth to the castle to-night, as I
proposed?"

"I conceive such danger," replied the abbot, "to exist, not only as it
may occasion the relapse of the poor youth himself, but as particularly
likely, no preparations having been made, to introduce the infection
among your honourable garrison; for it is in these relapses, more than
in the first violence of the malady, that it has been found most
contagious."

"Then," said the knight, "you must be content, my friend, to give a
share of your room to an archer, by way of sentinel."

"I cannot object," said Augustine, "provided my unfortunate vicinity
does not endanger the health of the poor soldier."

"He will be as ready to do his duty," said the abbot, "without the door
of the apartment as within it; and if the youth should sleep soundly,
which the presence of a guard in his chamber might prevent, he is the
more likely to answer your purpose on the morrow."

"Let it be so," said Sir Aymer; "so you are sure that you do not
minister any facility of escape."'

"The apartment," said the monk, "hath no other entrance than that which
is guarded by the archer; but, to content you, I shall secure the door
in your presence."

"So be it, then," said the Knight of Valence; "this done, I myself will
lie down without doffing my mail-shirt, and snatch a sleep till the
ruddy dawn calls me again to duty, when you, Augustine, will hold
yourself ready to attend me to our Castle of Douglas."

The bells of the convent summoned the inhabitants and inmates of Saint
Bride to morning prayers at the first peep of day. When this duty was
over, the knight demanded his prisoner. The abbot marshalled him to the
door of Augustine's chamber. The sentinel who was stationed there,
armed with a brown-bill, or species of partisan, reported that he had
heard no motion in the apartment during the whole night. The abbot
tapped at the door, but received no answer. He knocked again louder,
but the silence was unbroken from within.

"What means this?" said the reverend ruler of the convent of Saint
Bride; "my young patient has certainly fallen into a syncope or swoon!"

"I wish, Father Abbot," said the knight, "that he may not have made his
escape instead, an accident which both you and I may be required to
answer, since, according to our strict duty, we ought to have kept
sight of him, and detained him in close custody until daybreak."

"I trust your worship," said the abbot, "only anticipates a misfortune
which I cannot think possible."

"We shall speedily see," said the knight; and raising his voice, he
called aloud, so as to be heard within, "Bring crow-bars and levers,
and burst me that door into splinters without an instant's delay."

The loudness of his voice, and the stern tone in which he spoke, soon
brought around him the brethren of the house, and two or three soldiers
of his own party, who were already busy in caparisoning their horses.
The displeasure of the young knight was manifested by his flushed
features, and the abrupt manner in which he again repeated his commands
for breaking open the door. This was speedily performed, though it
required the application of considerable strength, and as the shattered
remains fell crashing into the apartment, De Valence sprung, and the
abbot hobbled, into the cell of the prisoner, which, to the fulfilment
of their worst suspicions, they found empty.




CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH.

     Where is he? Has the deep earth swallow'd him?
     Or hath he melted like some airy phantom
     That shuns the approach of morn and the young sun?
     Or hath he wrapt him in Cimmerian darkness,
     And pass'd beyond the circuit of the sight
     With things of the night's shadows?
                                        ANONYMOUS.


The disappearance of the youth, whose disguise and whose fate have, we
hope, inclined our readers to take some interest in him, will require
some explanation ere we proceed with the other personages of the story,
and we shall set about giving it accordingly.

When Augustine was consigned to his cell for the second time on the
preceding evening, both the monk and the young Knight of Valence had
seen the key turned upon him, and had heard him secure the door in the
inside with the bolt which had been put on at his request by sister
Ursula, in whose affections the youth of Augustine, his extreme
handsomeness, and, above all, his indisposition of body and his
melancholy of mind, had gained him considerable interest.

So soon, accordingly, as Augustine re-entered his apartment, he was
greeted in a whisper by the sister, who, during the interval of his
absence, had contrived to slip into the cell, and having tappiced
herself behind the little bed, came out with great appearance of joy,
to greet the return of the youth. The number of little attentions, the
disposal of holly boughs, and such other evergreens as the season
permitted, showed the anxiety of the holy sisters to decorate the
chamber of their guest, and the greetings of sister Ursula expressed
the same friendly interest, at the same time intimating that she was
already in some degree in possession of the stranger's mystery.

As Augustine and the holy sister were busied in exchange of confidence,
the extraordinary difference between, their countenances and their
persons must have struck any one who might have been accidentally a
witness of their interview. The dark pilgrim's robe of the disguised
female was not a stronger contrast to the white woollen garment worn by
the votaress of Saint Bride, than the visage of the nun, seamed with
many a ghastly scar, and the light of one of her eyes extinguished for
ever, causing it to roll a sightless luminary in her head, was to the
beautiful countenance of Augustine, now bent with a confidential, and
even affectionate look, upon the extraordinary features of her
companion.

"You know," said the supposed Augustine, "the principal part of my
story; can you, or will you, lend me your assistance? If not, my
dearest sister, you must consent to witness my death, rather than my
shame. Yes, sister Ursula, I will not be pointed at by the finger of
scorn, as the thoughtless maiden who sacrificed so much for a young
man, of whose attachment she was not so well assured as she ought to
have been. I will not be dragged before De Walton, for the purpose of
being compelled, by threats of torture, to declare myself the female in
honour of whom he holds the Dangerous Castle. No doubt, he might be
glad to give his hand in wedlock to a damsel whose dowry is so ample;
but who can tell whether he will regard me with that respect which
every woman would wish to command, or pardon that boldness of which I
have been guilty, even though its consequences have been in his own
favour?"

"Nay, my darling daughter," answered the nun, "comfort yourself; for in
all I can aid you, be assured I will. My means are somewhat more than
my present situation may express, and, be assured, they shall be tried
to the uttermost. Methinks, I still hear that lay which you sung to the
other sisters and myself, although I alone, touched by feelings kindred
to yours, had the address to comprehend that it told your own tale."

"I am yet surprised," said Augustine, speaking beneath her breath, "how
I had the boldness to sing in your ears the lay, which, in fact, was
the history of my disgrace."

"Alas! that you will say so," returned the nun; "there was not a word
but what resembled those tales of love and of high-spirited daring
which the best minstrels love to celebrate, and the noblest knights and
maidens weep at once and smile to hear. The Lady Augusta of Berkely, a
great heiress, according to the world, both in land and movable goods,
becomes the King's ward by the death of her parents; and thus is on the
point of being given away in marriage to a minion of the King of
England, whom in these Scottish valleys, we scruple not to call a
peremptory tyrant."

"I must not say so, my sister," said the pilgrim; "and yet, true it is,
that the cousin of the obscure parasite Gaviston, on whom the king
wished to confer my poor hand, was neither by birth, merit, nor
circumstance, worthy of such an alliance. Meantime, I heard of the fame
of Sir John de Walton; and I heard of it not with the less interest
that his feats of chivalry were said to adorn a knight, who, rich in
everything else, was poor in worldly goods, and in the smiles of
fortune. I saw this Sir John de Walton, and I acknowledge that a
thought, which had already intruded itself on my imagination, became,
after this interview, by frequent recurrence, more familiar, and more
welcome to me. Methought that the daughter of a powerful English
family, if she could give away with her hand such wealth as the world
spoke of, would more justly and honourably bestow it in remedying the
errors of fortune in regard to a gallant knight like De Walton, than in
patching the revenues of a beggarly Frenchman, whose only merit was in
being the kinsman of a man who was very generally detested by the whole
kingdom of England, excepting the infatuated monarch himself."

"Nobly designed, my daughter," said the nun; "what more worthy of a
noble heart, possessing riches, beauty, birth, and rank, than to confer
them all upon indigent and chivalrous merit?"

"Such, dearest sister, was my intention," replied Augustine; "but I
have, perhaps, scarce sufficiently explained the manner in which I
meant to proceed. By the advice of a minstrel of our house, the same
who is now prisoner at Douglas, I caused exhibit a large feast upon
Christmas eve, and sent invitations abroad to the young knights of
noble name who were known to spend their leisure in quest of arms and
adventures. When the tables were drawn, and the feast concluded,
Bertram, as had been before devised, was called upon to take his harp.
He sung, receiving from all who were present the attention due to a
minstrel of so much fame. The theme which he chose, was the frequent
capture of this Douglas Castle, or, as the poet termed it, Castle
Dangerous. 'Where are the champions of the renowned Edward the First,'
said the minstrel, 'when the realm of England cannot furnish a man
brave enough, or sufficiently expert in the wars, to defend a miserable
hamlet of the North against the Scottish rebels, who have vowed to
retake it over our soldiers' heads ere the year rolls to an end? Where
are the noble ladies, whose smiles used to give countenance to the
Knights of Saint George's Cross? Alas! the spirit of love and of
chivalry is alike dead amongst us--our knights are limited to petty
enterprises--and our noblest heiresses are given as prizes to
strangers, as if their own country had no one to deserve them.'--Here
stopt the harp; and I shame to say, that I myself, as if moved to
enthusiasm by the song of the minstrel, arose, and taking from my neck
the chain of gold which supported a crucifix of special sanctity, I
made my vow, always under the King's permission, that I would give my
hand, and the inheritance of my fathers, to the good knight, being of
noble birth and lineage, who should keep the Castle of Douglas in the
King of England's name, for a year and a day. I sat down, my dearest
sister, deafened with the jubilee in which my guests expressed their
applause of my supposed patriotism. Yet some degree of pause took place
amidst the young knights, who might reasonably have been supposed ready
to embrace this offer, although at the risk of being encumbered with
Augusta of Berkely."

"Shame on the man," said sister Ursula, "who should think so! Put your
beauty alone, my dearest, into consideration, and a true knight ought
to have embraced the dangers of twenty Castles of Douglas, rather than
let such an invaluable opportunity of gaining your favour be lost."

"It may be that some in reality thought so," said the pilgrim; "but it
was supposed that the king's favour might be lost by those who seemed
too anxious to thwart his royal purpose upon his ward's hand. At any
rate, greatly to my joy, the only person who availed himself of the
offer I had made was Sir John de Walton; and as his acceptance of it
was guarded by a clause, saving and reserving the king's approbation, I
hope he has not suffered any diminution of Edward's favour."

"Assure yourself, noble and high-spirited young lady," replied the nun,
"that there is no fear of thy generous devotion hurting thy lover with
the King of England. Something we hear concerning worldly passages,
even in this remote nook of Saint Bride's cloister; and the report goes
among the English soldiers that their king was indeed offended at your
putting your will in opposition to his own; yet, on the other hand,
this preferred lover, Sir John de Walton, was a man of such extensive
fame, and your offer was so much in the character of better but not
forgotten times, that even a king could not at the beginning of a long
and stubborn war deprive an errant cavalier of his bride, if she should
be duly won by his sword and lance."

"Ah! dearest sister Ursula!" sighed the disguised pilgrim, "but, on the
other hand, how much time must pass by in the siege, by defeating which
that suit must needs be advanced? While I sat in my lonely castle,
tidings came to astound me with the numerous, or rather the constant
dangers, with which my lover was surrounded, until at length, in a
moment I think of madness, I resolved to set out in this masculine
disguise; and having myself with my own eyes seen in what situation I
had placed my knight, I determined to take such measures in respect to
shortening the term of his trial, or otherwise, as a sight of Douglas
Castle, and--why should I deny it?--of Sir John de Walton, might
suggest. Perhaps you, my dearest sister, may not so well understand my
being tempted into flinching from the resolution which I had laid down
for my own honour, and that of my lover; but consider, that my
resolution was the consequence of a moment of excitation, and that the
course which I adopted was the conclusion of a long, wasting, sickening
state of uncertainty, the effect of which was to weaken the nerves
which were once highly strung with love of my country, as I thought;
but in reality, alas! with fond and anxious feelings of a more selfish
description."

"Alas!" said sister Ursula, evincing the strongest symptoms of interest
and compassion, "am I the person, dearest child, whom you suspect of
insensibility to the distresses which are the fruit of true love? Do
you suppose that the air which is breathed within these walls has the
property upon the female heart, of such marvellous fountains as they
say change into stone the substances which are immersed into their
waters? Hear my tale, and judge if it can be thus with one who
possesses my causes of grief. And do not fear for loss of time; we must
let our neighbours at Hazelside be settled for the evening, ere I
furnish you with the means of escape; and you must have a trusty guide,
for whose fidelity I will be responsible, to direct your path through
these woods, and protect you in case of any danger, too likely to occur
in these troublesome times. It will thus be nigh an hour ere you
depart; and sure I am that in no manner can you spend the time better
than in listening to distresses too similar to your own, and flowing
from the source of disappointed affection which you must needs
sympathize with."

The distresses of the Lady Augusta did not prevent her being in some
degree affected, almost ludicrously, with the singular contrast between
the hideous countenance of this victim of the tender passion, and the
cause to which she imputed her sorrows; but it was not a moment for
giving way to a sense of the ridiculous, which would have been in the
highest degree offensive to the sister of Saint Bride, whose good-will
she had so many reasons to conciliate. She readily, therefore,
succeeded in preparing herself to listen to the votary--with an
appearance of sympathy, which might reward that which she had herself
experienced at the hands of sister Ursula; while the unfortunate
recluse, with an agitation which made her ugliness still more
conspicuous, narrated, nearly in a whisper, the following
circumstances:--

"My misfortunes commenced long before I was called sister Ursula, or
secluded as a votaress within these walls. My father was a noble
Norman, who, like many of his countrymen, sought and found fortune at
the court of the King of Scotland. He was endowed with the sheriffdom
of this county, and Maurice de Hattely, or Hautlieu, was numbered among
the wealthy and powerful barons of Scotland. Wherefore should I deny
it, that the daughter of this baron, then called Margaret de Hautlieu,
was also distinguished among the great and fair of the land? It can be
no censurable vanity which provokes me to speak the truth, and unless I
tell it myself, you could hardly suspect what a resemblance I once bore
even to the lovely Lady Augusta of Berkely. About this time broke out
those unfortunate feuds of Bruce and Baliol, which have been so long
the curse of this country. My father, determined in his choice of party
by the arguments of his wealthy kinsmen at the court of Edward,
embraced with passion the faction of the English interest, and became
one of the keenest partisans, at first of John Baliol, and afterwards
of the English monarch. None among the Anglocised-Scottish, as his
party was called, were so zealous as he for the red cross, and no one
was more detested by his countrymen who followed the national standard
of Saint Andrew and the patriot Wallace. Among those soldiers of the
soil, Malcolm Fleming of Biggar was one of the most distinguished by
his noble birth, his high acquirements, and his fame in chivalry. I saw
him; and the ghastly spectre who now addresses you must not be ashamed
to say, that she loved, and was beloved by, one of the handsomest
youths in Scotland. Our attachment was discovered to my father almost
ere we had owned it to each other, and he was furious both against my
lover and myself; he placed me under the charge of a religious woman of
this rule, and I was immured within the house of Saint Bride, where my
father shamed not to announce he would cause me to take the veil by
force, unless I agreed to wed a youth bred at the English court, his
nephew; and, as Heaven had granted him no son, the heir, as he had
resolved, of the house of Hautlieu. I was not long in making my
election. I protested that death should be my choice, rather than any
other husband excepting Malcolm Fleming. Neither was my lover less
faithful; he found means to communicate to me a particular night on
which he proposed to attempt to storm the nunnery of Saint Bride, and
carry me from hence to freedom and the greenwood, of which Wallace was
generally called the king. In an evil hour--an hour I think of
infatuation and witchery--I suffered the abbess to wheedle the secret
out of me, which I might have been sensible would appear more horribly
flagitious to her than to any other woman that breathed; but I had not
taken the vows, and I thought Wallace and Fleming had the same charms
for every body as for me, and the artful woman gave me reason to
believe that her loyalty to Bruce was without a flaw of suspicion, and
she took part in a plot of which my freedom was the object. The abbess
engaged to have the English guards removed to a distance, and in
appearance the troops were withdrawn. Accordingly, in the middle of the
night appointed, the window of my cell, which was two stories from the
ground, was opened without noise; and never were my eyes more gladdened
than, as ready disguised and arrayed for flight, even in a horseman's
dress, like yourself, fairest. Lady Augusta, I saw Malcolm Fleming
spring into the apartment. He rushed towards me; but at the same time
my father with ten of his strongest men filled the room, and cried
their war-cry of Baliol. Blows were instantly dealt on every side. A
form like a giant, however, appeared in the midst of the tumult, and
distinguished himself, even to my half-giddy eye, by the ease with
which he bore down and dispersed those who fought against our freedom.
My father alone offered an opposition which threatened to prove fatal
to him; for Wallace, it was said, could foil any two martial champions
that ever drew sword. Brushing from him the armed men, as a lady would
drive away with her fan a swarm of troublesome flies, he secured me in
one arm, used his other for our mutual protection, and I found myself
in the act of being borne in safety down the ladder by which my
deliverers had ascended from without,--but an evil fate awaited this
attempt.

"My father, whom the Champion of Scotland had spared for my sake, or
rather for Fleming's, gained by his victor's compassion and lenity a
fearful advantage, and made a remorseless use of it. Having only his
left hand to oppose to the maniac attempts of my father, even the
strength of Wallace could not prevent the assailant, with all the
energy of desperation, from throwing down the ladder, on which his
daughter was perched like a dove in the grasp of an eagle. The champion
saw our danger, and exerting his inimitable strength and agility,
cleared himself and me from the ladder, and leaped free of the moat of
the convent, into which we must otherwise have been precipitated. The
Champion of Scotland was saved in the desperate attempt, but I who fell
among a heap of stones and rubbish, I the disobedient daughter,
wellnigh the apostate vestal, waked only from a long bed of sickness,
to find myself the disfigured wretch, which you now see me. I then
learned that Malcolm had escaped from the fray, and shortly after I
heard, with feelings less keen perhaps than they ought to have been,
that my father was slain in one of the endless battles which took place
between the contending factions. If he had lived, I might have
submitted to the completion of my fate; but since he was no more, I
felt that it would be a preferable lot to be a beggar in the streets of
a Scottish village, than, an abbess in this miserable house of Saint
Bride; nor was even that poor object of ambition, on which my father
used to expatiate when desirous of persuading me to enter the monastic
state by milder means than throwing me off the battlements, long open
to me. The old abbess died of a cold caught the evening of the fray;
and the place, which might have been kept open until I was capable of
filling it, was disposed of otherwise, when the English thought fit to
reform, as they termed it, the discipline of the house; and instead of
electing a new abbess, sent hither two or three friendly monks, who
have now the absolute government of the community, and wield it
entirely according to the pleasure of the English. But I, for one, who
have had the honour to be supported by the arms of the Champion of my
country, will not remain here to be commanded by this Abbot Jerome. I
will go forth, nor do I fear to find relations and friends, who will
provide a more fitting place of refuge for Margaret de Hautlieu than
the convent of Saint Bride; you, too, dearest lady, shall obtain your
freedom, and it will be well to leave such information as will make Sir
John de Walton aware of the devotion with which his happy fate has
inspired you."

"It is not, then, your own intention," said the Lady Augusta, "to
return into the world again, and you are about to renounce the lover,
in a union with whom you and he once saw your joint happiness?"

"It is a question, my dearest child," said sister Ursula, "which I dare
not ask myself, and to which I am absolutely uncertain what answer I
should return. I have not taken the final and irrevocable vows; I have
done nothing to alter my situation with regard to Malcolm Fleming. He
also, by the vows plighted in the Chancery of Heaven, is my affianced
bridegroom, nor am I conscious that I less deserve his faith, in any
respect now, than at the moment when it was pledged to me; but, I
confess, dearest lady, that rumours have reached me, which sting me to
the quick; the reports of my wounds and scars are said to have
estranged the knight of my choice. I am now, indeed, poor," she added,
with a sigh, "and I am no longer possessed of those personal charms,
which they say attract the love, and fix the fidelity, of the other
sex. I teach myself, therefore, to think, in my moments of settled
resolution, that all betwixt me and Malcolm Fleming is at an end,
saving good wishes on the part of both towards the other; and yet there
is a sensation in my bosom which whispers, in spite of my reason, that
if I absolutely believed that which I now say, there would be no object
on earth worthy my living for in order to attain it. This insinuating
prepossession whispers, to my secret soul, and in very opposition to my
reason and understanding, that Malcolm Fleming, who could pledge his
all upon the service of his country, is incapable of nourishing the
versatile affection of an ordinary, a coarse, or a venal character.
Methinks, were the difference upon his part instead of mine, he would
not lose his interest in my eyes, because he was seamed with honourable
scars, obtained in asserting the freedom of his choice, but that such
wounds would, in my opinion, add to his merit, whatever they took away
from his personal comeliness. Ideas rise on my soul, as if Malcolm and
Margaret might yet be to each other all that their affections once
anticipated with so much security, and that a change, which took
nothing from the honour and virtue of the beloved person, must rather
add to, than diminish, the charms of the union. Look at me, dearest
Lady Augusta!--look me--if you have courage--full in the face, and tell
me whether I do not rave when my fancy is thus converting mere
possibilities into that which is natural and probable."

The Lady of Berkely, conscious of the necessity, raised her eyes on the
unfortunate nun, afraid of losing her own chance of deliverance by the
mode in which she should conduct herself in this crisis; yet not
willing at the same time to flatter the unfortunate Ursula, with
suggesting ideas for which her own sense told her she could hardly find
any rational grounds. But her imagination, stored with the minstrelsy
of the time, brought back to her recollection the Loathly Lady in "The
marriage of Sir Gawain," and she conducted her reply in the following
manner:--

"You ask me, my dear Lady Margaret, a trying question, which it would
be unfriendly to answer otherwise than sincerely, and most cruel to
answer with too much rashness. It is true, that what is called beauty,
is the first quality on which we of the weaker sex learn to set a
value; we are flattered by the imputation of personal charms, whether
we actually possess them or not; and no doubt we learn to place upon
them a great deal more consequence than in reality is found to belong
to them. Women, however, even, such as are held by their own sex, and
perhaps in secret by themselves, as devoid of all pretensions to
beauty, have been known to become, from their understanding, their
talents, or their accomplishments, the undoubted objects of the warmest
attachment. Wherefore then should you, in the mere rashness of your
apprehension, deem it impossible that your Malcolm Fleming should be
made of that porcelain clay of the earth, which despises the passing
captivations of outward form in comparison to the charms of true
affection, and the excellence of talents and virtue?"

The nun pressed her companion's hand to her bosom, and answered her
with a deep sigh.

"I fear," she said, "you flatter me; and yet in a crisis like this, it
does one good to be flattered, even as cordials, otherwise dangerous to
the constitution, are wisely given to support a patient through a
paroxysm of agony, and enable him to endure at least what they cannot
cure. Answer only one question, and it will be time to drop this
conversation. Could you, sweet lady--you upon whom fortune has bestowed
so many charms--could any argument make you patient under the
irretrievable loss of your personal advantages, with the concomitant
loss, as in my case is most probable, of that lover for whom you have
already done so much?"

The English lady cast her eyes again on her friend, and could not help
shuddering a little at the thought of her own beautiful countenance
being exchanged for the seamed and scarred features of the Lady of
Hautlieu, irregularly lighted by the beams of a single eye.

"Believe me," she said, looking solemnly upwards, "that even in the
case which you suppose, I would not sorrow so much for myself, as I
would for the poor-spirited thoughts of the lover who could leave me
because those transitory charms (which must in any case erelong take
their departure) had fled ere yet the bridal day. It is, however,
concealed by the decrees of Providence, in what manner, or to what
extent, other persons, with whose disposition we are not fully
acquainted, may be affected by such changes. I can only assure you that
my hopes go with yours, and that there is no difficulty which shall
remain in your path in future, if it is in my power to remove
it.--Hark!"--

"It is the signal of our freedom," replied Ursula, giving attention to
something resembling the whoop of the night-owl. "We must prepare to
leave the convent in a few minutes. Have you anything to take with you?"

"Nothing," answered the Lady of Berkely, "except the few valuables,
which I scarce know why I brought with me on my flight hither. This
scroll, which I shall leave behind, gives my faithful minstrel
permission to save himself, by confessing to Sir John de Walton who the
person really is whom he has had within his reach."

"It is strange," said the novice of Saint Bride, "through what
extraordinary labyrinths this Love, this Will-of-the-Wisp, guides his
votaries, Take heed as you descend; this trap-door, carefully
concealed, curiously jointed and oiled, leads to a secret postern,
where I conceive the horses already wait, which will enable us speedily
to bid adieu to Saint Bride's--Heaven's blessing on her, and on her
convent! We can have no advantage from any light, until we are in the
open air."

During this time, sister Ursula, to give her for the last time her
conventual name, exchanged her stole, or loose upper garment, for the
more succinct cloak and hood of a horseman. She led the way through
divers passages, studiously complicated, until the Lady of Berkely,
with throbbing heart, stood in the pale and doubtful moonlight, which
was shining with grey uncertainty upon the walls of the ancient
building. The imitation of an owlet's cry directed them to a
neighbouring large elm, and on approaching it, they were aware of three
horses, held by one, concerning whom they could only see that he was
tall, strong, and accoutred in the dress of a man-at-arms.

"The sooner," he said, "we are gone from this place, Lady Margaret, it
is so much the better. You have only to direct the course which we
shall hold."

Lady Margaret's answer was given beneath her breath; and replied to
with a caution from the guide to ride slowly and silently for the first
quarter of an hour, by which time inhabited places would be left at a
distance.




CHAPTER THE TWELFTH.


Great was the astonishment of the young Knight of Valence and the
reverend Father Jerome, when, upon breaking into the cell, they
discovered the youthful pilgrim's absence; and, from the garments which
were left, saw every reason to think that the one-eyed novice, sister
Ursula, had accompanied him in his escape from custody. A thousand
thoughts thronged upon Sir Aymer, how shamefully he had suffered
himself to be outwitted by the artifices of a boy and of a novice. His
reverend companion in error felt no less contrition for having
recommended to the knight a mild exercise of his authority. Father
Jerome had obtained his preferment as abbot upon the faith of his zeal
for the cause of the English monarch, with the affected interest in
which he was at a loss to reconcile his proceedings of the last night.
A hurried enquiry took place, from which little could be learned, save
that the young pilgrim had most certainly gone off with the Lady
Margaret de Hautlieu, an incident at which the females of the convent
expressed surprise, mingled with a great deal of horror; while that of
the males, whom the news soon reached, was qualified with a degree of
wonder, which seemed to be founded upon the very different personal
appearance of the two fugitives.

"Sacred Virgin," said a nun, "who could have conceived the hopeful
votaress, sister Ursula, so lately drowned in tears for her father's
untimely fate, capable of eloping with a boy scarce fourteen years old!"

"And, holy Saint Bride!" said the Abbot Jerome, "what could have made
so handsome a young man lend his arm to assist such a nightmare as
sister Ursula, in the commission of so great an enormity? Certainly he
can neither plead temptation nor seduction, but must have gone, as the
worldly phrase is,--to the devil with a dish-clout."

"I must disperse the soldiers to pursue the fugitives," said De
Valence, "unless this letter, which the pilgrim must have left behind
him, shall contain some explanations respecting our mysterious
prisoner."

After viewing the contents with some surprise, he read aloud,--"The
undersigned, late residing in the house of Saint Bride, do you, father
Jerome, the abbot of said house, to know, that finding you were
disposed to treat me as a prisoner and a spy, in the sanctuary to which
you had received me as a distressed person, I have resolved to use my
natural liberty, with which you have no right to interfere, and
therefore have withdrawn myself from your abbacy. Moreover, finding
that the novice called in your convent sister Ursula (who hath, by
monastic rule and discipline, a fair title to return to the world
unless she is pleased, after a year's novitiate, to profess herself
sister of your order) is determined to use such privilege, I joyfully
take the opportunity of her company in this her lawful resolution, as
being what is in conformity to the law of God, and the precepts of
Saint Bride, which gave you no authority to detain any person in your
convent by force, who hath not taken upon her irrevocably the vows of
the order.

"To you, Sir John de Walton, and Sir Aymer de Valence, knights of
England, commanding the garrison of Douglas Dale, I have only to say,
that you have acted and are acting against me under a mystery, the
solution of which is comprehended in a secret known only to my faithful
minstrel, Bertram of the many Lays, as whose son I have found it
convenient to pass myself. But as I cannot at this time prevail upon
myself personally to discover a secret which cannot well be unfolded
without feelings of shame, I not only give permission to the said
Bertram the minstrel, but I charge and command him that he tell to you
the purpose with which I came originally to the Castle of Douglas. When
this is discovered, it will only remain to express my feelings towards
the two knights, in return for the pain and agony of mind which their
violence and threats of further severities have occasioned me.

"And first respecting Sir Aymer de Valence, I freely and willingly
forgive him for having been involved in a mistake to which I myself led
the way, and I shall at all times be happy to meet with him as an
acquaintance, and never to think farther of his part in these few days'
history, saving as matter of mirth and ridicule.

"But respecting Sir John de Walton, I must request of him to consider
whether his conduct towards me, standing as we at present do towards
each, other, is such as he himself ought to forget or I ought to
forgive; and I trust he will understand me when I tell him, that all
former connexions must henceforth be at an end between him and the
supposed "AUGUSTINE."

"This is madness," said the abbot, when he had read the letter,--"very
midsummer madness; not unfrequently an accompaniment of this
pestilential disease, and I should do well in requiring of those
soldiers who shall first apprehend this youth Augustine, that they
reduce his victuals immediately to water and bread, taking care that
the diet do not exceed in measure what is necessary to sustain nature;
nay, I should be warranted by the learned, did I recommend a sufficient
intermixture of flagellation with belts, stirrup-leathers, or
surcingles, and failing those, with riding-whips, switches, and the
like."

"Hush! my reverend father," said De Valence, "a light begins to break
in upon me. John de Walton, if my suspicions be true, would sooner
expose his own flesh to be hewn from his bones, than have this
Augustine's finger stung by a gnat. Instead of treating this youth as a
madman, I for my own part, will be contented to avow that I myself have
been bewitched and fascinated; and by my honour, if I send out my
attendants in quest of the fugitives, it shall be with the strict
charge, that, when apprehended, they treat them with all respect, and
protect them, if they object to return to this house, to any honourable
place of refuge which they may desire."

"I hope," said the abbot, looking strangely confused, "I shall be first
heard in behalf of the Church concerning this affair of an abducted
nun? You see yourself, Sir Knight, that this scapegrace of a minstrel
avouches neither repentance nor contrition at his share in a matter so
flagitious."

"You shall be secured an opportunity of being fully heard," replied the
knight, "if you shall find at last that you really desire one.
Meantime, I must back, without a moment's delay, to inform Sir John de
Walton of the turn which affairs have taken. Farewell, reverend father.
By my honour we may wish each other joy that we have escaped from a
troublesome charge, which brought as much terror with it as the
phantoms of a fearful dream, and is yet found capable of being
dispelled by a cure as simple as that of awakening the sleeper. But, by
Saint Bride! both churchmen and laymen are bound to sympathise with the
unfortunate Sir John de Walton. I tell thee, father, that if this
letter"--touching the missive with his finger--"is to be construed
literally, as far as respects him, he is the man most to be pitied
betwixt the brink of Solway and the place where we now stand. Suspend
thy curiosity, most worthy churchman, lest there should be more in this
matter than I myself see; so that, while thinking that I have lighted
on the true explanation, I may not have to acknowledge that I have been
again leading you into error. Sound to horse there! Ho?" he called out
from the window of the apartment; "and let the party I brought hither
prepare to scour the woods on their return."

"By my faith!" said Father Jerome, "I am right glad that this young
nut-cracker is going to leave me to my own meditation. I hate when a
young person pretends to understand whatever passes, while his betters
are obliged to confess that it is all a mystery to them. Such an
assumption is like that of the conceited fool, sister Ursula, who
pretended to read with a single eye a manuscript which I myself could
not find intelligible with the assistance of my spectacles."

This might not have quite pleased the young knight, nor was it one of
those truths which the abbot would have chosen to deliver in his
hearing. But the knight had shaken him by the hand, said adieu, and was
already at Hazelside, issuing particular orders to little troops of the
archers and others, and occasionally chiding Thomas Dickson, who, with
a degree of curiosity which the English knight was not very willing to
excuse, had been endeavouring to get some account of the occurrences of
the night.

"Peace, fellow!" he said, "and mind thine own business, being well
assured that the hour will come in which it will require all the
attention thou canst give, leaving others to take care of their own
affairs."

"If I am suspected of any thing," answered Dickson, in a tone rather
dogged and surly than otherwise, "methinks it were but fair to let me
know what accusation is brought against me. I need not tell you that
chivalry prescribes that a knight should not attack an enemy undefied."

"When you are a knight," answered Sir Aymer de Valence, "it will be
time enough for me to reckon with you upon the points of form due to
you by the laws of chivalry. Meanwhile, you had best let me know what
share you have had in playing off the martial phantom which sounded the
rebellious slogan of Douglas in the town of that name?"

"I know nothing of what you speak," answered the goodman of Hazelside.

"See then," said the knight, "that you do not engage yourself in the
affairs of other people, even if your conscience warrants that you are
in no danger from your own."

So saying, he rode off, not waiting any answer. The ideas which filled
his head were to the following purpose.

"I know not how it is, but one mist seems no sooner to clear away than.
we find ourselves engaged in another. I take it for granted that the
disguised damsel is no other than the goddess of Walton's private
idolatry, who has cost him and me so much trouble, and some certain,
degree of misunderstanding during these last weeks. By my honour! this
fair lady is right lavish in the pardon which she has so frankly
bestowed upon me, and if she is willing to be less complaisant to Sir
John de Walton, why then--And what then?--It surely does not infer that
she would receive me into that place in her affections, from which she
has just expelled De Walton? Nor, if she did, could I avail myself of a
change in favour of myself, at the expense of my friend and companion
in arms. It were a folly even to dream of a thing so improbable. But
with respect to the other business, it is worth serious consideration.
Yon sexton seems to have kept company with dead bodies, until he is
unfit for the society of the living; and as to that Dickson of
Hazelside, as they call him, there is no attempt against the English
during these endless wars, in which that man has not been concerned;
had my life depended upon it, I could not have prevented myself from
intimating my suspicions of him, let him take it as he lists." So
saying, the knight spurred his horse, and arriving at Douglas Castle
without farther adventure, demanded in a tone of greater cordiality
than he had of late used, whether he could be admitted to Sir John de
Walton, having something of consequence to report to him. He was
immediately ushered into an apartment, in which the governor was seated
at his solitary breakfast. Considering the terms upon which they had
lately stood, the governor of Douglas Dale was somewhat surprised at
the easy familiarity with which De Valence now approached him.

"Some uncommon news," said Sir John, rather gravely, "have brought me
the honour of Sir Aymer de Valence's company."

"It is," answered Sir Aymer, "what seems of high importance to your
interest, Sir John de Walton, and therefore I were to blame if I lost a
moment in communicating it."

"I shall be proud to profit by your intelligence," said Sir John de
Walton.

"And I too," said the young knight, "am both to lose the credit of
having penetrated a mystery which blinded Sir John de Walton. At the
same time, I do not wish to be thought capable of jesting with you,
which might be the case were I, from misapprehension, to give a false
key to this matter. With your permission, then, we will proceed thus:
We go together to the place of Bertram the minstrel's confinement. I
have in my possession a scroll from the young person who was intrusted
to the care of the Abbot Jerome; it is written in a delicate female
hand, and gives authority to the minstrel to declare the purpose which
brought them to this vale of Douglas."

"It must be as you say," said Sir John de Walton, "although can scarce
see occasion for adding so much form to a mystery which can be
expressed in such small compass."

Accordingly the two knights, the warder leading the way, proceeded to
the dungeon to which the minstrel had been removed.




CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH.


The doors of the stronghold being undone, displayed a dungeon such as
in those days held victims hopeless of escape, but in which the
ingenious knave of modern times would scarcely have deigned to remain
many hours. The huge rings by which the fetters were soldered together,
and attached to the human body, were, when examined minutely, found to
be clenched together by riveting so very thin, that when rubbed with
corrosive acid, or patiently ground with a bit of sandstone, the hold
of the fetters upon each other might easily be forced asunder, and the
purpose of them entirely frustrated. The locks also, large, and
apparently very strong, were so coarsely made, that an artist of small
ingenuity could easily contrive to get the better of their fastenings
upon the same principle. The daylight found its way to the subterranean
dungeon only at noon, and through a passage which was purposely made
tortuous, so as to exclude the rays of the sun, while it presented no
obstacle to wind or rain. The doctrine that a prisoner was to be
esteemed innocent until he should be found guilty by his peers, was not
understood in those days of brute force, and he was only accommodated
with a lamp or other alleviation of his misery, if his demeanour was
quiet, and he appeared disposed to give his jailor no trouble by
attempting to make his escape. Such a cell of confinement was that of
Bertram, whose moderation of temper and patience had nevertheless
procured for him such mitigations of his fate as the warder could
grant. He was permitted to carry into his cell the old book, in the
perusal of which he found an amusement of his solitude, together with
writing materials, and such other helps towards spending his time as
were consistent with his abode in the bosom of the rock, and the degree
of information with which his minstrel craft had possessed him. He
raised his head from the table as the knights entered, while the
governor observed to the young knight:--

"As you seem to think yourself possessed of the secret of this
prisoner, I leave it to you, Sir Aymer de Valence, to bring it to light
in the manner which you shall judge most expedient. If the man or his
son have suffered unnecessary hardship, it shall be my duty to make
amends--which, I suppose, can be no very important matter."

Bertram looked up, and fixed his eyes full upon the governor, but read
nothing in his looks which indicated his being better acquainted than
before with the secret of his imprisonment. Yet, upon turning his eye
towards Sir Aymer, his countenance evidently lighted up, and the glance
which passed between them was one of intelligence.

"You have my secret, then," said he, "and you know who it is that
passes under the name of Augustine?"

Sir Aymer exchanged with him a look of acquiescence; while the eyes of
the governor glancing wildly from the prisoner to the knight of
Valence, exclaimed,--

"Sir Aymer de Valence, as you are belted knight and Christian man, as
you have honour to preserve on earth, and a soul to rescue after death,
I charge you to tell me the meaning of this mystery! It may be that you
conceive, with truth, that you have subject of complaint against
me;--If so, I will satisfy you as a knight may."

The minstrel spoke at the same moment.

"I charge this knight," he said, "by his vow of chivalry, that he do
not divulge any secret belonging to a person of honour and of
character, unless he has positive assurance that it is done entirely by
that person's own consent."

"Let this note remove your scruples," said Sir Aymer, putting the
scroll into the hands of the minstrel; "and for you, Sir John de
Walton, far from retaining the least feeling of any misunderstanding
which may have existed between us, I am disposed entirely to bury it in
forgetfulness, as having arisen out of a series of mistakes which no
mortal could have comprehended. And do not be offended, my dear Sir
John, when I protest, on my knightly faith, that I pity the pain which
I think this scroll is likely to give you, and that if my utmost
efforts can be of the least service to you in unravelling this tangled
skein, I will contribute them with as much earnestness as ever I did
aught in my life. This faithful minstrel will now see that he can have
no difficulty in yielding up a secret, which I doubt not, but for the
writing I have just put into his hands, he would have continued to keep
with unshaken fidelity."

Sir Aymer now placed in De Walton's hand a note, in which he had, ere
he left Saint Bride's convent, signified his own interpretation, of the
mystery; and the governor had scarcely read the name it contained,
before the same name was pronounced aloud by Bertram, who, at the same
moment, handed to the governor the scroll which he had received from
the Knight of Valence.

The white plume which floated over the knight's cap of maintenance,
which was worn as a headpiece within doors, was not more pale in
complexion than was the knight himself at the unexpected and surprising
information, that the lady who was, in chivalrous phrase, empress of
hia thoughts, and commander of his actions, and to whom, even in less
fantastic times, he must have owed the deepest gratitude for the
generous election which she had made in his favour, was the same person
whom he had threatened with personal violence, and subjected to
hardships and affronts which he would not willingly have bestowed even
upon the meanest of her sex.

Yet Sir John de Walton seemed at first scarcely to comprehend the
numerous ill consequences which might probably follow this unhappy
complication of mistakes. He took the paper from the minstrel's hand,
and while his eye, assisted by the lamp, wandered over the characters
without apparently their conveying any distinct impression to his
understanding, De Valence even became alarmed that he was about to lose
his faculties.

"For Heaven's sake, sir," he said, "be a man, and support with manly
steadiness these unexpected occurrences--I would fain think they will
reach to nothing else--which the wit of man could not have prevented.
This fair lady, I would fain hope, cannot be much hurt or deeply
offended by a train of circumstances, the natural consequence of your
anxiety to discharge perfectly a duty upon which must depend the
accomplishment of all the hopes she had permitted you to entertain. In
God's name, rouse up, sir; let it not be said, that an apprehended
frown of a fair lady hath damped to such a degree the courage of the
boldest knight in England; be what men have called you, 'Walton the
Unwavering;' in Heaven's name, let us at least see that the lady is
indeed offended, before we conclude that she is irreconcilably so. To
whose fault are we to ascribe the source of all these errors? Surely,
with all due respect, to the caprice of the lady herself, which has
engendered such a nest of mistakes. Think of it as a man, and as a
soldier. Suppose that you yourself, or I, desirous of proving the
fidelity of our sentinels, or for any other reason, good or bad,
attempted to enter this Dangerous Castle of Douglas without giving the
password to the warders, would we be entitled to blame those upon duty,
if, not knowing our persons, they manfully refused us entrance, made us
prisoners, and mishandled us while resisting our attempt, in terms of
the orders which we ourselves had imposed upon them? What is there that
makes a difference between such a sentinel and yourself, John de
Walton, in this curious affair, which, by Heaven! would rather form a
gay subject for the minstrelsy of this excellent bard, than the theme
of a tragic lay? Come! look not thus, Sir John de Walton; be angry, if
you will, with the lady who has committed such a piece of folly, or
with me who have rode up and down nearly all night on a fool's errand,
and spoiled my best horse, in absolute uncertainty how I shall get
another till my uncle of Pembroke and I shall be reconciled; or,
lastly, if you desire to be totally absurd in your wrath, direct it
against this worthy minstrel on account of his rare fidelity, and
punish him for that for which he better deserves a chain of gold. Let
passion out, if you will; but chase this desponding gloom from the brow
of a man and a belted knight."

Sir John de Walton made an effort to speak, and succeeded with some
difficulty.

"Aymer de Valence," he said, "in irritating a madman you do but sport
with your own life;" and then remained silent.

"I am glad you can say so much," replied his friend; "for I was not
jesting when I said I would rather that you were at variance with me,
than that you laid the whole blame on yourself. It would be courteous,
I think, to set this minstrel instantly at liberty. Meantime, for his
lady's sake, I will entreat him, in all honour, to be our guest till
the Lady Augusta de Berkely shall do us the same honour, and to assist
us in our search after her place of retirement.--Good minstrel," he
continued, "you hear what I say, and you will not, I suppose, be
surprised, that in all honour and kind usage, you find yourself
detained for a short space in this Castle of Douglas?"

"You seem, Sir Knight," replied the minstrel, "not so much to keep your
eye upon the right of doing what you should, as to possess the might of
doing what you would. I must necessarily be guided by your advice,
since you have the power to make it a command."

"And I trust," continued De Valence, "that when your mistress and you
again meet, we shall have the benefit of your intercession for any
thing which we may have done to displeasure her, considering that the
purpose of our action was exactly the reverse."

"Let me," said Sir John de Walton, "say a single word. I will offer
thee a chain of gold, heavy enough to bear down the weight of these
shackles, as a sign of regret for having condemned thee to suffer so
many indignities."

"Enough said, Sir John," said De Valence; "let us promise no more till
this good minstrel shall see some sign of performance. Follow me this
way, and I will tell thee in private of other tidings, which it is
important that you should know."

So saying, he withdrew De Walton from the dungeon, and sending for the
old knight, Sir Philip de Montenay, already mentioned, who acted as
seneschal of the castle, he commanded that the minstrel should be
enlarged from the dungeon, well looked to in other respects, yet
prohibited, though with every mark of civility, from leaving the castle
without a trusty attendant.

"And now, Sir John de Walton," he said, "methinks you are a little
churlish in not ordering me some breakfast, after I have been all night
engaged in your affairs; and a cup of muscadel would, I think, be no
bad induction to a full consideration of this perplexed matter."

"Thou knowest," answered De Walton, "that thou mayest call for what
thou wilt, provided always thou tellest me, without loss of time, what
else thou knowest respecting the will of the lady, against whom we have
all sinned so grievously--and I, alas, beyond hope of forgiveness!"

"Trust me, I hope," said the Knight of Valence, "the good lady bears me
no malice, as indeed she has expressly renounced any ill-will against
me. The words, you see, are as plain as you yourself may read--'The
lady pardons poor Aymer de Valence, and willingly, for having been
involved in a mistake, to which she herself led the way; she herself
will at all times be happy to meet with him as an acquaintance, and
never to think farther of these few days' history, except as matter of
mirth and ridicule.' So it is expressly written and set down."

"Yes," replied Sir John de Walton, "but see you not that her offending
lover is expressly excluded from the amnesty granted to the lesser
offender? Mark you not the concluding paragraph?" He took the scroll
with a trembling hand, and read with a discomposed voice its closing
words. "It is even so: 'All former connexion must henceforth be at an
end between him and the supposed Augustine.' Explain to me how the
reading of these words is reconcilable to anything but their plain
sense of condemnation and forfeiture of contract, implying destruction
of the hopes of Sir John de Walton?"

"You are somewhat an older man than I, Sir Knight," answered De
Valence, "and I will grant, by far the wiser and more experienced; yet
I will uphold that there is no adopting the interpretation which you
seem to have affixed in your mind to this letter, without supposing the
preliminary, that the fair writer was distracted in her understanding,
--nay, never start, look wildly, or lay your hand on your sword, I do
not affirm this is the case. I say again, that no woman in her senses
would have pardoned a common acquaintance for his behaving to her with
unintentional disrespect and unkindness, during the currency of a
certain masquerade, and, at the same time, sternly and irrevocably
broke off with the lover to whom her troth was plighted, although his
error in joining in the offence was neither grosser nor more protracted
than that of the person indifferent to her love."

"Do not blaspheme," said Sir John do Walton; "and forgive me, if, in
justice to truth and to the angel whom I fear I have forfeited for
ever, I point out to you the difference which a maiden of dignity and
of feeling must make between an offence towards her, committed by an
ordinary acquaintance, and one of precisely the same kind offered by a
person who is bound by the most undeserved preference, by the most
generous benefits, and by every thing which can bind human feeling, to
think and reflect ere he becomes an actor in any case in which it is
possible for her to be concerned."

"Now, by mine honour," said Aymer de Valence, "I am glad to hear thee
make some attempt at reason, although it is but an unreasonable kind of
reason too, since its object is to destroy thine own hopes, and argue
away thine own chance of happiness; but if I have, in the progress of
this affair, borne me sometimes towards thee, as to give not only the
governor, but even the friend, some cause of displeasure, I will make
it up to thee now, John de Walton, by trying to convince thee in spite
of thine own perverse logic. But here comes the muscadel and the
breakfast; wilt thou take some refreshment;--or shall we go on without
the spirit of muscadel?"

"For Heaven's sake," replied De Walton, "do as thou wilt, so thou make
me clear of thy well-intended babble."

"Nay, thou shalt not brawl me out of my powers of argument," said De
Valence, laughing, and helping himself to a brimming cup of wine; "if
thou acknowledgest thyself conquered, I am contented to give the
victory to the inspiring strength of the jovial liquor."

"Do as thou listest," said De Walton, "but make an end of an argument
which thou canst not comprehend."

"I deny the charge," answered the younger knight, wiping his lips,
after having finished his draught; "and listen, Walton the Warlike, to
a chapter in the history of woman, in which thou art more unskilled
than I would wish thee to be. Thou canst not deny that, be it right or
wrong, the lady Augusta hath ventured more forward with you than is
usual upon the sea of affection; she boldly made thee her choice, while
thou wert as yet known to her only as a flower of English
chivalry,--faith, and I respect her for her frankness--but it was a
choice, which the more cold of her own sex might perhaps claim occasion
to term rash and precipitate.--Nay, be not, I pray thee, offended--I am
far from thinking or saying so; on the contrary, I will uphold with my
lance, her selection of John de Walton against the minions of a court,
to be a wise and generous choice, and her own behaviour as alike candid
and noble. But she herself is not unlikely to dread unjust
misconstruction; a fear of which may not improbably induce her, upon
any occasion, to seize some opportunity of showing an unwonted and
unusual rigour towards her lover, in order to balance her having
extended towards him, in the beginning of their intercourse, somewhat
of an unusual degree of frank encouragement. Nay, it might be easy for
her lover so far to take part against himself, by arguing as thou dost,
when out of thy senses, as to make it difficult for her to withdraw
from an argument which he himself was foolish enough to strengthen; and
thus, like a maiden too soon taken at her first nay-say, she shall
perhaps be allowed no opportunity of bearing herself according to her
real feelings, or retracting a sentence issued with consent of the
party whose hopes it destroys."

"I have heard thee, De Valence," answered the governor of Douglas Dale;
"nor is it difficult for me to admit, that these thy lessons may serve
as a chart to many a female heart, but not to that of Augusta de
Berkely. By my life, I say I would much sooner be deprived of the merit
of those few deeds of chivalry which thou sayest have procured for me
such enviable distinction, than I would act upon them with the
insolence, as if I said that my place in the lady's bosom was too
firmly fixed to be shaken even by the success of a worthier man, or by
my own gross failure in respect to the object of my attachment. No,
herself alone shall have power to persuade me that even goodness equal
to that of an interceding saint will restore me to the place in her
affections which I have most unworthily forfeited, by a stupidity only
to be compared to that of brutes."

"If you are so minded," said Aymer De Valence, "I have only one word
more--forgive me if I speak it peremptorily--the lady, as you say, and
say truly, must be the final arbitress in this question. My arguments
do not extend to insisting that you should claim her hand, whether she
herself will or no; but, to learn her determination, it is necessary
that you should find out where she is, of which I am unfortunately not
able to inform you."

"How! what mean you!" exclaimed the governor, who now only began to
comprehend the extent of his misfortune; "whither hath she fled? or
with whom?"

"She is fled, for what I know," said De Valence, "in search of a more
enterprising lover than one who is so willing to interpret every air of
frost as a killing blight to his hopes; perhaps she seeks the Black
Douglas, or some such hero of the Thistle, to reward with her lands,
her lordships, and beauty, those virtues of enterprise and courage, of
which John de Walton was at one time thought possessed. But, seriously,
events are passing around us of strange import. I saw enough last
night, on my way to Saint Bride's, to make me suspicious of every one.
I sent to you as a prisoner the old sexton of the church of Douglas. I
found him contumacious as to some enquiries which I thought it proper
to prosecute; but of this more at another time. The escape of this lady
adds greatly to the difficulties which encircle this devoted castle."

"Aymer de Valence," replied De Walton, in a solemn and animated tone,
"Douglas Castle shall be defended, as we have hitherto been able, with
the aid of heaven, to spread from its battlements the broad banner of
St. George. Come of me what lists during my life, I will die the
faithful lover of Augusta de Berkely, even although I no longer live as
her chosen knight. There are cloisters and hermitages"--

"Ay, marry are there," replied Sir Aymer; "and girdles of hemp,
moreover, and beads of oak; but all these we omit in our reckonings,
till we discover where the Lady Augusta is, and what she purposes to do
in this matter."

"You say well," replied De Walton; "let us hold counsel together by
what means we shall, if possible, discover the lady's too hasty
retreat, by which she has done me great wrong; I mean, if she supposed
her commands would not have been fully obeyed, had she honoured with
them the governor of Douglas Dale, or any who are under his command."

"Now," replied De Valence, "you again speak like a true son of
chivalry. With your permission I would summon this minstrel to our
presence. His fidelity to his mistress has been remarkable; and, as
matters stand now, we must take instant measures for tracing the place
of her retreat."




CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH.

     The way is long, my children, long and rough
     The moors are dreary, and the woods are dark;
     But he that creeps from cradle on to grave,
     Unskill'd save in the velvet course of fortune,
     Hath miss'd the discipline of noble hearts.
                                            OLD PLAY.


It was yet early in the day, when, after the Governor and De Valence
had again summoned Bertram to their councils, the garrison of Douglas
was mustered, and a number of small parties, in addition to those
already despatched by De Valence from Hazelside, were sent out to scour
the woods in pursuit of the fugitives, with strict injunctions to treat
them, if overtaken, with the utmost respect, and to obey their
commands, keeping an eye, however, on the place where they might take
refuge. To facilitate this result, some who were men of discretion were
intrusted with the secret who the supposed pilgrim and the fugitive nun
really were. The whole ground, whether forest or moorland, within many
miles of Douglas Castle, was covered and traversed by parties, whose
anxiety to detect the fugitives was equal to the reward for their safe
recovery, liberally offered by De Walton and De Valence. They spared
not, meantime, to make such enquiries in all directions as might bring
to light any machinations of the Scottish insurgents which might be on
foot in those wild districts, of which, as we have said before, De
Valence, in particular, entertained strong suspicions. Their
instructions were, in case of finding such, to proceed against the
persons engaged, by arrest and otherwise, in the most rigorous manner,
such as had been commanded by De Walton himself at the time when the
Black Douglas and his accomplices had been the principal objects of his
wakeful suspicions. These various detachments had greatly reduced the
strength of the garrison; yet, although numerous, alert, and despatched
in every direction, they had not the fortune either to fall on the
trace of the Lady of Berkely, or to encounter any party whatever of the
insurgent Scottish.

Meanwhile, our fugitives had, as we have seen, set out from the convent
of St. Bride under the guidance of a cavalier, of whom the Lady Augusta
knew nothing, save that he was to guide their steps in a direction
where they would not be exposed to the risk of being overtaken. At
length Margaret de Hautlieu herself spoke upon the subject.

"You have made no enquiry," she said, "Lady Augusta, whither you are
travelling, or under whose charge, although methinks it should much
concern you to know."

"Is it not enough for me to be aware," answered Lady Augusta, "that I
am travelling, kind sister, under the protection of one to whom you
yourself trust as to a friend; and why need I be anxious for any
farther assurance of my safety?"

"Simply," said Margaret, de Hautlieu, "because the persons with whom,
from national as well as personal circumstances, I stand connected, are
perhaps not exactly the protectors to whom you, lady, can with such
perfect safety intrust yourself."

"In what sense," said the Lady Augusta, "do you use these words?"

"Because," replied Margaret de Hautlieu, "the Bruce, the Douglas,
Malcolm Fleming, and others of that party, although they are incapable
of abusing such an advantage to any dishonourable purpose, might
nevertheless, under a strong temptation, consider you as an hostage
thrown into their hands by Providence, through whom they might meditate
the possibility of gaining some benefit to their dispersed and
dispirited party."

"They might make me," answered the Lady Augusta, "the subject of such a
treaty, when I was dead, but, believe me, never while I drew vital
breath. Believe me also that, with whatever pain, shame, or agony, I
would again deliver myself up to the power of De Walton, yes, I would
rather put myself in his hands--what do I say? _his_!--I would rather
surrender myself to the meanest archer of my native country, than
combine with its foes to work mischief to merry England---my own
England--that country which is the envy of every other country, and the
pride of all who can term themselves her natives!"

"I thought that your choice might prove so," said Lady Margaret; "and
since you have honoured me with your confidence, gladly would I provide
for your liberty by placing you as nearly in the situation which you
yourself desire, as my poor means have the power of accomplishing. In
half an hour we shall be in danger of being taken by the English
parties, which will be instantly dispersed in every direction in quest
of us. Now, take notice, lady, I know a place in which I can take
refuge with my friends and countrymen, those gallant Scots, who have
never even in this dishonoured age bent the knee to Baal. For their
honour, their nicety of honour, I could in other days have answered
with my own; but of late, I am bound to tell you, they have been put to
those trials by which the most generous affections may be soured, and
driven to a species of frenzy, the more wild that it is founded
originally on the noblest feelings. A person who feels himself deprived
of his natural birthright, denounced, exposed to confiscation and
death, because he avouches the rights of his king, the cause of his
country, ceases on his part to be nice or precise in estimating the
degree of retaliation which it is lawful for him to exercise in the
requital of such injuries; and, believe me, bitterly should I lament
having guided you into a situation which you might consider afflicting
or degrading."

"In a word then," said the English lady, "what is it you apprehend I am
like to suffer at the hands of your friends, whom I must be excused for
terming rebels?"

"If," said the sister Ursula, "_your_ friends, whom I should term
oppressors and tyrants, take our land and our lives, seize our castles,
and confiscate our property, you must confess, that the rough laws of
war indulge _mine_ with the privilege of retaliation. There can be no
fear, that such men, under any circumstances, would ever exercise
cruelty or insult upon a lady of your rank; but it is another thing to
calculate that they will abstain from such means of extorting advantage
from your captivity as are common in warfare. You would not, I think,
wish to be delivered up to the English, on consideration of Sir John de
Walton surrendering the Castle of Douglas to its natural lord; yet,
were you in the hands of the Bruce or Douglas, although I can answer
for your being treated with all the respect which they have the means
of showing, yet I own, their putting you at such a ransom might be by
no means unlikely."

"I would sooner die," said the Lady Berkely, "than have my name mixed
up in a treaty so disgraceful; and De Walton's reply to it would, I am
certain, be to strike the head from the messenger, and throw it from
the highest tower of Douglas Castle."

"Where, then, lady, would you now go," said sister Ursula, "were the
choice in your power?"

"To my own castle," answered Lady Augusta, "where, if necessary, I
could be defended even against the king himself, until I could place at
least my person under the protection of the Church."

"In that case," replied Margaret de Hautlieu, "my power of rendering
you assistance is only precarious, yet it comprehends a choice which I
will willingly submit to your decision, notwithstanding I thereby
subject the secrets of my friends to some risk of being discovered and
frustrated. But the confidence which you have placed in me, imposes on
me the necessity of committing to you a like trust. It rests with you,
whether you will proceed with me to the secret rendezvous of the
Douglas and his friends, which I may be blamed for making known, and
there take your chance of the reception which you may encounter, since
I cannot warrant you of any thing save honourable treatment, so far as
your person is concerned; or if you should think this too hazardous,
make the best of your way at once for the Border; in which last case I
will proceed as far as I can with you towards the English line, and
then leave you to pursue your journey, and to obtain a guard and a
conductor among your own countrymen. Meantime, it will be well for me
if I escape being taken, since the abbot would not shrink at inflicting
upon me the death due to an apostate nun."

"Such cruelty, my sister, could hardly be inflicted upon one who had
never taken the religious vows, and who still, according to the laws of
the Church, had a right to make a choice between the world and the
veil."

"Such choice as they gave their gallant victims," said Lady Margaret,
"who have fallen into English hands during these merciless wars,--such
choice as they gave to Wallace, the Champion of Scotland,--such as they
gave to Hay, the gentle and the free,--to Sommerville, the flower of
chivalry,--and to Athol, the blood relation of King Edward himself--all
of whom were as much traitors, under which name they were executed, as
Margaret de Hautlieu is an apostate nun, and subject to the rule of the
cloister."

She spoke with some eagerness, for she felt as if the English lady
imputed to her more coldness than she was, in such doubtful
circumstances, conscious of manifesting.

"And after all," she proceeded, "you, Lady Augusta de Berkely, what do
you venture, if you run the risk of falling into the hands of your
lover? What dreadful risk do you incur? You need not, methinks, fear
being immured between four walls, with a basket of bread and a cruise
of water, which, were I seized, would be the only support allowed to me
for the short space that my life would be prolonged. Nay, even were you
to be betrayed to the rebel Scots, as you call them, a captivity among
the hills, sweetened by the hope of deliverance, and rendered tolerable
by all the alleviations which the circumstances of your captors allowed
them the means of supplying, were not, I think, a lot so very hard to
endure."

"Nevertheless," answered the Lady of Berkely, "frightful enough it must
have appeared to me, since, to fly from such, I threw myself upon your
guidance."

"And, whatever you think or suspect," answered the novice, "I am as
true to you as ever was one maiden to another; and as sure as ever
sister Ursula was true to her vows, although they were never completed,
so will I be faithful to your secret, even at the risk of betraying my
own."

"Hearken, lady!" she said, suddenly pausing, "do you hear that?"

The sound to which she alluded was the same imitation of the cry of an
owlet, which the lady had before heard under the walls of the convent.

"These sounds," said Margaret de Hautlieu, "announce that one is near,
more able than I am to direct us in this matter. I must go forward and
speak with him; and this man, our guide, will remain by you for a
little space; nor, when he quits your bridle, need you wait for any
other signal, but ride forward on the woodland path, and obey the
advice and directions which will be given you."

"Stay! stay! sister Ursula!" cried the Lady de Berkely--"abandon me not
in this moment of uncertainty and distress!"

"It must be, for the sake of both," returned Margaret de Hautlieu. "I
also am in uncertainty--I also am in distress--and patience and
obedience are the only virtues which can save us both."

So saying, she struck her horse with the riding rod, and moving briskly
forward, disappeared among the tangled boughs of a thicket. The Lady of
Berkely would have followed her companion, but the cavalier who
attended them laid a strong hand upon the bridle of her palfrey, with a
look which implied that he would not permit her to proceed in that
direction. Terrified, therefore, though she could not exactly state a
reason why, the Lady of Berkely remained with her eyes fixed upon the
thicket, instinctively, as it were, expecting to see a band of English
archers, or rugged Scottish insurgents, issue from its tangled skirts,
and doubtful which she should have most considered as the objects of
her terror. In the distress of her uncertainty, she again attempted to
move forward, but the stern check which her attendant again bestowed
upon her bridle, proved sufficiently that in restraining her wishes,
the stranger was not likely to spare the strength which he certainly
possessed. At length, after some ten minutes had elapsed, the cavalier
withdrew his hand from her bridle, and pointing with his lance towards
the thicket, through which there winded a narrow, scarce visible path,
seemed to intimate to the lady that her road lay in that direction, and
that he would no longer prevent her following it.

"Do you not go with me?" said the lady, who, having been accustomed to
this man's company since they left the convent, had by degrees come to
look upon him as a sort of protector. He, however, gravely shook his
head, as if to excuse complying with a request, which it was not in his
power to grant; and turning his steed in a different direction, retired
at a pace which soon carried him from her sight. She had then no
alternative but to take the path of the thicket, which had been
followed by Margaret de Hautlieu, nor did she pursue it long before
coming in sight of a singular spectacle. The trees grew wider as the
lady advanced, and when she entered the thicket, she perceived that,
though hedged in as it were by an enclosure of copsewood, it was in the
interior altogether occupied by a few of the magnificent trees, such as
seemed to have been the ancestors of the forest, and which, though few
in number, were sufficient to overshade all the unoccupied ground, by
the great extent of their complicated branches. Beneath one of these
lay stretched something of a grey colour, which, as it drew itself
together, exhibited the figure of a man sheathed in armour, but
strangely accoutred, and in a manner so bizarre, as to indicate some of
the wild fancies peculiar to the knights of that period. His armour was
ingeniously painted, so as to represent a skeleton; the ribs being
constituted by the corselet and its back-piece. The shield represented
an owl with its wings spread, a device which was repeated upon the
helmet, which appeared to be completely covered by an image of the same
bird of ill omen. But that which was particularly calculated to excite
surprise in the spectator, was the great height and thinness of the
figure, which, as it arose from the ground, and placed itself in an
erect posture, seemed rather to resemble an apparition in the act of
extricating itself from the grave, than that of an ordinary man rising
upon his feet. The horse, too, upon which the lady rode, started back
and snorted, either at the sudden change of posture of this ghastly
specimen of chivalry, or disagreeably affected by some odour which
accompanied his presence. The lady herself manifested some alarm, for
although she did not utterly believe she was in the presence of a super
natural being, yet, among all the strange half-frantic disguises of
chivalry this was assuredly the most uncouth which she had ever seen;
and, considering how often the knights of the period pushed their
dreamy fancies to the borders of insanity, it seemed at best no very
safe adventure to meet? one accoutred in the emblems of the King of
Terrors himself, alone, and in the midst of a wild forest. Be the
knight's character and purposes what they might, she resolved, however,
to accost him in the language and manner observed in romances upon such
occasions, in the hope even that if he were a madman he might prove a
peaceable one, and accessible to civility.

"Sir Knight," she said, in as firm a tone as she could assume, "right
sorry am I, if, by my hasty approach, I have disturbed your solitary
meditations. My horse, sensible I think of the presence of yours,
brought me hither, without my being aware whom or what I was to
encounter."

"I am one," answered the stranger, in a solemn tone, "whom few men seek
to meet, till the time comes that they can avoid me no longer."

"You speak, Sir Knight," replied the Lady de Berkely, "according to the
dismal character of which it has pleased you to assume the distinction.
May I appeal to one whose exterior is so formidable, for the purpose of
requesting some directions to guide me through this wild wood; as, for
instance, what is the name of the nearest castle, town, or hostelry,
and by what course I am best likely to reach such?"

"It is a singular audacity," answered the Knight of the Tomb, "that
would enter into conversation with him who is termed the Inexorable,
the Unsparing, and the Pitiless, whom even the most miserable forbears
to call to his assistance, lest his prayers should be too soon
answered."

"Sir Knight," replied the Lady Augusta, "the character which you have
assumed, unquestionably for good reasons, dictates to you a peculiar
course of speech; but although your part is a sad one, it does not, I
should suppose, render it necessary for you to refuse those acts of
civility to which you must have bound yourself in taking the high vows
of chivalry."

"If you will trust to my guidance," replied the ghastly figure, "there
is only one condition upon which I can grant you the information which
you require; and that is, that you follow my footsteps without any
questions asked as to the tendency of our journey."

"I suppose I must submit to your conditions," she answered, "if you are
indeed pleased to take upon yourself the task of being my guide. In my
heart I conceive you to be one of the unhappy gentlemen of Scotland,
who are now in arms, as they say, for the defence of their liberties. A
rash undertaking has brought me within the sphere of your influence,
and now the only favour I have to request of you, against whom I never
did, nor planned any evil, is the guidance which your knowledge of the
country permits you easily to afford me in my way to the frontiers of
England. Believe that what I may see of your haunts or of your
practices, shall be to me things invisible, as if they were actually
concealed by the sepulchre itself, of the king of which it has pleased
you to assume the attributes; and if a sum of money, enough to be the
ransom of a wealthy earl, will purchase such a favour at need, such a
ransom will be frankly paid, and with as much fidelity as ever it was
rendered by a prisoner to the knight by whom he was taken. Do not
reject me, princely Bruce--noble Douglas--if indeed it is to either of
these that I address myself in this my last extremity--men speak of
both as fearful enemies, but generous knights and faithful friends. Let
me entreat you to remember how much you would wish your own friends and
connexions to meet with compassion under similar circumstances, at the
hands of the knights of England."

"And have they done so?" replied the Knight, in a voice more gloomy
than before, "or do you act wisely, while imploring the protection of
one whom you believe to be a true Scottish knight, for no other reason
than the extreme and extravagant misery of his appearance?--is it, I
say, well or wise to remind him of the mode in which the lords of
England have treated the lovely maidens and the high-born dames of
Scotland? Have not their prison cages been suspended from the
battlements of castles, that their captivity might be kept in view of
every base burgher, who should desire to look upon the miseries of the
noblest peeresses, yea, even the Queen of Scotland? [Footnote: The
Queen of Robert the Bruce, and the Countess of Buchan, by whom, as one
of Macduff's descent, he was crowned at Scone, were secured in the
manner described.] Is this a recollection which can inspire a Scottish
knight with compassion towards an English lady? or is it a thought
which can do aught but swell the deeply sworn hatred of Edward
Plantagenet, the author of these evils, that boils in every drop of
Scottish blood which still feels the throb of life? No;--it is all you
can expect, if, cold and pitiless as the sepulchre I represent, I leave
you unassisted in the helpless condition in which you describe yourself
to be."

"You will not be so inhuman," replied the lady; "in doing so you must
surrender every right to honest fame, which you have won either by
sword or lance. You must surrender every pretence to that justice which
affects the merit of supporting the weak against the strong. You must
make it your principle to avenge the wrongs and tyranny of Edward
Plantagenet upon the dames and damosels of England, who have neither
access to his councils, nor perhaps give him their approbation in his
wars against Scotland."

"It would not then," said the Knight of the Sepulchre, "induce you to
depart from your request, should I tell you the evils to which you
would subject yourself should we fall into the hands of the English
troops, and should they find you under such ill-omened protection as my
own?"

"Be assured," said the lady, "the consideration of such an event does
not in the least shake my resolution, or desire of confiding in your
protection. You may probably know who I am, and may judge how far even,
Edward would hold himself entitled to extend punishment towards me."

"How am I to know you," replied the ghastly cavalier, "or your
circumstances? They must be extraordinary indeed, if they could form a
check, either of justice or humanity, upon the revengeful feelings of
Edward. All who know him are well assured that it is no ordinary motive
that will induce him to depart from the indulgence of his evil temper.
But be it as it may, you, lady, if a lady you be, throw yourself as a
burden upon me, and I must discharge myself of my trust as I best may;
for this purpose you must be guided implicitly by my directions, which
will be given after the fashion of those of the spiritual world, being
intimations, rather than detailed instructions for your conduct, and
expressed rather by commands, than, by any reason or argument. In this
way it is possible that I may be of service to you; in any other case,
it is most likely that I may fail you at need, and melt from your side
like a phantom which dreads the approach of day."

"You cannot be so cruel!" answered the lady. "A gentleman, a knight,
and a nobleman--and I persuade myself I speak to all--hath duties which
he cannot abandon."

"He has, I grant it, and they are most sacred to me," answered the
Spectral Knight; "but I have also duties whose obligations are doubly
binding, and to which I must sacrifice those which would otherwise lead
me to devote myself to your rescue. The only question is whether you
feel inclined to accept my protection on the limited terms on which
alone I can extend it, or whether you deem it better that each go their
own way, and limit themselves to their own resources, and trust the
rest to Providence?" "Alas!" replied the lady, "beset and hard pressed
as I am, to ask me to form a resolution for myself, is like calling on
the wretch in the act of falling from a precipice, to form a calm
judgment by what twig he may best gain the chance of breaking his fall.
His answer must necessarily be, that he will cling to that which he can
easiest lay hold of, and trust the rest to Providence. I accept
therefore your offer of protection in the modified way you are pleased
to limit it, and I put my faith in Heaven and in you. To aid me
effectually, however, you must know my name and my circumstances."

"All these," answered the Knight of the Sepulchre, "have already been
told me by your late companion; for deem not, young lady, that either
beauty, rank, extended domains, unlimited wealth, or the highest
accomplishments, can weigh any thing in the consideration of him who
wears the trappings of the tomb, and whose affections and desires are
long buried in the charnel-house."

"May your faith," said the Lady Augusta de Berkely, "be as steady as
your words appear severe, and I submit to your guidance, without the
least doubt or fear that it will prove otherwise than as I venture to
hope."




CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH.


Like the dog following its master, when engaged in training him to the
sport in which he desires he should excel, the Lady Augusta felt
herself occasionally treated with a severity, calculated to impress
upon her the most implicit obedience and attention to the Knight of the
Tomb, in whom she had speedily persuaded herself she saw a principal
man among the retainers of Douglas, if not James of Douglas himself.
Still, however, the ideas which the lady had formed of the redoubted
Douglas, were those of a knight highly accomplished in the duties of
chivalry, devoted in particular to the service of the fair sex, and
altogether unlike the personage with whom she found herself so
strangely united, or rather for the present enthralled to.
Nevertheless, when, as if to abridge farther communication, he turned
short into one of the mazes of the wood, and seemed to adopt a pace,
which, from the nature of the ground, the horse on which the Lady
Augusta was mounted had difficulty to keep up with, she followed him
with the alarm and speed of the young spaniel, which from fear rather
than fondness, endeavours to keep up with the track of its severe
master. The simile, it is true, is not a very polite one, nor entirely
becoming an age, when women were worshipped with a certain degree of
devotion; but such circumstances as the present were also rare, and the
Lady Augusta de Berkely could not but persuade herself that the
terrible champion, whose name had been so long the theme of her
anxiety, and the terror indeed of the whole country, might be able,
some way or other, to accomplish her deliverance. She, therefore,
exerted herself to the utmost, so as to keep pace with the phantom-like
apparition, and followed the knight, as the evening shadow keeps watch
upon the belated rustic.

As the lady obviously suffered under the degree of exertion necessary
to keep her palfrey from stumbling in these steep and broken paths, the
Knight of the Tomb slackened his pace, looked anxiously around him, and
muttered apparently to himself, though probably intended for his
companion's ear, "There is no occasion for so much haste."

He proceeded at a slower rate, until they seemed to be on the brink of
a ravine, being one of many irregularities on the surface of the
ground, effected by the sudden torrents peculiar to that country, and
which, winding among the trees and copse-wood, formed, as it were, a
net of places of concealment, opening into each other, so that there
was perhaps no place in the world so fit for the purpose of ambuscade.
The spot where the borderer Turnbull had made his escape at the hunting
match, was one specimen of this broken country, and perhaps connected
itself with the various thickets and passes through which the knight
and pilgrim occasionally seemed to take their way, though that ravine
was at a considerable distance from their present route.

Meanwhile the knight led the way, as if rather with the purpose of
bewildering the Lady Augusta amidst these interminable woods, than
following any exact or fixed path. Here they ascended, and anon
appeared to descend in the same direction, finding only boundless
wildernesses, and varied combinations of tangled woodland scenery. Such
part of the country as seemed arable, the knight appeared carefully to
avoid; yet he could not direct his course with so much certainty but
that he occasionally crossed the path of inhabitants and cultivators,
who showed a consciousness of so singular a presence, but never as the
lady observed evinced any symptoms of recognition. The inference was
obvious, that the spectre knight was known in the country, and that he
possessed adherents or accomplices there, who were at least so far his
friends, as to avoid giving any alarm, which might be the means of his
discovery. The well-imitated cry of the night-owl, too frequent a guest
in the wilderness that its call should be a subject of surprise, seemed
to be a signal generally understood among them; for it was heard in
different parts of the wood, and the Lady Augusta, experienced in such
journeys by her former travels under the guidance of the minstrel
Bertram, was led to observe, that on hearing such wild notes, her guide
changed the direction of his course, and betook himself to paths which
led through deeper wilds, and more impenetrable thickets. This happened
so often, that a new alarm came upon the unfortunate pilgrim, which
suggested other motives of terror. Was she not the confidant, and
almost the tool of some artful design, laid with a view to an extensive
operation, which was destined to terminate, as the efforts of Douglas
had before done, in the surprise of his hereditary castle, the massacre
of the English garrison--and finally in the dishonour and death of that
Sir John de Walton, upon whose fate she had long believed, or taught
herself to believe, that her own was dependent?

It no sooner flashed across the mind of the Lady Augusta that she was
engaged in some such conspiracy with a Scottish insurgent, than she
shuddered at the consequences of the dark transactions in which she had
now become involved, and which appeared to have a tendency so very
different from what she had at first apprehended.

The hours of the morning of this remarkable day, being that of Palm
Sunday, were thus drawn out in wandering from place to place; while the
Lady de Berkely occasionally interposed by petitions for liberty, which
she endeavoured to express in the most moving and pathetic manner, and
by offers of wealth and treasures, to which no answer whatever was
returned by her strange guide.

At length, as if worn out by his captive's importunity, the knight,
coming close up to the bridle-rein of the Lady Augusta, said in a
solemn tone--

"I am, as you may well believe, none of those knights who roam through
wood and wild, seeking adventures, by which I may obtain grace in the
eyes of a fair lady: Yet will I to a certain degree grant the request
which thou dost solicit so anxiously, and the arbitration of thy fate
shall depend upon the pleasure of him to whose will thou hast expressed
thyself ready to submit thine own. I will, on our arrival at the place
of our destination, which is now at hand, write to Sir John de Walton,
and send my letter, together with thy fair self, by a special
messenger. He will, no doubt, speedily attend our summons, and thou
shalt thyself be satisfied, that even he who has as yet appeared deaf
to entreaty, and insensible to earthly affections, has still some
sympathy for beauty and for virtue. I will put the choice of safety,
and thy future happiness, into thine own hands, and those of the man
whom thou hast chosen; and thou mayst select which thou wilt betwixt
those and misery."

While he thus spoke, one of those ravines or clefts in the earth seemed
to yawn before them, and entering it at the upper end, the spectre
knight, with an attention which he had not yet shown, guided the lady's
courser by the rein down the broken and steep path by which alone the
bottom of the tangled dingle was accessible.

When placed on firm ground after the dangers of a descent, in which her
palfrey seemed to be sustained by the personal strength and address of
the singular being who had hold of the bridle, the lady looked with
some astonishment at a place so well adapted for concealment as that
which she had now reached. It appeared evident that it was used for
this purpose, for more than one stifled answer was given to a very low
bugle-note emitted by the Knight of the Tomb; and when the same note
was repeated, about half a score of armed men, some wearing the dress
of soldiers, others those of shepherds and agriculturists, showed
themselves imperfectly, as if acknowledging the summons.




CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH.


"Hail to you, my gallant friends!" said the Knight of the Tomb to his
companions, who seemed to welcome him with the eagerness of men engaged
in the same perilous undertaking. "The winter has passed over, the
festival of Palm Sunday is come, and as surely as the ice and snow of
this season shall not remain to chill the earth through the ensuing
summer, so surely we, in a few hours, keep our word to those southern
braggarts, who think their language of boasting and malice has as much
force over our Scottish bosoms, as the blast possesses over the autumn
fruits; but it is not so. While we choose to remain concealed, they may
as vainly seek to descry us, as a housewife would search for the needle
she has dropped among the withered foliage of yon gigantic oak. Yet a
few hours, and the lost needle shall become the exterminating sword of
the Genius of Scotland, avenging ten thousand injuries, and especially
the life of the gallant Lord Douglas, cruelly done to death as an exile
from his native country."

An exclamation between a yell and a groan burst from the assembled
retainers of Douglas, upon being reminded of the recent death of their
chieftain; while they seemed at the same time sensible of the necessity
of making little noise, lest they should give the alarm to some of the
numerous English parties which were then traversing different parts of
the forest. The acclamation, so cautiously uttered, had scarce died
away in silence, when the Knight of the Tomb, or, to call him by his
proper name, Sir James Douglas, again addressed his handful of faithful
followers.

"One effort, my friends, may yet be made to end our strife with the
Southron without bloodshed. Fate has within a few hours thrown into my
power the young heiress of Berkely, for whose sake it is said Sir John
de Walton keeps with such obstinacy the castle which is mine by
inheritance. Is there one among you who dare go, as the honourable
escort of Augusta de Berkely, bearing a letter, explaining the terms on
which I am willing to restore her to her lover, to freedom, and to her
English lordships?"

"If there is none other," said a tall man, dressed in the tattered
attire of a woodsman, and being, in fact, no other than the very
Michael Turnbull, who had already given so extraordinary a proof of his
undaunted manhood, "I will gladly be the person who will be the lady's
henchman on this expedition."

"Thou art never wanting," said the Douglas, "where a manly deed is to
be done; but remember, this lady must pledge to us her word and oath
that she will hold herself our faithful prisoner, rescue or no rescue;
that she will consider herself as pledged for the life, freedom, and
fair usage of Michael Turnbull; and that if Sir John de Walton refuse
my terms, she must hold herself obliged to return with Turnbull to our
presence, in order to be disposed of at our pleasure."

There was much in these conditions, which struck the Lady Augusta with
natural doubt and horror; nevertheless, strange as it may seem, the
declaration of the Douglas gave a species of decision to her situation,
which might have otherwise been unattainable; and from the high opinion
which she entertained of the Douglas's chivalry, she could not bring
herself to think, that any part which he might play in the approaching
drama would be other than that which a perfect good knight would, under
all circumstances, maintain towards his enemy. Even with respect to De
Walton, she felt herself relieved of a painful difficulty. The idea of
her being discovered by the knight himself, in a male disguise, had
preyed upon her spirits; and she felt as if guilty of a departure from
the laws of womanhood, in having extended her favour towards him beyond
maidenly limits; a step, too, which might tend to lessen her in the
eyes of the lover for whom she had hazarded so much.

    "The heart, she said, is lightly prized,
       That is but lightly won;
     And Long shall mourn the heartless man,
       That leaves his love too soon."

On the other hand, to be brought before him as a prisoner, was indeed a
circumstance equally perplexing as unpleasing, but it was one which was
beyond her control, and the Douglas, into whose hands she had fallen,
appeared to her to represent the deity in the play, whose entrance was
almost sufficient to bring its perplexities to a conclusion; she
therefore not unwillingly submitted to take what oaths and promises
were required by the party in whose hands she found herself, and
accordingly engaged to be a true prisoner, whatever might occur.
Meantime she strictly obeyed the directions of those who had her
motions at command, devoutly praying that circumstances, in themselves
so adverse, might nevertheless work together for the safety of her
lover and her own freedom.

A pause ensued, during which a slight repast was placed before the Lady
Augusta, who was well-nigh exhausted with the fatigues of her journey.

Douglas and his partisans, meanwhile, whispered together, as if
unwilling she should hear their conference; while, to purchase their
good-will, if possible, she studiously avoided every appearance of
listening.

After some conversation, Turnbull, who appeared to consider the lady as
peculiarly his charge, said to her in a harsh voice, "Do not fear,
lady; no wrong shall be done you; nevertheless, you must be content for
a space to be blindfolded."

She submitted to this in silent terror; and the trooper, wrapping part
of a mantle round her head, did not assist her to remount her palfrey,
but lent her his arm to support her in this blinded state.




CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH.


The ground which they traversed was, as Lady Augusta could feel, very
broken and uneven, and sometimes, as she thought, encumbered with
ruins, which were difficult to surmount. The strength of her comrade
assisted her forward on such occasions; but his help was so roughly
administered, that the lady once or twice, in fear or suffering, was
compelled to groan or sigh heavily, whatever was her desire to suppress
such evidence of the apprehension which she underwent, or the pain
which she endured. Presently, upon an occasion of this kind, she was
distinctly sensible that the rough woodsman was removed from her side,
and another of the party substituted in his stead, whose voice, more
gentle than that of his companions, she thought she had lately heard.

"Noble lady," were the words, "fear not the slightest injury at our
hands, and accept of my ministry instead of that of my henchman, who
has gone forward with our letter; do not think me presuming on my
situation if I bear you in my arms through ruins where you could not
easily move alone and blindfold."

At the same time the Lady Augusta Berkely felt herself raised from the
earth in the strong arms of a man, and borne onward with the utmost
gentleness, without the necessity of making those painful exertions
which had been formerly required. She was ashamed of her situation;
but, however delicate, it was no time to give vent to complaints, which
might have given offence to persons whom it was her interest to
conciliate. She, therefore, submitted to necessity, and heard the
following words whispered in her ear.

"Fear nothing; there is no evil intended you; nor shall Sir John de
Walton, if he loves you as you deserve at his hand, receive any harm on
our part. We call on him but to do justice to ourselves and to you; and
be assured you will best accomplish your own happiness by aiding our
views, which are equally in favour of your wishes and your freedom."

The Lady Augusta would have made some answer to this, but her breath,
betwixt fear and the speed with which she was transported, refused to
permit her to use intelligible accents. Meantime she began to be
sensible that she was enclosed within some building, and probably a
ruinous one--for although the mode of her transportation no longer
permitted her to ascertain the nature of her path in any respect
distinctly, yet the absence of the external air--which was, however,
sometimes excluded, and sometimes admitted in furious gusts--intimated
that she was conducted through buildings partly entire, and in other
places admitting the wind through wide rents and gaps. In one place it
seemed to the lady as if she passed through a considerable body of
people, all of whom observed silence, although there was sometimes
heard among them a murmur, to which every one present in some degree
contributed, although the general sound did not exceed a whisper. Her
situation made her attend to every circumstance, and she did not fail
to observe that these persons made way for him who bore her, until at
length she became sensible that he descended by the regular steps of a
stair, and that she was now alone excepting his company. Arrived, as it
appeared to the lady, on more level ground, they proceeded on their
singular road by a course which appeared neither direct nor easy, and
through an atmosphere which was close to a smothering degree, and felt
at the same time damp and disagreeable, as if from the vapours of a
new-made grave. Her guide again spoke.

"Bear up, Lady Augusta, for a little longer, and continue to endure
that atmosphere which must be one day common to us all. By the
necessity of my situation, I must resign my present office to your
original guide, and can only give you my assurance, that neither he,
nor any one else, shall offer you the least incivility or insult--and
on this you may rely, on the faith of a man of honour."

He placed her, as he said these words, upon the soft turf, and, to her
infinite refreshment, made her sensible that she was once more in the
open air, and free from the smothering atmosphere which had before
oppressed her like that of a charnel-house. At the same time, she
breathed in a whisper an anxious wish that she might be permitted to
disencumber herself from the folds of the mantle which excluded almost
the power of breathing, though intended only to prevent her seeing by
what road she travelled. She immediately found it unfolded, agreeably
to her request, and hastened, with uncovered eyes, to take note of the
scene around her.

It was overshadowed by thick oak trees, among which stood some remnants
of buildings, or what might have seemed such, being perhaps the same in
which she had been lately wandering. A clear fountain of living water
bubbled forth from under the twisted roots of one of those trees, and
offered the lady the opportunity of a draught of the pure element, and
in which she also bathed her face, which had received more than one
scratch in the course of her journey, in spite of the care, and almost
the tenderness, with which she had latterly been borne along. The cool
water speedily stopt the bleeding of those trifling injuries, and the
application served at the same time to recall the scattered senses of
the damsel herself. Her first idea was, whether an attempt to escape,
if such should appear possible, was not advisable. A moment's
reflection, however, satisfied her that such a scheme was not to be
thought of; and such second thoughts were confirmed by the approach of
the gigantic form of the huntsman Turnbull, the rough tones of whose
voice were heard before his figure was obvious to her eye.

"Were you impatient for my return, fair lady? Such as I," he continued
in an ironical tone of voice, "who are foremost in the chase of wild
stags and silvan cattle, are not in use to lag behind, when fair
ladies, like you, are the objects of pursuit; and if I am not so
constant in my attendance as you might expect, believe me, it is
because I was engaged in another matter, to which I must sacrifice for
a little even the duty of attending on you."

"I offer no resistance," said the lady; "forbear, however, in
discharging thy duty, to augment my uneasiness by thy conversation, for
thy master hath pledged me his word that he will not suffer me to be
alarmed or ill treated."

"Nay, fair one," replied the huntsman, "I ever thought it was fit to
make interest by soft words with fair ladies; but if you like it not, I
have no such pleasure in hunting for fine holyday terms, but that I can
with equal ease hold myself silent. Come, then, since we must wait upon
this lover of yours ere morning closes, and learn his last resolution
touching a matter which is become so strangely complicated, I will hold
no more intercourse with you as a female, but talk to you as a person
of sense, although an Englishwoman."

"You will," replied the lady, "best fulfil the intentions of those by
whose orders you act, by holding no society with me whatever, otherwise
than is necessary in the character of guide."

The man lowered his brows, yet seemed to assent to what the Lady of
Berkely proposed, and remained silent as they for some time pursued
their course, each pondering over their own share of meditation, which
probably turned upon matters essentially different. At length the loud
blast of a bugle was heard at no great distance from the unsocial
fellow-travellers.

"That is the person we seek," said Turnbull; "I know his blast from any
other who frequents this forest, and my orders are to bring you to
speech of him."

The blood darted rapidly through the lady's veins at the thought of
being thus unceremoniously presented to the knight, in whose favour she
had confessed a rash preference more agreeable to the manners of those
times, when exaggerated sentiments often inspired actions of
extravagant generosity, than in our days, when every thing is accounted
absurd which does not turn upon a motive connected with the immediate
selfish interests of the actor himself. When Turnbull, therefore,
winded his horn, as if in answer to the blast which they had heard, the
lady was disposed to fly at the first impulse of shame and of fear.
Turnbull perceived her intention, and caught hold of her with no very
gentle grasp, saying--"Nay, lady, it is to be understood that you play
your own part in the drama, which, unless you continue on the stage,
will conclude unsatisfactorily to us all, in a combat at outrance
between your lover and me, when it will appear which of us is most
worthy of your favour."

"I will be patient," said the lady, bethinking her that even this
strange man's presence, and the compulsion which he appeared to use
towards her, was a sort of excuse to her female scruples, for coming
into the presence of her lover, at least at her first appearance before
him, in a disguise which her feelings confessed was not extremely
decorous, or reconcilable to the dignity of her sex.

The moment after these thoughts had passed through her mind, the tramp
of a horse was heard approaching; and Sir John de Walton, pressing
through the trees, became aware of the presence of his lady, captive,
as it seemed, in the grasp of a Scottish outlaw, who was only known to
him by his former audacity at the hunting-match.

His surprise and joy only supplied the knight with those hasty
expressions--"Caitiff, let go thy hold! or die in thy profane attempt
to control the motions of one whom the very sun in heaven should be
proud to obey." At the same time, apprehensive that the huntsman might
hurry the lady from his sight by means of some entangled path--such as
upon a former occasion had served him for escape Sir John de Walton
dropt his cumbrous lance, of which the trees did not permit him the
perfect use, and springing from his horse, approached Turnbull with his
drawn sword.

The Scotchman, keeping his left hand still upon the lady's mantle,
uplifted with his right his battle-axe, or Jedwood staff, for the
purpose of parrying and returning the blow of his antagonist, but the
lady spoke.

"Sir John de Walton," she said, "for heaven's sake, forbear all
violence, till you hear upon what pacific object I am brought hither,
and by what peaceful means these wars may be put an end to. This man,
though an enemy of yours, has been to me a civil and respectful
guardian; and I entreat you to forbear him while he speaks the purpose
for which he has brought me hither."

"To speak of compulsion and the Lady de Berkely in the same breath,
would itself be cause enough for instant death," said the Governor of
Douglas Castle; "but you command, lady, and I spare his insignificant
life, although I have causes of complaint against him, the least of
which were good warrant, had he a thousand lives, for the forfeiture of
them all."

"John de Walton," replied Turnbull, "this lady well knows that no fear
of thee operates in my mind to render this a peaceful meeting; and were
I not withheld by other circumstances of great consideration to the
Douglas as well as thyself, I should have no more fear in facing the
utmost thou couldst do, than I have now in levelling that sapling to
the earth it grows upon."

So saying, Michael Turnbull raised his battle-axe, and struck from a
neighbouring oak-tree a branch, wellnigh as thick as a man's arm, which
(with all its twigs and leaves) rushed to the ground between De Walton
and the Scotchman, giving a singular instance of the keenness of his
weapon, and the strength and dexterity with which he used it.

"Let there be truce, then, between us, good fellow," said Sir John de
Walton, "since it is the lady's pleasure that such should be the case,
and let me know what thou hast to say to me respecting her?"

"On that subject," said Turnbull, "my words are few, but mark them, Sir
Englishman. The Lady Augusta Berkely, wandering in this country, has
become a prisoner of the noble Lord Douglas, the rightful inheritor of
the Castle and lordship, and he finds himself obliged to attach to the
liberty of this lady the following conditions, being in all respects
such as good and lawful warfare entitles a knight to exact. That is to
say, in all honour and safety the Lady Augusta shall be delivered to
Sir John de Walton, or those whom he shall name, for the purpose of
receiving her. On the other hand, the Castle of Douglas itself,
together with all out-posts or garrisons thereunto belonging, shall be
made over and surrendered by Sir John de Walton, in the same situation,
and containing the same provisions and artillery, as are now within
their walls; and the space of a month of truce shall be permitted to
Sir James Douglas and Sir John de Walton farther to regulate the terms
of surrender on both parts, having first plighted their knightly word
and oath, that in the exchange of the honourable lady for the foresaid
castle, lies the full import of the present agreement, and that every
other subject of dispute shall, at the pleasure of the noble knights
foresaid, be honourably compounded and agreed betwixt them; or at their
pleasure, settled knightly by single combat according to usage, and in
a fair field, before any honourable person, that may possess power
enough to preside."

It is not easy to conceive the astonishment of Sir John de Walton at
hearing the contents of this extraordinary cartel; he looked towards
the Lady of Berkely with that aspect of despair with which a criminal
may be supposed to see his guardian angel prepare for departure.
Through her mind also similar ideas flowed, as if they contained a
concession of what she had considered as the summit of her wishes, but
under conditions disgraceful to her lover, like the cherub's fiery
sword of yore, which was a barrier between our first parents and the
blessings of Paradise. Sir John de Walton, after a moment's hesitation,
broke silence in these words:--

"Noble lady, you may be surprised if a condition be imposed upon me,
having for its object your freedom; and if Sir John de Walton, already
standing under those obligations to you, which he is proud of
acknowledging, should yet hesitate on accepting, with the utmost
eagerness, what must ensure your restoration to freedom and
independence; but so it is, that the words now spoken have thrilled in
mine ear without reaching to my understanding, and I must pray the Lady
of Berkely for pardon if I take time to reconsider them for a short
space."

"And I," replied Turnbull, "have only power to allow you half an hour
for the consideration of an offer, in accepting which, methinks, you
should jump shoulder-height instead of asking any time for reflection.
What does this cartel exact, save what your duty as a knight implicitly
obliges you to? You have engaged yourself to become the agent of the
tyrant Edward, in holding Douglas Castle, as his commander, to the
prejudice of the Scottish nation, and of the Knight of Douglas Dale,
who never, as a community or as an individual, were guilty of the least
injury towards you; you are therefore prosecuting a false path,
unworthy of a good knight. On the other hand, the freedom and safety of
your lady is now proposed to be pledged to you, with a full assurance
of her liberty and honour, on consideration of your withdrawing from
the unjust line of conduct, in which you have suffered yourself to be
imprudently engaged. If you persevere in it, you place your own honour,
and the lady's happiness, in the hands of men whom you have done
everything in your power to render desperate, and whom, thus irritated,
it is most probable you may find such."

"It is not from thee at least," said the knight, "that I shall learn to
estimate the manner in which Douglas will explain the laws of war, or
De Walton receive them at his dictating."

"I am not, then," said Turnbull, "received as a friendly messenger?
Farewell, and think of this lady as being in any hands but those which
are safe, while you make up at leisure your mind upon the message I
have brought you. Come, madam, we must be gone."

So saying, he seized upon the lady's hand, and pulled her, as if to
force her to withdraw. The lady had stood motionless, and almost
senseless, while these speeches were exchanged between the warriors;
but when she felt the grasp of Michael Turnbull, she exclaimed, like
one almost beside herself with fear--"Help me, De Walton!"

The knight, stung to instant rage, assaulted the forester with the
utmost fury, and dealt him with his long sword, almost at unawares, two
or three heavy blows, by which he was so wounded that he sunk backwards
in the thicket, and. De Walton was about to despatch him, when he was
prevented by the anxious cry of the lady--"Alas! De Walton, what have
you done? This man was only an ambassador, and should have passed free
from injury, while he confined himself to the delivery of what he was
charged with; and if thou hast slain him, who knows how frightful may
prove the vengeance exacted!"

The voice of the lady seemed to recover the huntsman from the effects
of the blows he had received: he sprung on his feet, saying--"Never
mind me, nor think of my becoming the means of making mischief. The
knight, in his haste, spoke without giving me warning and defiance,
which gave him an advantage which, I think, he would otherwise have
scorned to have taken, in such a case, I will renew the combat on
fairer terms, or call another champion, as the knight pleases." With
these words he disappeared.

"Fear not, empress of De Walton's thoughts," answered the knight, "but
believe, that if we regain together the shelter of Douglas Castle, and
the safeguard of Saint George's Cross, thou may'st laugh at all. And if
you can but pardon, what I shall never be able to forgive myself, the
mole-like blindness which did not recognise the sun while under a
temporary eclipse, the task cannot be named too hard for mortal valour
to achieve which I shall not willingly undertake, to wipe out the
memory of my grievous fault."

"Mention it no more," said the lady; "it is not at such a time
as--this, when our lives are for the moment at stake, that quarrels
upon slighter topics are to be recurred to. I can tell you, if you do
not yet know, that the Scots are in arms in this vicinity, and that
even the earth has yawned to conceal them from the sight of your
garrison."

"Let it yawn, then," said Sir John de Walton, "and suffer every fiend
in the infernal abyss to escape from his prison-house and reinforce our
enemies--still, fairest, having received in thee a pearl of matchless
price, my spurs shall be hacked from my heels by the basest scullion,
if I turn my horse's head to the rear before the utmost force these
ruffians can assemble, either upon earth or from underneath it. In thy
name I defy them all to instant combat."

As Sir John de Walton pronounced these last words, in something of an
exalted tone, a tall cavalier, arrayed in black armour of the simplest
form, stepped forth from that part of the thicket where Turnbull had
disappeared. "I am," he said, "James of Douglas, and your challenge is
accepted. I, the challenged, name the arms our knightly weapons as we
now wear them, and our place of combat this field or dingle, called the
Bloody Sykes, the time being instant, and the combatants, like true
knights, foregoing each advantage on either side." [Footnote: The
ominous name of Bloodmire-sink or Syke, marks a narrow hollow to the
north-west of Douglas Castle, from which it is distant about the third
of a mile. Mr. Haddow states, that according to local tradition, the
name was given in consequence of Sir James Douglas having at this spot
intercepted and slain part of the garrison of the castle, while De
Walton was in command.]

"So be it, in God's name," said the English knight, who, though
surprised at being called upon to so sudden an encounter with so
formidable a warrior as young Douglas, was too proud to dream of
avoiding the combat. Making a sign to the lady to retire behind him,
that he might not lose the advantage which he had gained by setting her
at liberty from the forester, he drew his sword, and with a deliberate
and prepared attitude of offence, moved slowly to the encounter. It was
a dreadful one, for the courage and skill both of the native Lord of
Douglas Dale, and of De Walton, among the most renowned of the times,
and perhaps the world of chivalry could hardly have produced two
knights more famous. Their blows fell as if urged by some mighty
engine, where they were met and parried with equal strength and
dexterity; nor seemed it likely, in the course of ten minutes'
encounter, that an advantage would be gained by either combatant over
the other. An instant they stopped by mutually implied assent, as it
seemed, for the purpose of taking breath, during which Douglas said, "I
beg that this noble lady may understand, that her own freedom is no way
concerned in the present contest, which entirely regards the injustice
done by this Sir John de Walton, and by his nation of England, to the
memory of my father, and to my own natural rights."

"You are generous, Sir Knight," replied the lady; "but in what
circumstances do you place me, if you deprive me of my protector by
death or captivity, and leave me alone in a foreign land?"

"If such should be the event of the combat," replied Sir James, "the
Douglas himself, lady, will safely restore thee to thy native land; for
never did his sword do an injury for which he was not willing to make
amends with the same weapon; and if Sir John de Walton will make the
slightest admission that he renounces maintaining the present strife,
were it only by yielding up a feather from the plume of his helmet,
Douglas will renounce every purpose on his part which can touch the
lady's honour or safety, and the combat may be suspended until the
national quarrel again brings us together."

Sir John de Walton pondered a moment, and the lady, although she did
not speak, looked at him with eyes which plainly expressed how much she
wished that he would choose the less hazardous alternative. But the
knight's own scruples prevented his bringing the case to so favourable
an arbitrement.

"Never shall it be said of Sir John de Walton," he replied, "that he
compromised, in the slightest degree, his own honour, or that of his
country. This battle may end in my defeat, or rather death, and in that
case my earthly prospects are closed, and I resign to Douglas, with my
last breath, the charge of the Lady Augusta, trusting that he will
defend her with his life, and find the means of replacing her with
safety in the halls of her fathers. But while I survive, she may have a
better, but will not need another protector than he who is honoured by
being her own choice; nor will I yield up, were it a plume from my
helmet, implying that I have maintained an unjust quarrel, either in
the cause of England, or of the fairest of her daughters. Thus far
alone I will concede to Douglas--an instant truce, provided the lady
shall not be interrupted in her retreat to England, and the combat be
fought out upon another day. The castle and territory of Douglas is the
property of Edward of England, the governor in his name is the rightful
governor, and on this point I will fight while my eyelids are unclosed."

"Time flies," said Douglas, "without waiting for our resolves; nor is
there any part of his motions of such value as that which is passing
with every breath of vital air which we presently draw. Why should we
adjourn till to-morrow that which can be as well finished today? Will
our swords be sharper, or our arms stronger to wield them, than they
are at this moment? Douglas will do all which knight can do to succour
a lady in distress; but he will not grant to her knight the slightest
mark of deference, which Sir John de Walton vainly supposes himself
able to extort by force of arms."

With these words, the knights engaged once more in mortal combat, and
the lady felt uncertain whether she should attempt her escape through
the devious paths of the wood, or abide the issue of this obstinate
fight. It was rather her desire to see the fate of Sir John de Walton,
than any other consideration, which induced her to remain, as if
fascinated, upon the spot, where one of the fiercest quarrels ever
fought--was disputed by two of the bravest champions that ever drew
sword. At last the lady attempted to put a stop to the combat, by
appealing to the bells which began to ring for the service of the day,
which was Palm Sunday.

"For Heaven's sake," she said--"for your own sakes, and for that of
lady's love, and the duties of chivalry, hold your hands only for an
hour, and take chance, that where strength is so equal, means will be
found of converting the truce into a solid peace. Think this is Palm
Sunday, and will you defile with blood such a peculiar festival of
Christianity! Intermit your feud at least so far as to pass to the
nearest church, bearing with you branches, not in the ostentatious mode
of earthly conquerors, but as rendering due homage to the rules of the
blessed Church, and the institutions of our holy religion."

"I was on my road, fair lady, for that purpose, to the holy church of
Douglas," said the Englishman, "when I was so fortunate as to meet you
at this place; nor do I object to proceed thither even, now, holding
truce for an hour, and I fear not to find there friends to whom I can
commit you with assurance of safety, in case I am unfortunate in the
combat which is now broken off, to be resumed after the service of the
day."

"I also assent," said the Douglas, "to a truce for such short space;
nor do I fear that there may be good Christians enough at the church,
who will not see their master overpowered by odds. Let us go thither,
and each take the chance of what Heaven shall please to send us."

From these words Sir John de Walton little doubted that Douglas had
assured himself of a party among those who should there assemble; but
he doubted not of so many of the garrison being present as would bridle
every attempt at rising; and the risk, he thought, was worth incurring,
since ha should thereby secure an opportunity to place Lady Augusta de
Berkely in safety, at least so far as to make her liberty depend on the
event of a general conflict, instead of the precarious issue of a
combat between himself and Douglas.

Both these distinguished knights were inwardly of opinion, that the
proposal of the lady, though it relieved them from their present
conflict, by no means bound them to abstain from the consequences which
an accession of force might add to their general strength, and each
relied upon his superiority, in some degree provided for by their
previous proceedings. Sir John de Walton made almost certain of meeting
with several of his bands of soldiers, who were scouring the country
and traversing the woods by his direction; and Douglas, it may be
supposed, had not ventured himself in person, where a price was set
upon his head, without being attended by a sufficient number of
approved adherents, placed in more or less connexion with each other,
and stationed for mutual support. Each, therefore, entertained
well-grounded hopes, that by adopting the truce proposed, he would
ensure himself an advantage over his antagonist, although neither
exactly knew in what manner or to what extent this success was to be
obtained.




CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH.

     His talk was of another world--his bodiments
     Strange, doubtful, and mysterious; those who heard him
     Listen'd as to a man in feverish dreams,
     Who speaks of other objects than the present,
     And mutters like to him who sees a vision.
                                                OLD PLAY.


On the same Palm Sunday when De Walton and Douglas measured together
their mighty swords, the minstrel Bertram was busied with the ancient
Book of Prophecies, which we have already mentioned as the supposed
composition of Thomas the Rhymer, but not without many anxieties as to
the fate of his lady, and the events which were passing around him. As
a minstrel he was desirous of an auditor to enter into the discoveries
which he should make in that mystic volume, as well as to assist in
passing away the time; Sir John de Walton had furnished him, in Gilbert
Greenleaf the archer, with one who was well contented to play the
listener "from morn to dewy eve," provided a flask of Gascon wine, or a
stoup of good English ale, remained on the board. It may be remembered
that De Walton, when he dismissed the minstrel from the dungeon, was
sensible that he owed him some compensation for the causeless suspicion
which had dictated his imprisonment, more particularly as he was a
valued servant, and had shown himself the faithful confidant of the
Lady Augusta de Berkely, and the person who was moreover likely to know
all the motives and circumstances of her Scottish journey. To secure
his good wishes was, therefore, politic; and De Walton had intimated to
his faithful archer that he was to lay aside all suspicion of Bertram,
but at the same time keep him in sight, and, if possible, in good
humour with the governor of the castle, and his adherents. Greenleaf
accordingly had no doubt in his own mind, that the only way to please a
minstrel was to listen with patience and commendation to the lays which
he liked best to sing, or the tales which he most loved to tell; and in
order to ensure the execution of his master's commands, he judged it
necessary to demand of the butler such store of good liquor, as could
not fail to enhance the pleasure of his society.

Having thus fortified himself with the means of bearing a long
interview with the minstrel, Gilbert Greenleaf proposed to confer upon
him the bounty of an early breakfast, which, if it pleased him, they
might wash down with a cup of sack, and, having his master's commands
to show the minstrel any thing about the castle which he might wish to
see, refresh their overwearied spirits by attending a part of the
garrison of Douglas to the service of the day, which, as we have
already seen, was of peculiar sanctity. Against such a proposal the
minstrel, a good Christian by profession, and, by his connexion with
the joyous science, a good fellow, having no objections to offer, the
two comrades, who had formerly little good-will towards each other,
commenced their morning's repast on that fated Palm Sunday, with all
manner of cordiality and good fellowship.

"Do not believe, worthy minstrel," said the archer, "that my master in
any respect disparages your worth or rank in referring you for company
or conversation to so poor a man as myself. It is true I am no officer
of this garrison; yet for an old archer, who, for these thirty years,
has lived by bow and bowstring, I do not (Our Lady make me thankful!)
hold less share in the grace of Sir John de Walton, the Earl of
Pembroke, and other approved good soldiers, than many of those giddy
young men on whom commissions are conferred, and to whom confidences
are intrusted, not on account of what they have done, but what their
ancestors have done before them. I pray you to notice among them one
youth placed at our head in De Walton's absence, and who bears the
honoured name of Aymer de Valence, being the same with that of the Earl
of Pembroke, of whom I have spoken; this knight has also a brisk young
page, whom men call Fabian Harbothel."

"Is it to these gentlemen that your censure applies?" answered the
minstrel; "I should have judged differently, having never, in the
course of my experience, seen a young man more courteous and amiable
than the young knight you named."

"I nothing dispute that it may be so," said the archer, hastening to
amend the false step which he had made; "but in order that it should be
so, it will be necessary that he conform to the usages of his uncle,
taking the advice of experienced old soldiers in the emergencies which
may present themselves; and not believing, that the knowledge which it
takes many years of observation to acquire, can be at once conferred by
the slap of the flat of a sword, and the magic words, 'Rise up, Sir
Arthur'--or however the case may be."

"Doubt not, Sir Archer," replied Bertram, "that I am fully aware of the
advantage to be derived from conversing with men of experience like
you: it benefiteth men of every persuasion, and I myself am oft reduced
to lament my want of sufficient knowledge of armorial bearings, signs,
and cognizances, and would right fain have thy assistance, where I am a
stranger alike to the names of places, of persons, and description of
banners and emblems by which great families are distinguished from each
other, so absolutely necessary to the accomplishment of my present
task."

"Pennons and banners," answered the archer, "I have seen right many,
and can assign, as is a soldier's wont, the name of the leader to the
emblem under which he musters his followers; nevertheless, worthy
minstrel, I cannot presume to understand what you call prophecies, with
or under warranted authority of old painted books, expositions of
dreams, oracles, revelations, invocations of damned spirits, judicials,
astrologicals, and other gross and palpable offences, whereby men,
pretending to have the assistance of the devil, do impose upon the
common people, in spite of the warnings of the Privy Council; not
however, that I suspect you, worthy minstrel, of busying yourself with
these attempts to explain futurity, which are dangerous attempts, and
may be truly said to be penal, and part of treason."

"There is something in what you say," replied the minstrel; "yet it
applieth not to books and manuscripts such as I have been consulting;
part, of which things therein written having already come to pass,
authorize us surely to expect the completion of the rest; nor would I
have much difficulty in showing you from this volume, that enough has
been already proved true, to entitle us to look with certainty to the
accomplishment of that which remains."

"I should be glad to hear that," answered the archer, who entertained
little more than a soldier's belief respecting prophecies and auguries,
but yet cared not bluntly to contradict the minstrel upon such
subjects, as he had been instructed by Sir John de Walton to comply
with his humour. Accordingly the minstrel began to recite verses,
which, in our time, the ablest interpreter could not make sense out of.

    "When the cook crows, keep well his comb,
     For the fox and the fulmart they are false both.
     When the raven and the rook have rounded together,
     And the kid in his cliff shall accord to the same.
     Then shall they be bold, and soon to battle thereafter.
     Then the birds of the raven rugs and reives,
     And the leal men of Lothian, are louping on their horse;
     Then shall the poor people be spoiled full near,
     And the Abbeys be burnt truly that stand upon Tweed
     They shall burn and slay, and great reif make:
     There shall no poor man who say whose man he is:
     Then shall the land be lawless, for love there is none.
     Then falset shall have foot fully five years;
     Then truth surely shall be tint, and none shall lippen to other;
     The one cousing shall not trust the other,
     Not the son the father, nor the father the son:
     For to have his goods he would have him hanged."
     &c. &c. &c.

The archer listened to these mystic prognostications, which were not
the less wearisome that they were, in a considerable degree,
unintelligible; at the same time subduing his Hotspur-like disposition
to tire of the recitation, yet at brief intervals comforting himself
with an application to the wine flagon, and enduring as he might what
he neither understood nor took interest in. Meanwhile the minstrel
proceeded with his explanation of the dubious and imperfect
vaticinations of which we have given a sufficient specimen.

"Could you wish," said he to Greenleaf, "a more exact description of
the miseries which have passed over Scotland in these latter days? Have
not these the raven and rook, the fox and the fulmart, explained;
either because the nature of the birds or beasts bear an individual
resemblance to those of the knights who display them on their banners,
or otherwise are bodied forth by actual blazonry on their shields, and
come openly into the field to ravage and destroy? Is not the total
disunion of the land plainly indicated by these words, that connexions
of blood shall be broken asunder, that kinsmen shall not trust each
other, and that the father and son, instead, of putting faith in their
natural connexion, shall seek each other's life, in order to enjoy his
inheritance? The _leal men_ of Lothian are distinctly mentioned as
taking arms, and there is plainly allusion to the other events of these
late Scottish troubles. The death of this last William is obscurely
intimated under the type of a hound, which was that good lord's
occasional cognizance.

  'The hound that was harm'd then muzzled shall be,
  Who loved him worst shall weep for his wreck;
  Yet shall a whelp rise of the same race,
  That rudely shall roar, and rule the whole north,
  And quit the whole quarrel of old deeds done,
  Though he from his hold be kept back awhile.
  True Thomas told me this in a troublesome time,
  In a harvest morning at Eldoun hills.'"

"This hath a meaning, Sir Archer," continued the minstrel, "and which
flies as directly to its mark as one of your own arrows, although there
may be some want of wisdom in making the direct explication. Being,
however, upon assurance with you, I do not hesitate to tell you, that
in my opinion this lion's whelp that awaits its time, means this same
celebrated Scottish prince, Robert the Bruce, who, though repeatedly
defeated, has still, while hunted with bloodhounds, and surrounded by
enemies of every sort, maintained his pretensions to the crown of
Scotland, in despite of King Edward, now reigning."

"Minstrel," answered the soldier, "you are my guest, and we have sat
down together as friends to this simple meal in good comradeship. I
must tell thee, however, though I am loath to disturb our harmony, that
thou art the first who hast adventured to speak a word before Gilbert
Greenleaf in favour of that outlawed traitor, Robert Bruce, who has by
his seditions so long disturbed the peace of this realm. Take my
advice, and be silent on this topic; for, believe me, the sword of a
true English archer will spring from its scabbard without consent of
its master, should it hear aught said to the disparagement of bonny St.
George and his ruddy cross; nor shall the authority of Thomas the
Rhymer, or any other prophet in Scotland, England, or Wales, be
considered as an apology for such unbecoming predictions."

"I were loth to give offence at any time," said the minstrel, "much
more to provoke you to anger, when I am in the very act of experiencing
your hospitality. I trust, however, you will remember that I do not
come your uninvited guest, and that if I speak to you of future events,
I do so without having the least intention to add my endeavour to bring
them to pass; for, God knows, it is many years since my sincere prayer
has been for peace and happiness to all men, and particularly honour
and happiness to the land of Bowmen, in which I was born, and which I
am bound to remember in my prayers beyond all other nations in the
world."

"It is well that you do so," said the archer; "for so you shall best
maintain your bounden duty to the fair land of your birth, which is the
richest that the sun shines upon. Something, however, I would know, if
it suits with your pleasure to tell me, and that is, whether you find
anything in these rude rhymes appearing to affect the safety of the
Castle of Douglas, where we now are?--for, mark me, Sir Minstrel, I
have observed that these mouldering parchments, when or by whomsoever
composed, have so far a certain coincidence with the truth, that when
such predictions which they contain are spread abroad in the country,
and create rumours of plots, conspiracies, and bloody wars, they are
very apt to cause the very mischances which they would be thought only
to predict."

"It were not very cautious in me," said the minstrel, "to choose a
prophecy for my theme, which had reference to any attack on this
garrison; for in such case I should, according to your ideas, lay
myself under suspicion of endeavouring to forward what no person could
more heartily regret than myself."

"Take my word for it, good friend," said the archer, "that it shall not
be thus with thee; for I neither will myself conceive ill of thee, nor
report thee to Sir John de Walton as meditating harm against him or his
garrison--nor, to speak truth, would Sir John de Walton be willing to
believe anyone who did. He thinks highly, and no doubt deservedly, of
thy good faith towards thy lady, and would conceive it unjust to
suspect the fidelity of one who has given evidence of his willingness
to meet death rather than betray the least secret of his mistress."

"In preserving her secret," said Bertram, "I only discharged the duty
of a faithful servant, leaving it to her to judge how long such a
secret ought to be preserved; for a faithful servant ought to think as
little of the issue towards himself of the commission which he bears,
as the band of flock silk concerns itself with the secret of the letter
which it secures. And, touching your question--I have no objections,
although merely to satisfy your curiosity, to unfold to you that these
old prophecies do contain some intimations of wars befalling in Douglas
Dale, between an haggard, or wild hawk, which I take to be the
cognizance of Sir John de Walton, and the three stars, or martlets,
which is the cognizance of the Douglas; and more particulars I could
tell of these onslaughts, did I know whereabouts is a place in these
woods termed Bloody Sykes, the scene also, as I comprehend, of
slaughter and death, between the followers of the three stars and those
who hold the part of the Saxon, or King of England."

"Such a place," replied Gilbert Greenleaf, "I have heard often
mentioned by that name among the natives of these parts; nevertheless
it is vain to seek to discover the precise spot, as these wily Scots
conceal from us with care every thing respecting the geography of their
country, as it is called by learned men; but we may here mention the
Bloody Sykes, Bottomless Myre, and other places, as portentous names,
to which their traditions attach some signification of war and
slaughter. If it suits your wish, however, we can, on our way to the
church, try to find this place called Bloody Sykes, which I doubt not
we shall trace out long before the traitors who meditate an attack upon
us will find a power sufficient for the attempt."

Accordingly the minstrel and archer, the latter of whom was by this
time reasonably well refreshed with wine, marched out of the castle of
Douglas, without waiting for others of the garrison, resolving to seek
the dingle bearing the ominous name of Bloody Sykes, concerning which
the archer only knew that by mere accident he had heard of a place
bearing such a name, at the hunting match made under the auspices of
Sir John de Walton, and knew that it lay in the woods somewhere near
the town of Douglas and in the vicinage of the castle.




CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH.

      _Hotspur_. I cannot choose; sometimes he angers me
     With telling me of the moldwarp and the ant,
     Of the dreamer Merlin, and his prophecies;
     And of a dragon and a finless fish,
     A clipt-wing'd griffin and a moulten raven,
     A couching lion, and a ramping cat.
     And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff,
     As puts me from my faith.
                                KING HENRY IV.


The conversation between the minstrel and the ancient archer naturally
pursued a train somewhat resembling that of Hotspur and Glendower, in
which Gilbert Greenleaf by degrees took a larger share than was
apparently consistent with his habits and education: but the truth was
that as he exerted himself to recall the recognisances of military
chieftains, their war-cries, emblems, and other types by which they
distinguished themselves in battle, and might undoubtedly be indicated
in prophetic rhymes, he began to experience the pleasure which most men
entertain when they find themselves unexpectedly possessed of a faculty
which the moment calls upon them to employ, and renders them important
in the possession of. The minstrel's sound good sense was certainly
somewhat surprised at the inconsistencies sometimes displayed by his
companion, as he was carried off by the willingness to make show of his
newly-discovered faculty on the one hand, and, on the other, to call to
mind the prejudices which he had nourished during his whole life
against minstrels, who, with the train of legends and fables, were the
more likely to be false, as being generally derived from the "North
Countrie."

As they strolled from one glade of the forest to another, the minstrel
began to be surprised at the number of Scottish votaries whom they met,
and who seemed to be hastening to the church, and, as it appeared by
the boughs which they carried, to assist in the ceremony of the day. To
each of these the archer put a question respecting the existence of a
place called Bloody Sykes, and where it was to be found--but all seemed
either to be ignorant on the subject, or desirous of evading it, for
which they found some pretext in the jolly archer's manner of
interrogation, which savoured a good deal of the genial breakfast. The
general answer was, that they knew no such place, or had other matters
to attend to upon the morn of a holy-tide than answering frivolous
questions. At last, when, in one or two; instances, the answer of the
Scottish almost approached to sullenness, the minstrel remarked it,
observing that there was ever some mischief on foot when the people of
this country could not find a civil answer to their betters, which is
usually so ready among them, and that they appeared to be making a
strong muster for the service of Palm Sunday.

"You will doubtless, Sir Archer," continued the minstrel, "make your
report to your knight accordingly; for I promise you, that if you do
not, I myself, whose lady's freedom is also concerned, will feel it my
duty to place before Sir John de Walton the circumstances which make me
entertain suspicion of this extraordinary confluence of Scottish men,
and the surliness which has replaced their wonted courtesy of manners."

"Tush, Sir Minstrel," replied the archer, displeased at Bertram's
interference, "believe me, that armies have ere now depended on my
report to the general, which has always been perspicuous and clear,
according to the duties of war. Your walk, my worthy friend, has been
in a separate department, such as affairs of peace, old songs,
prophecies, and the like, in which it is far from my thoughts to
contend with you; but credit me, it will be most for the reputation, of
both, that we do not attempt to interfere with what concerns each
other."

"It is far from my wish to do so," replied the minstrel; "but I would.
wish that a speedy return should be made to the castle, in order to ask
Sir John de Walton's opinion of that which we have but just seen."

"To this," replied Greenleaf, "there can be no objection; but, would
you seek the governor at the hour which now is, you will find him most
readily by going to the church of Douglas, to which he regularly wends
on occasions such as the present, with the principal part of his
officers, to ensure, by his presence, that no tumult arise (of which
there is no little dread) between the English and the Scottish. Let us
therefore hold to our original intention of attending the service of
the day, and we shall rid ourselves of these entangled woods, and gain
the shortest road to the church of Douglas."

"Let us go, then, with all despatch," said the minstrel; "and with the
greater haste, that it appears to me that something has passed on this
very spot this morning, which argues that the Christian peace due to
the day has not been inviolably observed. What mean these drops of
blood?" alluding to those which had flowed from the wounds of
Turnbull--"Wherefore is the earth impressed with these deep tints, the
footsteps of armed men advancing and retreating, doubtless, according
to the chances of a fierce and heady conflict?"

"By Our Lady," returned Greenleaf, "I must own that thou seest clear.
What were my eyes made of when they permitted thee to be the first
discoverer of these signs of conflict? Here are feathers of a blue
plume, which I ought to remember, seeing my knight assumed it, or at
least permitted me to place it in his helmet, this morning, in sign of
returning hope, from the liveliness of its colour. But here it lies,
shorn from his head, and, if I may guess, by no friendly hand. Come,
friend, to the church--to the church--and thou shalt have my example of
the manner in which De Walton ought to be supported when in danger."

He led the way through the town of Douglas, entering at the southern
gate, and up the very street in which Sir Aymer de Valence had charged
the Phantom Knight.

We can now say more fully, that the church of Douglas had originally
been a stately Gothic building, whose towers, arising high above the
walls of the town, bore witness to the grandeur of its original
construction. It was now partly ruinous, and the small portion of open
space which was retained for public worship was fitted up in the family
aisle where its deceased lords rested from worldly labours and the
strife of war. From the open ground in the front of the building, their
eye could pursue a considerable part of the course of the river
Douglas, which approached the town from the south-west, bordered by a
line of hills fantastically diversified in their appearance, and in
many places covered with copsewood, which descended towards the valley,
and formed a part of the tangled and intricate woodland by which the
town was surrounded. The river itself, sweeping round the west side of
the town, and from thence northward, supplied that large inundation or
artificial piece of water which we have already mentioned. Several of
the Scottish people, bearing willow branches, or those of yew, to
represent the palms which were the symbol of the day, seemed wandering
in the churchyard as if to attend the approach of some person of
peculiar sanctity, or procession, of monks and friars, come to render
the homage due to the solemnity. At the moment almost that Bertram and
his companion entered the churchyard, the Lady of Berkely, who was in
the act of following Sir John de Walton into the church, after having
witnessed his conflict with the young Knight of Douglas, caught a
glimpse of her faithful minstrel, and instantly determined to regain
the company of that old servant of her house and confidant of her
fortunes, and trust to the chance afterwards of being rejoined by Sir
John de Walton, with a sufficient party to provide for her safety,
which she in no respect doubted it would be his care to collect. She
darted away accordingly from the path in which she was advancing, and
reached the place where Bertram, with his new acquaintance Greenleaf,
were making some enquiries of the soldiers of the English garrison,
whom the service of the day had brought there.

Lady Augusta Berkely, in the meantime, had an opportunity to say
privately to her faithful attendant and guide, "Take no notice of me,
friend Bertram, but take heed, if possible, that we be not again
separated from each other." Having given him this hint, she observed
that it was adopted by the minstrel, and that he presently afterwards
looked round and set his eye upon her, as, muffled in her pilgrim's
cloak, she slowly withdrew to another part of the cemetery, and seemed
to halt, until, detaching himself from Greenleaf, he should find an
opportunity of joining her.

Nothing, in truth, could have more sensibly affected the faithful
minstrel than the singular mode of communication which acquainted him
that his mistress was safe, and at liberty to choose her own motions,
and, as he might hope, disposed to extricate herself from the dangers
which surrounded her in Scotland, by an immediate retreat to her own
country and domain. He would gladly have approached and joined her, but
she took an opportunity by a sign to caution him against doing so,
while at the same time he remained somewhat apprehensive of the
consequences of bringing her under the notice of his new friend,
Greenleaf, who might perhaps think it proper to busy himself so as to
gain some favour with the knight who was at the head of the garrison.
Meantime the old archer continued his conversation with Bertram, while
the minstrel, like many other men similarly situated, heartily wished
that his well-meaning companion had been a hundred fathoms under
ground, so his evanishment had given him license to join his mistress;
but all he had in his power was to approach her as near as he could,
without creating any suspicion.

"I would pray you, worthy minstrel," said Greenleaf, after looking
carefully round, "that we may prosecute together the theme which we
were agitating before we came hither; is it not your opinion, that the
Scottish natives have fixed this very morning for some of those
dangerous attempts which they have repeatedly made, and which are so
carefully guarded against by the governors placed in this district of
Douglas by our good King Edward, our rightful sovereign?"

"I cannot see," replied the minstrel, "on what grounds you found such
an apprehension, or what you see here in the churchyard different from
that you talked of as we approached it, when you held me rather in
scorn, for giving way to some suspicions of the same kind."

"Do you not see," added the archer, "the numbers of men, with strange
faces, and in various disguisements, who are thronging about these
ancient ruins, which are usually so solitary? Yonder, for example, sits
a boy who seems to shun observation, and whose dress, I will be sworn,
has never been shaped in Scotland."

"And if he is an English pilgrim," replied the minstrel, observing that
the archer pointed towards the Lady of Berkely, "he surely affords less
matter of suspicion."

"I know not that," said old Greenleaf, "but I think it will bo my duty
to inform Sir John de Walton, if I can reach him, that there are many
persons here, who in outward appearance neither belong to the garrison,
nor to this part of the country.'"

"Consider," said Bertram, "before you harass with accusation a poor
young man, and subject him to the consequences which must necessarily
attend upon suspicions of this nature, how many circumstances call
forth men peculiarly to devotion at this period. Not only is this the
time of the triumphal entrance of the founder of the Christian religion
into Jerusalem, but the day itself is called Dominica Confitentium, or
the Sunday of Confessors, and the palm-tree, or the box and yew, which
are used as its substitutes, and which are distributed to the priests,
are burnt solemnly to ashes, and those ashes distributed among the
pious, by the priests, upon the Ash-Wednesday of the succeeding year,
all which rites and ceremonies in our country, are observed, by order
of the Christian Church; nor ought you, gentle archer, nor can you
without a crime, persecute those as guilty of designs upon your
garrison, who can ascribe their presence here to their desire to
discharge the duties of the day; and look ye at yon numerous procession
approaching with banner and cross, and, as it appears, consisting of
some churchman of rank, and his attendants; let us first enquire who he
is, and it is probable we shall find in his name and rank sufficient
security for the peaceable and orderly behaviour of those whom piety
has this day assembled at the church of Douglas."

Greenleaf accordingly made the investigation recommended by his
companion, and received information that the holy man who headed the
procession, was no other than the diocesan of the district, the Bishop
of Glasgow, who had come to give his countenance to the rites with
which the day was to be sanctified.

The prelate accordingly entered the walls of the dilapidated
churchyard, preceded by his cross-bearers, and attended by numbers,
with boughs of yew and other evergreens, used on the festivity instead
of palms. Among them the holy father showered his blessing, accompanied
by signs of the cross, which were met with devout exclamations by such
of the worshippers as crowded around him:--"To thee, reverend father,
we apply for pardon for our offences, which we humbly desire to confess
to thee, in order that we may obtain pardon from Heaven."

In this manner the congregation and the dignified clergyman met
together, exchanging pious greeting, and seemingly intent upon nothing
but the rites of the day. The acclamations of the congregation, mingled
with the deep voice of the officiating priest, dispensing the sacred
ritual; the whole forming a scene which, conducted with the Catholic
skill and ceremonial, was at once imposing and affecting.

The archer, on seeing the zeal with which the people in the churchyard,
as well as a number who issued from the church, hastened proudly to
salute the bishop of the diocese, was rather ashamed of the suspicions
which he had entertained of the sincerity of the good man's purpose in
coming hither. Taking advantage of a fit of devotion, not perhaps very
common with old Greenleaf, who at this moment thrust himself forward to
share in. those spiritual advantages which the prelate was dispensing,
Bertram. slipped clear of his English friend, and, gliding to the side
of the Lady Augusta, exchanged, by the pressure of the hand, a mutual
congratulation upon having rejoined company. On a sign by the minstrel,
they withdrew to the inside of the church, so as to remain unobserved
amidst the crowd, in which they were favoured by the dark shadows of
some parts of the building.

The body of the church, broken as it was, and hung round with the
armorial trophies of the last Lords of Douglas, furnished rather the
appearance of a sacrilegiously desecrated ruin, than the inside of a
holy place; yet some care appeared to have been taken to prepare it for
the service of the day. At the lower end hung the great escutcheon of
William Lord of Douglas, who had lately died a prisoner in England;
around that escutcheon were placed the smaller shields of his sixteen
ancestors, and a deep black shadow was diffused by the whole mass,
unless where relieved by the glance of the coronets, or the glimmer of
bearings particularly gay in emblazonry. I need not say that in other
respects the interior of the church was much dismantled, it being the
very same place in which Sir Aymer de Valence held an interview with
the old sexton; and who now, drawing into a separate corner some of the
straggling parties whom he had collected and brought to the church,
kept on the alert, and appeared ready for an attack as well at mid-day
as at the witching hour of midnight. This was the more necessary, as
the eye of Sir John de Walton seemed busied in searching from one place
to another, as if unable to find the object he was in quest of, which
the reader will easily understand to be the Lady Augusta de Berkely, of
whom he had lost sight in the pressure of the multitude. At the eastern
part of the church was fitted up a temporary altar, by the side of
which, arrayed in his robes, the Bishop of Glasgow had taken his place,
with such priests and attendants as composed his episcopal retinue. His
suite was neither numerous nor richly attired, nor did his own
appearance present a splendid specimen of the wealth and dignity of the
episcopal order. When he laid down, however, his golden cross, at the
stern command of the King of England, that of simple wood, which he
assumed instead thereof, did not possess less authority, nor command
less awe among the clergy and people of the diocese.

The various persons, natives of Scotland, now gathered around, seemed
to watch his motions, as those of a descended saint, and the English
waited in mute astonishment, apprehensive that at some unexpected
signal an attack would be made upon them, either by the powers of earth
or heaven, or perhaps by both in combination. The truth is, that so
great was the devotion of the Scottish clergy of the higher ranks to
the interests of the party of Bruce, that the English had become
jealous of permitting them to interfere even with those ceremonies of
the Church which were placed under their proper management, and thence
the presence of the Bishop of Glasgow, officiating at a high festival
in the church of Douglas, was a circumstance of rare occurrence, and
not unattended both with wonder and suspicion. A council of the Church,
however, had lately called the distinguished prelates of Scotland to
the discharge of their duty on the festivity of Palm Sunday, and
neither English nor Scottish saw the ceremony with indifference. An
unwonted silence which prevailed in the church, filled, as it appeared,
with persons of different views, hopes, wishes, and expectations,
resembled one of those solemn pauses which often take place before a
strife of the elements, and are well understood to be the forerunners
of some dreadful concussion of nature. All animals, according to their
various nature, express their sense of the approaching tempest; the
cattle, the deer, and other inhabitants of the walks of the forest,
withdraw to the inmost recesses of their pastures; the sheep crowd into
their fold; and the dull stupor of universal nature, whether animate or
inanimate, presages its speedily awakening into general convulsion and
disturbance, when the lurid lightning shall hiss at command of the
diapason of the thunder.

It was thus that, in deep suspense, those who had come to the church in
arms, at the summons, of Douglas, awaited and expected every moment a
signal to attack, while the soldiers of the English garrison, aware of
the evil disposition of the natives towards them, were reckoning every
moment when the well-known shouts of "Bows and bills!" should give
signal for a general conflict, and both parties, gazing fiercely upon
each other, seemed to expect the fatal onset.

Notwithstanding the tempest, which appeared every moment ready to
burst, the Bishop of Glasgow proceeded with the utmost solemnity to
perform the ceremonies proper to the day; he paused from time to time
to survey the throng, as if to calculate whether the turbulent passions
of those around him would be so long kept under as to admit of his
duties being brought to a close in a manner becoming the time and place.

The prelate had just concluded the service, when a person advanced
towards him with a solemn and mournful aspect, and asked if the
reverend father could devote a few moments to administer comfort to a
dying man, who was lying wounded close by.

The churchman signified a ready acquiescence, amidst a stillness which,
when he surveyed the lowering brows of one party at least of those who
were in the church, boded no peaceful termination to this fated day.
The father motioned to the messenger to show him the way, and proceeded
on his mission, attended by some of those who were understood to be
followers of the Douglas.

There was something peculiarly striking, if not suspicious, in the
interview which followed. In a subterranean vault was deposited the
person of a large tall man, whose blood flowed copiously through two or
three ghastly wounds, and streamed amongst the trusses of straw on
which he lay; while his features exhibited a mixture of sternness and
ferocity, which seemed prompt to kindle into a still more savage
expression.

The reader will probably conjecture that the person in question was no
other than Michael Turnbull, who, wounded in the rencounter of the
morning, had been left by some of his friends upon the straw, which was
arranged for him by way of couch, to live or die as he best could. The
prelate, on entering the vault, lost no time in calling the attention
of the wounded man to the state of his spiritual affairs, and assisting
him to such comfort as the doctrine of the Church directed should be
administered to departing sinners. The words exchanged between them
were of that grave and severe character which passes between the
ghostly father and his pupil, when one world is rolling away from the
view of the sinner, and another is displaying itself in all its
terrors, and thundering in the ear of the penitent that retribution
which the deeds done in the flesh must needs prepare him to expect.
This is one of the most solemn meetings which can take place between
earthly beings; and the courageous character of the Jedwood forester,
as well as the benevolent and pious expression of the old churchman,
considerably enhanced the pathos of the scene.

"Turnbull," said the churchman, "I trust you will believe me when I say
that it grieves my heart to see thee brought to this situation by
wounds which it is my duty to tell you, you must consider mortal."

"Is the chase ended, then?" said the Jedwood man with a sigh. "I care
not, good father, for I think I have borne me as becomes a gallant
quarry, and that the old forest has lost no credit by me, whether in
pursuit, or in bringing to bay; and even in this last matter, methinks
this gay English knight would not have come off with such advantage had
the ground on which we stood been alike indifferent to both, or had I
been aware of his onset; but it will be seen, by any one who takes the
trouble to examine, that poor Michael Turnbull's foot slipped twice in
the _melee_, otherwise it had not been his fate to be lying here in the
dead-thraw; [Footnote: Or death agony.] while yonder southron would
probably have died like a dog, upon this bloody straw, in his place."

The bishop replied, advising his penitent to turn from vindictive
thoughts respecting the death of others, and endeavour to fix his
attention upon his own departure from existence, which seemed shortly
about to take place.

"Nay," replied the wounded man, "you, father, undoubtedly know best
what is fit for me to do; yet methinks it would not be very well with
me if I had prolonged to this time of day the task of revising my life,
and I am not the man to deny that mine has been a bloody and a
desperate one. But you will grant me I never bore malice to a brave
enemy for having done me an injury, and show me the man, being a
Scotchman born, and having a natural love for his own country, who hath
not, in these times, rather preferred a steel cap to a hat and feather,
or who hath not been more conversant with drawn blades than with
prayer-book; and you yourself know, father, whether, in our proceedings
against the English interest, we have not uniformly had the countenance
of the sincere fathers of the Scottish Church, and whether we have not
been exhorted to take arms and make use of them, for the honour of the
King of Scotland, and the defence of our own rights."

"Undoubtedly," said the prelate, "such have been our exhortations
towards our oppressed countrymen, nor do I now teach you a different
doctrine; nevertheless, having now blood around me, and a dying man
before me, I have need to pray that I have not been misled from the
true path, and thus become the means of misdirecting others. May Heaven
forgive me if I have done so, since I have only to plead my sincere and
honest intention in excuse for the erroneous counsel which I may have
given to you and others touching these wars. I am conscious that
encouraging you so to stain your swords in blood, I have departed in
some degree from the character of my profession, which enjoins that we
neither shed blood, nor are the occasion of its being shed. May Heaven
enable us to obey our duties, and to repent of our errors, especially
such as have occasioned the death or distress of our fellow-creatures.
And, above all, may this dying Christian become aware of his errors,
and repent with sincerity of having done to others that which he would
not willingly have suffered at their hand!"

"For that matter," answered Turnbull, "the time has never been when I
would not exchange a blow with the best man who ever lived; and if I
was not in constant practice of the sword, it was because I have been
brought up to the use of the Jedwood-axe, which the English call a
partisan, and which makes little difference, I understand, from the
sword and poniard."

"The distinction is not great," said the bishop; "but I fear, my
friend, that life taken with what you call a Jedwood-axe, gives you no
privilege over him who commits the same deed, and inflicts the same
injury, with any other weapon."

"Nay, worthy father," said the penitent, "I must own that the effect of
the weapons is the same, as far as concerns the man who suffers; but I
would pray of you information, why a Jedwood man ought not to use, as
is the custom of his country, a Jedwood-axe, being, as is implied in
the name, the offensive weapon proper to his country?"

"The crime of murder," said the bishop, "consists not in the weapon
with which the crime is inflicted, but in the pain which the murderer
inflicts upon his fellow-creature, and the breach of good order which
he introduces into heaven's lovely and peaceable creation; and it is by
turning your repentance upon this crime that you may fairly expect to
propitiate Heaven for your offences, and at the same time to escape the
consequences which are denounced in Holy Writ against those by whom
man's blood shall be shed."

"But, good father," said the wounded man, "you know as well as any one,
that in this company, and in this very church, there are upon the watch
scores of both Scotchmen and Englishmen, who come here not so much to
discharge the religious duties of the day, as literally to bereave each
other of their lives, and give a new example of the horror of those
feuds which the two extremities of Britain nourish against each other.
What conduct, then, is a poor man like me to hold? Am I not to raise
this hand against the English, which methinks I still can make a
tolerably efficient one--or am I, for the first time in my life, to
hear the war-cry when it is raised, and hold back my sword from the
slaughter? Methinks it will be difficult, perhaps altogether
impossible, for me to do so; but if such is the pleasure of Heaven, and
your advice, most reverend father, unquestionably I must do my best to
be governed by your directions, as of one who has a right and title to
direct us in every dilemma, or case, as they term it, of troubled
conscience."

"Unquestionably," said the bishop, "it is my duty, as I have already
said, to give no occasion this day for the shedding of blood, or the
breach of peace; and I must charge you, as my penitent, that upon your
soul's safety, you do not minister any occasion to affray or bloodshed,
either by maintaining such in your own person, or inciting others to
the same; for by following a different course of advice, I am certain
that you, as well as myself, would act sinfully and out of character."

"So I will endeavour to think, reverend father," answered the huntsman;
"nevertheless, I hope it will be remembered in my favour that I am the
first person bearing the surname of Turnbull, together with the proper
name of the Prince of Archangels himself, who has at any time been able
to sustain the affront occasioned by the presence of a southron with a
drawn sword, and was not thereby provoked to pluck forth his own
weapon, and to lay about him."

"Take care, my son," returned the Prelate of Glasgow, "and observe,
that even now thou art departing from those resolutions which, but a
few minutes since, thou didst adopt upon serious and just
consideration; wherefore do not be, O my son! like the sow that has
wallowed in the mire, and, having been washed, repeats its act of
pollution, and becomes again yet fouler than it was before."

"Well, reverend father," replied the wounded man, "although it seems
almost unnatural for Scottishmen and English to meet and part without a
buffet, yet I will endeavour most faithfully not to minister any
occasion of strife, nor, if possible, to snatch at any such occasion as
shall be ministered to me."

"In doing so," returned the bishop, "thou wilt best atone for the
injury which thou hast done to the law of Heaven upon former occasions,
and thou shalt prevent the causes for strife betwixt thee and thy
brethren of the southern land, and shalt eschew the temptation towards
that blood-guiltiness which is so rife in this our day and generation.
And do not think that I am imposing upon thee, by these admonitions, a
duty more difficult than it is in thy covenant to bear, as a man and as
a Christian. I myself am a man and a Scotchman, and, as such, I feel
offended at the unjust conduct of the English towards our country and
sovereign; and thinking as you do yourself, I know what you must suffer
when you are obliged to submit to national insults, unretaliated and
unrevenged. But let us not conceive ourselves the agents of that
retributive vengeance which Heaven has, in a peculiar degree, declared
to be its own attribute. Let us, while we see and feel the injuries
inflicted on our own country, not forget that our own raids,
ambuscades, and surprisals, have been at least equally fatal to the
English as their attacks and forays have been to us; and, in short, let
the mutual injuries of the crosses of Saint Andrew and of Saint George
be no longer considered as hostile to the inhabitants of the opposite
district, at least during the festivals of religion; but as they are
mutually signs of redemption, let them be, in like manner, intimations
of forbearance and peace on both sides."

"I am contented," answered Turnbull, "to abstain from all offences
towards others, and shall even endeavour to keep myself from resenting
those of others towards me, in the hope of bringing to pass such a
quiet and godly state of things as your words, reverend father, induce
me to expect." Turning his face to the wall, the Borderer lay in stern
expectation of approaching death, which the bishop left him to
contemplate. The peaceful disposition which the prelate had inspired
into Michael Turnbull, had in some degree diffused itself among those
present, who heard with awe the spiritual admonition to suspend the
national antipathy, and remain in truce and amity with each other.
Heaven had, however, decreed that the national quarrel, in which so
much blood had been sacrificed, should that day again be the occasion
of deadly strife.

A loud flourish of trumpets, seeming to proceed from beneath the earth,
now rung through the church, and roused the attention of the soldiers
and worshippers then assembled. Most of those who heard these warlike
sounds betook themselves to their weapons, as if they considered it
useless to wait any longer for the signal of conflict. Hoarse voices,
rude exclamations, the rattle of swords against their sheaths, or their
clashing against other pieces of armour, gave an awful presage of an
onset, which, however, was for a time averted by the exhortations of
the bishop. A second flourish of trumpets having taken place, the voice
of a herald made proclamation to the following purpose:--

"That whereas there were many noble pursuivants of chivalry presently
assembled in the Kirk of Douglas, and whereas there existed among them
the usual causes of quarrel and points of debate for their advancement
in chivalry, therefore the Scottish knights were ready to fight any
number of the English who might be agreed, either upon the superior
beauty of their ladies, or upon the national quarrel in any of its
branches, or upon whatever point might be at issue between them, which
should be deemed satisfactory ground of quarrel by both; and the
knights who should chance to be worsted in such dispute should renounce
the prosecution thereof, or the bearing arms therein thereafter, with
such other conditions to ensue upon their defeat as might be agreed
upon by a council of the knights present at the Kirk of Douglas
aforesaid. But foremost of all, any number of Scottish knights, from
one to twenty, will defend the quarrel which has already drawn blood,
touching the freedom of Lady Augusta de Berkely, and the rendition of
Douglas Castle to the owner here present. Wherefore it is required that
the English knights do intimate their consent that such trial of valour
take place, which, according to the rules of chivalry, they cannot
refuse, without losing utterly the reputation of valour, and incurring
the diminution of such other degree of estimation as a courageous
pursuivant of arms would willingly be held in, both by the good knights
of his own country, and those of others."

This unexpected gage of battle realized the worst fears of those who
had looked with suspicion on the extraordinary assemblage this day of
the dependents of the House of Douglas. After a short pause, the
trumpets again flourished lustily, when the reply of the English
knights was made in the following terms:--

"That God forbid the rights and privileges of England's knights, and
the beauty of her damsels, should not be asserted by her children, or
that such English knights as were here assembled, should show the least
backwardness to accept the combat offered, whether grounded upon the
superior beauty of their ladies, or whether upon the causes of dispute
between the countries, for either or all of which the knights of
England here present were willing to do battle in the terms of the
indenture aforesaid, while sword and lance shall endure. Saving and
excepting the surrender of the Castle of Douglas, which can be rendered
to no one but England's king, or those acting under his orders."




CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH.

     Cry the wild war-note, let the champions pass,
     Do bravely each, and God defend the right;
     Upon Saint Andrew thrice can they thus cry,
     And thrice they shout on height,
     And then marked them on the Englishmen,
     As I have told you right.
     Saint George the bright, our ladies' knight,
     To name they were full fain;
     Our Englishmen they cried on height,
     And thrice they shout again.
                                  OLD BALLAD.


The extraordinary crisis mentioned in the preceding chapter, was the
cause, as may be supposed, of the leaders on both sides now throwing
aside all concealment, and displaying their utmost strength, by
marshalling their respective adherents; the renowned Knight of Douglas,
with Sir Malcolm Fleming and other distinguished cavaliers, were seen
in close consultation.

Sir John de Walton, startled by the first flourish of trumpets, while
anxiously endeavouring to secure a retreat for the Lady Augusta, was in
a moment seen collecting his followers, in which he was assisted by the
active friendship of the Knight of Valence.

The Lady of Berkely showed no craven spirit at these warlike
preparations; she advanced, closely followed by the faithful Bertram,
and a female in a riding-hood, whose face, though carefully concealed,
was no other than that of the unfortunate Margaret de Hautlieu, whose
worst fears had been realized as to the faithlessness of her betrothed
knight.

A pause ensued, which for some time no one present thought himself of
authority sufficient to break.

At last the Knight of Douglas stepped forward and said, loudly, "I wait
to know whether Sir John de Walton requests leave of James of Douglas
to evacuate his castle without further wasting that daylight which
might show us to judge a fair field, and whether he craves Douglas's
protection in doing so?"

The Knight of Walton drew his sword. "I hold the Castle of Douglas," he
said, "in spite of all deadly,--and never will I ask the protection
from any one which my own sword is competent to afford me."

"I stand by you, Sir John," said Aymer de Valence, "as your true
comrade, against whatever odds may oppose themselves to us."

"Courage, noble English," said the voice of Greenleaf; "take your
weapons in God's name. Bows and bills! bows and bills!--A messenger
brings us notice that Pembroke is in full march hither from the borders
of Ayrshire, and will be with us in half an hour. Fight on, gallant
English! Valence to the rescue! and long life to the gallant Earl of
Pembroke!"

Those English within and around the church no longer delayed to take
arms, and De Walton, crying out at the height of his voice, "I implore
the Douglas to look nearly to the safety of the ladies," fought his way
to the church door; the Scottish finding themselves unable to resist
the impression of terror which affected them at the sight of this
renowned knight, seconded by his brother-in-arms, both of whom had been
so long the terror of the district. In the meantime, it is possible
that De Walton might altogether have forced his way out of the church,
had he not been met boldly by the young son of Thomas Dickson of
Hazelside, while his father was receiving from Douglas the charge of
preserving the stranger ladies from all harm from the fight, which, so
long suspended, was now on the point of taking place.

De Walton cast his eye upon the Lady Augusta, with a desire of rushing
to the rescue; but was forced to conclude, that he provided best for
her safety by leaving her under the protection of Douglas's honour.

Young Dickson, in the meantime, heaped blow on blow, seconding with all
his juvenile courage every effort he could make, in order to attain the
prize due to the conqueror of the renowned De Walton.

"Silly boy," at length said Sir John, who had for some time forborne
the stripling, "take, then, thy death from a noble hand, since thou
preferrest that to peace and length of days."

"I care not," said the Scottish youth, with his dying breath; "I have
lived long enough, since I have kept you so long in the place where you
now stand."

And the youth said truly, for as he fell never again to rise, the
Douglas stood in his place, and without a word spoken, again engaged
with De Walton in the same formidable single combat, by which they had
already been distinguished, but with even additional fury. Aymer de
Valence drew up to his friend De Walton's left hand, and seemed but to
desire the apology of one of Douglas's people attempting to second him,
to join in the fray; but as he saw no person who seemed disposed to
give him such opportunity, he repressed the inclination, and remained
an unwilling spectator. At length it seemed as if Fleming, who stood
foremost among the Scottish knights, was desirous to measure his sword
with De Valence. Aymer himself, burning with the desire of combat, at
last called out, "Faithless Knight of Boghall! step forth and defend
yourself against the imputation of having deserted your lady-love, and
of being a man-sworn disgrace to the rolls of chivalry!"

"My answer," said Fleming, "even to a less gross taunt, hangs by my
side." In an instant his sword was in his hand, and even the practised
warriors who looked on felt difficulty in discovering the progress of
the strife, which rather resembled a thunder storm in a mountainous
country than the stroke and parry of two swords, offending on the one
side, and keeping the defensive on the other.

Their blows were exchanged with surprising rapidity; and although the
two combatants did not equal Douglas and De Walton in maintaining a
certain degree of reserve, founded upon a respect which these knights
mutually entertained for each other, yet the want of art was supplied
by a degree of fury, which gave chance at least an equal share in the
issue.

Seeing their superiors thus desperately engaged, the partisans, as they
were accustomed, stood still on either side, and looked on with the
reverence which they instinctively paid to their commanders and leaders
in arms. One or two of the women were in the meanwhile attracted,
according to the nature of the sex, by compassion for those who had
already experienced the casualties of war. Young Dickson, breathing his
last among the feet of the combatants, [Footnote: [The fall of this,
brave stripling by the hand of the English governor, and the stern
heroism of the father in turning from the spot where he lay, "a model
of beauty and strength," that he might not be withdrawn from the duty
which Douglas had assigned him of protecting the Lady of Berkely,
excites an interest for both, with which it is almost to be regretted
that history interferes. It was the old man, Thomas Dickson, not his
son, who fell. The _slogan_, "a Douglas, a Douglas," having been
prematurely raised, Dickson, who was within the church, thinking that
his young Lord with his armed band was at hand, drew his sword, and
with only one, man to assist him, opposed the English, who now rushed
to the door. Cut across the middle by an English sword, he still
continued his opposition, till he fell lifeless at the threshold. Such
is tradition, and it is supported by a memorial of some authority--a
tombstone, still to be seen in the church-yard of Douglas, on winch is
sculptured a figure of Dickson, supporting with his left arm his
protruding entrails, and raising his sword with the other in the
attitude of combat.]--_Note by the Rev, Mr. Stewart of Douglas_.] was
in some sort rescued from the tumult by the Lady of Berkely, in whom
the action seemed less strange, owing to the pilgrim's dress which she
still retained, and who in vain endeavoured to solicit the attention of
the boy's father to the task in which she was engaged.

"Cumber yourself not, lady, about that which is bootless," said old
Dickson, "and distract not your own attention and mine from preserving
you, whom it is the Douglas's wish to rescue, and whom, so please God
and St. Bride, I consider as placed by my Chieftain under my charge.
Believe me, this youth's death is in no way forgotten, though this be
not the time to remember it. A time will come for recollection, and an
hour for revenge."

So said the stern old man, reverting his eyes from the bloody corpse
which lay at his feet, a model of beauty and strength. Having taken one
more anxious look, he turned round, and placed himself where he could
best protect the Lady of Berkely, not again turning his eyes on his
son's body.

In the interim the combat continued, without the least cessation on
either side, and without a decided advantage. At length, however, fate
seemed disposed to interfere; the Knight of Fleming, pushing fiercely
forward, and brought by chance almost close to the person of the Lady
Margaret de Hautlieu, missed his blow, and his foot sliding in the
blood of the young victim, Dickson, he fell before his antagonist, and
was in imminent danger of being at his mercy, when Margaret de
Hautlieu, who inherited the soul of a warrior, and, besides, was a very
strong, as well as an undaunted person, seeing a mace of no great
weight lying on the floor, where it had been dropped by the fallen
Dickson, it, at the same instant, caught her eye, armed her hand, and
intercepted, or struck down the sword of Sir Aymer de Valence, who
would otherwise have remained the master of the day at that interesting
moment. Fleming had more to do to avail himself of an unexpected chance
of recovery, than to make a commentary upon the manner in which it had
been so singularly brought about; he instantly recovered the advantage
he had lost, and was able in the ensuing close to trip up the feet of
his antagonist, who fell on the pavement, while the voice of his
conqueror, if he could properly be termed such, resounded through the
church with the fatal words, "Yield thee, Aymer de Valence--rescue or
no rescue--yield thee! --yield ye!" he added, as he placed his sword to
the throat of the fallen knight, "not to me, but to this noble
lady--rescue or no rescue."

With a heavy heart the English knight perceived that he had lost so
favourable an opportunity of acquiring fame, and was obliged to submit
to his destiny, or be slain upon the spot. There was only one
consolation, that no battle was ever more honourably sustained, being
gained as much by accident as by valour.

The fate of the protracted and desperate combat between Douglas and De
Walton did not much longer remain in suspense; indeed, the number of
conquests in single combat achieved by the Douglas in these wars, was
so great, as to make it doubtful whether he was not, in personal
strength and skill, even a superior knight to Bruce himself, and he was
at least acknowledged nearly his equal in the art of war.

So however it was, that when three quarters of an hour had passed in
hard contest, Douglas and De Walton, whose nerves were not actually of
iron, began to show some signs that their human bodies were feeling the
effect of the dreadful exertion. Their blows began to be drawn more
slowly, and were parried with less celerity. Douglas, seeing that the
combat must soon come to an end, generously made a signal, intimating
to his antagonist to hold his hand for an instant.

"Brave De Walton," he said, "there is no mortal quarrel between us, and
you must be sensible that in this passage of arms, Douglas, though he
is only worth his sword and his cloak, has abstained from taking a
decisive advantage when the chance of arms has more than once offered
it. My father's house, the broad domains around it, the dwelling, and
the graves of my ancestors, form a reasonable reward for a knight to
fight for, and call upon me in an imperative voice the prosecute to
strife which has such an object, while you are as welcome to the noble
lady, in all honour and safety, as if you had received her from the
hands of King Edward himself; and I give you my word, that the utmost
honours which can attend a prisoner, and a careful absence of every
thing like injury or insult, shall attend De Walton when he yields up
the castle, as well as his sword to James of Douglas."

"It is the fate to which I am perhaps doomed," replied Sir John de
Walton; "but never will I voluntarily embrace it, and never shall it be
said that my own tongue, saving in the last extremity, pronounced upon
me the fatal sentence to sink the point of my own sword. Pembroke is
upon the march with his whole army, to rescue the garrison of Douglas.
I hear the tramp of his horse's feet even now; and I will maintain my
ground while I am within reach of support; nor do I fear that the
breath which now begins to fail will not last long enough to uphold the
struggle till the arrival of the expected succour. Come on, then, and
treat me not as a child, but as one who, whether I stand or fall, fears
not to encounter the utmost force of my knightly antagonist."

"So be it then," said Douglas, a darksome hue, like the lurid colour of
the thunder-cloud, changing his brow as he spoke, intimating that he
meditated a speedy end to the contest, when, just as the noise of
horses' feet drew nigh, a Welsh knight, known as such by the diminutive
size of his steed, his naked limbs, and his bloody spear, called out
loudly to the combatants to hold their hands.

"Is Pembroke near?" said De Walton.

"No nearer than Loudon Hill," said the Prestantin; "but I bring his
commands to John de Walton."

"I stand ready to obey them through every danger," answered the knight.

"Woe is me," said the Welshman, "that my mouth should bring to the ears
of so brave a man tidings so unwelcome! The Earl of Pembroke yesterday
received information that the castle of Douglas was attacked by the son
of the deceased Earl, and the whole inhabitants of the district.
Pembroke, on hearing this, resolved to march to your support, noble
knight, with all the forces he had at his disposal. He did so, and
accordingly entertained every assurance of relieving the castle, when
unexpectedly he met, on Loudon Hill, a body of men of no very inferior
force to his own, and having at their head that famous Bruce whom the
Scottish rebels acknowledge as their king. He marched instantly to the
attack, swearing he would not even draw a comb through his grey beard
until he had rid England of his recurring plague. But the fate of war
was against us."

He stopt here for lack of breath.

"I thought so!" exclaimed Douglas. "Robert Bruce will now sleep at
night, since he has paid home Pembroke for the slaughter of his friends
and the dispersion of his army at Methuen Wood. His men are, indeed,
accustomed to meet with dangers, and to conquer them: those who follow
him have been trained under Wallace, besides being partakers of the
perils of Bruce himself. It was thought that the waves had swallowed
them when they shipped themselves from the west; but know, that the
Bruce was determined with the present reviving spring to awaken his
pretensions, and that he retires not from Scotland again while he
lives, and while a single lord remains to set his foot by his
sovereign, in spite of all the power which has been so feloniously
employed against him."

"It is even too true," said the Welshman Meredith, "although it is said
by a proud Scotchman.--The Earl of Pembroke, completely defeated, is
unable to stir from Ayr, towards which he has retreated with great
loss: and he sends his instructions to Sir John de Walton, to make the
best terms he can for the surrender of the Castle of Douglas, and trust
nothing to his support."

The Scottish, who heard this unexpected news, joined in a shout so loud
and energetic, that the ruins of the ancient church seemed actually to
rock and threaten to fall on the heads of those who were crowded within
it.

The brow of De Walton was overclouded at the news of Pembroke's defeat,
although in some respects it placed him at liberty to take measures for
the safety of the Lady of Berkely. He could not, however, claim the
same honourable terms which had been offered to him by Douglas before
the news of the battle of Loudon Hill had arrived.

"Noble knight," he said, "it is entirely at your pleasure to dictate
the terms of surrender of your paternal castle; nor have I a right to
claim from you those conditions which, a little while since, your
generosity put in my offer. But I submit to my fate; and upon whatever
terms you think fit to grant me, I must be content to offer to
surrender to you the weapon, of which I now put the point in the earth,
in evidence that I will never more direct it against you until a fair
ransom shall place it once more at my own disposal."

"God forbid," answered the noble James of Douglas, "that I should take
such advantage of the bravest knight out of not a few who have found me
work in battle! I will take example from the Knight of Fleming, who has
gallantly bestowed his captive in guerdon upon a noble damsel here
present; and in like manner I transfer my claim upon the person of the
redoubted Knight of Walton, to the high and noble Lady Augusta Berkely,
who, I hope, will not scorn to accept from the Douglas a gift which the
chance of war has thrown into his hands."

Sir John de Walton, on hearing this unexpected decision, looked up like
the traveller who discovers the beams of the sun breaking through and
dispersing the tempest which has accompanied him for a whole morning.
The Lady of Berkely recollected what became her rank, and showed her
sense of the Douglas's chivalry. Hastily wiping off the tears which had
unwillingly flowed to her eyes, while her lover's safety and her own
were resting on the precarious issue of a desperate combat, she assumed
the look proper to a heroine of that age, who did not feel averse to
accept the importance which was conceded to her by the general voice of
the chivalry of the period. Stepping forward, bearing her person
gracefully, yet modestly, in the attitude of a lady accustomed to be
looked to in difficulties like the present, she addressed the audience
in a tone which might not have misbecome the Goddess of Battle
dispersing her influence at the close of a field covered with the dead
and the dying.

"The noble Douglas," she said, "shall not pass without a prize from the
field which he has so nobly won. This rich string of brilliants, which
my ancestor won from the Sultan of Trebisond, itself a prize of battle,
will be honoured by sustaining, under the Douglas's armour, a lock of
hair of the fortunate lady whom the victorious lord has adopted for his
guide in. chivalry; and if the Douglas, till he shall adorn it with
that lock, will permit the honoured lock of hair which it now bears to
retain its station, she on whose head it grew will hold it as a signal
that poor Augusta de Berkely is pardoned for having gaged any mortal
man in strife with the Knight of Douglas."

"Woman's love," replied the Douglas, "shall not divorce this locket
from my bosom, which I will keep till the last day of my life, as
emblematic of female worth and female virtue. And, not to encroach upon
the valued and honoured province of Sir John de Walton, be it known to
all men, that whoever shall say that the Lady Augusta of Berkely has,
in this entangled matter, acted otherwise than becomes the noblest of
her sex, he will do well to be ready to maintain such a proposition
with his lance, against James of Douglas, in a fair field."

This speech was heard with approbation on all sides; and the news
brought by Meredith of the defeat of the Earl of Pembroke, and his
subsequent retreat, reconciled the fiercest of the English soldiers to
the surrender of Douglas Castle. The necessary conditions were speedily
agreed on, which put the Scottish in possession of this stronghold,
together with the stores, both of arms and ammunition, of every kind
which it contained. The garrison had it to boast, that they obtained a
free passage, with their horses and arms, to return by the shortest and
safest route to the marches of England, without either suffering or
inflicting damage.

Margaret of Hautlieu was not behind in acting a generous part; the
gallant Knight of Valence was allowed to accompany his friend De Walton
and the Lady Augusta to England, and without ransom.

The venerable prelate of Glasgow, seeing what appeared at one time
likely to end in a general conflict, terminate so auspiciously for his
country, contented himself with bestowing his blessing on the assembled
multitude, and retiring with those who came to assist in the service of
the day.

This surrender of Douglas Castle upon the Palm Sunday of 19th March,
1306-7, was the beginning of a career of conquest which was
uninterrupted, in which the greater part of the strengths and
fortresses of Scotland were yielded to those who asserted the liberty
of their country, until the crowning mercy was gained in the celebrated
field of Bannockburn, where the English sustained a defeat more
disastrous than is mentioned upon any other occasion in their annals.

Little need be said of the fate of the persons of this story. King
Edward was greatly enraged at Sir John de Walton for having surrendered
the Castle of Douglas, securing at the same time his own object, the
envied hand of the heiress of Berkely. The knights to whom he referred
the matter as a subject of enquiry, gave it nevertheless as their
opinion that De Walton was void of all censure, having discharged his
duty in its fullest extent, till the commands of his superior officer
obliged him to surrender tho Dangerous Castle.

A singular renewal of intercourse took place, many months afterwards,
between Margaret of Hautlieu and her lover, Sir Malcolm Fleming. The
use which the lady made of her freedom, and of the doom of the Scottish
Parliament, which put her in possession of her father's inheritance,
was to follow her adventurous spirit through dangers not usually
encountered by those of her sex; and the Lady of Hautlieu was not only
a daring follower of the chase, but it was said that she was even not
daunted in the battlefield. She remained faithful to the political
principles which she had adopted at an early period; and it seemed as
if she had formed the gallant resolution of shaking the god Cupid from
her horse's mane, if not treading him beneath her horse's feet.

The Fleming, although he had vanished from the neighbourhood of the
counties of Lanark and Ayr, made an attempt to state his apology to the
Lady de Hautlieu herself, who returned his letter unopened, and
remained to all appearance resolved never again to enter upon the topic
of their original engagement. It chanced, however, at a later period of
the war with England, while Fleming was one night travelling upon the
Border, after the ordinary fashion of one who sought adventures, a
waiting-maid, equipped in a fantastic habit, asked the protection of
his arm in the name of her lady, who, late in the evening, had been
made captive, she said, by certain ill-disposed caitiffs, who were
carrying her by force through the forest. The Fleming's lance was, of
course, in its rest, and woe betide the faitour whose lot it was to
encounter its thrust; the first fell, incapable of further combat, and
another of the felons encountered the same fate with little more
resistance. The lady, released from the discourteous cord which
restrained her liberty, did not hesitate to join company with the brave
knight by whom she had been rescued; and although the darkness did not
permit her to recognise her old lover in her liberator, yet she could
not but lend a willing ear to the conversation with which he
entertained her, as they proceeded on the way. He spoke of the fallen
caitiffs as being Englishmen, who found a pleasure in exercising
oppression and barbarities upon the wandering damsels of Scotland, and
whose cause, therefore, the champions of that country were bound to
avenge while the blood throbbed in their veins. He spoke of the
injustice of the national quarrel which had afforded a pretence for
such deliberate oppression; and the lady, who herself had suffered so
much by the interference of the English in the affairs of Scotland,
readily acquiesced in the sentiments which he expressed on a subject
which she had so much reason for regarding as an afflicting one. Her
answer was given in the spirit of a person who would not hesitate, if
the times should call for such an example, to defend even with her hand
the rights which she asserted with her tongue.

Pleased with the sentiments which she expressed, and recognising in her
voice that secret charm, which, once impressed upon the human heart, is
rarely wrought out of the remembrance by a long train of subsequent
events, he almost persuaded himself that the tones were familiar to
him, and had at one time formed the key to his innermost affections. In
proceeding on their journey, the knight's troubled state of mind was
augmented instead of being diminished. The scenes of his earliest youth
were recalled by circumstances so slight, as would in ordinary cases
have produced no effect whatever; the sentiments appeared similar to
those which his life had been devoted to enforce, and he half persuaded
himself that the dawn of day was to be to him the beginning of a
fortune equally singular and extraordinary.

In the midst of this anxiety, Sir Malcolm Fleming had no anticipation
that the lady whom he had heretofore rejected was again thrown into his
path, after years of absence; still less, when daylight gave him a
partial view of his fair companion's countenance, was he prepared to
believe that he was once again to term himself the champion of Margaret
de Hautlieu, but it was so. The lady, on that direful morning when she
retired from the church of Douglas, had not resolved (indeed what lady
ever did?) to renounce, without some struggle, the beauties which she
had once possessed. A long process of time, employed under skilful
hands, had succeeded in obliterating the scars which remained as the
marks of her fall. These were now considerably effaced, and the lost
organ of sight no longer appeared so great a blemish, concealed, as it
was, by a black ribbon, and the arts of the tirewoman, who made it her
business to shadow it over by a lock of hair. In a word, he saw the
same Margaret de Hautlieu, with no very different style of expression
from that which her face, partaking of the high and passionate
character of her soul, had always presented. It seemed to both,
therefore, that their fate, by bringing them together after a
separation which appeared so decisive, had intimated its _fiat_ that
their fortunes were inseparable from each other. By the time that the
summer sun had climbed high in the heavens, the two travellers rode
apart from their retinue, conversing together with an eagerness which
marked the important matters of discussion between them; and in a short
time it was made generally known through Scotland, that Sir Malcolm
Fleming and the Lady Margaret de Hautlieu were to be united at the
court of the good King Robert, and the husband invested with the
honours of Biggar and Cumbernauld, an earldom so long known in the
family of Fleming.

The gentle reader is acquainted, that these are, in all probability,
the last tales which it will be the lot of the Author to submit to the
public. He is now on the eve of visiting foreign parts; a ship of war
is commissioned by its Royal Master to carry the Author of Waverley to
climates in which he may possibly obtain such a restoration of health
as may serve him to spin his thread to an end in his own country. Had
he continued to prosecute his usual literary labours, it seems indeed
probable, that at the term of years he has already attained, the bowl,
to use the pathetic language of Scripture, would have been broken at
the fountain; and little can one, who has enjoyed on the whole an
uncommon share of the most inestimable of worldly blessings, be
entitled to complain, that life, advancing to its period, should be
attended with its usual proportions of shadows and storms. They have
affected him at least in no more painful manner than is inseparable
from the discharge of this part of the debt of humanity. Of those whose
relation to him in the ranks of life might have ensured him their
sympathy under indisposition, many are now no more; and those who may
yet follow in his wake, are entitled to expect, in bearing inevitable
evils, an example of firmness and patience, more especially on the part
of one who has enjoyed no small good fortune during the course of his
pilgrimage.

The public have claims on his gratitude, for which the Author of
Waverley has no adequate means of expression; but he may be permitted
to hope, that the powers of his mind, such as they are, may not have a
different date from those of his body; and that he may again meet his
patronising friends, if not exactly in his old fashion of literature,
at least in some branch, which may not call forth the remark, that--

      "Superfluous lags the veteran on the stage."

ABBOTSFORD, _September_, 1831.

END OF CASTLE DANGEROUS.




MY AUNT MARGARET'S MIRROR

INTRODUCTION.--(1831.)

The species of publication--which has come to be generally known by the
title of _Annual_, being a miscellany of prose and verse, equipped with
numerous engravings, and put forth every year about Christmas, had
flourished for a long while in Germany, before it was imitated in this
country by an enterprising bookseller, a German by birth, Mr.
Ackermann. The rapid success of his work, as is the custom of the time,
gave birth to a host of rivals, and, among others, to an Annual styled
The Keepsake, the first volume of which appeared in 1828, and attracted
much notice, chiefly in consequence of the very uncommon splendour of
its illustrative accompaniments. The expenditure which the spirited
proprietors lavished on this magnificent volume, is understood to have
been not less than from ten to twelve thousand pounds sterling!

Various gentlemen, of such literary reputation that any one might think
it an honour to be associated with them, had been announced as
contributors to this Annual, before application was made to me to
assist in it; and I accordingly placed with much pleasure at the
Editor's disposal a few fragments, originally designed to have been
worked into the Chronicles of the Canongate, besides a MS. Drama, the
long-neglected performance of my youthful days,--the House of Aspen.

The Keepsake for 1828 included, however, only three of these little
prose tales--of which the first in order was that entitled "My Aunt
Margaret's Mirror." By way of _introduction_ to this, when now included
in a general collection of my lucubrations, I have only to say that it
is a mere transcript, or at least with very little embellishment, of a
story that I remembered being struck with in my childhood, when told at
the fireside by a lady of eminent virtues, and no inconsiderable share
of talent, one of the ancient and honourable house of Swinton. She was
a kind relation of my own, and met her death in a manner so shocking,
being killed in a fit of insanity by a female attendant who had been
attached to her person for half a lifetime, that I cannot now recall
her memory, child as I was when the catastrophe occurred, without a
painful reawakening of perhaps the first images of horror that the
scenes of real life stamped on my mind.

This good spinster had in her composition a strong vein of the
superstitious, and was pleased, among other fancies, to read alone in
her chamber by a taper fixed in a candlestick which she had formed out
of a human skull. One night, this strange piece of furniture acquired
suddenly the power of locomotion, and, after performing some odd
circles on her chimneypiece, fairly leaped on the floor, and continued
to roll about the apartment. Mrs. Swinton calmly proceeded to the
adjoining room for another light, and had the satisfaction to penetrate
the mystery on the spot. Rats abounded in the ancient building she
inhabited, and one of these had managed to ensconce itself within her
favourite _memento mori_. Though thus endowed with a more than feminine
share of nerve, she entertained largely that belief in supernaturals,
which in those times was not considered as sitting ungracefully on the
grave and aged of her condition; and the story of the Magic Mirror was
one for which she vouched with particular confidence, alleging indeed
that one of her own family had been an eye-witness of the incidents
recorded in it.

      "I tell the tale as it was told to me."

Stories enow of much the same cast will present themselves to the
recollection of such of my readers as have ever dabbled in a species of
lore to which I certainly gave more hours, at one period of my life,
than I should gain any credit by confessing.

_August_, 1831.




MY AUNT MARGARET'S MIRROR.

  "There are times
  When Fancy plays her gambols, in despite
  Even of our watchful senses, when in sooth
  Substance seems shadow, shadow substance seems
  When the broad, palpabale, and mark'd partition
  'Twixt that which is and is not, seems dissolved
  As if the mental eye gain'd power to gaze
  Beyond the limits of the existing world.
  Such hours of shadowy dreams I better love
  Than all the gross realities of life."
                              ANONYMOUS.

 My Aunt Margaret was one of that respected sisterhood, upon whom
devolve all the trouble and solicitude incidental to the possession of
children, excepting only that which attends their entrance into the
world. We were a large family, of very different dispositions and
constitutions. Some were dull and peevish--they were sent to Aunt
Margaret to be amused; some were rude, romping, and boisterous--they
were sent to Aunt Margaret to be kept quiet, or rather that their noise
might be removed out of hearing: those who were indisposed were sent
with the prospect of being nursed--those who were stubborn, with the
hope of their being subdued by the kindness of Aunt Margaret's
discipline; in short, she had all the various duties of a mother,
without the credit and dignity of the maternal character. The busy
scene of her various cares is now over--of the invalids and the robust,
the kind and the rough, the peevish and pleased children, who thronged
her little parlour from morning to night, not one now remains alive but
myself; who, afflicted by early infirmity, was one of the most delicate
of her nurslings, yet nevertheless, have outlived them all.

It is still my custom, and shall be so while I have the use of my
limbs, to visit my respected relation at least three times a-week. Her
abode is about half a mile from the suburbs of the town in which I
reside; and is accessible, not only by the high-road, from which it
stands at some distance, but by means of a greensward footpath, leading
through some pretty meadows. I have so little left to torment me in
life, that it is one of my greatest vexations to know that several of
these sequestered fields have been devoted as sites for building. In
that which is nearest the town, wheelbarrows have been at work for
several weeks in such numbers, that, I verily believe, its whole
surface, to the depth of at least eighteen inches, was mounted in these
monotrochs at the same moment, and in the act of being transported from
one place to another. Huge triangular piles of planks are also reared
in different parts of the devoted messuage; and a little group of
trees, that still grace the eastern end, which rises in a gentle
ascent, have just received warning to quit, expressed by a daub of
white paint, and are to give place to a curious grove of chimneys.

It would, perhaps, hurt others in my situation to reflect that this
little range of pasturage once belonged to my father, (whose family was
of some consideration in the world,) and was sold by patches to remedy
distresses in which he involved himself in an attempt by commercial
adventure to redeem, his diminished fortune. While the building scheme
was in full operation, this circumstance was often pointed out to me by
the class of friends who are anxious that no part of your misfortunes
should escape your observation. "Such pasture-ground!--lying at the
very town's end--in turnips and potatoes, the parks would bring 20_l_.
per acre, and if leased for building--Oh, it was a gold mine!--And all
sold for an old song out of the ancient possessor's hands!" My
comforters cannot bring me to repine much on this subject. If I could
be allowed to look back on the past without interruption, I could
willingly give up the enjoyment of present income, and the hope of
future profit, to those who have purchased what my father sold. I
regret the alteration of the ground only because it destroys
associations, and I would more willingly (I think) see the Earl's
Closes in the hands of strangers, retaining their silvan appearance,
than know them for my own, if torn up by agriculture, or covered with
buildings. Mine are the sensations of poor Logan:

    "The horrid plough has rased the green
     Where yet a child I stray'd;
     The axe has fell'd the hawthorn screen,
     The schoolboy's summer shade."

I hope, however, the threatened devastation will not be consummated in
my day. Although the adventurous spirit of times short while since
passed gave rise to the undertaking, I have been encouraged to think,
that the subsequent changes have so far damped the spirit of
speculation, that the rest of the woodland footpath leading to Aunt
Margaret's retreat will be left undisturbed for her time and mine. I am
interested in this, for every step of the way, after I have passed
through the green already mentioned, has for me something of early
remembrance :--There is the stile at which I can recollect a cross
child's-maid upbraiding me with my infirmity, as she lifted me coarsely
and carelessly over the flinty steps, which my brothers traversed with
shout and bound. I remember the suppressed bitterness of the mo-ment,
and, conscious of my own inferiority, the feeling of envy with which I
regarded the easy movements and elastic steps of my more happily formed
brethren. Alas! these goodly barks have all perished on life's wide
ocean, and only that which seemed so little seaworthy, as the naval
phrase goes, has reached the port when the tempest is over. Then there
is the pool, where, manoeuvring our little navy, constructed out of the
broad water flags, my elder brother fell in, and was scarce saved from
the watery element to die under Nelson's banner. There is the hazel
copse also, in which my brother Henry used to gather nuts, thinking
little that he was to die in an Indian jungle in quest of rupees.

There is so much more of remembrance about the little walk, that--as I
stop, rest on my crutch-headed cane, and look round with that species
of comparison between the thing I was and that which I now am--it
almost induces me to doubt my own identity; until I find myself in face
of the honeysuckle porch of Aunt Margaret's dwelling, with its
irregularity of front, and its odd projecting latticed windows; where
the workmen seem to have made a study that no one of them should
resemble another, in form, size, or in the old-fashioned stone
entablature and labels which adorn them. This tenement, once the
manor-house of Earl's Closes, we still retain a slight hold upon; for,
in some family arrangements, it had been settled upon Aunt Margaret
during the term of her life. Upon this frail tenure depends, in a great
measure, the last shadow of the family of Bothwell of Earl's Closes,
and their last slight connection with their paternal inheritance. The
only representative will then be an infirm old man, moving not
unwillingly to the grave, which has devoured all that were dear to his
aifections.

When I have indulged such thoughts for a minute or two, I enter the
mansion, which is said to have been the gatehouse only of the original
building, and find one being on whom time seems to have made little
impression; for the Aunt Margaret of to-day bears the same proportional
ago to the Aunt Margaret of my early youth, that the boy of ten years
old does to the man of (by'r Lady!) some fifty-six years. The old
lady's invariable costume has doubtless some share in confirming one in
the opinion, that time has stood still with Aunt Margaret.

The brown or chocolate- silk gown, with ruffles of the same
stuff at the elbow, within which are others of Mechlin lace--the black
silk gloves, or mitts, the white hair combed back upon a roll, and the
cap of spotless cambric, which closes around the venerable countenance,
as they were not the costume of 1780, so neither were they that of
1826; they are altogether a style peculiar to the individual Aunt
Margaret. There she still sits, as she sat thirty years since, with her
wheel or the stocking, which she works by the fire in winter, and by
the window in summer; or, perhaps, venturing as far as the porch in an
unusually fine summer evening. Her frame, like some well-constructed
piece of mechanics, still performs the operations for which it had
seemed destined; going its round with an activity which is gradually
diminished, yet indicating no probability that it will soon come to a
period.

The solicitude and affection which had made Aunt Margaret the willing
slave to the inflictions of a whole nursery, have now for their object
the health and comfort of one old and infirm man, the last remaining
relative of her family, and the only one who can still find interest in
the traditional stores which she hoards as some miser hides the gold
which he desires that no one should enjoy after his death.

My conversation with Aunt Margaret generally relates little either to
the present or to the future: for the passing day we possess as much as
we require, and we neither of us wish for more; and for that which is
to follow we have on this side of the grave neither hopes, nor fears,
nor anxiety. We therefore naturally look back to the past; and forget
the present fallen fortunes and declined importance of our family, in
recalling the hours when it was wealthy and prosperous.

With this slight introduction, the reader will know as much of Aunt
Margaret and her nephew as is necessary to comprehend the following
conversation and narrative.

Last week, when, late in a summer evening, I went to call on the old
lady to whom my reader is now introduced, I was received by her with
all her usual affection and benignity; while, at the same time, she
seemed abstracted and disposed to silence. I asked her the reason.
"They have been clearing out the old chapel," she said; "John
Clayhudgeons having, it seems, discovered that the stuff within--being,
I suppose, the remains of our ancestors--was excellent for top-dressing
the meadows."

Here I started up with more alacrity than I have displayed for some
years; but sat down while my aunt added, laying her hand upon my
sleeve, "The chapel has been long considered as common ground, my dear,
and used for a penfold, and what objection can we have to the man for
employing what is his own, to his own profit? Besides, I did speak to
him, and he very readily and civilly promised, that, if he found bones
or monuments, they should be carefully respected and reinstated; and
what more could I ask? So, the first stone they found bore the name of
Margaret Bothwell, 1585, and I have caused it to be laid carefully
aside, as I think it betokens death; and having served my namesake two
hundred years, it has just been cast up in time to do me the same good
turn. My house has been long put in order, as far as the small earthly
concerns require it, but who shall say that their account with Heaven
is sufficiently revised?"

"After what you have said, aunt," I replied, "perhaps I ought to take
my hat and go away, and so I should, but that there is on this occasion
a little alloy mingled with our devotion. To think of death at all
times is a duty--to suppose it nearer, from the finding of an old
gravestone, is superstition; and you, with your strong useful common
sense, which was so long the prop of a fallen family, are the last
person whom I should have suspected of such weakness."

"Neither would I have deserved your suspicions, kinsman" answered Aunt
Margaret, "if we were speaking of any incident occurring in the actual
business of human life. But for all this I have a sense of superstition
about me, which I do not wish to part with. It is a feeling which
separates me from this age, and links me with that to which I am
hastening; and even when it seems, as now, to lead me to the brink of
the grave, and bids me gaze on it, I do not love that it should be
dispelled. It soothes my imagination, without influencing my reason or
conduct."

"I profess, my good lady," replied I, "that had any one but you made
such a declaration, I should have thought it as capricious as that of
the clergyman, who, without vindicating his false reading, preferred,
from habit's sake, his old Mumpsimus to the modern Sumpsimus."

"Well," answered my aunt, "I must explain my inconsistency in this
particular, by comparing it to another. I am, as you know, a piece of
that old-fashioned thing called a Jacobite; but I am so in sentiment
and feeling only; for a more loyal subject never joined in prayers, for
the health and wealth of George the Fourth, whom God long preserve! But
I dare say that kind-hearted sovereign would not deem that an old woman
did him, much injury if she leaned back in her arm-chair, just in such
a twilight as this, and thought of the high-mettled men, whose sense of
duty called them to arms against his grandfather; and how, in a cause
which they deemed that of their rightful prince and country,

    'They fought till their hands to the broadsword were glued,
    They fought against fortune with hearts unsubdued.'

do not come at such a moment, when my head is full of plaids, pibrochs,
and claymores, and ask my reason to admit what, I am afraid, it cannot
deny--I mean, that the public advantage peremptorily demanded that
these things should cease to exist. I cannot, indeed, refuse to allow
the justice of your reasoning; but yet, being convinced against my
will, you will gain little by your motion. You might as well read to an
infatuated lover the catalogue of his mistress's imperfections; for,
when he has been compelled to listen to the summary, you will only get
for answer, that, 'he lo'es her a' the better.'"

I was not sorry to have changed the gloomy train of Aunt Margaret's
thoughts, and replied in the same tone, "Well, I can't help being
persuaded that our good king is the more sure of Mrs. Bothwell's loyal
affection, that he has the Stuart right of birth, as well as the Act of
Succession in his favour."

"Perhaps my attachment, were its source of consequence, might be foumd
warmer for the union of the rights you mention," said Aunt Margaret?
"but, upon my word, it would be as sincere if the king's right were
founded only on the will of the nation, as declared at the Revolution.
I am none of your _jure divino_ folk."

"And a Jacobite notwithstanding."

"And a Jacobite notwithstanding; or rather, I will give you leave to
call me one of the party which, in Queen Anne's time, were called
_Whimsicals_; because they were sometimes operated upon by feelings,
sometimes by principle. After all, it is very hard that you will not
allow an old woman to be as inconsistent in her political sentiments,
as mankind in general show themselves in all the various courses of
life; since you cannot point out one of them, in which the passions and
prejudices of those who pursue it are not perpetually carrying us away
from the path which our reason points out."

"True, aunt; but you are a wilful wanderer, who should be forced back
into the right path."

"Spare me, I entreat you," replied Aunt Margaret. "You remember the
Gaelic song, though I dare say I mispronounce the words--

    'Hatil mohatil, na dowski mi.'
    'I am asleep, do not waken me.'

I tell you, kinsman, that the sort of waking dreams which my
imagination spins out, in what your favourite Wordsworth calls 'moods
of my own mind,' are worth all the rest of my more active days. Then,
instead of looking forwards as I did in youth, and forming for myself
fairy palaces, upon the verge of the grave, I turn my eyes backward
upon the days and manners of my better time; and the sad, yet soothing
recollections come so close and interesting, that I almost think it
sacrilege to be wiser, or more rational, or less prejudiced, than those
to whom I looked up in my younger years."

"I think I now understand what you mean," I answered, "and can
comprehend why you should occasionally prefer the twilight of illusion
to the steady light of reason."

"Where there is no task," she rejoined, "to be performed, we may sit in
the dark if we like it--if we go to work, we must ring for candles."

"And amidst such shadowy and doubtful light," continued I, "imagination
frames her enchanted and enchanting visions, and sometimes passes them
upon the senses for reality."

"Yes," said Aunt Margaret, who is a well-read woman, "to those who
resemble the translator of Tasso,

    'Prevailing poet, whose undoubting mind
     Believed the magic wonders which he sung.'

It is not required for this purpose, that you should be sensible of the
painful horrors which an actual belief in such prodigies inflicts--such
a belief, now-a-days, belongs only to fools and children. It is not
necessary that your ears should tingle, and your complexion change,
like that of Theodore, at the approach of the spectral huntsman. All
that is indispensable for the enjoyment of the milder feeling of
supernatural awe is, that you should be susceptible of the slight
shuddering which creeps over you when you hear a tale of terror--that
well-vouched tale which the narrator, having first expressed his
general disbelief of all such legendary lore, selects and produces, as
having something in it which he has been always obliged to give up as
inexplicable. Another symptom is, a momentary hesitation to look round
you, when the interest of the narrative is at the highest; and the
third, a desire to avoid looking into a mirror, when you are alone, in
your chamber, for the evening. I mean such are signs which indicate the
crisis, when a female imagination is in due temperature to enjoy a
ghost story. I do not pretend to describe those which express the same
disposition in a gentleman."

"This last symptom, dear aunt, of shunning the mirror, seems likely to
be a rare occurrence amongst the fair sex."

"You are a novice in toilet fashions, my dear kinsman. All women
consult the looking-glass with anxiety before they go into company; but
when they return home, the mirror has not the same charm. The die has
been cast-the party has been successful or unsuccessful, in the
impression which she desired to make. But, without going deeper into
the mysteries of the dressing-table, I will tell you that I myself,
like many other honest folk, do not like to see the blank black front
of a large mirror in a room dimly lighted, and where the reflection of
the candle seems rather to lose itself in the deep obscurity of the
glass, than to be reflected back again into the apartment. That space
of inky darkness seems to be a field for Fancy to play her revels in.
She may call up other features to meet us, instead of the reflection of
our own; or, as in the spells of Hallowe'en, which we learned in
childhood some unknown form may be seen peeping over our shoulder. In
short, when I am in a ghost-seeing humour, I make my handmaiden draw
the green curtains over the mirror, before I go into the room, so that
she may have the first shock of the apparition, if there be any to be
seen. But, to tell you the truth, this dislike to look into a mirror in
particular times and places, has, I believe, its original foundation in
a story which came to me by tradition from my grandmother, who was a
party concerned in the scene of which I will now tell you."




THE MIRROR.

CHAPTER THE FIRST.


You are fond (said my aunt) of sketches of the society which has passed
away. I wish I could describe to you Sir Philip Forester, the
"chartered libertine" of Scottish good company, about the end of the
last century. I never saw him indeed; but my mother's traditions were
full of his wit, gallantry and dissipation. This gay knight flourished
about the end of the 17th and beginning of the 18th century. He was the
Sir Charles Easy and the Lovelace of his day and country; renowned for
the number of duels he had fought, and the successful intrigues which
he had carried on. The supremacy which he had attained in the
fashionable world was absolute; and when we combine with it one or two
anecdotes, for which, "if laws were made for every degree," he ought
certainly to have been hanged, the popularity of such a person really
serves to show, either that the present times are much more decent, if
not more virtuous, than they formerly were; or, that high breeding then
was of more difficult attainment than that which is now so called; and,
consequently, entitled the successful professor to a proportionable
degree of plenary indulgences and privileges. No beau of this day could
have borne out so ugly a story as that of Pretty Peggy Grindstone, the
miller's daughter at Sillermills--it had well-nigh made work for the
Lord Advocate. But it hurt Sir Philip Forester no more than the hail
hurts the hearth-stone. He was as well received in society as ever, and
dined with the Duke of A---- the day the poor girl was buried. She died
of heart-break. But that has nothing to do with my story.

Now, you must listen to a single word upon kith, kin, and ally; I
promise you I will not be prolix. But it is necessary to the
authenticity of my legend, that you should know that Sir Philip
Forester, with his handsome person, elegant accomplishments, and
fashionable manners, married the younger Miss Falconer of King's
Copland. The elder sister of this lady had previously become the wife
of my grandfather, Sir Geoffrey Bothwell, and brought into our family a
good fortune. Miss Jemima, or Miss Jemmie Falconer, as she was usually
called, had also about ten thousand pounds sterling--then thought a
very handsome portion indeed.

The two sisters were extremely different, though each had their
admirers while they remained single. Lady Bothwell had some touch of
the old King's Copland blood about her. She was bold, though not to the
degree of audacity; ambitious, and desirous to raise her house and
family; and was, as has been said, a considerable spur to my
grandfather, who was otherwise an indolent man; but whom, unless he has
been slandered, his lady's influence involved in some political matters
which had been more wisely let alone. She was a woman of high
principle, however, and masculine good sense, as some of her letters
testify, which are still in my wainscot cabinet.

Jemmie Falconer was the reverse of her sister in every respect. Her
understanding did not reach above the ordinary pitch, if, indeed, she
could be said to have attained it. Her beauty, while it lasted,
consisted, in a great measure, of delicacy of complexion and regularity
of features, without any peculiar force of expression. Even these
charms faded under the sufferings attendant on an ill-sorted match. She
was passionately attached to her husband, by whom she was treated with
a callous, yet polite indifference, which, to one whose heart was as
tender as her judgment was weak, was more painful perhaps than absolute
ill-usage. Sir Philip was a voluptuary, that is, a completely selfish
egotist, whose disposition and character resembled the rapier he wore,
polished, keen, and brilliant, but inflexible and unpitying. As he
observed carefully all the usual forms towards his lady, he had the art
to deprive her even of the compassion of the world; and useless and
unavailing as that may be while actually possessed by the sufferer, it
is, to a mind like Lady Forester's, most painful to know she has it not.

The tattle of society did its best to place the peccant husband above
the suffering wife. Some called her a poor spiritless thing, and
declared, that, with a little of her sister's spirit, she might have
brought to reason any Sir Philip whatsoever, were it the termagant
Falconbridge himself. But the greater part of their acquaintance
affected candour, and saw faults on both sides; though, in fact, there
only existed the oppressor and the oppressed. The tone of such critics
was--"To be sure, no one will justify Sir Philip Forester, but then we
all know Sir Philip, and Jemmie Falconer might have known what she had
to expect from the beginning.--What made her set her cap at Sir
Philip?--He would never have looked at her if she had not thrown
herself at his head, with her poor ten thousand pounds. I am sure, if
it is money he wanted, she spoiled his market. I know where Sir Philip
could have done much better.--And then, if she _would_ have the man,
could not she try to make him more comfortable at home, and have his
friends oftener, and not plague him with the squalling children, and
take care all was handsome and in good style about the house? I declare
I think Sir Philip would have made a very domestic man, with a woman
who knew how to manage him."

Now these fair critics, in raising their profound edifice of domestic
felicity, did not recollect that the corner-stone was wanting; and that
to receive good company with good cheer, the means of the banquet ought
to have been furnished by Sir Philip; whose income (dilapidated as it
was) was not equal to the display of hospitality required, and, at the
same time, to the supply of the good knight's _menus plaisirs_. So, in
spite of all that was so sagely suggested by female friends, Sir Philip
carried his good-humour every where abroad, and left at home a solitary
mansion and a pining spouse.

At length, inconvenienced in his money affairs, and tired even of the
short time which he spent in his own dull house, Sir Philip Forester
determined to take a trip to the Continent, in the capacity of a
volunteer. It was then common for men of fashion to do so; and our
knight perhaps was of opinion that a touch of the military character,
just enough to exalt, but not render pedantic, his qualities as a _beau
garcon_, was necessary to maintain possession of the elevated situation
which he held in the ranks of fashion.

Sir Philip's resolution threw his wife into agonies of terror, by which
the worthy baronet was so much annoyed, that, contrary to his wont, he
took some trouble to soothe her apprehensions; and once more brought
her to shed tears, in which sorrow was not altogether unmingled with
pleasure. Lady Bothwell asked, as a favour, Sir Philip's permission to
receive her sister and her family into her own house during his absence
on the Continent. Sir Philip readily assented to a proposition which
saved expense, silenced the foolish people who might have talked of a
deserted wife and family, and gratified Lady Bothwell, for whom he felt
some respect, as for one who often spoke to him, always with freedom,
and sometimes with severity, without being deterred either by his
raillery, or the _prestige_ of his reputation.

A day or two before Sir Philip's departure, Lady Bothwell took the
liberty of asking him, in her sister's presence, the direct question,
which his timid wife had often desired, but never ventured, to put to
him.

"Pray, Sir Philip, what route do you take when you reach the Continent?"

"I go from Leith to Helvoet by a packet with advices."

"That I comprehend perfectly," said Lady Bothwell dryly; "but you do
not mean to remain long at Helvoet, I presume, and I should like to
know what is your next object?"

"You ask me, my dear lady," answered Sir Philip, "a question which I
have not dared to ask myself. The answer depends on the fate of war. I
shall, of course, go to headquarters, wherever they may happen to be
for the time; deliver my letters of introduction; learn as much of the
noble art of war as may suffice a poor interloping amateur; and then
take a glance at the sort of thing of which we read so much in the
Gazette."

"And I trust, Sir Philip," said Lady Bothwell, "that you will remember
that you are a husband and a father; and that though you think fit to
indulge this military fancy, you will not let it hurry you into dangers
which it is certainly unnecessary for any save professional persons to
encounter?"

"Lady Bothwell does me too much honour," replied the adventurous
knight, "in regarding such a circumstance with the slightest interest.
But to soothe your flattering anxiety, I trust your ladyship will
recollect, that I cannot expose to hazard the venerable and paternal
character which you so obligingly recommend to my protection, without
putting in some peril an honest fellow, called Philip Forester, with
whom I have kept company for thirty years, and with whom, though some
folk consider him a coxcomb, I have not the least desire to part."

"Well, Sir Philip, you are the best judge of your own affairs; I have
little right to interfere--you are not my husband."

"God forbid!"--said Sir Philip hastily; instantly adding, however, "God
forbid that I should deprive my friend Sir Geoffrey of so inestimable a
treasure."

"But you are my sister's husband," replied the lady; "and I suppose you
are aware of her present distress of mind--"

"If hearing of nothing else from morning to night can make me aware of
it," said Sir Philip, "I should know something of the matter."

"I do not pretend to reply to your wit, Sir Philip," answered Lady
Bothwell, "but you must be sensible that all this distress is on
account of apprehensions for your personal safety."

"In that case, I am surprised that Lady Bothwell, at least, should give
herself so much trouble upon so insignificant a subject."

"My sister's interest may account for my being anxious to learn
something of Sir Philip Forester's motions; about which otherwise, I
know, he would not wish me to concern myself. I have a brother's
safety, too, to be anxious for."

"You mean Major Falconer, your brother by the mother's side:--What can
he possibly have to do with our present agreeable conversation?"

"You have had words together, Sir Philip," said Lady Bothwell.

"Naturally; we are connections," replied Sir Philip, "and as such have
always had the usual intercourse."

"That is an evasion of the subject," answered the lady. "By words, I
mean angry words, on the subject of your usage of your wife."

"If," replied Sir Philip Forester, "you suppose Major Falconer simple
enough to intrude his advice upon me, Lady Bothwell, in my domestic
matters, you are indeed warranted in believing that I might possibly be
so far displeased with the interference, as to request him to reserve
his advice till it was asked."

"And, being on these terms, you are going to join the very army in
which my brother Falconer is now serving?"

"No man knows the path of honour better than Major Falconer," said Sir
Philip. "An aspirant after fame, like me, cannot choose a better guide
than his footsteps."

Lady Bothwell rose and went to the window, the tears gushing from her
eyes.

"And this heartless raillery," she said, "is all the consideration that
is to be given to our apprehensions of a quarrel which may bring on the
most terrible consequences? Good God! of what can men's hearts be made,
who can thus dally with the agony of others?"

Sir Philip Forester was moved; he laid aside the mocking tone in which
he had hitherto spoken.

"Dear Lady Bothwell," he said, taking her reluctant hand, "we are both
wrong:--you are too deeply serious; I, perhaps, too little. The dispute
I had with Major Falconer was of no earthly consequence. Had any thing
occurred betwixt us that ought to have been settled _par voie du fait_,
as we say in France, neither of us are persons that are likely to
postpone such a meeting. Permit me to say, that were it generally known
that you or my Lady Forester are apprehensive of such a catastrophe, it
might be the very means of bringing about what would not otherwise be
likely to happen. I know your good sense, Lady Bothwell, and that you
will understand me when I say, that really my affairs require my
absence for some months;--this Jemima cannot understand; it is a
perpetual recurrence of questions, why can you not do this, or that, or
the third thing; and, when you have proved to her that her expedients
are totally ineffectual, you have just to begin the whole round again.
Now, do you tell her, dear Lady Bothwell, that _you_ are satisfied. She
is, you must confess, one of those persons with whom authority goes
farther than reasoning. Do but repose a little confidence in me, and
you shall see how amply I will repay it."

Lady Bothwell shook her head, as one but half satisfied. "How difficult
it is to extend confidence, when the basis on which it ought to rest
has been so much shaken! But I will do my best to make Jemima easy; and
farther, I can only say, that for keeping your present purpose, I hold
you responsible both to God and man."

"Do not fear that I will deceive you," said Sir Philip; "the safest
conveyance to me will be through the general post-office, Helvoetsluys,
where I will take care to leave orders for forwarding my letters. As
for Falconer, our only encounter will be over a bottle of Burgundy! so
make yourself perfectly easy on his score."

Lady Bothwell could not make herself easy; yet she was sensible that
her sister hurt her own cause by _taking on_, as the maid-servants call
it, too vehemently; and by showing before every stranger, by manner,
and sometimes by words also, a dissatisfaction with her husband's
journey, that was sure to come to his ears, and equally certain to
displease him. But there was no help for this domestic dissension,
which ended only with the day of separation.

I am sorry I cannot tell, with precision, the year in which Sir Philip
Forester went over to Flanders; but it was one of those in which the
campaign opened with extraordinary fury; and many bloody, though
indecisive, skirmishes were fought between the French on the one side,
and the Allies on the other. In all our modern improvements, there are
none, perhaps, greater than in the accuracy and speed with which
intelligence is transmitted from any scene of action to those in this
country whom it may concern. During Marlborough's campaigns, the
sufferings of the many who had relations in, or along with, the army,
were greatly augmented by the suspense in which they were detained for
weeks, after they had heard of bloody battles in which, in all
probability, those for whom their bosoms throbbed with anxiety had been
personally engaged. Amongst those who were most agonized by this state
of uncertainty, was the--I had almost said deserted---wife of the gay
Sir Philip Forester. A single letter had informed her of his arrival on
the Continent--no others were received. One notice occurred in the
newspapers, in which Volunteer Sir Philip Forester was mentioned as
having been entrusted with a dangerous reconnoissance, which he had
executed with the greatest courage, dexterity, and intelligence, and
received the thanks of the commanding officer. The sense of his having
acquired distinction brought a momentary glow into the lady's pale
cheek; but it--was instantly lost in ashen whiteness at the
recollection of his danger. After this, they had no news whatever,
neither from Sir Philip, nor even from their brother Falconer. The case
of Lady Forester was not indeed different from that of hundreds in the
same situation; but a feeble mind is necessarily an irritable one, and
the suspense which some bear with constitutional indifference or
philosophical resignation, and some with a disposition to believe and
hope the best, was intolerable to Lady Forester, at once solitary and
sensitive, low-spirited, and devoid of strength of mind, whether
natural or acquired.




CHAPTER THE SECOND.


As she received no farther news of Sir Philip, whether directly or
indirectly, his unfortunate lady began now to feel a sort of
consolation, even in those careless habits which had so often given her
pain. "He is so thoughtless," she repeated a hundred times a day to her
sister, "he never writes when things are going on smoothly; it is his
way: had any thing happened he would have informed us."

Lady Bothwell listened to her sister without attempting to console her.
Probably she might be of opinion, that even the worst intelligence
which could be received from Flanders might not be without some touch
of consolation; and that the Dowager Lady Forester, if so she was
doomed to be called, might have a source of happiness unknown to the
wife of the gayest and finest gentleman in Scotland. This conviction
became stronger as they learned from inquiries made at headquarters,
that Sir Philip was no longer with the army; though whether he had been
taken or slain in some of those skirmishes which were perpetually
occurring, and in which he loved to distinguish himself, or whether he
had, for some unknown reason or capricious change of mind, voluntarily
left the service, none of his countrymen in the camp of the Allies
could form even a conjecture. Meantime his creditors at home became
clamorous, entered into possession of big property, and threatened his
person, should he be rash enough to return to Scotland. These
additional disadvantages aggravated Lady Bothwell's displeasure against
the fugitive husband; while her sister saw nothing in any of them, save
what tended to increase her grief for the absence of him whom her
imagination now represented,--as it had before marriage,--gallant, gay,
and affectionate.

About this period there appeared in Edinburgh a man of singular
appearance and pretensions. He was commonly called the Paduan Doctor,
from having received his education at that famous university. He was
supposed to possess some rare receipts in medicine, with which, it was
affirmed, he had wrought remarkable cures. But though, on the one hand,
the physicians of Edinburgh termed him an empiric, there were many
persons, and among them some of the clergy, who, while they admitted
the truth of the cures and the force of his remedies, alleged that
Doctor Baptisti Damiotti made use of charms and unlawful arts in order
to obtain success in his practice. The resorting to him was even
solemnly preached against, as a seeking of health from idols, and a
trusting to the help which was to come from Egypt. But the protection
which the Paduan Doctor received from some friends of interest and
consequence, enabled him to set these imputations at defiance, and to
assume, even in the city of Edinburgh, famed as it was for abhorrence
of witches and necromancers, the dangerous character of an expounder of
futurity. It was at length rumoured, that for a certain gratification,
which, of course, was not an inconsiderable one, Doctor Baptisti
Damiotti could tell the fate of the absent, and even show his visitors
the personal form of their absent friends, and the action in which they
were engaged at the moment. This rumour came to the ears of Lady
Forester, who had reached that pitch of mental agony in which the
sufferer will do any thing, or endure any thing, that suspense may be
converted into certainty.

Gentle and timid in most cases, her state of mind made her equally
obstinate and reckless, and it was with no small surprise and alarm
that her sister, Lady Bothwell, heard her express a resolution to visit
this man of art, and learn from him the fate of her husband. Lady
Bothwell remonstrated on the improbability that such pretensions as
those of this foreigner could be founded on any thing but imposture.

"I care not," said the deserted wife, "what degree of ridicule I may
incur; if there be any one chance out of a hundred that I may obtain
some certainty of my husband's fate, I would not miss that chance for
whatever else the world can offer me."

Lady Bothwell next urged the unlawfulness of resorting to such sources
of forbidden knowledge.

"Sister," replied the sufferer, "he who is dying of thirst cannot
refrain from drinking poisoned water. She who suffers under suspense
must seek information, even were the powers which offer it unhallowed
and infernal. I go to learn my fate alone; and this very evening will I
know it: the sun that rises to-morrow shall find me, if not more happy,
at least more resigned."

"Sister," said Lady Bothwell, "if you are determined upon this wild
step, you shall not go alone. If this man be an impostor, you may be
too much agitated by your feelings to detect his villany. If, which I
cannot believe, there be any truth in what he pretends, you shall not
be exposed alone to a communication of so extraordinary a nature. I
will go with you, if indeed you determine to go. But yet reconsider
your project, and renounce inquiries which cannot be prosecuted without
guilt, and perhaps without danger."

Lady Forester threw herself into her sister's arms, and, clasping her
to her bosom, thanked her a hundred times for the offer of her company;
while she declined with a melancholy gesture the friendly advice with
which it was accompanied.

When the hour of twilight arrived,--which was the period when the
Paduan Doctor was understood to receive the visits of those who came to
consult with him,--the two ladies left their apartments in the
Canongate of Edinburgh, having their dress arranged like that of women
of an inferior description, and their plaids disposed around their
faces as they were worn by the same class; for, in those days of
aristocracy, the quality of the wearer was generally indicated by the
manner in which her plaid was disposed, as well as by the fineness of
its texture. It was Lady Bothwell who had suggested this species of
disguise, partly to avoid observation as they should go to the
conjuror's house, and partly in order to make trial of his penetration,
by appearing before him in a feigned character. Lady Forester's
servant, of tried fidelity, had been employed by her to propitiate the
Doctor by a suitable fee, and a story intimating that a soldier's wife
desired to know the fate of her husband; a subject upon which, in all
probability, the sage was very frequently consulted.

To the last moment, when the palace clock struck eight, Lady Bothwell
earnestly watched her sister, in hopes that she might retreat from, her
rash undertaking; but as mildness, and even timidity, is capable at
times of vehement and fixed purposes, she found Lady Forester
resolutely unmoved and determined when the moment of departure arrived.
Ill satisfied with the expedition, but determined not to leave her
sister at such a crisis, Lady Bothwell accompanied Lady Forester
through more than one obscure street and lane, the servant walking
before, and acting as their guide. At length he suddenly turned into a
narrow court, and knocked at an arched door, which seemed to belong to
a building of some antiquity. It opened, though no one appeared to act
as porter; and the servant, stepping aside from the entrance, motioned
the ladies to enter. They had no sooner done so, than it shut, and
excluded their guide. The two ladies found themselves in a small
vestibule, illuminated by a dim lamp, and having, when the door was
closed, no communication with the external light or air. The door of an
inner apartment, partly open, was at the farther side of the vestibule.

"We must not hesitate now, Jemima," said Lady Bothwell, and walked
forwards into the inner room, where, surrounded by books, maps,
philosophical utensils, and other implements of peculiar shape and
appearance, they found the man of art.

There was nothing very peculiar in the Italian's appearance. He had the
dark complexion and marked features of his country, seemed about fifty
years old, and was handsomely, but plainly, dressed in a full suit of
black clothes, which was then the universal costume of the medical
profession. Large wax-lights, in silver sconces, illuminated the
apartment, which was reasonably furnished. He rose as the ladies
entered; and, not-withstanding the inferiority of their dress, received
them with the marked respect due to their quality, and which foreigners
are usually punctilious in rendering to those to whom such honours are
due.

Lady Bothwell endeavoured to maintain her proposed incognito; and, as
the Doctor ushered them to the upper end of the room, made a motion
declining his courtesy, as unfitted for their condition. "We are poor
people, sir," she said; "only my sister's distress has brought us to
consult your worship whether--"

He smiled as he interrupted her--"I am aware, madam, of your sister's
distress, and its cause; I am aware, also, that I am honoured with a
visit from two ladies of the highest consideration--Lady Bothwell and
Lady Forester. If I could not distinguish them from the class of
society which their present dress would indicate, there would be small
possibility of my being able to gratify them by giving the information
which they come to seek."

"I can easily understand," said Lady Bothwell----

"Pardon my boldness to interrupt you, milady," cried the Italian; "your
ladyship was about to say, that you could easily understand that I had
got possession of your names by means of your domestic. But in thinking
so, you do injustice to the fidelity of your servant, and, I may add,
to the skill of one who is also not less your humble servant--Baptisti
Damiotti."

"I have no intention to do either, sir," said Lady Bothwell,
maintaining a tone of composure, though somewhat surprised, "but the
situation is something new to me. If you know who we are, you also
know, sir, what brought us here."

"Curiosity to know the fate of a Scottish gentleman of rank, now, or
lately upon the Continent," answered the seer; "his name is Il
Cavaliero Philippo Forester; a gentleman who has the honour to be
husband to this lady, and, with your ladyship's permission for using
plain language, the misfortune not to value as it deserves that
inestimable advantage."

Lady Forester sighed deeply, and Lady Bothwell replied--

"Since you know our object without our telling it, the only question
that remains is, whether you have the power to relieve my sister's
anxiety?"

"I have, madam," answered the Paduan scholar; "but there is still a
previous inquiry. Have you the courage to behold with your own eyes
what the Cavaliero Philippo Forester is now doing? or will you take it
on my report?"

"That question my sister must answer for herself," said Lady Bothwell.

"With my own eyes will I endure to see whatever you have power to show
me," said Lady Forester, with the same determined spirit which had
stimulated her since her resolution was taken upon this subject.

"There may be danger in it."

"If gold can compensate the risk," said Lady Forester, taking out her
purse.

"I do not such things for the purpose of gain," answered the foreigner.
"I dare not turn my art to such a purpose. If I take the gold of the
wealthy, it is but to bestow it on the poor; nor do I ever accept more
than the sum I have already received from your servant. Put up your
purse, madam; an adept needs not your gold."

Lady Bothwell considering this rejection of her sister's offer as a
mere trick of an empiric, to induce her to press a larger sum upon him,
and willing that the scene should be commenced and ended, offered some
gold in turn, observing that it was only to enlarge the sphere of his
charity.

"Let Lady Bothwell enlarge the sphere of her own charity," said the
Paduan, "not merely in giving of alms, in which I know she is not
deficient, but in judging the character of others; and let her oblige
Baptisti Damiotti by believing him honest, till she shall discover him
to be a knave. Do not be surprised, madam, if I speak in answer to your
thoughts rather than your expressions, and tell me once more whether
you have courage to look on what I am prepared to show?"

"I own, sir," said Lady Bothwell. "that your words strike me with some
sense of fear; but whatever my sister desires to witness, I will not
shrink from witnessing along with her."

"Nay, the danger only consists in the risk of your resolution failing
you. The sight can only last for the space of seven minutes; and should
you interrupt the vision by speaking a single word, not only would the
charm be broken, but some danger might result to the spectators. But if
you can remain steadily silent for the seven minutes, your curiosity
will be gratified without the slightest risk; and for this I will
engage my honour."

Internally Lady Bothwell thought the security was but an indifferent
one; but she suppressed the suspicion, as if she had believed that the
adept, whose dark features wore a half-formed smile, could in reality
read even her most secret reflections. A solemn pause then ensued,
until Lady Forester gathered courage enough to reply to the physician,
as he termed himself, that she would abide with firmness and silence
the sight which he had promised to exhibit to them. Upon this, he made
them a low obeisance, and saying he went to prepare matters to meet
their wish, left the apartment. The two sisters, hand in hand, as if
seeking by that close union to divert any danger which might threaten
them, sat down on two seats in immediate contact with each other:
Jemima seeking support in the manly and habitual courage of Lady
Bothwell; and she, on the other hand, more agitated than she had
expected, endeavouring to fortify herself by the desperate resolution
which circumstances had forced her sister to assume. The one perhaps
said to herself, that her sister never feared anything; and the other
might reflect, that what so feeble a minded woman as Jemima did not
fear, could not properly be a subject of apprehension to a person of
firmness and resolution like herself.

In a few moments the thoughts of both were diverted from their own
situation, by a strain of music so singularly sweet and solemn, that,
while it seemed calculated to avert or dispel any feeling unconnected
with its harmony, increased, at the same time, the solemn excitation
which the preceding interview was calculated to produce. The music was
that of some instrument with which they were unacquainted; but
circumstances afterwards led my ancestress to believe that it was, that
of the harmonica, which she heard at a much later period in life.

When these heaven-born sounds had ceased, a door opened in the upper
end of the apartment, and they saw Damiotti, standing at the head of
two or three steps, sign to them to advance. His dress was so different
from that which he had worn a few minutes before, that they could
hardly recognize him; and the deadly paleness of his countenance, and a
certain rigidity of muscles, like that of one whose mind is made up to
some strange and daring action, had totally changed the somewhat
sarcastic expression with which he had previously regarded them both,
and particularly Lady Bothwell. He was barefooted, excepting a species
of sandals in the antique fashion; his legs were naked beneath the
knees; above them he wore hose, and a doublet of dark crimson silk
close to his body; and over that a flowing loose robe, something
resembling a surplice, of snow-white linen; his throat and neck were
uncovered, and his long, straight, black hair was carefully combed down
at full length.

As the ladies approached at his bidding, he showed no gesture of that
ceremonious courtesy of which he had been formerly lavish. On the
contrary, he made the signal of advance with an air of command; and
when, arm in arm, and with insecure steps, the sisters approached the
spot where he stood, it was with a warning frown that he pressed his
finger to his lips, as if reiterating his condition of absolute
silence, while, stalking before them, he led the way into the next
apartment.

This was a large room, hung with black, as if for a funeral. At the
upper end was a table, or rather a species of altar, covered with the
same lugubrious colour, on which lay divers objects resembling the
usual implements of sorcery. These objects were not indeed visible as
they advanced into the apartment; for the light which displayed them,
being only that of two expiring lamps, was extremely faint. The master
--to use the Italian phrase for persons of this description--approached
the upper end of the room with a genuflexion like that of a Catholic to
the crucifix, and at the same time crossed himself. The ladies followed
in silence, and arm in arm. Two or three low broad steps led to a
platform in front of the altar, or what resembled such. Here the sage
took his stand, and placed the ladies beside him, once more earnestly
repeating by signs his injunctions of silence. The Italian then,
extending his bare arm from under his linen vestment, pointed with his
forefinger to five large flambeaux, or torches, placed on each side of
the altar. They took fire successively at the approach of his hand, or
rather of his finger, and spread a strong light through the room. By
this the visitors could discern that, on the seeming altar, were
disposed two naked swords laid crosswise; a large open book, which they
conceived to be a copy of the Holy Scriptures, but in a language to
them unknown; and beside this mysterious volume was placed a human
skull. But what struck the sisters most was a very tall and broad
mirror, which occupied all the space behind the altar, and, illuminated
by the lighted torches, reflected the mysterious articles which were
laid upon it.

The master then placed himself between the two ladies, and, pointing to
the mirror, took each by the hand, but without speaking a syllable.
They gazed intently on the polished and sable space to which he had
directed their attention. Suddenly the surface assumed a new and
singular appearance. It no longer simply reflected the objects placed
before it, but, as if it had self-contained scenery of its own, objects
began to appear within it, at first in a disorderly, indistinct, and
miscellaneous manner, like form arranging itself out of chaos; at
length, in distinct and defined shape and symmetry. It was thus that,
after some shifting of light and darkness over the face of the
wonderful glass, a long perspective of arches and columns began to
arrange itself on its sides, and a vaulted roof on the upper part of
it; till, after many oscillations, the whole vision gained a fixed and
stationary appearance, representing the interior of a foreign church.
The pillars were stately, and hung with scutcheons; the arches were
lofty and magnificent; the floor was lettered with funeral
inscriptions. But there were no separate shrines, no images, no display
of chalice or crucifix on the altar. It was, therefore, a Protestant
church upon the Continent. A clergyman, dressed in the Geneva gown and
band, stood by the communion-table, and, with the Bible opened before
him, and his clerk awaiting in the background, seemed prepared to
perform some service of the church to which he belonged.

At length there entered the middle aisle of the building a numerous
party, which appeared to be a bridal one, as a lady and gentleman
walked first, hand in hand, followed by a large concourse of persons of
both sexes, gaily, nay richly, attired. The bride, whose features they
could distinctly see, seemed not more than sixteen years old, and
extremely beautiful. The bridegroom, for some seconds, moved rather
with his shoulder towards them, and his face averted; but his elegance
of form and step struck the sisters at once with the same apprehension.
As he turned his face suddenly, he was frightfully realized, and they
saw, in the gay bridegroom before them, Sir Philip Forester. His wife
uttered an imperfect exclamation, at the sound of which the whole scene
stirred and seemed to separate.

"I could compare it to nothing," said Lady Bothwell, while recounting
the wonderful tale, "but to the dispersion of the reflection offered by
a deep and calm pool, when a stone is suddenly cast into it, and the
shadows become dissipated and broken." The master pressed both the
ladies' hands severely, as if to remind them of their promise, and of
the danger which they incurred. The exclamation died away on Lady
Forester's tongue without attaining perfect utterance, and the scene in
the glass, after the fluctuation of a minute, again resumed to the eye
its former appearance of a real scene, existing within the mirror, as
if represented in a picture, save that the figures were moveable
instead of being stationary.

The representation of Sir Philip Forester, now distinctly visible in
form and feature, was seen to lead on towards the clergyman that
beautiful girl, who advanced at once with diffidence, and with a
species of affectionate pride. In the meantime, and just as the
clergyman had arranged the bridal company before him, and seemed about
to commence the service, another group of persons, of whom two or three
were officers, entered the church. They moved, at first, forward, as
though they came to witness the bridal ceremony, but suddenly one of
the officers, whose back was towards the spectators, detached himself
from his companions, and rushed hastily towards the marriage party,
when the whole of them, turned towards him, as if attracted by some
exclamation which had accompanied his advance Suddenly the intruder
drew his sword; the bridegroom unsheathed his own, and made towards
him; swords were also drawn by other individuals, both of the marriage
party, and of those who had last entered. They fell into a sort of
confusion, the clergyman, and some elder and graver persons, labouring
apparently to keep the peace, while the hotter spirits on both sides
brandished their weapons. But now the period of brief space during
which the soothsayer, as he pretended, was permitted to exhibit his
art, was arrived. The fumes again mixed together, and dissolved
gradually from observation; the vaults and columns of the church rolled
asunder, and disappeared; and the front of the mirror reflected nothing
save the blazing torches, and the melancholy apparatus placed on the
altar or table before it.

The doctor led the ladies, who greatly required his support, into the
apartment from whence they came; where wine, essences, and other means
of restoring suspended animation, had been provided during his absence.
He motioned them to chairs, which they occupied in silence; Lady
Forester, in particular, wringing her hands, and casting her eyes up to
heaven, but without speaking a word, as if the spell had been still
before her eyes.

"And what we have seen is even now acting?" said Lady Bothwell,
collecting herself with difficulty.

"That," answered Baptisti Damiotti, "I cannot justly, or with
certainty, say. But it is either now acting, or has been acted, during
a short space before this. It is the last remarkable transaction in
which the Cavalier Forester has been engaged."

Lady Bothwell then expressed anxiety concerning her sister, whose
altered countenance and apparent unconsciousness of what passed around
her, excited her apprehensions how it might be possible to convey her
home.

"I have prepared for that," answered the adept; "I have directed the
servant to bring your equipage as near to this place as the narrowness
of the street will permit. Fear not for your sister; but give her, when
you return home, this composing draught, and she will be better
to-morrow morning. Few," he added, in a melancholy tone, "leave this
house as well in health as they entered it. Such being the consequence
of seeking knowledge by mysterious means, I leave you to judge the
condition of those who have the power of gratifying such irregular
curiosity. Farewell, and forget not the potion."

"I will give her nothing that comes from you," said Lady Bothwell; "I
have seen enough of your art already. Perhaps you would poison us both
to conceal your own necromancy. But we are persons who want neither the
means of making our wrongs known, nor the assistance of friends to
right them."

"You have had no wrongs from me, madam," said the adept. "You sought
one who is little grateful for such honour. He seeks no one, and only
gives responses to those who invite and call upon him. After all, you
have but learned a little sooner the evil which you must still be
doomed to endure. I hear your servant's step at the door, and will
detain your ladyship and Lady Forester no longer. The next packet from
the continent will explain what you have partly witnessed. Let it not,
if I may advise, pass too suddenly into your sister's hands."

So saying, he bid Lady Bothwell good-night. She went, lighted by the
adept, to the vestibule, where he hastily threw a black cloak over his
singular dress, and opening the door intrusted his visitors to the care
of the servant. It was with difficulty that Lady Bothwell sustained her
sister to the carriage, though it was only twenty steps distant. When
they arrived at home, Lady Forester required medical assistance. The
physician of the family attended, and shook his head on feeling her
pulse.

"Here has been," he said, "a violent and sudden shock on the nerves. I
must know how it has happened."

Lady Bothwell admitted they had visited the conjuror, and that Lady
Forester had received some bad news respecting her husband, Sir Philip.

"That rascally quack would make my fortune were he to stay in
Edinburgh," said the graduate; "this is the seventh nervous case I have
heard of his making for me, and all by effect of terror." He next
examined the composing draught which Lady Bothwell had unconsciously
brought in her hand, tasted it, and pronounced it very germain to the
matter, and what would save an application to the apothecary. He then
paused, and looking at Lady Bothwell very significantly, at length
added, "I suppose I must not ask your ladyship anything about this
Italian warlock's proceedings?"

"Indeed, Doctor," answered Lady Bothwell, "I consider what passed as
confidential; and though the man may be a rogue, yet, as we were fools
enough to consult him, we should, I think, be honest enough to keep his
counsel."

"_May_ be a knave--come," said the Doctor, "I am glad to hear your
ladyship allows such a possibility in any thing that comes from Italy."

"What comes from Italy may be as good as what conies from Hanover,
Doctor. But you and I will remain good friends, and that it may be so,
we will say nothing of Whig and Tory."

"Not I," said the Doctor, receiving his fee, and taking his hat; "a
Carolus serves my purpose as well as a Willielmus. But I should like to
know why old Lady Saint Ringan's, and all that set, go about wasting
their decayed lungs in puffing this foreign fellow."

"Ay--you had best set him down a Jesuit, as Scrub says." On these terms
they parted.

The poor patient--whose nerves, from an extraordinary state of tension,
had at length become relaxed in as extraordinary a degree--continued to
struggle with a sort of imbecility, the growth of superstitious terror,
when the shocking tidings were brought from Holland, which fulfilled
even her worst expectations.

They were sent by the celebrated Earl of Stair, and contained the
melancholy event of a duel betwixt Sir Philip Forester, and his wife's
half-brother, Captain Falconer, of the Scotch-Dutch, as they were then
called, in which the latter had been killed. The cause of quarrel
rendered the incident still more shocking. It seemed that Sir Philip
had left the army suddenly, in consequence of being unable to pay a
very considerable sum, which he had lost to another volunteer at play.
He had changed his name, and taken up his residence at Rotterdam, where
he had insinuated himself into the good graces of an ancient and rich
burgomaster, and, by his handsome person and graceful manners,
captivated the affections of his only child, a very young person, of
great beauty, and the heiress of much wealth. Delighted with the
specious attractions of his proposed son-in-law, the wealthy
merchant--whose idea of the British character was too high to admit of
his taking any precaution to acquire evidence of his condition and
circumstances--gave his consent to the marriage. It was about to be
celebrated in the principal church of the city, when it was interrupted
by a singular occurrence.

Captain Falconer having been detached to Rotterdam to bring up a part
of the brigade of Scottish auxiliaries, who were in quarters there, a
person of consideration in the town, to whom he had been formerly
known, proposed to him for amusement to go to the high church, to see a
countryman of his own married to the daughter of a wealthy burgomaster.
Captain Falconer went accordingly, accompanied by his Dutch
acquaintance with a party of his friends, and two or three officers of
the Scotch brigade. His astonishment may be conceived when he saw his
own brother-in-law, a married man, on the point of leading to the altar
the innocent and beautiful creature, upon whom he was about to practise
a base and unmanly deceit. He proclaimed his villany on the spot, and
the marriage was interrupted of course. But against the opinion of more
thinking men, who considered Sir Philip Forester as having thrown
himself out of the rank of men of honour, Captain Falconer admitted him
to the privilege of such, accepted a challenge from him, and in the
rencounter received a mortal wound. Such are the ways of Heaven,
mysterious in our eyes. Lady Forester never recovered the shock of this
dismal intelligence.

       *       *       *       *       *

"And did this tragedy," said I, "take place exactly at the time when
the scene in the mirror was exhibited?"

"It is hard to be obliged to maim one's story," answered my aunt; "but,
to speak the truth, it happened some days sooner than the apparition
was exhibited."

"And so there remained a possibility," said I, "that by some secret and
speedy communication the artist might have received early intelligence
of that incident."

"The incredulous pretended so," replied my aunt.

"What became of the adept?" demanded I.

"Why, a warrant came down shortly afterwards to arrest him for
high-treason, as an agent of the Chevalier St. George; and Lady
Bothwell, recollecting the hints which had escaped the Doctor, an
ardent friend of the Protestant succession, did then call to
remembrance, that this man was chiefly _prone_ among the ancient
matrons of her own political persuasion. It certainly seemed probable
that intelligence from the continent, which could easily have been
transmitted by an active and powerful agent, might have enabled him to
prepare such a scene of phantasmagoria as she had herself witnessed.
Yet there were so many difficulties in assigning a natural explanation,
that, to the day of her death, she remained in great doubt on the
subject, and much disposed to cut the Gordian knot, by admitting the
existence of supernatural agency."

"But, my dear aunt," said I, "what became of the man of skill?"

"Oh, he was too good a fortune-teller not to be able to foresee that
his own destiny would be tragical if he waited the arrival of the man
with the silver greyhound upon his sleeve. He made, as we say, a
moonlight flitting, and was nowhere to be seen or heard of. Some noise
there was about papers or letters found in the house, but it died away,
and Doctor Baptisti Damiotti was soon as little talked of as Galen or
Hippocrates."

"And Sir Philip Forester," said I, "did he too vanish for ever from the
public scene?"

"No," replied my kind informer. "He was heard of once more, and it was
upon a remarkable occasion. It is said that we Scots, when there was
such a nation in existence, have, among our full peck of virtues, one
or two little barleycorns of vice. In particular, it is alleged that we
rarely forgive, and never forget, any injuries received; that we used
to make an idol of our resentment, as poor Lady Constance did of her
grief; and are addicted, as Burns says, to 'nursing our wrath to keep
it warm.' Lady Bothwell was not without this feeling; and, I believe,
nothing whatever, scarce the restoration of the Stuart line, could have
happened so delicious to her feelings as an opportunity of being
revenged on Sir Philip Forester, for the deep and double injury which
had deprived her of a sister and of a brother. But nothing of him was
heard or known till many a year had passed away."

At length--it was on a Fastern's E'en (Shrovetide) assembly, at which
the whole fashion of Edinburgh attended, full and frequent, and when
Lady Bothwell had a seat amongst the lady patronesses, that one of the
attendants on the company whispered into her ear, that a gentleman
wished to speak with her in private.

"In private? and in an assembly-room?--he must be mad--Tell him to call
upon me to-morrow morning."

"I said, so, my lady," answered the man; "but he desired me to give you
this paper."

She undid the billet, which was curiously folded and sealed. It only
bore the words, "_On business of life and death_," written in a hand
which she had never seen before. Suddenly it occurred to her, that it
might concern the safety of some of her political friends; she
therefore followed the messenger to a small apartment where the
refreshments were prepared, and from which the general company was
excluded. She found an old man, who, at her approach, rose up and bowed
profoundly. His appearance indicated a broken constitution; and his
dress, though sedulously rendered conforming to the etiquette of a
ball-room, was worn and tarnished, and hung in folds about his
emaciated person. Lady Bothwell was about to feel for her purse,
expecting to get rid of the supplicant at the expense of a little
money, but some fear of a mistake arrested her purpose. She therefore
gave the man leisure to explain himself.

"I have the honour to speak with the Lady Bothwell?"

"I am Lady Bothwell; allow me to say, that this is no time or place for
long explanations.--What are your commands with me?"

"Your ladyship," said the old man, "had once a sister."

"True; whom I loved as my own soul."

"And a brother."

"The bravest, the kindest, the most affectionate!" said Lady Bothwell.

"Both these beloved relatives you lost by the fault of an unfortunate
man," continued the stranger.

"By the crime of an unnatural, bloody-minded murderer," said the lady.

"I am answered," replied the old man, bowing, as if to withdraw.

"Stop, sir, I command you," said Lady Bothwell.--"Who are you, that, at
such a place and time, come to recall these horrible recollections? I
insist upon knowing."

"I am one who intends Lady Bothwell no injury; but, on the contrary, to
offer her the means of doing a deed of Christian charity, which the
world would wonder at, and which Heaven would reward; but I find her in
no temper for such a sacrifice as I was prepared to ask."

"Speak out, sir; what is your meaning?" said Lady Bothwell.

"The wretch that has wronged you so deeply," rejoined the stranger, "is
now on his death-bed. His days have been days of misery, his nights
have been sleepless hours of anguish--yet he cannot die without your
forgiveness. His life has been an unremitting penance--yet he dares not
part from his burden while your curses load his soul."

"Tell him," said Lady Bothwell, sternly, "to ask pardon of that Being
whom he has so greatly offended; not of an erring mortal like himself.
What could my forgiveness avail him?"

"Much," answered the old man. "It will be an earnest of that which he
may then venture to ask from his Creator, lady, and from yours.
Remember, Lady Bothwell, you too have a death-bed to look forward to;
your soul may, all human souls must, feel the awe of facing the
judgment seat, with the wounds of an untented conscience, raw, and
rankling--what thought would it be then that should whisper, 'I have
given no mercy, how then shall I ask it?'"

"Man, whosoever thou mayst be," replied Lady Bothwell, "urge me not so
cruelly. It would be but blasphemous hypocrisy lo utter with my lips
the words which every throb of my heart protests against. They would
open the earth and give to light the wasted form of my sister--the
bloody form of my murdered brother--forgive him?--Never, never!"

"Great God!" cried the old man, holding up his hands, "is it thus the
worms which thou hast called out of dust obey the commands of their
Maker? Farewell, proud and unforgiving woman. Exult that thou hast
added to a death in want and pain the agonies of religious despair; but
never again mock Heaven by petitioning for the pardon which thou host
refused to grant."

He was turning from her.

"Stop," she exclaimed; "I will try; yes, I will try to pardon him."

"Gracious lady," said the old man, "you will relieve the over-burdened
soul, which dare not sever itself from its sinful companion of earth
without being at peace with you. What do I know--your forgiveness may
perhaps preserve for penitence the dregs of a wretched life."

"Ha!" said the lady, as a sudden light broke on her, "it is the villain
himself!" And grasping Sir Philip Forester--for it was he, and no
other--by the collar, she raised a cry of "Murder, murder! Seize the
murderer!"

At an exclamation so singular, in such a place, the company thronged
into the apartment, but Sir Philip Forester was no longer there. He had
forcibly extricated himself from Lady Bothwell's hold, and had run out
of the apartment which opened on the landing-place of the stair. There
seemed no escape in that direction, for there were several persons
coming up the steps, and others descending. But the unfortunate man was
desperate. He threw himself over the balustrade, and alighted safely in
the lobby, though a leap of fifteen feet at least, then dashed into the
street and was lost in darkness. Some of the Bothwell family made
pursuit, and, had they come up with the fugitive, they might have
perhaps slain him; for in those days men's blood ran warm in their
veins. But the police did not interfere; the matter most criminal
having happened long since, and in a foreign land. Indeed, it was
always thought, that this extraordinary scene originated in a
hypocritical experiment, by which Sir Philip desired to ascertain
whether he might return to his native country in safety from the
resentment of a family which he had injured so deeply. As the result
fell out so contrary to his wishes, he is believed to have returned to
the Continent, and there died in exile.

So closed the tale of the MYSTERIOUS MIRROR.




THE TAPESTRIED CHAMBER;

OR,

THE LADY IN THE SACQUE.

THIS is another little story, from the Keepsake of 1828. It was told to
me many years ago, by the late Miss Anna Seward, who, among other
accomplishments that rendered her an amusing inmate in a country house,
had that of recounting narratives of this sort with very considerable
effect; much greater, indeed, than any one would be apt to guess from
the style of her written performances. There are hours and moods when
most people are not displeased to listen to such things; and I have
heard some of the greatest and wisest of my contemporaries take their
share in telling them.

August, 1831.

THE following narrative is given from the pen, so far as memory
permits, in the same character in which it was presented to the
author's ear; nor has he claim to farther praise, or to be more deeply
censured, than in proportion to the good or bad judgment which he has
employed in selecting his materials, as he has studiously avoided any
attempt at ornament, which might interfere with the simplicity of the
tale.

At the same time, it must be admitted, that the particular class of
stories which turns on the marvellous, possesses a stronger influence
when told than when committed to print. The volume taken up at noonday,
though rehearsing the same incidents, conveys a much more feeble
impression than, is achieved by the voice of the speaker on a circle of
fireside auditors, who hang upon the narrative as the narrator details
the minute incidents which serve to give it authenticity, and lowers
his voice with an affectation of mystery while he approaches the
fearful and wonderful part. It was with such advantages that the
present writer heard the following events related, more than twenty
years since, by the celebrated Miss Seward, of Litchfield, who, to her
numerous accomplishments, added, in a remarkable degree, the power of
narrative in private conversation. In its present form, the tale must
necessarily lose all the interest which was attached to it, by the
flexible voice and intelligent features of the gifted narrator. Yet
still, read aloud, to an undoubting audience by the doubtful light of
the closing evening, or in silence, by a decaying taper, and amidst the
solitude of a half-lighted apartment, it may redeem its character as a
good ghost story. Miss Seward always affirmed that she had derived her
information from an authentic source, although she suppressed the names
of the two persons chiefly concerned. I will not avail myself of any
particulars I may have since received concerning the localities of the
detail, but suffer them to rest under the same general description in
which they were first related to me; and, for the same reason, I will
not add to, or diminish the narrative, by any circumstances, whether
more or less material, but simply rehearse, as I heard it, a story of
supernatural terror.

About the end of the American war, when the officers of Lord
Cornwallis's army, which surrendered at York-town, and others, who had
been made prisoners during the impolitic and ill-fated controversy,
were returning to their own country, to relate their adventures, and
repose themselves after their fatigues; there was amongst them a
general officer, to whom Miss S. gave the name of Browne, but merely,
as I understood, to save the inconvenience of introducing a nameless
agent in the narrative. He was an officer of merit, as well as a
gentleman of high consideration for family and attainments.

Some business had carried General Browne upon a tour through the
western counties, when, in the conclusion of a morning stage, he found
himself in the vicinity of a small country town, which presented a
scene of uncommon beauty, and of a character peculiarly English.

The little town, with its stately church, whose tower bore testimony to
the devotion of ages long past, lay amidst pasture and corn-fields of
small extent, but bounded and divided with hedge-row timber of great
age and size. There were few marks of modern improvement. The environs
of the place intimated neither the solitude of decay, nor the bustle of
novelty; the houses were old, but in good repair; and the beautiful
little river murmured freely on its way to the left of the town,
neither restrained by a dam, nor bordered by a towing-path.

Upon a gentle eminence, nearly a mile to the southward of the town,
were seen, amongst many venerable oaks and tangled thickets, the
turrets of a castle, as old as the wars of York and Lancaster, but
which seemed to have received important alterations during the age of
Elizabeth and her successors. It had not been a place of great size;
but whatever accommodation it formerly afforded, was, it must be
supposed, still to be obtained within its walls; at least, such was the
inference which General Browne drew from observing the smoke arise
merrily from several of the ancient wreathed and carved chimney-stalks.
The wall of the park ran alongside of the highway for two or three
hundred yards; and through the different points by which the eye found
glimpses into the woodland scenery, it seemed to be well stocked. Other
points of view opened in succession; now a full one, of the front of
the old castle, and now a side glimpse at its particular towers; the
former rich in all the bizarrerie of the Elizabethan school, while the
simple arid solid strength of other parts of the building seemed to
show that they had been raised more for defence than ostentation.
Delighted with the partial glimpses which he obtained of the castle
through the woods and glades by which this ancient feudal fortress was
surrounded, our military traveller was determined to inquire whether it
might not deserve a nearer view, and whether it contained family
pictures or other objects of curiosity worthy of a stranger's visit;
when, leaving the vicinity of the park, he rolled through a clean and
well-paved street, and stopped at the door of a well-frequented inn.

Before ordering horses to proceed on his journey, General Browne made
inquiries concerning the proprietor of the chateau which had so
attracted his admiration, and was equally surprised and pleased at
hearing in reply a nobleman named whom we shall call Lord Woodville.
How fortunate! Much of Browne's early recollections, both at school and
at college, had been connected with young Woodville, whom, by a few
questions, he now ascertained to be the same with the owner of this
fair domain. He had been raised to the peerage by the decease of his
father a few months before, and, as the General learned from the
landlord, the term of mourning being ended, was now taking possession
of his paternal estate, in the jovial season of merry autumn,
accompanied by a select party of friends to enjoy the sports of a
country famous for game.

This was delightful news to our traveller. Frank Woodville had been
Richard Browne's fag at Eton, and his chosen intimate at Christ Church;
their pleasures and their tasks had been the same; and the honest
soldier's heart warmed to find his early friend in possession of so
delightful a residence, and of an estate, as the landlord assured him
with a nod and a wink, fully adequate to maintain and add to his
dignity. Nothing was more natural than that the traveller should
suspend a journey, which there was nothing to render hurried, to pay a
visit to an old friend under such agreeable circumstances.

The fresh horses, therefore, had only the brief task of conveying the
General's travelling carriage to Woodville Castle. A porter admitted
them at a modern Gothic Lodge, built in that style to correspond with
the Castle itself, and at the same time rang a bell to give warning of
the approach of visitors. Apparently the sound of the bell had
suspended the separation of the company, bent on the various amusements
of the morning; for, on entering the court of the chateau, several
young men were lounging about in their sporting dresses, looking at,
and criticising, the dogs which the keepers held in readiness to attend
their pastime. As General Browne alighted, the young lord came to the
gate of the hall, and for an instant gazed, as at a stranger, upon the
countenance of his friend, on which war, with its fatigues and its
wounds, had made a great alteration. But the uncertainty lasted no
longer than till the visitor had spoken, and the hearty greeting which
followed was such as can only be exchanged betwixt those who have
passed together the merry days of careless boyhood or early youth.

"If I could have formed a wish, my dear Browne," said Lord Woodville,
"it would have been to have you here, of all men, upon this occasion,
which my friends are good enough to hold as a sort of holyday. Do not
think you have been unwatched during the years you have been absent
from us. I have traced you through your dangers, your triumphs, your
misfortunes, and was delighted to see that, whether in victory or
defeat, the name of my old friend was always distinguished with
applause."

The General made a suitable reply, and congratulated his friend on his
new dignities, and the possession of a place and domain so beautiful.

"Nay, you have seen nothing of it as yet," said Lord Woodville, "and I
trust you do not mean to leave us till you are better acquainted with
it. It is true, I confess, that my present party is pretty large, and
the old house, like other places of the kind, does not possess so much
accommodation as the extent of the outward walls appears to promise.
But we can give you a comfortable old-fashioned room; and I venture to
suppose that your campaigns have taught you to be glad of worse
quarters."

The General shrugged his shoulders, and laughed. "I presume," he said,
"the worst apartment in your chateau is considerably superior to the
old tobacco-cask, in which I was fain to take up my night's lodging
when I was in the Bush, as the Virginians call it, with the light
corps. There I lay, like Diogenes himself, so delighted with my
covering from the elements, that I made a vain attempt to have it
rolled on to my next quarters; but my commander for the time would give
way to no such luxurious provision, and I took farewell of my beloved
cask with tears in my eyes."

"Well, then, since you do not fear your quarters," said Lord Woodville,
"you will stay with me a week at least. Of guns, dogs, fishing-rods,
flies, and means of sport by sea and land, we have enough and to spare:
you cannot pitch on an amusement, but we will pitch on the means of
pursuing it. But if you prefer the gun and pointers, I will go with you
myself, and see whether you have mended your shooting since you have
been amongst the Indians of the back settlements."

The General gladly accepted his friendly host's proposal in all its
points. After a morning of manly exercise, the company met at dinner,
where it was the delight of Lord Woodville to conduce to the display of
the high properties of his recovered friend, so as to recommend him to
his guests, most of whom were persons of distinction. He led General
Browne to speak of the scenes he had witnessed; and as every word
marked alike the brave officer and the sensible man, who retained
possession of his cool judgment under the most imminent dangers, the
company looked upon the soldier with general respect, as no one who had
proved himself possessed of an uncommon portion of personal
courage--that attribute, of all others, of which every body desires to
be thought possessed.

The day at Woodville Castle ended as usual in such mansions. The
hospitality stopped within the limits of good order; music, in which
the young lord was a proficient, succeeded to the circulation of the
bottle: cards and billiards, for those who preferred such amusements,
were in readiness: but the exercise of the morning required early
hours, and not long after eleven o'clock the guests began to retire to
their several apartments.

The young lord himself conducted his friend, General Browne, to the
chamber destined for him, which answered the description he had given
of it, being comfortable, but old-fashioned. The bed was of the massive
form used in the end of the seventeenth century, and the curtains of
faded silk, heavily trimmed with tarnished gold. But then the sheets,
pillows, and blankets looked delightful to the campaigner, when he
thought of his mansion, the cask. There was an air of gloom in the
tapestry hangings, which, with their worn-out graces, curtained the
walls of the little chamber, and gently undulated as the autumnal
breeze found its way through the ancient lattice-window, which pattered
and whistled as the air gained entrance. The toilet too, with its
mirror, turbaned, after the manner of the beginning of the century,
with a coiffure of murrey- silk, and its hundred strange-shaped
boxes, providing for arrangements which had been obsolete for more than
fifty years, had an antique, and in so far a melancholy, aspect. But
nothing could blaze more brightly and cheerfully than the two large wax
candles; or if aught could rival them, it was the flaming bickering
fagots in the chimney, that sent at once their gleam and their warmth
through the snug apartment; which, notwithstanding the general
antiquity of its appearance, was not wanting in the least convenience
that modern habits rendered either necessary or desirable.

"This is an old-fashioned sleeping apartment, General," said the young
lord; "but I hope you will find nothing that makes you envy your old
tobacco-cask."

"I am not particular respecting my lodgings," replied the General; "yet
were I to make any choice, I would prefer this chamber by many degrees,
to the gayer and more modern rooms of your family mansion. Believe me,
that when I unite its modern air of comfort with its venerable
antiquity, and recollect that it is your lordship's property, I shall
feel in better quarters here, than if I were in the best hotel London
could afford."

"I trust--I have no doubt--that you will find yourself as comfortable
as I wish you, my dear General," said the young nobleman; and once more
bidding his guest good-night, he shook him by the hand, and withdrew.

The General again looked round him, and internally congratulating
himself on his return to peaceful life, the comforts of which were
endeared by the recollection of the hardships and dangers he had lately
sustained, undressed himself, and prepared himself for a luxurious
night's rest.

Here, contrary to the custom of this species of tale, we leave the
General in possession of his apartment until the next morning.

The company assembled for breakfast at an early hour, but without the
appearance of General Browne, who seemed the guest that Lord Woodville
was desirous of honouring above all whom his hospitality had assembled
around him. He more than once expressed surprise at the General's
absence, and at length sent a servant to make inquiry after him. The
man brought back information that General Browne had been walking
abroad since an early hour of the morning, in defiance of the weather,
which was misty and ungenial.

"The custom of a soldier,"--said the young nobleman to his friends;
"many of them acquire habitual vigilance, and cannot sleep after the
early hour at which their duty usually commands them to be alert."

Yet the explanation which Lord Woodville thus offered to the company
seemed hardly satisfactory to his own mind, and it was in a fit of
silence and abstraction that he awaited the return of the General. It
took place near an hour after the breakfast bell had rung. He looked
fatigued and feverish. His hair, the powdering and arrangement of which
was at this time one of the most important occupations of a man's whole
day, and marked his fashion as much as, in the present time, the tying
of a cravat, or the want of one, was dishevelled, uncurled, void of
powder, and dank with dew. His clothes were huddled on with a careless
negligence, remarkable in a military man, whose real or supposed duties
are usually held to include some attention to the toilet; and his looks
were haggard and ghastly in a peculiar degree.

"So you have stolen a march upon us this morning, my dear General,"
said Lord Woodville; "or you have not found your bed so much to your
mind as I had hoped and you seemed to expect. How did you rest last
night?"

"Oh, excellently well! remarkably well! never better in my life"--said
General Browne rapidly, and yet with an air of embarrassment which was
obvious to his friend. He then hastily swallowed a cup of tea, and
neglecting or refusing whatever else was offered, seemed to fall into a
fit of abstraction.

"You will take the gun to-day, General;" said his friend and host, but
had to repeat the question twice ere he received the abrupt answer,
"No, my lord; I am sorry I cannot have the honour of spending another
day with your lordship; my post horses are ordered, and will be here
directly."

All who were present showed surprise, and Lord Woodville immediately
replied, "Post horses, my good friend! what can you possibly want with
them, when you promised to stay with me quietly for at least a week?"

"I believe," said the General, obviously much embarrassed, "that I
might, in the pleasure of my first meeting with your lordship, have
said something about stopping here a few days; but I have since found
it altogether impossible."

"That is very extraordinary," answered the young nobleman. "You seemed
quite disengaged yesterday, and you cannot have had a summons to-day;
for our post has not come up from the town, and therefore you cannot
have received any letters."

General Browne, without giving any farther explanation, muttered
something of indispensable business, and insisted on the absolute
necessity of his departure in a manner which silenced all opposition on
the part of his host, who saw that his resolution was taken, and
forbore farther importunity.

"At least, however," he said, "permit me, my dear Browne, since go you
will or must, to show you the view from the terrace, which the mist,
that is now rising, will soon display."

He threw open a sash window, and stepped down upon the terrace as he
spoke. The General followed him mechanically, but seemed little to
attend to what his host was saying, as, looking across an extended and
rich prospect, he pointed out the different objects worthy of
observation. Thus they moved on till Lord Woodville had attained his
purpose of drawing his guest entirely apart from the rest of the
company, when, turning round upon him with an air of great solemnity,
he addressed him thus:

"Richard Browne, my old and very dear friend, we are now alone. Let me
conjure you to answer me upon the word of a friend, and the honour of a
soldier. How did you in reality rest during last night?"

"Most wretchedly indeed, my lord," answered the General, in the same
tone of solemnity;--"so miserably, that I would not run the risk of
such a second night, not only for all the lands belonging to this
castle, but for all the country which I see from this elevated point of
view."

"This is most extraordinary," said the young lord, as if speaking to
himself; "then there must be something in the reports concerning that
apartment." Again turning to the General, he said, "For God's sake, my
dear friend, be candid with me, and let me know the disagreeable
particulars, which have befallen you under a roof, where, with consent
of the owner, you should have met nothing save comfort."

The General seemed distressed by this appeal, and paused a moment
before he replied. "My dear lord," he at length said, "what happened to
me last night is of a nature so peculiar and so unpleasant, that I
could hardly bring myself to detail it even to your lordship, were it
not that, independent of my wish to gratify any request of yours, I
think that sincerity on my part may lead to some explanation about a
circumstance equally painful and mysterious. To others, the
communication I am about to make, might place me in the light of a
weak-minded, superstitious fool who suffered his own imagination to
delude and bewilder him; but you have known me in childhood and youth,
and will not suspect me of having adopted in manhood the feelings and
frailties from which my early years were free." Here he paused, and his
friend replied:

"Do not doubt my perfect confidence in the truth of your communication,
however strange it may be," replied Lord Woodville; "I know your
firmness of disposition too well, to suspect you could be made the
object of imposition, and am aware that your honour and your friendship
will equally deter you from exaggerating whatever you may have
witnessed."

"Well then," said the General, "I will proceed with my story as well as
I can, relying upon your candour; and yet distinctly feeling that I
would rather face a battery than recall to my mind the odious
recollection's of last night."

He paused a second time, and then perceiving that Lord Woodville
remained silent and in an attitude of attention, he commenced, though
not without obvious reluctance, the history of his night's adventures
in the Tapestried Chamber.

"I undressed and went to bed, so soon as your lordship left me
yesterday evening; but the wood in the chimney, which nearly fronted my
bed, blazed brightly and cheerfully, and, aided by a hundred exciting
recollections of my childhood and youth, which had been recalled by the
unexpected pleasure of meeting your lordship, prevented me from falling
immediately asleep. I ought, however, to say, that these reflections
were all of a pleasant and agreeable kind, grounded on a sense of
having for a time exchanged the labour, fatigues, and dangers of my
profession, for the enjoyments of a peaceful life, and the reunion of
those friendly and affectionate ties, which I had torn asunder at the
rude summons of war.

"While such pleasing reflections were stealing over my mind, and
gradually lulling me to slumber, I was suddenly aroused by a sound like
that of the rustling of a silken gown, and the tapping of a pair of
high-heeled shoes, as if a woman were walking in the apartment. Ere I
could draw the curtain to see what the matter was, the figure of a
little woman passed between the bed and the fire. The back of this form
was turned to me, and I could observe, from the shoulders and neck, it
was that of an old woman, whose dress was an old-fashioned gown, which,
I think, ladies call a sacque; that is, a sort of robe, completely
loose in the body, but gathered into broad plaits upon the neck and
shoulders, which fall down to the ground, and terminate in a species of
train.

"I thought the intrusion singular enough, but never harboured for a
moment the idea that what I saw was any thing more than the mortal form
of some old woman about the establishment, who had a fancy to dress
like her grandmother, and who, having perhaps (as your lordship
mentioned that you were rather straitened for room) been dislodged from
her chamber for my accommodation, had forgotten the circumstance, and
returned by twelve to her old haunt. Under this persuasion I moved
myself in bed and coughed a little, to make the intruder sensible of my
being in possession of the premises.--She turned slowly round, but
gracious heaven! my lord, what a countenance did she display to me!
There was no longer any question what she was, or any thought of her
being a living being. Upon a face which wore the fixed features of a
corpse, were imprinted the traces of the vilest and most hideous
passions which had animated her while she lived. The body of some
atrocious criminal seemed to have been given up from the grave, and the
soul restored from the penal fire, in order to form, for a space, a
union with the ancient accomplice of its guilt. I started up in bed,
and sat upright, supporting myself on my palms, as I gazed on this
horrible spectre. The hag made, as it seemed, a single and swift stride
to the bed where I lay, and squatted herself down upon it, in precisely
the same attitude which I had assumed in the extremity of horror,
advancing her diabolical countenance within half a yard of mine, with a
grin which seemed to intimate the malice and the derision of an
incarnate fiend."

Here General Browne stopped, and wiped from his brow the cold
perspiration with which the recollection of his horrible vision had
covered it.

"My lord," he said, "I am no coward. I have been in all the mortal
dangers incidental to my profession, and I may truly boast, that no man
ever knew Richard Browne dishonour the sword he wears; but in these
horrible circumstances, under the eyes, and as it seemed, almost in the
grasp of an incarnation of an evil spirit, all firmness forsook me, all
manhood melted from me like wax in the furnace, and I felt my hair
individually bristle. The current of my life-blood ceased to flow, and
I sank back in a swoon, as very a victim to panic terror as ever was a
village girl, or a child of ten years old. How long I lay in this
condition I cannot pretend to guess.

"But I was roused by the castle clock striking one, so loud that it
seemed as if it were in the very room. It was some time before I dared
open my eyes, lest they should again encounter the horrible spectacle.
When, however, I summoned courage to look up, she was no longer
visible. My first idea was to pull my bell, wake the servants, and
remove to a garret or a hay-loft, to be ensured against a second
visitation. Nay, I will confess the truth, that my resolution was
altered, not by the shame of exposing myself, but by the fear that, as
the bell-cord hung by the chimney, I might, in making my way to it, be
again crossed by the fiendish hag, who, I figured to myself, might be
still lurking about some corner of the apartment.

"I will not pretend to describe what hot and cold fever-fits tormented
me for the rest of the night, through broken sleep, weary vigils, and
that dubious state which forms the neutral ground between them. A
hundred terrible objects appeared to haunt me; but there was the great
difference betwixt the vision which I have described, and those which
followed, that I knew the last to be deceptions of my own fancy and
over-excited nerves.

"Day at last appeared, and I rose from my bed ill in health, and
humiliated in mind. I was ashamed of myself as a man and a soldier, and
still more so, at feeling my own extreme desire to escape from the
haunted apartment, which, however, conquered all other considerations;
so that, huddling on my clothes with the most careless haste, I made my
escape from your lordship's mansion, to seek in the open air some
relief to my nervous system, shaken as it was by this horrible
encounter with a visitant, for such I must believe her, from the other
world. Your lordship has now heard the cause of my discomposure, and of
my sudden desire to leave your hospitable castle. In other places I
trust we may often meet; but God protect me from ever spending a second
night under that roof!"

Strange as the General's tale was, he spoke with such a deep air of
conviction, that it cut short all the usual commentaries which are made
on such stories. Lord Woodville never once asked him if he was sure he
did not dream of the apparition, or suggested any of the possibilities
by which it is fashionable to explain supernatural appearances, as wild
vagaries of the fancy, or deceptions of the optic nerves. On the
contrary, he seemed deeply impressed with the truth and reality of what
he had heard; and, after a considerable pause, regretted, with much
appearance of sincerity, that his early friend should in his house have
suffered so severely.

"I am the more sorry for your pain, my dear Browne," he continued,
"that it is the unhappy, though most unexpected, result of an
experiment of my own! You must know, that for my father and
grandfather's time, at least, the apartment which was assigned to you
last night, had been shut on account of reports that it was disturbed
by supernatural sights and noises. When I came, a few weeks since, into
possession of the estate, I thought the accommodation, which the castle
afforded for my friends, was not extensive enough to permit the
inhabitants of the invisible world to retain possession of a
comfortable sleeping apartment. I therefore caused the Tapestried
Chamber, as we call it, to be opened; and without destroying its air of
antiquity, I had such new articles of furniture placed in it as became
the modern times. Yet as the opinion that the room was haunted very
strongly prevailed among the domestics, and was also known in the
neighbourhood and to many of my friends, I feared some prejudice might
be entertained by the first occupant of the Tapestried Chamber, which
might tend to revive the evil report which it had laboured under, and
so disappoint my purpose of rendering it a useful part of the house. I
must confess, my dear Browne, that your arrival yesterday, agreeable to
me for a thousand reasons besides, seemed the most favourable
opportunity of removing the unpleasant rumours which attached to the
room, since your courage was indubitable and your mind free of any
pre-occupation on the subject. I could not, therefore, have chosen a
more fitting subject for my experiment."

"Upon my life," said General Browne, somewhat hastily, "I am infinitely
obliged to your lordship--very particularly indebted indeed. I am
likely to remember for some time the consequences of the experiment, as
your lordship is pleased to call it."

"Nay, now you are unjust, my dear friend," said Lord Woodville. "You
have only to reflect for a single moment, in order to be convinced that
I could not augur the possibility of the pain to which you have been so
unhappily exposed. I was yesterday morning a complete sceptic on the
subject of supernatural appearances. Nay, I am sure that had I told you
what was said about that room, those very reports would have induced
you, by your own choice, to select it for your accommodation. It was my
misfortune, perhaps my error, but really cannot be termed my fault,
that you have been afflicted so strangely."

"Strangely indeed!" said the General, resuming his good temper; "and I
acknowledge that I have no right to be offended with your lordship for
treating me like what I used to think myself--a man of some firmness
and courage.--But I see my post horses are arrived, and I must not
detain your lordship from your amusement."

"Nay, my old friend," said Lord Woodville, "since you cannot stay with
us another day, which, indeed, I can no longer urge, give me at least
half an hour more. You used to love pictures, and I have a gallery of
portraits, some of them by Vandyke, representing ancestry to whom this
property and castle formerly belonged. I think that several of them
will strike you as possessing merit."

General Browne accepted the invitation, though somewhat unwillingly. It
was evident he was not to breathe freely or at ease till he left
Woodville Castle far behind him. He could not refuse his friend's
invitation, however; and the less so, that he was a little ashamed of
the peevishness which he had displayed towards his well-meaning
entertainer.

The General, therefore, followed Lord Woodville through several rooms,
into a long gallery hung with pictures, which the latter pointed out to
his guest, telling the names, and giving some account of the personages
whose portraits presented themselves in progression. General Browne was
but little interested in the details which these accounts conveyed to
him. They were, indeed, of the kind which are usually found in an old
family gallery. Here was a cavalier who had ruined the estate in the
royal cause; there a fine lady who had reinstated it by contracting a
match with a wealthy Roundhead. There hung a gallant who had been in
danger for corresponding with the exiled Court at St. Germain's; here
one who had taken arms for William at the Revolution; and there a third
that had thrown his weight alternately into the scale of whig and tory.

While Lord Woodville was cramming these words into his guest's ear,
"against the stomach of his sense," they gained the middle of the
gallery, when he beheld General Browne suddenly start, and assume an
attitude of the utmost surprise, not unmixed with fear, as his eyes
were caught and suddenly riveted by a portrait of an old lady in a
sacque, the fashionable dress of the end of the seventeenth century.

"There she is!" he exclaimed; "there she is, in form and features,
though inferior in demoniac expression, to the accursed hag who visited
me last night."

"If that be the case," said the young nobleman, "there can remain no
longer any doubt of the horrible reality of your apparition. That is
the picture of a wretched ancestress of mine, of whose crimes a black
and fearful catalogue is recorded in a family history in my
charter-chest. The recital of them would be too horrible; it is enough
to say, that in yon fatal apartment incest and unnatural murder were
committed. I will restore it to the solitude, to which the better
judgment of those who preceded me had consigned it; and never shall any
one, so long as I can prevent it, be exposed to a repetition of the
supernatural horrors which could shake such courage as yours."

Thus the friends, who had met with such glee, parted in a very
different mood; Lord Woodville to command the Tapestried Chamber to be
unmantled, and the door built up; and General Browne to seek in some
less beautiful country, and with some less dignified friend,
forgetfulness of the painful night which he had passed in Woodville
Castle.




DEATH OF THE LAIRD'S JOCK.

[The manner in which this trifle was introduced at the time to Mr. F.M.
Reynolds, editor of the Keepsake of 1828, leaves no occasion for a
preface.] _August_, 1831.

TO THE EDITOR OF THE KEEPSAKE.

You have asked me, sir, to point out a subject for the pencil, and I
feel the difficulty of complying with your request; although I am not
certainly unaccustomed to literary composition, or a total stranger to
the stores of history and tradition, which afford the best copies for
the painter's art. But although _sicut pictura poesis_ is an ancient
and undisputed axiom--although poetry and painting both address
themselves to the same object of exciting the human imagination, by
presenting to it pleasing or sublime images of ideal scenes; yet the
one conveying itself through the ears to the understanding, and the
other applying itself only to the eyes, the subjects which are best
suited to the bard or tale-teller are often totally unfit for painting,
where the artist must present in a single glance all that his art has
power to tell us. The artist can neither recapitulate the past nor
intimate the future. The single _now_ is all which he can present; and
hence, unquestionably, many subjects which delight us in poetry, or in
narrative, whether real or fictitious, cannot with advantage be
transferred to the canvass.

Being in some degree aware of these difficulties, though doubtless
unacquainted both with their extent, and the means by which they may be
modified or surmounted, I have, nevertheless, ventured to draw up the
following traditional narrative as a story in which, when the general
details are known, the interest is so much concentrated in one strong
moment of agonizing passion, that it can be understood, and sympathized
with, at a single glance. I therefore presume that it may be acceptable
as a hint to some one among the numerous artists, who have of late
years distinguished themselves as rearing up and supporting the British
school.

Enough has been said and sung about

     The well-contested ground,
     The warlike border-land--

to render the habits of the tribes who inhabited them before the union
of England and Scotland familiar to most of your readers. The rougher
and sterner features of their character were softened by their
attachment to the fine arts, from which has arisen the saying that, on
the frontiers every dale had its battle, and every river its song. A
rude species of chivalry was in constant use, and single combats were
practised as the amusement of the few intervals of truce which
suspended the exercise of war. The inveteracy of this custom may be
inferred from the following incident:--

Bernard Gilpin, the apostle of the north, the first who undertook to
preach the Protestant doctrines to the Border dalesmen, was surprised,
on entering one of their churches, to see a gauntlet, or mail-glove,
hanging above the altar. Upon inquiring the meaning of a symbol so
indecorous being displayed in that sacred place, he was informed by the
clerk, that the glove was that of a famous swordsman who hung it there
as an emblem of a general challenge and gage of battle, to any who
should dare to take the fatal token down. "Reach it to me," said the
reverend churchman. The clerk and sexton equally declined the perilous
office: and the good Bernard Gilpin was obliged to remove the glove
with his own hands, desiring those who were present to inform the
champion, that he, and no other, had possessed himself of the gage of
defiance. But the champion was as much ashamed to face Bernard Gilpin
as the officials of the church had been to displace his pledge of
combat.

The date of the following story is about the latter years of Queen
Elizabeth's reign; and the events took place in Liddesdale, a hilly and
pastoral district of Roxburghshire, which, on a part of its boundary,
is divided from England only by a small river;

During the good old times of _rugging and riving_, (that is, tugging
and tearing,) under which term the disorderly doings of the warlike age
are affectionately remembered, this valley was principally cultivated
by the sept or clan of the Armstrongs. The chief of this warlike race
was the Laird of Mangertown. At the period of which I speak, the estate
of Mangertown, with the power and dignity of chief, was possessed by
John Armstrong, a man of great size, strength and courage. While his
father was alive, he was distinguished from others of his clan who bore
the same name by the epithet of the _Laird's Jock_, that is to say, the
Laird's son Jock, or Jack. This name he distinguished by so many bold
and desperate achievements, that he retained it even after his father's
death, and is mentioned under it both in authentic records and in
tradition. Some of his feats are recorded in the Minstrelsy of the
Scottish Border, and others mentioned in contemporary chronicles.

At the species of singular combat which we have described, the Laird's
Jock was unrivalled; and no champion of Cumberland, Westmoreland, or
Northumberland, could endure the sway of the huge two-handed sword
which he wielded, and which few others could even lift. This "awful
sword," as the common people term it, was as dear to him as Durindana
or Fushberta to their respective masters, and was nearly as formidable
to his enemies as those renowned falchions proved to the foes of
Christendom. The weapon had been bequeathed to him by a celebrated
English outlaw named Hobbie Noble, who, having committed some deed for
which he was in danger from justice, fled to Liddesdale, and became a
follower, or rather a brother-in-arms, to the renowned Laird's Jock;
till, venturing into England with a small escort, a faithless guide,
and with a light single-handed sword instead of his ponderous brand,
Hobbie Noble, attacked by superior numbers, was made prisoner and
executed.

With this weapon, and by means of his own strength and address, the
Laird's Jock maintained the reputation of the best swordsman on the
Border side, and defeated or slew many who ventured to dispute with him
the formidable title.

But years pass on with the strong and the brave as with the feeble and
the timid. In process of time, the Laird's Jock grew incapable of
wielding his weapon, and finally of all active exertion, even of the
most ordinary kind. The disabled champion became at length totally
bed-ridden, and entirely dependent for his comfort on the pious duties
of an only daughter, his perpetual attendant and companion.

Besides this dutiful child, the Laird's Jock had an only son, upon whom
devolved the perilous task of leading the clan to battle, and
maintaining the warlike renown of his native country, which was now
disputed by the English upon many occasions. The young Armstrong was
active, brave, and strong, and brought home from dangerous adventures
many tokens of decided success. Still the ancient chief conceived, as
it would seem, that his son was scarce yet entitled by age and
experience to be entrusted with the two-handed sword, by the use of
which he had himself been so dreadfully distinguished.

At length, an English champion, one of the name of Foster, (if I
rightly recollect,) had the audacity to send a challenge to the best
swordsman in, Liddesdale; and young Armstrong, burning for chivalrous
distinction, accepted the challenge.

The heart of the disabled old man swelled with joy when he heard that
the challenge was passed and accepted, and the meeting fixed at a
neutral spot, used as the place of rencontre upon such occasions, and
which he himself had distinguished by numerous victories. He exulted so
much in the conquest which he anticipated, that, to nerve his son to
still bolder exertions, he conferred upon him, as champion of his clan
and province, the celebrated weapon which he had hitherto retained in
his own custody.

This was not all. When the day of combat arrived, the Laird's Jock, in
spite of his daughter's affectionate remonstrances, determined, though
he had not left his bed for two years, to be a personal witness of the
duel. His will was still a law to his people, who bore him on their
shoulders, wrapped in plaids and blankets, to the spot where the combat
was to take place, and seated him on a fragment of rock, which is still
called the Laird's Jock's stone. There he remained with eyes fixed on
the lists or barrier, within which the champions were about to meet.
His daughter, having done all she could for his accommodation, stood
motionless beside him, divided between anxiety for his health, and for
the event of the combat to her beloved brother. Ere yet the fight
began, the old men gazed on their chief, now seen for the first time
after several years, and sadly compared his altered features and wasted
frame, with the paragon of strength and manly beauty which they once
remembered. The young men gazed on his large form and powerful make, as
upon some antediluvian giant who had survived the destruction of the
Flood.

But the sound of the trumpets on both sides recalled the attention of
every one to the lists, surrounded as they were by numbers of both
nations eager to witness the event of the day. The combatants met. It
is needless to describe the struggle: the Scottish champion fell.
Foster, placing his foot on his antagonist, seized on the redoubted
sword, so precious in the eyes of its aged owner, and brandished it
over his head as a trophy of his conquest. The English shouted in
triumph. But the despairing cry of the aged champion, who saw his
country dishonoured, and his sword, long the terror of their race, in
possession of an Englishman, was heard high above the acclamations of
victory. He seemed, for an instant, animated by all his wonted power;
for he started from the rock on which he sat, and while the garments
with which he had been invested fell from his wasted frame, and showed
the ruins of his strength, he tossed his arms wildly to heaven, and
uttered a cry of indignation, horror, and despair, which, tradition
says, was heard to a preternatural distance, and resembled the cry of a
dying lion more than a human sound.

His friends received him in their arms as he sank utterly exhausted by
the effort, and bore him back to his castle in mute sorrow; while his
daughter at once wept for her brother, and endeavoured to mitigate and
soothe the despair of her father. But this was impossible; the old
man's only tie to life was rent rudely asunder, and his heart had
broken with it. The death of his son had no part in his sorrow. If he
thought of him at all, it was as the degenerate boy, through whom the
honour of his country and clan had been lost; and he died in the course
of three days, never even mentioning his name, but pouring out
uninterrupted lamentations for the loss of his sword.

I conceive, that the instant when the disabled chief was roused into a
last exertion by the agony of the moment is favourable to the object of
a painter. He might obtain the full advantage of contrasting the form
of the rugged old man, in the extremity of furious despair, with the
softness and beauty of the female form. The fatal field might be thrown
into perspective, so as to give full effect to these two principal
figures, and with the single explanation that the piece represented a
soldier beholding his son slain, and the honour of his country lost,
the picture would be sufficiently intelligible at the first glance. If
it was thought necessary to show more clearly the nature of the
conflict, it might be indicated by the pennon of Saint George being
displayed at one end of the lists, and that of Saint Andrew at the
Other.

I remain, Sir,

Your obedient servant,

THE AUTHOR OF WAVERLEY.

END OF THE WAVERLEY NOVELS.









End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Waverley Volume XII, by Sir Walter Scott

*** 